Let’s talk about, drum roll please, The Internet.

We all have places we go on the Internet. Places of routine. You cycle through a pre-set dial of sites, pruning and adding from time to time in an effort to create the best “signal to noise” ratio you can find. I have a handful of sites and blogs in particular I check every day (The Gist, Some Space To Think, Hollywood Elsewhere, etc.) because I either know fresh content comes daily or because I hope the site will have fresh content. Some sites I don’t check every day but include in occasional rotation just to see, and some I wait to see what links pop up on the Twitters or the Faceypages because their content is sporadic.

But, as noted, I’m always pruning, I’m always adding.

So, I’m looking for recommendations. What do you read daily or weekly? Blogs are good, obviously, but they needn’t be blogs to get a daily visit. I like all kinds of stuff: game stuff, science stuff, pop culture, ranting commentary, whatever. But I’m less interested in you targeting recommendations for me and more interested in just finding out where you go and why you go there.

So, ball’s in your court.

Also: balls in your mouth.

Hahaha! See what I did there?

Do you see? Hahaha. Haha. … hah. Ahem.

I have such shame. It plagues me at night like an incubus on my chest.

Forgive my transgressions. And, y’know, answer the damn questions.

Today, in the 23rd installment, we talk about:

• Twitter (again!)
• Sexy massages (scandalous!)
• Work update (ew, boring!)
• Links (these don’t taste like sausage or golf!)

Two shells. Barrel closed.

One double-barrel buckshot enema, coming right up.

More Terribleminds Twitter Talk, Now With 10% More “Who Gives A Shit?”

Before I begin, a question: did I manage to convince any non-Twitter users yesterday to actually try it? It wasn’t my aim; I was speaking mostly to current tweeps, but I have to wonder if I drew anybody closer to it, or I only served to repel you further from its 140-character minimalism.

One of the things I wanted to talk about yesterday was to mention some of the people I follow that… well, aren’t friends or colleagues. When I first joined up with The Twitters, I followed a lot of people I thought were going to be interesting. More specifically, I followed a lot of “geek staples” — @neilhimself, @jonathancoulton, @hodgman, and the like. Nerd celebrities, plus a rasher of other tweet-meats — authors, celebrities, and what-not. What I found, surprisingly, was that a lot of these people offered me (note that word: me) more noise than signal. They weren’t saying insightful or funny things as often as I’d like. Maybe they were boring, or cryptic, or purely self-promoting. This does not diminish my interest in those people, just in their twitterstreams.

And so, I unfollowed. I’d far rather follow a colleague who will converse with me than, say, Neil Gaiman. (Again, I like Neil Gaiman. I just don’t follow him anymore. So, if you’re a proselyte, please don’t think I’m throwing stones. I’m merely tuning the knobs of my tweet-radio differently than you; we like different frequencies.)

That said, I still follow a number of people with whom I have no personal relationship but who generally offer interesting daily signal. And thus, I birth from my trembling loins a list of “Hey, Maybe You Want To Check These Tweeps Out.” Just don’t eat the afterbirth. I’m saving that for the dogs.

Roger Ebert: Ebert lost his real voice, and he gained an Internet voice. The guy tweets like a fiend. And while I don’t always agree with him, I’m a big fan of the way he says things even if I don’t always agree with the things he says. He’s vocal. He’s ironic. He’s very liberal. Definitely an interesting voice — a good preset on the player. For an added bonus, if you don’t know what happened to Ebert with the cancer and whatnot, check out the recent Esquire piece about him.

Carl Zimmer: I love science, but I’ll fully admit that it’s often too brainy for me. I fade out. Carl Zimmer is one of those guys who helps bridge “science” with “accessibility” without losing intelligence or insight. I first read Zimmer with his marvelous and freakish Parasite Rex, and was happy as a dog rolling around in gopher diarrhea when I found he was on Twitter. Tweets science, obviously. A great trusted content filter for me on that topic.

John August: Tweets about writing (screenwriting in particular), Wordpress, stuff.

Adam Savage: Y’know — the Mythbusters dude. One half of my secret genetically-designed parentage. Occasionally he strays toward “noise” rather than “signal,” but he says enough funny stuff and posts some interesting on-set pics that I keep on keepin’ on.

JA Konrath: Writer. King of the e-Books. Frequent insightful speaker on the subject of How Publishing Is Changing. Also, a really funny dude. For bonus points, add other authors I follow: John Scalzi, Cherie Priest, Brian Keene, and of course, Robert McCammon.

[EDIT: Somehow I missed Michael Ruhlman. Bourdain cohort? King of the real cookbook? A great food writer? Follow, if you please.]

