The whole blogging thing started kind of randomly back in January 2010. It wasn’t a new year’s resolution. It was the means of maintaining a new year’s resolution, to write more. At the time I hadn’t a clue about what I wanted to write about, or whether or not I could expect anyone to read what I had written. In the beginning it was random and desperate.
It’s not my birthday. It is not even the birthday of anyone I know. However, it is the (belated) birthday of this beloved blog, If I Had A Minute To Spare I Would Probably Say Something Like This.
Alas, I didn’t get a birthday cake for the occasion.
Weep ye not. I feel a little, hmmm, aggrieved that I didn’t notice this most important of days passing about a month ago (maybe longer), but perhaps I can blame the business of that most evil of trivialities, work – in this case I mean real employment where a service/product (my wonderful ‘ness) is exchanged for monies, and not writing blog posts and poems.
But still, the birthday of If I Had A Minute To Spare is a special occasion. After just one year and with very little publicity and fancy internet tricks to make more people visit, If I Had A Minute To Spare has had an epic 8,339 hits. Continue reading
This article from the New Yorker which I just finished reading is somewhat related to an article I wrote previously about Facebook and the Neil Postman book Amusing Ourselves to Death. Basically, this looks further into the disconnection that a tool like Facebook can cause. In this case it is related to social activism and the ‘friends’ and the networks we are involved with on Facebook. I’ll allow the article to speak for itself:
Why the revolution will not be tweeted.
by Malcolm Gladwell October 4, 2010
At four-thirty in the afternoon on Monday, February 1, 1960, four college students sat down at the lunch counter at the Woolworth’s in downtown Greensboro, North Carolina. They were freshmen at North Carolina A. & T., a black college a mile or so away.
“I’d like a cup of coffee, please,” one of the four, Ezell Blair, said to the waitress.
“We don’t serve Negroes here,” she replied.
The Woolworth’s lunch counter was a long L-shaped bar that could seat sixty-six people, with a standup snack bar at one end. The seats were for whites. The snack bar was for blacks. Another employee, a black woman who worked at the steam table, approached the students and tried to warn them away. “You’re acting stupid, ignorant!” she said. They didn’t move. Around five-thirty, the front doors to the store were locked. The four still didn’t move. Finally, they left by a side door. Outside, a small crowd had gathered, including a photographer from the Greensboro Record. “I’ll be back tomorrow with A. & T. College,” one of the students said.