Seven Foods That Fight…
Six Time Saving Cleaning…
Ten Minute Morning Doing…
Forty Seven Things Every Man…
Eight Traits of People Who…
Four Lifehacks from Historic….
Ten Ways Mason Jars…
Five Jaw Dropping Wedding Dresses You Have To…
Six Ikea Hacks That Will…
If I’ve done the math correctly, that’s 103 facts I need to remember–just today–so that I can be, what, a good person, a better mother, a great wife, a cautious driver, a fabulous shopper, a superior co-worker?
No kidding, Alan. I feel the same way.
My brain cells aren’t as frisky as they once were; sometimes they lounge in their PJs. Some days I barely remember my pants. Well, it’s not that bad, yet, probably, but I really don’t recall.
What were we talking about? Right, the list.
It comes through my news feed. You know, the one on the Internet. And, speaking of the Internet, we all know if something is on the Internet, it’s true. Because, everyone does their research. They are truth seekers. They want all of us to live better lives–because, obviously, we must not be now–so they do their home work, check the facts, and share the wisdom.
The trouble is, it’s too much. I’d like it simplified, just a tad. One list can seem remarkably close to another, same topic, similar source, but different advice. It’s all so confusing.
As I sat this week waiting for my mammogram, a magazine called my name. It was The New Yorker, one I’d never read, but I figured, what the heck? The cartoon at right appeared part way through my passing-the-time time.
Happy day! Someone gets this. This fella knows exactly what I am talking about (although if he can’t remember stores, maybe he needs professional help. I mean, he doesn’t look that old. If someone would please do a face recognition, let the family know, I’d appreciate it. Thanks).
But, I get his point. What happened to the days when we got in the car, drove to the store, picked items off the shelf, put them in the cart, and paid for them at the checkout stand, with cash? We touched the items, picked them up, had them in our hands, before they were purchased. Our trip to the market included our weekly chat with Henry while he ran the adding machine, totaled our purchases.
“Are you out of Oreos?” I’d ask, and he would say, “Yeah, those Orioles, weren’t they something?”
Henry was a little hard of hearing, but he was a gem. You could bet he’d have those Oreos the following week. He’d help you load your car, too. Visiting the market meant fresh air, getting out of the house, some walking and minor lifting if Henry was too busy. It may have involved running into someone, others we know, possibly another face-to-face chat.
Ah, the good old days.
So, what happened to walking on the beach, mailing a handwritten letter, and meeting people the good old fashioned way (in bars)? How about reading, you know, books, or researching a topic of interest? Anything we could possibly want to know (and a whole lot more we don’t care to know) is accessible right here, within a 12 by 16 inch screen, or smaller.
Seems any and everything our little hearts desire is online. Dating, shopping, banking, reading, and those ever present, factually-based make-your-life-better lists–it’s all online. One could conceivably never leave the house. Google it, first, just to make sure.
It’s just too much, overwhelming the brain and the senses. It’s information overload, a constant feed, and too much to process. It’s a noisy strobe light in my head. It muddies my waters.
I need a break. A rest. I need calm, and a way to process my world. I need simple.
The general idea would be fine. How about a comprehensive but concise factoid as opposed to a steady stream of must-know lists?
A simple, condensed version of the carefully checked facts would give me the strength to tackle my day.
Forty-seven cleaning men wearing jaw dropping wedding dresses saved time hacking six historic mason jars ten different ways with five food-saving people every morning for four minutes at Ikea.
Alan Sues photo, courtesy of Napsmear. Cartoon, courtesy The New Yorker magazine, August 2014. Social media overload photo, courtesy bloggingpro.com.
finding merle 