Thursday, January 12, 2012

Happy Trails Has Fewer Letters


Sometimes we end up learning stuff we didn’t set out to learn about mostly because we live in a world of converging and colliding information. Not that long ago it was sort of funny that we took a goofy word,  google and used it as the name of a search engine and then made it a verb and then a gerund and practically baked it in a pie with four and twenty blackbirds.

Speaking of which in rapid order, we started tweeting about stuff we’d googled, and vice versa and then to a far greater degree than we ever did with my space we facebooked everything on earth at least twice. I have long believed that in the face of the events of 9-11and the total failure to successfully impose any order and understanding on what happened and why, we constructed a pink noise generator to insulate our world so we need no longer fear being alone, ever. Hi-Ho.

We live out loud online all the time. That’s what this is, in a less flamboyant way than just about anything else you’ll encounter on any given day of the week out here in the ether. That I’m not advocating we galvanize babies at birth, put the steering wheels of motor vehicles in the center of the front seat or authorize pony rides for everyone’s birthday doesn’t mean I’m sane or that this collection of electrons isn’t a cry for attention. I just can’t be pushy enough to become a roadside attraction; we should both count our blessings.

Our world has become a fever ward where our ability to tell one another the most excruciatingly embarrassing things vastly exceeds our desire to know and overwhelms any obligation to care. Take this “news” story at whatever level you like, and tell me I’m wrong to cringe.  I appreciate your unhappiness over the lack of imagery to support the copy. An editorial consideration, I’m sure.

Of course I have questions, as if you don’t. For openers:  does the big gentleman work for a travel agency? What is the rate of incidence for this type of phenomenon (is that the word to use? And if not, what is?)? Who keeps them and where? And how did he know the words were all spelled correctly?

Somewhere Trigger just whinnied as if to ask is that a handheld needle in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Happy Trails, little buckaroo, which rhymes with tattoo. Just how many letters is Dr. Wilbur Daffodil-11 Swain and will anyone need to buy a vowel?
-bill kenny

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