I hate the internet. If I didn't love it so much I'd get rid of it.

For an old guy, I'm reasonably well plugged in electronically.  I do a lot of communication via email, I scan and post on Facebook, blog, and help maintain a modest website.  These STTA communiques are an example of how I use the "net."  I say that to make the point that I'm not a Luddite when it comes to the cyber-world.  It is a useful tool.  I hope to continue to make good use of it and learn to take better advantage of the access it affords me.

Sometimes, however, I hate the internet.

It is a medium that allows the most ignorant among us to speak with as much volume as the most knowledgeable.  

Its anonymity encourages us to say things--cruel things--that we would never say if we were looking at a flesh and blood human.

In almost any discussion there is "that person."  You know the one who says outrageous things.  The one who makes it very clear that they are entitled to their own opinion, and often strongly makes that opinion known by an assembly of their own facts.  Usually, when I am "that person" in a real discussion, one of my friends will reel me in, and calm me down.  I'm thankful that my wife has developed a look that tells me when it is time for me to be quiet.  I am writing this and I'll send it to thousands of you--OK my mailing list is only about 200--with just a couple of keystrokes.  No one is looking over my shoulder. 

Combining the Internet's reach with our innate desire to win often produces a toxic situation.  "I know I don't really have anything to do with this situation, and I don't know anyone involved, but this discussion involves something about which I feel strongly, so I'm going to put in my two cents." and change.  We use harsh words and hyperbole to make our absolutely right and totally righteous point, forgetting that somewhere on the other side  of a cellphone, or a computer screen is a real person, with real blood in their veins, shedding real tears over the situation that for us is just a worldwide game of "Gotcha."  

Yeah, I got-'em all right!

An important lesson to learn is that sometimes one needs to realize that he doesn't know enough, can't know enough, and shouldn't know enough to get involved. Sometimes an unfortunate conflict between people is just a disagreement that never should have happened, and which ought to be worked out, lovingly, patiently, charitably, and with appropriate repentance and forgiveness.  It is not a wagon on which I can pile all my baggage to make my point. 

Before I post, I need to ask myself, "Should I just leave this alone?"

It's Something to Think About.

   

Don't Look!

When one arrives at a "certain age" he can look back and think of times that when a voice from within or on the outside said, "Don't Look." I look back with gratitude for the warnings that prevented certain scenes from becoming part of the photo-album of my mind. There are some pictures in those collections that cause me to wish I had listened. Pictures are instantly uploaded to this most sophisticated of computers, but only erased with great difficulty--if at all.
Traffic always slows down near a wreck. Everyone wants to get a look, even though they know they should "move on along." There is at least a bit of the Voyeur in each of us.
There is a mammoth industry that depends on getting us to look. From a young woman with a last name made famous by hotels, to cute drug addicts with an eye for jewelry, to athletes who live like adult-empowered two-year-olds, to funny men whose lives have become decidedly non-humorous there is a perverted ugly co-dependency. Certain TV outlets, internet sites, magazines, agents, and a whole host of other parasites attempt to keep these human carwrecks in front of us as long as there is a dime to be made. As long as we, like rats in an experiment, push the lever one more time, getting our "Ooh," "Ahh,", or even
"Yuk!" fix, the sorry spectacle goes on.
Can we just all agree that we aren't going to expend any energy or especially money, to find out out what she stole, or how much cocaine he snorted with however many prostitutes in tow. Perhaps inquiring minds want to know, but wise souls realize they a better off to stay ignorant of some things. I sincerely hope these tragic folk find help, but I am trying to maintain a stance--"Watch my mouth. What part of 'I don't care!' don't you understand?" Sure there is this tousle-headed boy somewhere between my ears who keeps jumping up and down saying, "I wanna see! I wanna see!" I'm remembering the times when folk wisely told me, "Don't look," and telling him the same.

I want to listen to those wise voices more. Perhaps this STTA is one of those voices you need to hear.

It's STTA.