So, there’s a quick shotgun spatter. If you’re looking for daily amusement, I can recommend @FakeAPStylebook, @kingpanpan (bear of the day!), and, of course, @Oatmeal. For functionality, you could do worse than with @NewScientist and @cookbook (which provides 140-character recipes).

I am also taking recommendations. If you think I personally should be following someone, and I’m not — toss it in the comments. Do it. Don’t make me mewl and weep.

Okay, so, all that said, here’s a question –

Do you ever reply to people who might, erm, be far outside your Social Twitter Bracket? I do periodically, and then I wonder about the efficacy of doing so. Or the point. I might send something to @ebertchicago, but then I wonder: is it lost? Does it just get swallowed? Obviously he can’t reply to everyone. Lawdy even knows whether he reads them all. You do a quick search and it looks like he gets hundreds of responses per tweet. That’s a lot of noise for him; if I reply, am I just adding static? Further, nobody wants to appear desperate. The Internet already stinks of the cologne called Les Despair. I don’t want to add my own needy emissions.

Lube Me Up, Scotty!

For the combo-pack that is “Valentine’s Day” plus “Wife’s Birthday,” we went out and had a couples massage.

This is not the first time we’ve done so. Usually when we go on vacation, we do so (and massages by the beach in Hawaii as whales are literally breaching in the ocean ahead of you is an experience that cannot be described with the garbage syllables of the human tongue), and it’s always nice.

Thing is, if you’re a dude, you need to know some things. Things they don’t necessarily tell you the first time through.

First: you’re going to be naked. You don’t have to be. You can leave your man-panties on. Hell, since it’s all about you, they’d probably let you leave a suit of chainmail armor on. But, I assure you, the more naked (nuder?) you get, the better the massage.

Second: you’re probably going to get an erection. I assume the massage therapists deal with this all the time, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s any less embarrassing for you. It’s not that you’re necessarily all sexed up or anything — but that massage lady (or, heaven forbid, massage dude) is like an origami ninja with the sheets atop your unclothed body. She will fold and flip that sheet so only the part-to-be-massaged is exposed, but that means she folds it like a napkin right at the Mason-Dixon line that marks the border between “thigh” and “thine lordly junk.” Her hands, your thighs. And her hands, your ass cheeks. Seriously. In fact, there exist few places on your body she won’t touch. Verboten: Junk, rosebud, and nipple tips. Everywhere else is pretty much fair game. So, because she’s got oily hands a-roaming, your body thinks, “I’d better send up the periscope to see what’s what.” Then, wham. A flag up the flagpole. Stiffy. Boner. Boom. The woman could look like a trash bag full of fat raccoons and it wouldn’t matter. Being anxious only deepens the problem and ruins the massage. So, what I’m saying is, be prepared going in. Anxiety during the massage is counter to the point of a massage.

Third: you might have to pee. They tell you to drink a lot of water before and after, and that translates to, “I have to pee.” Seriously. Make wee-wee beforehand.

Fourth: for the rest of the day, you’re going to smell like massage oil. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s not like they rub you down with hippo gall or garlic sauce or the intestines of pigeons or anything. It smells nice. But you’re going to smell it until you take a shower. You might even be a bit greasy. Since they will massage your head, that also means it’s in your hair, which further means you will walk out of there with JBFITB (just been fucked in the bathroom) hair. So. Y’know. FYI.

Work Update

I continue to have lots of long-term projects, but zero short-term projects.

Know of work? Freelance penmonkey stuff? Give a shout. Daddy needs some gold.

The long-term projects are going well.

The television pilot script is in-progress.

The film rewrite is being swiftly put through the paces (and pages) — I generally write 3-5 pages a day, but on this sucker, I did eight on Monday, 11 on Tuesday, and nine on Wednesday, which puts me past the first act in three short days. The very robust outline and plan to get here probably helped a lot. Now, second act.

The novel is… well, I mean, it’s out there. In the ether. Super-Agent Stacia Decker is on the case. I don’t really know exactly what happens now? I’d love for it to be, “Book sells! Now you’re rich!” but realistically, it’s probably, “Book’s too weird! No sale! Cry into your bologna sandwich!” They’re all gonna laugh at me. Bucket of pig’s blood. Sadness.

Time will tell. I recognize that any of these three big projects could suddenly suffer an embolism and shit the bed. But, they continue to persevere against the odds, and the Game of Inches continues, with inches gained, and none lost. Here’s hoping that the slow march of progress continues ineluctably forward.

Links!

Speaking of Twitter: saw this from Lance, and it’s interesting. Meet the first miners of the new social graph. Interesting Twitter metrics, with some neat sites to help you examine your social connections online. The question, according to this article, becomes: who don’t I know? Who should I know?

Holy crap! Augmented reality + LEGO! The future is now.

