Approaching the cliff: Day 40 of a Facebook Fast. Will I jump, returning to the void, or have I found wings to fly?
Friday was my Birthday, so I’m late posting Friday’s blog, and I will likely take the weekend off to write other non-bloggy items for my memoir, and/or a flash-fiction contest. See you on the 35th day.
An interesting side-effect of having locked down my Facebook page so no one could post on it in my absence: Birthday wishes came in through 5 different media: FB Messenger, Verizon Messaging, EMail, Twitter, and personal phone calls.
It was great receiving calls and having actual human conversations with people. Admittedly, the three who called are people I speak with fairly regularly, so this wasn’t a significant “data-point” in my experiment. But the number of people resorting to other means of communication was a surprise. It feels good to be remembered, even if it was because Facebook blabbed my birthday to the world.
This reinforces my insistence that there is a good side to Facebook: The personal relations I’ve made there are undeniable and valuable, intellectually stimulating and fun. I can’t wait to get back to that, and hope I can skim the cream, without drinking the whole bottle of milk.
“Skim the cream?” Milk bottles? How OLD are you?? It’s a combination of age and travel that leaves that metaphor legitimately available to me. When I entered the Catholic Seminary in 1984, I lived in Dublin, Ireland for a year. Every morning the milk man would deliver a six-pack of glass bottles full of unpasteurized milk to our door.
I made it my mission to be the guy who brought the milk in early every morning, skimming the cream off a few bottles to sate my milk-fat addiction. I wonder why I gained 15 pounds that year? I could blame the potatoes, or Irish Brown Bread (also delivered fresh every day), or the incessant feasts held in honor of every wannabe saint. But I think the cream played a major role in my expanding waistline.
My new religion, since leaving the Seminary and Catholic faith. I’m a practicing “Roman Pedantic.” Something can “play a role” or “be a factor” in a result, but it cannot “play a factor.” May lightning strike every sports commentator who continues muddling the English language. And may ye “descriptivists” resist the urge to tell me in comments how the language evolves, so there is no such thing as “correct” usage. I will refudiate you, even though I trust you illicitly and have a photogenic memory!