Right, so last time I was ranting on about the fickleness of you humans (present company excepted, naturally!), and how it seems to be magnified exponentially by the use of social media.
Well, even if I didn’t say exactly that, that’s kind of where I was going with it.
Anyway, I’d started talking about the follow-for-follow types…
And isn’t it funny that the people who are quickest to follow/unfollow you are those in your own field? And no, I’m not referring in my own case to other vampires (or an actual field)! I wish I was! It’d be nice to know there are others out there… somewhere… No, I mean, in your field of work… Are they expecting some kind of solidarity? From a total stranger? That sounds harsh, we’re all in it (whatever this ‘it’ is) together. I know that. I have some social awareness!
What I’m referring to are those individuals who seem to think ‘Aha! A fellow blogger/writer/actor/musician etc; I’ll follow them! Surely they’ll reciprocate and help me increase my numbers!’ which is a little bit cheeky, but that’s not the issue. The issue is, they give you a window of about half an hour in which to follow them back before they strop off and take their precious follow with them. Sorry, I exaggerate (I do that – you’re used to it by now). It’s more like 35 minutes, possibly an hour.
Which leads me to…
2. I’m Following EVERYONE!
These seem to range from the ‘I’m a 12-year-old that’s just got an account‘ to the ‘please to follow me, click on link for fun‘ type. They’re like a hailstorm. They come, they annoy the hell out of you, they go. No-one is safe from their scattergun approach to following. And they rarely have a genuine photo. It’s either of someone older (Oi! Kid! Stop twooting and get your homework done!), someone younger, a celebrity or some random foliage plant. Or a very wobbly looking stock photo.
And that brings us to this one…
3. Creepy McCreep-creep
Face of an angel, hashtags of a serial killer. Okay, a bit extreme. But something is telling you that this person just isn’t the fresh-faced ingenue (or animé character) they claim to be in their profile photo. They like your every post (even the angry rants), and they reply to e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. within seconds of you posting.
How does someone manage to compose a 300-word reply post in 10 seconds?
These ones probably will never, ever unfollow you. Ever.
But after a while, they will go very quiet. Probably they’ve found someone else to repost/like about.
And then of course, there’s…
4. Ooh! A Single Post That I Like
You know how it is… You go out somewhere. You have what turns out to be a life-changing slice of chocolate cake (but aren’t they all life-changers?). You can’t resist sharing a picture of this revelatory piece of confectionery, Then this happens:
@ILoveCake222: Omigosh! someone who shares my passion for Black Forest Gateau *FOLLOW*
@CakesAreLife2301: This person just posted a picture of chocolate cake! Soulmate! *FOLLOW*
@GimmeCakes21: At last! Someone who gets me! I wonder what other cake they like..? *FOLLOW*
You get the idea.
And now, being that this is your own social media account, and you have a brain that you’re rather fond of using, something else catches your eye. Like your friend’s cute kitten that does something adorable (well, adorable for a cat – I’m more of a dog lover myself). You go ‘Awww!’. You take a picture. You post it. Probably with some cute pun like ‘Friends fur-ever’.
And this happens…
@ILoveCake222 / @CakesAreLife2301 / @GimmeCakes21: A CAT?! TRAITOR! This person clearly hates cakes! Oh, what have I been doing, following them?! She tricked me. I feel dirty now. Gah. Cake-hater.
@ILoveCats68: Aww! Cute picture! Someone else who obviously loves cats as much as I do! *FOLLOW*
And so on.
But occasionally, just occasionally, in amongst the rabid keyboard warriors and clickbait, there’s that little golden nugget that gives you hope for online humanity.
What is it?
I’ll tell you next time. (This post will be too long otherwise).
The answer will amaze you!
Just a short rant today as I seem to have run out of time for some reason. Which is highly ironic, if you read on.
I betcha didn’t think that vampires are heavily into their technology…
Nah, thanks Hollywood. I do like my old stuff, yes. But I limit it to things like clothes, furniture, music, books etc. For instance, next to my desk is a 70s style shelf with a 1920s phone and one of this Echo thingies sat on it.
So: creature comforts – retro; labour-saving devices – as modern as I can get them.
I know I’ve also told you about my attention span being appalling. A classic example is today when my phone went off to remind me to come back to the human world for a little while.
Ah! That’s where I was going with this.
I have a multitude of reminders on my phone. I jokingly call it the other half of my brain – the working half. And this is another vampire thing. To you, a week is a week, to me – it’s nothing. It goes by in a flash. I remember being asked once whether or not I had seen any of my former classmates from grammar school… I said that I’d seen Bob a couple of weeks previously.
It seems Bob had moved to New Zealand eighteen months previously.