By god, I hope you’re checking out Gameplaywright. For instance, if you were looking for an interview with the designers of The Dresden Files RPG (Fred Hicks, Ryan Macklin, Lenny Balsera), you might just find it at Gameplaywright (Part One, Part Two).

Speaking of Fred Hicks — he would very much like you to eat awesomely.

Someone would like to tell you that “a caring god would not have designed us like this.” A thumb in the eye of intelligent design?

From Doyce, I saw this, and it’s spot-the-fuck-on: in terms of taxes, health care, and other stuff, stop demanding you get screwed. Read that. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Finally: hey! Look, Ma. One of my photos ended up at Abduzeedo (a site I love), and I missed it.

A reminder that a ton of other awesome shit lurks at the terribleminds Tumblr page. Tumblelog. Tumbleblog. Tumblebug. Tumblenuts. Rum-tum-tugger. Blargh.

Let me say up front: I loves me the Twitters. I do. It’s a place with few rules but a lot of preferences. Everybody has their own way of using it. It’s not just a social tool. It’s a social multi-tool. Like the pliers? I like the tiny scissors. Dig the belt punch? I like the strawberry-scented butt plug.

So, when I talk about all the shit I’m going to talk about, take it with a grain of salt. In fact, take it with a whole salt lick. Pitch it right over your shoulder. (It might hit and kill a hobo. And nobody likes a hobo.) What I’m saying here, these are just my thoughts. My opinions. With Twitter, you do what you like. For instance, if you were to follow the rules put forth by the mighty Oatmeal, you might learn that you shouldn’t tweet about what you’re eating. Me, I’m jolly well gonna tweet about what I’m eating. You’re either gonna suck it up, or you’re gonna stop following me. And that’s okay. Them’s the rules in the Twitterdome. Two tweeps enter. One tweep leaves.

Facebook Is An Asshole

I want to be upfront with this: Facebook is an asshole. If you’re wondering, “Should I use Twitter? I already have Facebook,” just know that Facebook is a real dickbag. He’s gotten fat, that Facebook. Bloated on his own self-worth. He’s drunk with his own power. He’s like that Winchester Mansion — behind the scenes, some guilt-mad programmer’s widow is just building nowhere rooms and passageways into the network structure. I’m over there and it’s like whack-a-mole. I’m constantly having to hide people’s game applications. I thought taking care of Farmville and Mafia Wars would do it, but every day is a new photo application or, “Do you know what your friends call you behind your back?” or some asshole quiz like “Which character from Small Wonder are you?” Every five tweets, someone’s just hatched a dynocorn egg, or they’ve grown some kind of mutant varietal of man-eating corn over at the Monster Farm, or they want me to have some goddamn gift or poke or virulent strain of digital anthrax.

I can’t get rid of it. I go to Facebook, I feel under siege.

Hence, go to Twitter. Go there now. Do not pass GO. Do not collect your welfare check. Do not wash your hands. Do not take the Lord’s name in vain. And so on.

Don’t Be Sad If I Don’t Follow You

Hey, listen, let’s be cool about this. Are you cool? I need you to be cool.

You follow me on Twitter, I might not follow you back. Or, I might stop following you.

It is absolutely nothing personal. Some folks follow thousands of tweeps. They seem to follow anyone who follows them. That’s fine. That’s how they do the Twitters. But it tells me that they use it as a one-way street. They send out tweets, but don’t read missives from anybody else. Either that, or they have way too much free time on their hands.

Me, I follow 200 – 250 people. And I’m always adjusting that list, trying to tune the knobs so I get more signal and less noise. It’s like a radio station. I can only have so many presets. Don’t be sad.

Hey, it happens to me, too. I follow people, and they don’t always follow me back. Or sometimes you say shit on the Twittertoobs, and next thing you know, followers bail on you left and right. Curiously, I don’t lose followers when I tweet my vile, scum-oozing profanity, but last week I said something faintly mean about climate change deniers and I lost like, five followers in the next ten minutes. That shit happens. That’s okay.

That’s Twitter.

The 25% Rule

This is how I do the Twitters:

• 25% for self-promotion
• 25% for random bullshit
• 25% as “trusted content filter”
• 25% replies

Now, to be clear, I just made that 25% number up. But it’s probably roughly accurate? Maybe? Sorta? I dunno.

To explain more clearly:

Random bullshit is easy. That’s just random bullshit.

Replies, you understand that, too. I reply to people. In fact, you could probably lump that right into the “random bullshit” header and rename this the “33% rule.” I leave that in your capable hands to decide.

Self-promotion explains itself, but I want to add a note here: I generally stop following people who are only self-promoters. I don’t mind that you do it. I do it. It’s part of the point. I follow certain people because I want to see what they’re doing. Got a new book out? New blog post? New album? I want to know about it. That’s a good part of why I follow you. But if your Twitterstream is just an endless parade of masturbatory links, I may politely label your tweets “noise” rather than “signal.” Ding. Unfollowed.

