Tweet me a river
I am being dragged kicking, screaming, and drowning into the mid-19th century.First a blog. Then a Facebook page. Then Twitter. Then MySpace. Then FriendFeed. Shelfari and things I’ve signed up for and have no idea what they do. More usernames and passwords than I have excuses to eat Ginger Chews.
Whew. Podcasts are on the horizon if I can figure out how to get voice from point A to point B. I can just feel it coming, some intuitive flash where it All Suddenly Makes Sense. Then videos for YouTube (a book trailer is in the works!) and who knows what else. Teleconferences? Teleporting myself in Second Life?
Or perhaps a retreat into Writing Land once more. Likely.
But for the moment, that’s all to say this: there are a lot of things I read in the course of the day that don’t blossom into full essays on 37days–and likely never will–so rather than lose them forever in this fire hydrant rush of water we call information (note: information one step beyond data, but it is not knowledge, much less wisdom), I’m now going to post them on Twitter. If you’d like to follow along, I’m here on Twitter. Or here on Facebook. Or here on MySpace, which I just created and don’t have a clue what to do with, and on which I have one, count ’em, one friend and that’s Tom the moderator who I’ve come to realize appears on every new MySpace page. Isn’t that sad? Imagine my disappointment. So, come, let’s discuss together the epistemelogical blah-blah-blah of sumpin-sumpin. Or not.
Speaking of technology, I’m looking to hire a fantastic, easy-going, funny, smart, intuitive, accessible, design-friendly web person to help me fix, create, link, all these online things–website, blog (my kingdom for someone who can create widgets for me). If you know of anyone I might contact, let me know before you go to sleep tonight. Or tomorrow. Tomorrow is fine, too. But soon, you know? Before I pull out what little hair I have left now that my hairdresser has decided I should look just like Judi Dench.
[image from here]