In Ancient Greece old philosophers hung around the marketplace philosophizing until young Greeks stole their togas to wear to parties. In America past old coots sat around the wood stove at the general store spouting opinions until the owner gave them free crackers just to shut them up. In my hometown old coots go to Sykes, famous for its 10 cent coffee, to discuss life in the subtle tones of farmers who have spent most of their lives around loud machinery.
But now we have a new forum, the internet, a world wide soapbox where you can shout your lungs out and people can ignore you, but not throw vegetables. I am a writer, no one in the publishing world knows it, but I am a writer, or possibly just a coot hanging around the forum, eating crackers. Somehow it just feel more writer-like to type my ramblings neatly onto the computer screen than scribble them in notebooks which nobody sees. I have just entered kicking and screaming into Facebook where, after all the years of being as frugal with words as I am with money, (never use two words if you can get by with one) I am frustrated by the 427 allowable spaces. I am hard enough to understand in context, much less in little bytes. After this rant about people crass enough to broadcast what they ate for breakfast, I promise to write something beautiful or helpful. I have a lots of wisdom to share. Where did all these cracker crumbs come from?
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