“Trusted content filter” is a fancy way of saying, I sometimes see things I think are awesome, and I want to show you those things. So, I make with the linky-linky, and you make with the clicky-clicky. And next thing you know, you’re watching a grainy video where someone hunts a unicorn for sport, or you’re getting an article about Secret Beardborn Superpowers, or you’re learning how to write haiku in arterial spray. Good times. Part of why I follow people is that they are providing me with a steady stream of information and entertainment. Writing tips. Cool thoughts on game design. News about TV shows. Anything and everything.

Back to the top, though –

Sometimes, I want to see the random bullshit.

I like it when people just… mouth off. They say witty things. They talk about the crazy stuff going on in their lives, good or bad. Twitter is like a conversation at the street corner. It’s just some folks hanging out, shooting the shit. Drop in, drop out. I want to hear what’s going on in “the neighborhood.” Sometimes, I just want to hear a little random bullshit.

Follow Friday, With Crazy Super Laser Precision, Pyoo-Pyoo

I am hereby changing my Follow Friday procedures.

You may do the same, or you may give me the finger and throw a bottle at my head.

Your call.

I find the #followfriday phenomenon a little overwrought at this point. Not to say I don’t appreciate people including me in it. I do. I am very appreciative. I will note, however, that it rarely nets me any new followers. One here, one there, most times none at all. And, to be honest, I don’t usually become a follower out of #followfriday recommendations, either. Why is that, exactly?

It’s because the process generally lacks context.

Imagine: a friend of yours comes up to you on the street. They say, “Hey, you should really get together with some of my other friends.” And you’re all like, “Oh yeah?” And your friend is all like, “Yeah, you should really meet Mike Bob Bill Cassandra Betty Juniper Codpiece Hiram Ricky The Other Ricky and Little Junior.”

You’re left, blinking, jaw open. Who? What? Wuzza?

That’s kind of how I feel getting the #followfriday tweets from people:

#ff @scooter @junkins @dickboy @yellowsnow @rampantasshat @mikeyp @poopoopants @aceinthehole @skeevyguy69 @analchlamydia @cockchancre @petey

I’m like, “Who the hell are these people?” If I see my name, I’ll say, “Hey, look! My name.” And then I fade out.

But if you say:

#followfriday Man, you should really follow @yellowsnow because he makes me pee blood he’s so dang funny.

…then I’m far likelier to make with the clicky-clicky and check out his tweetfeed.

Again, you do as you like. From me, expect precision-honed followfriday recommendations. Like a laser, with laser sounds. Pyoo! Pyoo! BOOSH. FOOM. *screams of the dying*

Know That Sometimes, You Gotta Take That Shit To Email

Twitter is awesome for its brevity.

Let’s all try to keep it that way.

If you want to write a letter to someone, send a letter. Do not send them 527 postcards.

If you want to engage in a long conversation with shit-tons of back-and-forth, do not engage in a long-yammering tweet-fest. Take it to email. Or to a blog. Or condense your thoughts into one or two well-placed tweet bullets. Do not send a whole tweet fusillade, because if I happen to follow both of you, then suddenly I’m getting 100 fast tweets that argue which philosopher was sexier or some nonsense. More noise, less signal.

Again, you do what you like. You want to tweet dozens of tweets back and forth about one topic, that’s your bag of pretzels. I might bail on you, though.

Spambots: Collect ‘Em, Trade ‘Em With A Friend

This is just a fun game for you to try: collect spambots. It’s so easy to do! Tweet controversial phrases, and see how many you hook. It’s like fishing for retardobots. “Gay conservative abortion porn bondage Avatar Pauley Perrette Twilight real estate social media marketing Christians!” Go ahead. Tweet that. See how many you can hook. Compare scores with a pal!

Spambots in Twitter obviously do not understand Twitter. For them to function, I have to actively follow VickyTheSlut69. But I won’t. Because I know she’s a mule-kicked spambot. And yet, they persist. So, might as well use it and turn it into a pasttime. Am I right?

And, To Conclude

I was going to write up a list of Awesome New Hashtags I Just Made Up and also offer some tweeps I think you should follow (here’s a freebie: Roger Motherfucking Ebert). Fact is, though, I’m out of time. Lost is coming on. And you’re not going to get in the way of my Lost time, are you? I’ll kill you. I will stab you right in the lungs with this pen. And as you gasp for breath and your chest hole bubbles, I will turn on the TV and use your cooling corpse as a footrest. Know that. I don’t mess around.

I’ll get to those other topics in another post. I promise.

