Saturday Singing

As odd as this sounds: growing up, everyone around me seemed to sing or at least play songs on their tape recorders. I'm dating myself, eh? Yes, I'm older than I look.

I like music, and so I picked up a fair number of songs about everything from springtime to world wars. In every language from Hindi to Hebrew, at that. I filled in some of the lyrics with what I thought made sense ("habuno-urenahaya-leeeeem,"), and bathroom-sang them blithely over the years.

It just occurred to me that I could Google the songs for the real lyrics. And zomg! 

Bruce Springsteen wrote Chicken Lips & Lizard Hips? Never Smile at a Crocodile is from Peter Pan? Johnny Cash wrote My Grandfather's Clock! So. Much. New Information. 

Google inspires heart-overflowing fondness when you've grown up in the pre-internet era.It's sad to think of a generation that'll take it for granted.

The Web

Did you read about that guy who quit the internet for a year? His tech job paid him to stay offline... and write about it. (In minor resentment over all my jobs doing the opposite, I won't link to his article here).

This guy says that even stripped of the internet, he didn't write a book, or travel, or do much (or any) of the soul broadening stuff on his bucket list. At the end of it all, he found the internet wasn't responsible for his procrastinating or anti-social behavior; he was.

Here's the thing. I know the internet isn't responsible for my laziness. Maybe it's partially responsible for my caring too much about other people's opinions - I'm exposed to them far more now. However, I don't use the 'net to procrastinate, I spend a fair amount of time in the real world, and I'm happier with a book than Facebook.

Overall, the internet & I are good. I recognize it pays me a lot. I admire its potential. I realize it's drawbacks. I spent a year recently with no internet access outside of work hours, and I can't say I missed it.

But if I lived in a world where I was paid richly to stay at home and work less than 8 hours a week... I'd, at the very least, jump at the chance to work my way down my travel wishlist; writing something, anything, even if a novel doesn't come out of it. This guy's a US resident, most countries don't even need him to pre-book a visa. He's single, so no worries there. And he spent a year going nowhere, and doing nothing.

Can you tell this story annoys me?