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Hundertwasser: We Live In Paradise

I manage five web sites, four blogs, one MySpace profile, two Twitter profiles, teach three online college classes, send out three email newsletters, run one Yahoo group and one Flickr site for fellow alumni, get about 1,000 emails, mostly junk, and 10,000 total visitors at these various sites each week.

With so many digital networks running in and out of my life, why do I feel out of touch? I am one big social network and yet I feel entirely antisocial.

Remember when being connected meant having the family over for Sunday dinner, or going to the beach with your kids? Or playing cards in the kitchen til late at night with another couple, having a laugh and losing maybe 2 bucks?

When did I stop going out for dinner with normal, healthy grown-ups who could talk about politics or sports and not throw food at each other?

When did the women in my life all end up 20 years younger than me and have social histories that would make Britany Spears look like Mother Teresa?

When did I suddenly stop drinking good Cabernet and honest Chianti and instead decide that vodka on the rocks was a suitable dinner drink?

When did I start thinking that every TV news anchor, commentator, blogger, and political pundit was a whore, 20 IQ points dumber than me, and pathologically narcissistic?

When did I start defining my life by my favorite scenes in movies or a dozen old songs that I can’t remember the words to anymore?

When did I stop using language to reveal the hidden life of my soul and the lives of others, and instead start scribbling 200 word monologues about nothing on blogs that most people don’t bother to read, or if they do it’s just to tell me I’m full of shit.

I must be breaking some social networking rule because I haven’t read too many rants here about people feeling disconnected, out of touch, and totally baffled by the way things have turned out in this totally wired world.

It must be me. Old Rake. The Teddy Bear waking up from his long winter nap a little groggy and cranky.

Beckett said, “I can’t go on, I’ll go on.”

Rake says, “I can go on, but I won’t.”

Instead, I’ll go checking my blogs and web sites and email accounts like a tired lobster fisherman, slowly cruising over the dark waters, wondering what I’ve caught at this hour of the night.

Most likely, it’s just dead fish and an old pair of sneakers.