To remind: take no offense from any of this. Do with Twitter as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Or the twlaw? Can you really put “tw” in front of anything and make it work? Twork? Chuck Twendig? Mmm. No. I don’t think that really lays too well. Hrm.

The other day, I told you to throw the pebble.

Today, I’m going to tell you how I sometimes throw the pebble. Or the acorn. Or the pennies. Or the fastball, hand grenade, or angry wombat. Choose your metaphor and hold it tight. Unless you go with “angry wombat,” because you do not want to hug an angry wombat. That fucker will tear your eyes out and drop wombat pellets into the gaping sockets. I’ve seen it. I’ll never forget that trip to the zoo.

Anyway.

Let’s chat about social media, you and I.

This Blog

Obviously, this is my mainstay of social media. This is my biggest handful of pebbles, and I continue to whip them at your computer monitors with as great a velocity as my meager arms will allow. Were I to chart my social media usage on the Internet as some kind of image, this blog would be the center of the spider web. Or the bullet hole in the glass, from which all the cracks branch and fork outward. It’s the beating heart. The biggest dog in the fight. The tallest building in town. And so on and so forth.

This is where I do most of my yammering, and as a writer, I damn sure love to yammer. It’s equal parts home and home base. I feel like, if you come here, it’s because I invited you into my house — but it’s still my house, and it’s got all my decorations on the walls and the dishes in the sink and the smell of coffee brewing and a rattling closet door behind which I keep my latest abductee.

Here, I can pontificate, I can ramble, I control the remote control, I can tuck my hand into my shorts, I can stumble around drunk.

I do have some loose rules for blogging here which I’ve already described, but in short: I blog often (every day), I try to have some variety, I attempt to blog with honesty, and I attempt to blog my “brand,” and my brand is essentially a jacked-up version of me.

The goal of most of my social media is to drive you here, to this blog.

The goal of this blog is to build up an audience and, curiously, drive you away to other places. Does that make sense? You bet your sweet ass it does. The blog isn’t an isolated thing, but is rather connected to a social network of other like-minded people — friends, professionals, what-have-you. Obviously, once cannot link out to Everybody All The Time, but a focused and deliberate gateway out of here is always good. You come to appreciate the other people and places I appreciate. Further, you (ideally!) begin to see this place as a Trusted Content Driver.

In less corporate bullshitty terms, I point to cool shit, and you say, “Hey, look, cool shit.”

And then you tell your friends, “This dude knows cool shit.”

And then they come here.

We won’t talk about how I lock them in my closet. That’s a whole other blog post.

Twitter

(My Twitter page, here.)

Twitter is equal parts news ticker, bullhorn, amusement factory, and Zen delivery machine. You might think of it as a synaptic haiku switchboard. Rarely robust enough for full content, it serves more as connective tissue or delicious marrow to suck from meatier bones.

Actually, I think it was Jeff Tidball who said it best when he suggested that Twitter was essentially “watercooler” talk for all of us who don’t have watercoolers around which to gather. By the way, Tidball’s site is back up with a new face. The simple, elegant typography makes me bow down to it and kiss its digital feet.

I use Twitter most as a content driver (“Go here to see cool thing!”) and for random nonsense (“My dog’s breath smells like shit, because my dog just ate shit!”).

I’m constantly experimenting with, “What’s the best time to tweet something?” Or, “How often should I tweet this?” Loosely, I lean toward tweeting something (like a link to this blog) twice a day, spread out throughout the day a few hours apart. You don’t want to over-market something, but you also want to realize that Twitter sometimes works in shifts — some people show up for the morning shift, the day shift, the graveyard shift. I really do think you can overdo it and become annoying — obviously, I follow a lot of creative types, and if I get two or three of the same link in a day, that’s fine, especially if it’s mixed with general bullshit, cool links and light chattery. The moment the Twitter account becomes nothing more than a marketing mouthpiece, though, I start to fade out and will potentially unfollow. It’s nothing personal, it’s just like tuning out a radio station.

Also, it’s easy to let Twitter conversations grow into things that should be left to e-mail. Multiple times I’ve found myself embroiled in topics that 140 character-bursts do not accommodate, and I’ve also had such conversations fill my Twitter feed from others. Best to keep it brief, so you’re not alienating or annoying readers — again, I say this from the perspective of You As Creator, a creator using social media in his handful of pebbles.

Tumblr

(My Tumblelog, here.)

I’ve only recently gotten on board Tumblr, as per the suggestions of Will “Mad Skillz” Hindmarch, but already I’m really loving it. It’s not the micro-blogging aspect I like; that, I get nicely from Twitter. No, what I dig about Tumblr is that it’s like a visual record of my Internet journeys. An explorer might have a journal of maps and sketches and hastily-scribbled notes — that’s what I get out of Tumblr. I pass by something interesting, I simply click the Share On Tumblr button in Firefox, and poof, there it is.

