Welcome to my personal social experiment.
I’m trying to keep my social media interactions to just one self-generated post per platform per day.
So far, so okay.
But…what would I do without a constant, unending mainline of social media?
I would, it turns out, utilize my notebook more, write down all of the insightful, philosophical, and/or amusing thoughts that occur, then occasionally consolidate them here.
(So is that what you’re doing?)
- My current fame ceiling is: Scott Adams blocked me on Twitter.
- On many levels this fact, and the fact that I care about this fact enough to share it, brings me pervasive existential sadness.
- What’s a college Republican’s favorite Flock of Seagull’s Song?
- And Ayn Ra-aa-aand. Ayn Rand so far a-way-ay-ay.
- What’s the word describing a person so single mindedly contemplating the number between 3 and 5 that they become the number?
- Claus is a Freudian slip come to life.
- (If you follow me on Facebook, you’ll likely understand #7. However, just replace “Claus” with whomever you believe to be a human Freudian slip come to life. Believe me, you know a few. You might be one. Shit. Maybe we all are.)
- I would love to perform the Chicago song, “25 or 6 to 4” interpreted as a dark, acoustic song. Like a Trent Reznor vibe, a la Johnny Cash singing, “Hurt.” Like minor as fuck. Raw. And on the line, “Twen-ty-five-or-six-to-foh-oh-ohhhhh,” I’d sing a falling run rather than the bright, cheery rising run from the original. It would scare the shit out of someone.
- I would also love to perform the Chicago song, “25 or 6 to 4” like an 80’s emo tune, a la The Smiths or The Cure. Actually, I’ve got the tune, “Under the Milky Way Tonight” by The Church very clearly in the forefront of my mind thinking about THIS cover. It would, like the dark, raw, acoustic version, be sung down an octave. Moody. Synths, a heavy atmospheric guitar wah-wah vibe, and the stench of clove cigarettes hovering about like a ghost of my undergraduate years.
- Instagram should do mammogram filters. Like, make your tits into fun things. Mess with the shape and size. Razzle dazzle areola and whatnot. I think it should happen.
- What happens when you mate Joe Cocker with Bob Dylan and play doo-wop for the incubating baby?
- Bruce Springsteen happens.
I anticipate the following additional “What Would I Do Without Social Media?” sub-genres: Philosophy, Politics, Professional.