Letter Writing, Impertinence, and a Couple Other Things.

This next post will be mostly an extension of the last one, but only in the sense that I'll be following up in the subject of "I have a difficult time relating to the present times" (No Harry Potter in this post). I think that's partially because I missed out on pretty much every time period that preceded my own life. I realized this a long time ago, but only recently decided to lament the fact.

There's one thing specifically that I wish could have continued strongly through my own lifetime. Letter writing.

Personally, I think strong, critical writing in general has gone the way side. It's only used by those who write professionally or by a student needing to write a solid, thought out paper for class (even then mediocre writing is prevalent. I would know. I produced a lot of it no more that a year and a half ago). Currently we, as a society, have countless ways to publically publish everything we write, from Facebook to Twitter, to internet blogging. This unfortunately, doesn't mean every person who types something onto the computer and posts it online really took the time to really craft or, much less, really think about what they're saying.

That was another subject I planned to blog about earlier this week, but never really pulled it together: Impertinance. I suppose I have some time to touch on it in this blog.

Social networking has undoubtedly given us unlimited means of communication with those both far and near, but this doesn't mean all that communication is useful or important. As a matter of fact, I think it has fed our egos a little more (arguably the ultimate of human vices). Think about it: People can say (post) whatever they want and have the whole world (more specifically their world: friends, family) read about it, believing that people will care. And we end up caring because we comment with our own brand of meaninglessness and click the "Like" button.

Now, understand, I'm not calling everyone spending his or her free time on this sites a bean brained individual. But it's given people an opportunity to say what they want, but it nurses in our minds an impulsive, shallow way of doing so. For example, Twitter. Twitter gives the user up to 140 characters to say something, anything. It's like some sort of mini challenge: "What can you say in 140 characters?" You could say a lot of things. All of it is simple and to the point. Not a bad thing, but still the limitation involved doesn't always give the user an opportunity for a complete thought. An uterance. Maybe a joke, a quip, a shout out. A small quotation. Not a full, well rounded means of expression.

I guess my point in all this is, the current culture (myself included) has unlimited opportunity with writing but limited capabilities for growth in the writing. Simply, it's reduced. Therefore, people don't like to write anymore. I've NEVER heard a college student say, "We have a twenty page paper due in a month? Oh boy! I'm so excited to get started on that!" (well, maybe in a sarcastic tone. But NEVER seriously). Writing (and especially good writing) is somewhat obsolete in the day to day (read comments in a forum some time).

Which brings me to my initial point: letter writing.

This afternoon I went to the Borders in Ballwin, MO. The store is closing, so I decided to stop by and pick up a few books for cheap. I bought Billy Collins' "Sailing Alone Around the Room", Allen Ginsberg's "Howl", and a published collection of letters between Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. When I saw the book of letters I was ecstatic. If you're new to the blog, then you probably don't quite understand my love for Kerouac and the Beat Generation. It's actually quite inexplicable and I wish I could understand the reason for it myself, but all I know is that it's clearly there and it isn't going away. I digress. So I end up paying for the books and returning home. After I read "Howl" aloud to myself in my room (no one else was home to think me mad) I cracked open the letters book and began where most people don't: The introduction. Immediately I see that my sentiments about letter writing are reflected in the introduction:

"It is now common to lament the gradual demise of the handwritten or handtyped letter over the past decades. Significant blame is often placed, and rightly so, on the radical lowering of phone rates. Up through the mid-1960's, for many people calling long-distance across country was a rare and costly luxury, only to be indulged in for an emergency or to share news of a birth or death. But as technology improved, people could increasingly afford to pick up the telephone and talk through details of their lives with friends and loved ones, instead of taking the time to sit down and write. More recently, the advent of e-mail has further diminished the flow of snail mail correspondence." - Jack Kerouac And Allen Ginsberg: The Letters, xxi

I believe the last generation to truly enjoy and make use of letter writing was the Baby Boomers. My parents both came quite late into the baby boom. My mother was born in the 1958 and my father in 1961 (If I'm not mistaken. I'm never very sure). Still, I do remember a time, when I was much younger, when my mother would sit down and write out these long letters to her sisters and parents. Now most conversation between her and her side of the family is made with phone calls and, more than likely, emails (although my Aunt Sue does write rather lengthy notes in her Christmas cards).

As much as I don't want to admit to it, I don't think my generation, or the one before it, has much use for letter writing. Things are faster and easier now with the internet. We can say what we want and be done with it. Then there's that (possibly) personal sense of fame every time something is posted. I know when I make an exceptional status update I like to have everyone remark upon it. Of course, that is my ego (and yes, I do blame Facebook for making larger than it actually should be).

I'm getting off track.

Letter writing is a lost art unfortunately and I offer my lamentation (this is where refusing to live in my own time comes in). I believe, although maybe not firmly, that the internet has made the community of people sloppy writers. Everyone should have a good sense of speech, communication, and it's usefulness. I would love to see a letter in my mailbox randomly. Truthfully, though, it's a tough thing to constantly do. It takes time. It takes thought. There's sort of this big expectation that the recipient is going to really READ the letter. It's not like an email where one click of a button could make it disappear as if it never existed at all. It's there, it's real. You can touch it. Every pen stroke is visible. Every scratched out mistake. With that sort of pressure, it takes even more time to really make a letter. It is, in my personal opinion, art. From whomever it may be, it is a piece of art. Maybe I'm over romanticizing the letter. But let's be honest, if you recieved a letter tomorrow, how excited would you be? Especially if it was written by someone you really cared about?

I value the aniquity and the simplicity of it, I suppose. Say what you will, I think people would be better writers if they hand wrote or even typed letters to one another. Real letters. Not just email. A piece of writing in a stamped envelope. They'd at least value it more.

That's all I've got. Until next time.

The Famous Networking Site Once Again Silently Murders My Muse.

Hello again. If you haven't gathered by looking at the time stamp, its about 12:35 in the am on Saturday, January 9. Yeah, We're already that far. We just celebrated Christmas. And then time and life continued its lightspeed journey to the end. Thanks time, my mortal enemy. One of these days I'll defeat you. Until then, enjoy yourself. *Sneer*

I turned on my laptop to come on here and post something. Then I got distracted by Facebook for about 30 minutes. Facebook, also an enemy. "Hey Mike, log onto Facebook to check your updates and messages. It should only take five minutes"

"You sure Facebook? You generally..."

"JUST SIGN ON...please?" So I do. We hang out. Facebook tells me my friend commented on a photo of me. Then I look at my friends photo album. Make some comments. Change my status. Watch 20 videos my friend Dave sent me. Next thing I know, 3 hours of my life are gone. I'll remember this on my death bed. Sure, I could have enjoyed life, but instead I relived the past AGAIN by looking at photos and looking at Facebook pages of people whom I have not spoken to in at least 4 years, just so I know what's going on in their lives without actually talking to them.

Does anyboy else like the irony in that? A network to help us stay in touch with people we lost touch with, only to keep them still at arm's length, and that arm is hundreds of miles long? I thought it was good irony.

Anyway, Facebook ruined my life. So now I kinda forgot what I was going to write about. Oh, I was reading poetry and I thought about my professor and advisor David Clewell and how he said something along the lines of "Poetry is bigger than the poet". And I had this moment of satori, but its long since gone.

So, since I don't have anything to really write about, I'm going to bed.