This serves first as a social media driver, since Tumblr has its own social network attached to it (though one that admittedly remains a bit mysterious to me, for my Tumblarity score seems to indicate… something?). But it also serves second as my own personal repository. The wife comes home, and if there’s something I want to show her, it’s probably on Tumblr. Or I can think back to a great image, and there it is, kept for me, by me. It’s like a visual Evernote, a persistent log of my trials and travels.

Best thing is how low-verbage it is for me. I see other people using Tumblr with full blog posts and lots of text — that’s fine, that’s their bag, but to me that’s not the strength of it. I like that it’s visual. It’s almost artful, honestly, the way it displays. Plus, they have really nice, elegant themes and some very slick typography.

I didn’t “get” Tumblr until I tried it. If you question it, I’d recommend the same.

Facebook

(My Facebook, here.)

Facebook is fast approaching “too much noise, too little signal” territory. As a means by which to catch up with old friends, classmates, co-workers, it’s highly functional. But it’s also clogged with heaving buckets of sewage. Lame apps (“Which merciless dictator are you?”), games (“Rodney needs you to help him bury a Decapitated Hooker in Pimp Town!”), or fan group invites (“Gunter invites you to become a fan of LOOSE STOOLS!”).

Further, Facebook moves fast. So many people use it that anything you throw out there runs the risk of being lost.

Worst of all, Facebook’s constant changes constantly upheave old ways and seem to replace them with new, shittier processes. What is a news feed? What is a live feed? What differentiates my status update from a page update? Who is poking me? Who is superpoking me? Stop throwing snowballs at my head. I don’t want your goddamn Magical Cactus or Chupacabra Egg. No, I will not play Sea Town or help you raise Space Llamas or assassinate your enemies in the Mafia Farm Arena. I am happy you enjoy these games. I just wish Facebook would stop telling me about it.

All of this makes me think I’m using Facebook inaccurately. I used to use it much like I did Twitter, but now, I’ve kind of defaulted to it just being a content delivery system, which is probably annoying to people. Smartest move might be to do what others have done and bind my tweets and status updates on FB together with some application, and choose to have the occasional tweet go to Facebook, as well.

Flickr

(My photostream, here.)

Flickr is an interesting pair to Tumblr, in that it remains a largely visual content delivery system, but in this case, it’s visual content that you yourself have crafted and uploaded. (Er, ideally.)

I’ll admit that my Flickr habits have changed over the last six months. I used to post something every day, which I still do — but back then, I’d play the game and try to get it on the Explore page, and further comment far and wide on a great many other photostreams. That was cool because it earned me comments and a number of Flickr front pages, but since I’m a full-time writer and not a full-time photographer, it was over-focusing on the wrong thing. One of the hard realizations with Flickr is, some social networks only give you an equal return — in essence, a comment per a comment, activity per activity. That’s all well and good, but it’s not really ideal in terms of work output and audience input. I write this blog and I hope that a number of you read it regardless of whether or not I’m involved in your lives. Flickr doesn’t work that way. Unless you’re a major shaker and photo genius, you only tend to get comments if you give them. That would be like, you only visit my blog if I only visit yours. Or, I’ll only buy your book if you buy mine.

Such is the give-and-take of some social networks. Bottom line is, I can’t keep up with that, and it wasn’t earning me the kind of audience I needed. Plus, the 1-to-1 feedback made me even question: “Is my photography really that good, or are they just coming to me because I went to them?” If it’s just one big circle jerk, what’s the point?

Now, I use Flickr differently. I still engage in the community a little, because I’ve met some great people and great artists over there. I do post daily, but a lot of it is just because I enjoy photography and Photoshop. It doesn’t really drive content anywhere, though I do get content from Flickr, usually to feed this blog. Nom, nom, nom.

Livejournal

(My LJ, here.)

I like Livejournal, but mostly it’s an outlier, a place where I can link photos or blog posts. Still, a lot of awesome people are over there, and so I endeavor to visit my Friends page everyday. I’m linking to here (er, from there) more vigorously now, and it’s actually paying off.

Plus, you get some good communities, too.

All told, Livejournal feels a bit dusty, though. It either needs a rebirth or a shovel to the back of the head. It’s definitely a Web 1.0 feel over there — or, Web 1.5 or something. I mean, we’re not talking Geocities, but it has a whiff of antiquity.

Still, it works for what it is. I will say — if you’re over yonder, maybe hook yourselves a Wordpress or Blogspot page. I think you’ll find it more versatile, especially if you’re a creator of some ilk. Just my two cents. You can shove them up my ass if you’re so inclined.