Now I have those reminders and alarms that help me keep track of time as you humans perceive it.
And I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since I spoke to you last. I swear it was only a couple of days ago that I told you that I had no intention of storing any of your information.
And when the beeping noise went off this morning, I was all set to shout at my phone (’cause that’ll help) in a fit of righteous indignation (is there any other kind?) until I checked and yes, it really has been a fortnight.
Random question – how do you talk about your Echo device in front of her without her butting into the conversation? I can’t even say words like ‘relax’ or ‘taxis’ in her presence without her chirping up with ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know that one.’ or blasting me with some completely unrelated thrash metal (Why?!).
Another random question – what’s the weirdest alarm you have on your phone?
That’s a rhetorical question, I assure you!
Let’s talk privacy. And no, I’m not talking about shutting the toilet door… And I’m not talking about those people who have the most cringingly personal phone calls – very loudly – while out in public. Those kind of things are annoying, but they don’t really hurt anyone. Well, someone may need therapy after the first one but…
I’m talking something way more insidious than that. Not that catching someone on the loo is insidious. However, this is something that’s been an issue for ages and is now finally getting sorted. I’m talking online privacy.
You and I, we don’t know each other, do we? I mean, I rant, you read, That’s about it. Some times you even leave me little messages. I like that. BUT!
I don’t know your name, or where you are, or any of those kind of things.
And that’s how I want to keep it.
I’m not going to collect any of your personal data. Nor is the website. In fact, the only way that’s going to happen is if you choose to fill in any forms on this website.
Here’s the grownup stuff…
- If you leave comments, the data is held by the WordPress.com website.
- There’s a contact form on the website. It’s connected to a Gmail account, So if you did ever fill it in, then that data would be shared with Gmail.
- Any email sign-up form on this website is connected to a MailChimp account, so if you complete it, then the data would be shared with MailChimp.
Right… anything else?
Oh yes… Any other data stuff collected about you is held by WordPress.com and is only available to the end user (the owner of this website) and it’s anonymous, like, for instance, visitor statistics. So you can freely come visit as many times as you like! I won’t know it’s you. Nobody will.
No data from this website is downloaded by the owner of the site and stored anywhere other than the places I’ve already talked about – you know, the cloud services I mentioned previously.
I’ll talk more internetty stuff next time…
Thanks to Sarah Marie at https://sarahmariegraye.com for her help with getting all this gubbins together.
I know I normally disappear about June or July and pop back up again in September or October.
This year was a bit different. The summer was rubbish, but then you knew that already.
We’ve moved again. Had to. Well, I say ‘again’, but it’s only ‘again’ for me. The hubster is swearing on any and everyone’s life that he’s never ever, ever (with extra ever) going to move again. It was a long and drawn-out process and one which was bereft of wifi.
Modern savagery, right?
How did we survive?!
I don’t know, but the trauma will no doubt last for a while. Just joking. But it was a nuisance.
I’ll just check my bank ba– I can’t.
No time to go food shopping, I’ll just do it onli– dang.
Ooh, I need to email Bob abou- Gahhhhhhh!
#FirstWorldProblems, as they say.
Anyway, we’re here now. And I’m able to talk to you again. I’m really glad about that. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed talking to you.
Okay, at you then.
Blame the jet-speed brain again. That’s how eight months have gone by so fast. Or so slowly. I don’t really know which it is. Another weird thing about being a vampire – our (is there an ‘our‘, or is it just a ‘my‘? I don’t know…) sense of timing varies between brilliant or non-existent.
And when I say ‘varies‘ what I actually mean is – it’s one thing or the other, baby. No in-betweens for this puppy.
(Did I ever mention that my favourite clock runs anticlockwise? It’s so much easier to tell the time by it…)
NASA could set the clocks on the Space Station by us/me.
I do everything now in a minute.
Mind you, that second one’s more a Welsh thing than a vampire thing.
Historically, it could have been a vampire that named The Hundred Years’ War (116 years). Or The Thousand Days’ War (1130 days). Or The Thirty Days War (304 days)…
But not The Eighty Years’ War – that one actually did last eighty years.
I was walking back home with the hubster today after a little trot into town. I confused him. I often do. I mentioned something about a lady in a Burberry scarf walking on the other side of the street. She looked so smart.
Then about ten foot-dragging minutes later, with much reflection and cogitation on my part, I wondered aloud whether our dog was alright on her own (oh yes! That’s another bit of news – we have a little rescue dog now).
Did I say ten minutes?
Apparently it was less than a few seconds. The hubster was puzzled as to why I was so concerned whether Scarf Lady would need to be let out for a poo.
Til next time. Promise not to leave it eight months.
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