We’re connected in so many different ways via technology … yet there’s this immense disconnect. Now there’s this pressure to present yourself that you’re happy, that you’re doing well. It creates anxiety.

(Lori Mothersell, therapist)

While listening to Kraftwerk’s Radio-Activity album tonight, I discovered something that I never noticed before.

First check out Kraftwerk’s Airwaves, recorded in 1975. Pay attention to 0:16 and 0:40.

Six years later, a small English band called Depeche Mode had a smash hit with a song called New Life. Pay attention to 0:04 and 0:28.

Yeah.

And we are not the only ones: check out those impressive numbers about world population growth.

100 years ago in the San Francisco Chronicle: road rage on the streets of San Francisco. Be sure to read it all the way until the end – I’m not sure if the writer was being sarcastic or serious.

Nov. 21, 1911: Yesterday’s accident at the intersection of Van Ness and Golden Gate avenues, in which a boy was knocked down, calls attention to the need of stricter regulation of automobile traffic. Yesterday the boy was probably at fault, as is usually the case whenever a bicyclist is concerned because of their propensity to wobble all over the street. But there is entirely too much speeding and other disregard of the rules of the road. That part of Van Ness is a regular speeding ground. And when cars whiz around at 40 miles per hour it is time for all citizens to look to their lives before they step off the sidewalk. As for horse-drawn traffic, there are a number of ordinances regulating them. But wagons wander all over the street taking their own sweet time, and on Market Street it is a common sight to see a big wagon, its frame covered with advertisements, being walked down the street close to the car tracks, blocking traffic except for such cars and buggies as have the temerity to dash around. In one European capital, an experiment was tried of marking the asphalt-um with white lines, within which vehicles should be kept. At intersections, a curved arrow marks the sweep of the turn. It is an excellent plan although, of course, it will never be adopted because of its novelty.

Great writing? Check. Humor? Check. In even the smallest piece? Check. This is why I read Esquire Magazine:

Say the cute little four-year-old down the block made a bowl of lemonade but instead of sugar used Splenda and instead of lemons used lemon flavoring and put it in a big bowl filled with ice and set it in the sun so all the ice melted and the “lemonade” got kind of hot and she got bored and went inside and a Labrador retriever came along and lapped some up and then stuck his head in the bowl and got the stuff all up in his nose and sneezed uncontrollably into the bowl for a while. That’s what it tastes like. On ice.

Almost makes me want to try this ready-made margarita. But what would I do with the rest of the bottle? Exactly.

You’ve got an emergency. Who would you call at four in the morning, knowing that they would get out of bed and do whatever they could to help you? Those are your friends. That reduces your Christmas-card list a lot.

(Piers Morgan, TV Host, in Esquire Magazine)

Kollege Christian Schmidt schreibt eine Kolumne über manchmal geistfreie Spieletests auf Spiegel Online (hier die Langfassung), Kollege Mick Schnelle antwortet darauf erbost in einer Kolumne auf GamersGlobal, während Kollegin Petra Fröhlich ihre Verstimmung ebenfalls auf Spiegel Online verkündet. Kollege Alexander Laschewski fügt in einer eigenen Kolumne auf AreaGames einige neue Gesichtspunkte hinzu.

Nachdem ich all diese Artikel und mehrere hundert Kommentare dazu gelesen sowie etliche eigene verfasst habe, juckt es mich in den Fingern, der Debatte einen eigenen Kommentar hinzuzufügen, gespeist aus der Erfahrung von 18 meist schreibend verbrachten Jahren.

Allerdings hinke ich durch das Studium der oben verlinkten Werke meinem eigenen Tagewerk etwas hinterher – ich verspreche aber, morgen, spätestens Freitag ein paar hoffentlich schlaue Zeilen getippt zu haben. Ein erster Entwurf steht bereits.

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