Myspace

Ahhh, Myspace. Unicorns, glitter, Def Leppard, animated gifs. It’s the equivalent of a doodled-upon high school notebook dipped in a strong hallucinogenic tea. It’s an assault to the senses, which is why I’m not even linking to my page. It punches my eyes and soul every time I go over there. Is anybody there anymore? I’ve tried to post links from time to time, and no content — like, zero — drives from There to Here. It’s like drawing on the walls of old Pompeii — you’re advertising in the shadows of ruins.

So, I don’t really use it much anymore. If you’re one of those bands or creators who still keep their main page as Myspace — shame on you. You make Baby Jesus throw up.

And he throws up glitter and unicorns.

Personally, I think that if Facebook keeps going in the same direction, it’ll end up like Myspace — an unholy accommodation of Everybody Doing Everything All At Once Oh My God The Noiseworms Are Boring Into My Soft Brainparts.

See, that’s part of the trick with social media. To my mind, you’re not trying to get The Message (aka your pebble) out to everybody. Or, if you are, you’re trying to focus heavy attention on one area (say, this blog). The rest of social media is in many ways an attempt to grab hold of what I think of as “prime movers” or “proselytes.” Those people (often themselves Trusted Content Drivers) who will retweet you or will be a voice for you even without you asking them to, just because they think your shit is pretty cool. (And you in turn will often act as prime mover or proselyte — not in return, but just because it’s a habit you slowly grow to find useful. Acting as such serves as more pebbles in your palm.)

Myspace and Facebook make this more difficult by creating uber-audiences and a hissing susurrus of white noise.

What Else?

I use other sites, of course. I put restaurant reviews on Yelp, I contribute restaurant photos to Urbanspoon, I love both Pandora and Last.FM. The last two are mostly for me, and the former are for the People Who Eat Food community, but neither are particularly self-serving in terms of my writing.

I do want to learn more about sites like del.ico.us and reddit, because man, those can really generate some hits for you if the right prime mover proselyte gives you a boost there. At present, though, they remain at least half-mysterious, veiled in gauzy shadow.

What am I missing?

What should I learn?

What will help other creators pick up more pebbles (to carry forth that increasingly silly metaphor)?

Good. Then you’re ready to head on over to Jet Pack.

And just what will you find there?

You’ll find we three amigos, we three damn egos: Will “Thrill Kill” Hindmarch, Howard “Wood” Ingham, and yours truly. You’ll find a place where our fiction can live and breathe and play with all the other fiction. It’s a place where we’re going to try out a self-publishing model, a place to build some audience, a place to establish us as a brand, a place to take our beloved work and strap it to a shiny rocket and fire it off so it punches a hole in the literary ionosphere.

Want a better explanation? Check out “The Dirty Model,” which contrary to the title, is not a filthy trollop dragging her oily heels down a fashion runway.

Meanwhile, you’re saying to yourself, “Self, how do I get involved? My fiction wants to play all the reindeer games.” And I say to you: Jet Pack’s just taking off. It’s a test. If it works — if people like you support it, if it gets the hits and the looky-loos and the love, it’ll grow. So, help us out. Spread the love. Tell others what’s out there. Tell them what’s possible.

And then hand them a jet pack.

]]> http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2009/06/15/jet-pack/feed/ 0 http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2009/05/31/the-sweet-sound-of-blogsongs/ http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2009/05/31/the-sweet-sound-of-blogsongs/#comments Sun, 31 May 2009 15:59:13 +0000 terribleminds http://terribleminds.com/ramble/?p=198 Testing out music post.

Below, you should see a Flash widget.

And it should play a Bree Sharp song.

Does it work, Internets?

Maybe you care, maybe you don’t, but if you want to know what sites I tend to read daily, and why, then feel free to peruse on. If you don’t want to know that, then… I dunno. Take a nap. Go fishing. Just stop looking at me, because it’s creepy. Now, on with the Interwebbery:

CHUD: Movie news paired with a wry and often bitter sarcasm. Biggest and best thing about the site is Devin Faraci, who I may not always agree with, but who I still want out there saying the shit that he says. And yes, while CHUD means “Cinematic Happenings Under Development,” it also comes from “Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers.” Excellent.

The Consumerist: The Consumerist cares about you. Really, it does. It doesn’t care about big corporations, and it recognizes that, the more deregulation (er, the less regulation?) we get, the worse it ends up for the common man. If you let them, Burger King will use our children for food, and Wal-Mart’ll make sure that pesticide is the primary ingredient in their generic-brand Animal Cookies. The Consumerist is a great watchdog, regaling us with stories from the economic apocalypse. The Consumerist got yo’ back. Word.

Evil Avatar: Maybe a bit dated, design-wise, but it’s a clear and straightforward aggregator of cool video game news and thoughts, with the occasional deviation into other pop culture waters (they do comic book reviews weekly, for instance). The red-and-black color scheme is a favorite of mine, too, since the old Terribleminds used to look that way.

