The internet has taught me how to share; I can't remember the last time I had a thought that I automatically assumed was purely private. It has also rewired my brain to comprehend language in an entirely different way. For instance, I see the word "share" and I understand it to mean "download copyrighted works without paying."
It has brought an audience of very tolerant readers to a woefully non-self-starting writer. It has imbued in me the nearly-spiritual belief that hearing two songs in a row from the same artist means my shuffle function isn't working properly. As a boundless source of information and experimentation, it has answered for me some questions I had assumed were unanswerable, like how much voyeurism can I stand and is it possible to watch too much porn? Without it, I would never have achieved personal milestones in narcissism or paralyzing hypochondriasis.
For me, the World Wide Web is one of those ideas that, even though you know better, you think, somehow, it was for you personally. When I was a kid, I would read encyclopedias voraciously, not cover-to-cover like some kind of beast, but jumping from article to article, pushed by the SEE ALSO references at the end of the last totally engrossing thing I'd just read about Lady Jane Grey or mincemeat, places held first with fingers, then any bookmark I could find, usually old receipts or torn up bits of junk mail. It's hard for me to imagine that ole Tim Berners-Lee didn't dream up hypertext with me specifically in mind. In that way I guess you could say my relationship with TBL is not unlike Mark David Chapman's was with JD Salinger. Words can be so inspirational.
I'm staggered (still!) by the things the internet is capable of. It literally puts fear in the hearts of dictators. It's not just a conveyance for collected phonemes arranged by syntactical precedent, it's an engine of learning, organizing, revolutionizing, earth-shaking or even, at its peak, a vessel for joke references in bad taste about murdered pop stars. There's almost nothing it can't do.
With Tunisia and Egypt in mind and the president's stirring call to post-Sputnik action, it's time we took the training wheels off and made the most of this God-machine.
It's time we made up a really sweet rumor about Charlie Sheen.
He's already done half the work by being admitted to the hospital with mystery stomach pain. It's the classic set-up. Just look what just the whiff of something similar did for Rod Stewart or Richard Gere. And both those got started pre-internet. If we do this right, we could be totally famous. You know, in the way that totally anonymous and ultimately unattributable sources of urban legends generally are.
So what could we say was the problem? We can't do "gallon of semen" or "colon gerbil" because, well, spoken for. Which sucks because they were the awesome ones. Hey! Maybe we just one-up both of them and say they had to pump his stomach to clear out a gallon of gerbil semen. It's a lazy pastiche, sure, but that describes 90% of our culture anymore anyhow.*
Plus you have the admit, the visual is a winner.
Go forth and spread the word. Revolution in Iran, whatever. If we play this right, we could get Two and a Half Men off the air. I told you this internet monster was capable of greatness.
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*the other 10% is divided between an escrow account held as collateral by Chinese bankers against the national debt and, as per tradition, Jews.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
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4 comments:
Totally believable, too. When I last visited my daughter we got into a conversation with her roommates about their pet gerbil, which led to spur of the moment internet research into hamsters, which, it turns out travel in packs throughout Asia rendering small scale devastation on all they encounter. It is so plausible that such a pack could have set upon and debauched Mr. Sheen (probably without him putting up too much resistance).
I think the main point we can take from this story is how awful you are at flirting with your daughter's roommates. Hamsters and the internet, really? Next time, take the Sheen approach and show up with some smokeable cocaine and a total absence of personal shame. Then you've got yourself a party.
i had to google Tim Berners-Lee, and I discover you actually meant to refer to Sir Tim Berners-Lee, or more appropriately, Sir Tim.
milestones of narcissism are awesome. Remember when you'd put up a blog post, and there'd be, like, DOZENS of comments? from all different people? and that time when whatshisface who I don't read any more linked to you, and that's how I (and half the world) found your site?
boy, those were the days. back then, i still read political blogs regularly! which is hilarious. now, i read webcomix and this blog and Project Rungay, and that's about it.
the internet is magic.
I did used to get dozens of comments, even though sixes of them were usually mine. Now my comments sit, neglected, for days on end while my time is eaten up by employment and naked pictures of famous people. See, there are some things about the internets that don't change.
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