Changes in Platitudes

I recently chatted (it should be known that by "chat", I do mean physically sat next to an actual human being and conversed) with a friend who has 437 friends on myfacebook, or another one of those glorified e-yearbooks displaying nothing more than photos, signatures, and nostalgia of the present. When asked how many of those "friends" she actually knew, it was well into the low 60's.

So why keep so many acquaintances of friends' co-workers in your addressbook.net if you don't even know what kind of drink they rely on to let go of the day? If we can take all of our friends into Heaven, lord knows I'd save and save. Or I'd just count those who actually show up to my Big Wheel in the Sky Red Carpet Party and consider them my close friends. That'll be my eu-google-gy.
Maybe it's just me, but I actually don't care how many people a fancy Helvetican street sign tells me I have as BFFs. I mean if you haven't worn it for a year, get rid of it.

Just how far will we e-everything to each other? How much longer until our intimate relationships depend on how many hits our profile gets? It's not that far from a current euphemism anyway. I think the comfort level of a roll in the hay of Cyberland would lack the lumbar support needed to make for an enjoyable experience, but that's just me. But they are making laptops thinner and lighter as I'm typing.

How far will we go to avoid the human experience? How soon until I will be blahgging my job from the comfort of my own pizza stained couch? Why do I have this holier-than-thou tone to my "print", when I am in fact giving into advertising billboards of the super highway? How about the Death of the Newspaper; the Constant Butchering of the English Language; My Ever- Growning Love of the Written Medicine by Dr. Gonzo; and the fact that I am battling more than a 7 Nation Army for the resurgence of the written and spoken word. And if I have to hear LOL instead of a real, honest laugh one more time, I'm going to *SMFSFUAAIWFI.

And, I'm just not popular enough yet to have my own Late Night TV show. I'll even compete with Maury; I'm not picky.
Here lies the first of my blogs, for which I AM the father, and if I can get myself over it, I'll conceive more of my own shame to share.


*Shove my foot so far up an ass, I will feel it.