Flickr: Uh, duh. I take pictures. I post them. I look at other people’s work. The cycle continues.

Gorilla Mask: Hey, look! All the silly crap on the Internet found daily! For your eyes! And brain! NSFW.

Hollywood Elsewhere: Like with Devin Faraci, Jeffrey Wells isn’t someone I universally agree with. Often, he’s kind of an asshole. But that’s okay. Because he loves movies. Besides, lots of people worth reading (or listening to, or watching) are assholes. You just don’t want to hang out with them, is all. Wells is more indie-minded, and he’s pretentious as all-get-out, and he’s alarmingly liberal (not that liberal is a bad thing, but I also don’t automatically believe it equates to “a good thing,” either). Still, he’s a movie whore masquerading as a journalist. Fine by me.

Lifehacker: Lifehacker will help you do awesome shit, like grow an herb garden on your taint, or build a computer out of the bones of your slain adversaries. Or something. It’s a cool site with a big daily basket of tips. Firefox extensions, organizational tricks, recipes, Netflix hacks, knitting moves, I dunno. All that. With Lifehacker, your life gets a little bit easier, and a little bit cooler.

National Weather Service: They can’t all be gems. I need the weather. What more do you want from me? I think the Weather Channel sucks, usually. (Example: one day, a few years back, we got hammered with a daytime blizzard that levied a good 16 or so inches against us, and after six inches were on the ground, the Weather Channel was still saying, “Flurries; no precipitation expected.”) Same reason that I use Google Maps instead of Mapquest, because Mapquest is a sucking chest wound. I used Mapquest a while ago try to find a local place, 15 minutes away — it took me 45 minutes out of my way to get there. If the Weather Channel and Mapquest ever formally unite, we are doomed to choking ineptitude.

What Would Tyler Durden Do: Celebutard and pop culture insult site masquerading as news page. Listen, if you go here, know that it’s NSFW. Know that it’s not politically-correct. Know that it’s mean as shit. But also know it’s funny. Scathingly funny. (In describing Terri Hatcher, the site says, “Her vagina must feel like you’re having sex with a dress stuffed with hay.” In discussing Madonna and her Qabbalah bracelet, the site says, “Maybe Kaballah needs more kinds of magic string.  Maybe they could sell an enchanted black string that turns things into laws.  And a white one that makes you invisible, and a yellow one that conjures up a guardian dragon.  There’s really no limit to what these omnipotent twist-ties can do.”) Bonus points for visiting the less-harsh, but also occasionally less-funny, Warming Glow (TV-themed) and Film Drunk (movie news).

That’s about it for what I view every day. Other sites, I visit weekly, and the daily sites above don’t include the personal blogs or journals or whatever of people out there on the Webs.

Now, the question is: what sitess do you read? What can’t you live without? What should I read every day that I’m not? Inform me, peeples.

For example? I wanted to know how to spell “shillelagh” for the attached photo I was posting to Flickr. So I said to the Internet, “Dear Internet, please tell me how to spell this crazy word.”

The Internet responded with, “Hey, fuck that, Wendig. I’ll do you one better. Did you know that Irish dudes have their own martial art where they beat the king piss out of each other with cudgels?”

“I did not know that,” I replied. “Tell me more, Internet.”

“It was called bataireacht, and it’s Irish stick fighting. Irish gangs — called ‘factions’ — would whip shit out of one another with their shillelaghs. They may have been drunk, because they were Irish, and Irishmen are all rotten drunks.”

I clucked my tongue. “Internet, that’s a bit prejudiced.”

“Fuck you,” the Internet said, and then spit in my tea, which I thought was extraordinarily rude. But the Internet didn’t stop there, oh no. “Don’t you know all I’ve given to you? The wealth of information? I let you plumb my endless depths time and time again, and I don’t ask you for a thing. You basically rape me for information night after night, and I don’t squeal a peep. I can call the Irish drunks if I want. I can say the Jews have gills, or that black people are made of clock parts! I’m the Internet, bitch! Go ahead. Turn me off. I dare you. Where will you get your recipes for walnut-and-mint sweet-cheese ravioli? How will you tap the Twitter vein? What about all the lesbian porn, or the FAQs on how to field dress a mountain goat, or where to find the best Tibetan steakhouse in Toledo? You need me! I’m King Kong! You ain’t got shit on me!”

I was going to say something in return — maybe a well-thought out argument about the dangers of prejudice, or maybe just a cleverly uttered “Nuh-uh” — but what can I say? I need all of that stuff. I need my recipes, my maps, my FAQs, my Twitter, my porn. I need my shillelaghs and my drunken Irish stick fighters.

Well-played, Internet. Well-played.