No sooner do I finish my last post about Twitter than I read this in the Guardian by Bobbie Johnson which crystallises very well my growing unease about this whole internet phenomenon of 'social networking'. The net is just so uncritically voracious. It inhales ephemera like it's life depended on it and perhaps it does. But does mine? Do I care what Ross or Brand think about anything. They certainly haven't earned my respect for their elegant use of the language unlike Stephen Fry whose jotting's are both well informed and erudite and leave me feeling enriched rather than debased. Do I care about the minutiae of the lives of virtual strangers in anything but the most superficial way. And if I do imbibe this tedious diet of pixellated pasta how do I avoid information constipation?I suppose the answer is, in cybespace as in life itself (where ever that is these days), one needs to watch ones diet and not allow Ross/Brand type plaque accumulation to clog up the arteries. Eject it with a good Fry-up. Begin a new trend.
What's that then?
Blogonic irrigation.
I don't believe you wrote that.
I'll get my coat.
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