What's So Great About Facebook

A - You can share your photos.

Memories of Ma dusting off her old photo album seem ages away from the system of quick sharing we enjoy today. She'd select the memories from a shelf that held every year of my childhood--peering into windows of the past. We'd sit by the old iron stove for warmth and would each hold a candle in order to illuminate the tiny rectangular objects of our interest. Pa would bring in whatever he had managed to trap or shoot that day for Ma to cook up, as well as any elixirs the local apothecary suggested to help rid my brother Adam of his Cholera. In this bygone age, photos were just as subject to the elements as you or I. They could be burned, warped, or cut into dangerously sharp pieces.

Nowadays sure are different. With a certain number of clicks of several buttons in a particular sequence, whole photo albums are easily shared with your friends, family, and those who aren't really your friends, but you tell them they are so as not to hurt their feelings. In my case, my favorite thing to do with photos is make sure all the pictures of my travels in England, France, and Italy are prominent. This way, anyone who is either too poor to travel, or tied down by a relationship, can be jealous of my adventures.

B - You can share your thoughts.

There was a time when I pretty much never wrote anything. This was way back before the internet was revealed to mankind by the Reptilians. I distinctly recall sitting soberly in front of my typewriter, pondering the following dilemma:

There's no point in writing something unless people are going to read it. The only way to get people to read something I've written is to get it published--either that or hold it up to their face and whine to them that they should be interested in my artistic endeavours. The only way to get something published is to write a piece that is really good, or at least has a point.

Hmmm. Good writing takes hard work, and lots of it. For me, hard work is an idea that is firmly juxtaposed to leisure time (which happens to be the only time I have to write anything). Not only that, but what kind of white kid from the suburbs has anything of substance to write about? Maybe if my dad beat me, I'd have some good insight... but he never laid a hand on me... Thanks for all the inspiration, old man!

Turns out, the solution to my dilemma is known as the "weblog" or "'blog" or "note". This function of the internet--which I am currently utilizing--allows me to write out my thoughts--what e'er they be--under the illusion that many people will read and care. With Facebook in particular, if I am feeling like I really need the attention, I can "tag" any number of friends or family in the note, assuring that they will at least take a glance! (Warning: use this tactic sparingly. After a period of tagging unnecessarily, people seem to catch on.)

C - You can keep track of old acquaintances.

In olden times, I'm sure that most people only got to see their high school pals on scheduled reunions, awkward moments at the grocery store, or sexual affairs borne of the intense desperation of middle age and marriage. These days, with the power of Facebook, we can track our old chums easily; all we need is their misguided trust. Whether you're checking to see whether someone is still single, going to school, or working at Kroger's, Facebook allows you all of this information and more. The best part for me is the pictures! Ah, the pictures. There's nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a girl who wouldn't give you the time of day in high school get progressively fatter with every new profile picture! And girls aren't the only people who get fat. I often notice with bridled rapture my male friends looking more and more like tired old men while I, in relative comparison, am as fit and energetic as ever! Thanks, Facebook.

There are certainly more reasons why Facebook is great. But A,B,C just felt so right. Three is the magic number.

Misuderstood Mutations

Evolution has answered - a sea-dwelling wish
After thousands of years: the net-cutting fish

The net-cutting fish, with scissors as lips
Will swim through the sea, the bane of all ships
Attempting to haul, and lift up a catch
The net-cutting fish, the fishermen wretch

The net-cutting fish, a friend to the swimmers
Will cut through all nets - with his marvelous trimmers
The coast towns will starve, the fish will survive
And of course, conversely - the farmers will thrive

As nature is kind, so is nature vicious
For these net-cutting fishes; they'll taste quite delicious
And predators come - from near and from far
To eat up these fish, though they leave quite a scar

The fishermen cheer, their children will sing
For the net-cutting fish - was a short-lived thing
And though the fish laughed, and fishermen hissed
History will forget - the net-cutting fish

Recember 1?th, 2008

A Day in the Life of Ornseth

Today I woke up promptly before springmeal. I hadn't missed it since Leewence served his famous chopped gipper and Memial spilled Juicemilk all over her favorite pie-green pelt. I was determined not to be deprived of something this cool again. After stepping, three legs at a time, into my pompadour slacks, I moseyed over to the crystal dish for a good cleansing of the visage... but then, you didn't want to hear about the mundane minutia of my mediocre morning, did you?

You did? Too bad. I'm moving on.

What struck me as odd this morning was that as the suns were setting in the Sweth, not a single pteradactyl tarried in the twilight. Usually at this stage of the Gamma Planet's rotation, all manner of swidge and marmel will flutter and squawk, filling the sky with life. And yet it's only at their absence I am astounded. So, since I surmised science could solve this mystery I had, I got in my Lambradire and trolled toward my neighborhood Muntz.

Now, the Muntz in my village is a sentimental glinch (pardon my Crackter). And since I had avoided him for the past Tweventy rotations or so, he was sure to expect some sort of explanation for my absence. I decided I would act as if I was incredibly tired so he wouldn't press the issue.

"Ornseth!" he exclaimed, "It's been so--" I cut him off here.

"Madgo-Muntz! There's no time! I'm curious to know why there are no pteradactyl in the sky!"

"No swidge?" he asked.

"No." I said.

"No marmel?" he inquired.

"No."

"No pine-beaked phled?"

"Umm..... No." I said firmly.

He began to laugh, wiggling his nartle like he knew a secret. "Why it's simple, Ornseth!" He waited for me to say something, but I wouldn't play his game. "When the moons are at the shores, pteradactyls stay indoors."

Thank Mindar I wasn't crazy... just forgetful. I bowed apologetically to the Muntz as he got back to work.

As I angrily ate my springmeal, I became determined not to face the Muntz again until I had something to teach him. I was embarrassed to forget such a well-known fact, but I didn't let it ruin my day...

Yes I did. Why else would I be writing this?!

Blarg! Maybe tomorrow I won't be such a poor excuse for a Mekt.

...

One more thing - Plisse still won't talk to me. Sometimes I wish romance didn't have to involve all of the genders.

Ornseth