Watching the devastating tidal waves sweep over towns in northern Japan reminded me of something.
Some people are drama queens. Drama royalty. They encounter an inconvenience and embrace it, alerting anyone within earshot about their sniffles, the price of gas, a stubbed toe, insomnia, aching mitochondria, their sick cat, their overactive healthy cat, and their shoelaces which just won’t stay tied; they believe with a degree of sincerity that such suffering is in fact unique, and that they have a legitimate dearth of luck that is not encountered by the average person.
One thing is very clear: the internet has revolutionized whining.
Now when I brew a fresh cup of coffee in the morning and sit down to read the day’s news and the night’s emails, I inevitably check Facebook and Twitter. It’s a habit. I’m greeted by hundreds of people, some of whom I know personally or professionally, and some of whom I’ve never met, publically declaring that they feel A LITTLE BIT FLUISH! Or that they can’t believe they have been waiting ten count’em TEN minutes for the bus. Or that their cell phone signal is just terrible and they can just barely even update their status to tell you about it. Whiners love social media.
Sometimes such messages seem to comprise the majority of what I read on Facebook. But I am an information addict, and I cannot look away. I can’t even bring myself to block the chronic complainers, as I possess the delusional belief that they might find out that I silenced their information, essentially snuffing our digital friendship.
Regarding complaining about modern technology, Louis C.K. said it much better than I ever could: “Everything is amazing and nobody’s happy.”
Toughen up, you soft-handed iPhone-swiping soy-eaters! You well-groomed arugula-loving sophisticates! A little cold isn’t going to kill you. There are problems in the world that are on a different logarithmic scale than the challenges you face everyday. And while I’m yelling with my fingertips – get a haircut and a shave you damn hipsters! Those glasses you’re wearing better have some serious refractive capabilities, or us blindies will knock those plastic specs right back to the thrift store from whence they came… by means of a strongly worded email.
Alright. I’m done complaining.
cocopunk 