Those who forget the pasta are condemned to reheat it, tweeted Jon Ronson, a man I’d never heard of until his quip about spaghetti. I read about the tweet in a newspaper, as I’ve never used social media — Twitter, Facebook, Instagram — and hope that I never will. Why would I, unless I wanted to make trouble for myself? Not everyone needs to know what you’re doing all of the time. Or any of the time, for that matter.
They say that the most destructive four-letter word in the digital domain is ‘send’. (Just as the scariest three words in American literature are Joyce Carol Oates.) I recently received an email from a young woman I’ve occasionally taken out to dinner calling me all sorts of names. According to her, I had propositioned her and offered her money. By email, that is. That, I can guarantee you, I had not done, but I didn’t bother to reply as I hadn’t emailed her in the first place. The only thing I know how to do is to send and receive emails. I have no way of knowing if someone had used my name to proposition the young woman, or if one can pretend to be someone else while emailing. And I don’t care to find out.
And while I’m at it, I have yet to see a single person reading a newspaper — God forbid a book — as I walk the streets of New York on the Upper East Side every day. But what I have seen are people punching away at those ghastly contraptions inside Shakespeare & Co, a bookstore I have morning coffee in from time to time. Just think of it: people use those idiotic machines inside a place that sells books. It’s a bit like masturbating inside a whorehouse. Full story...
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They say that the most destructive four-letter word in the digital domain is ‘send’. (Just as the scariest three words in American literature are Joyce Carol Oates.) I recently received an email from a young woman I’ve occasionally taken out to dinner calling me all sorts of names. According to her, I had propositioned her and offered her money. By email, that is. That, I can guarantee you, I had not done, but I didn’t bother to reply as I hadn’t emailed her in the first place. The only thing I know how to do is to send and receive emails. I have no way of knowing if someone had used my name to proposition the young woman, or if one can pretend to be someone else while emailing. And I don’t care to find out.
And while I’m at it, I have yet to see a single person reading a newspaper — God forbid a book — as I walk the streets of New York on the Upper East Side every day. But what I have seen are people punching away at those ghastly contraptions inside Shakespeare & Co, a bookstore I have morning coffee in from time to time. Just think of it: people use those idiotic machines inside a place that sells books. It’s a bit like masturbating inside a whorehouse. Full story...
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- Essena O'Neill - Why I REALLY am quitting social media...
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- Social networks and the innovation of loneliness...
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