I was waiting for dim sum and thinking about how I wanted to share a photo online, specifically the one below, but wasn’t sure about the platform.
I was going for “amusing,” “self-deprecating,” “yum, food,” “a little pathetic,” and “Liz is going to do things by her own damn self.”
I didn’t want to post to Facebook since the network is indiscriminate and, uh , getting more mindless and meaningless. Also pretty much everyone I’ve ever known would see it and I’m not looking for a pity party. I was getting all the waitresses asking where my “boyfriend” was. I said he was sleeping, which sounds kind of ominous as I type this. (We’ve been going to the same dim sum restaurant for 8 years, but I still don’t think they know we’re married.)
Then I thought that this is the type of situation that Instagram was made for. I had been toying with the idea of signing up for Instagram because there were some people I’d like to follow who only post on this platform. (…And some neat giveaways, like the one from Po-zu recently). However, I think my soul would die a little if I got Instagram. I already waste enough time as it is on Facebook. And I don’t want to contribute to the short attention span milieu.
Ditto for Twitter. No. I’m using Python and Linux (barely) and “#”s are used for user comments that the rest on the program is supposed to ignore.
I used to LiveJournal, hahaha, but no.
So I’m going with my default venue for my cat photos and candid (i.e. less-than-flattering) photos of my husband: my blog and whoever stumbled upon these rambles. And the nice thing is that I can throw some of my thoughts down too, practice for creating a narrative out of random bits of data. (I’m currently writing one of those for lab, can you tell?). I’ll just add to the clutter of the internet, but it will select for kindred attention spans.
So ask of this is going through my brain as I drink my tea and munch on radish cake, waiting for my 蝦腸粉 . And it’s kind of nice being by myself in my head, having this stream of consciousness that’s but useful to anyone but me. And that I’m on my way to becoming one of those old Chinese ladies eating dim sum on a Sunday, often with a friend, but sometimes by themselves. And that’s just fine
…except that I ate too many custard buns. Oof.