It's not you, it's me.
Since I joined Facebook, my pointers have started to show up there. I am not sure where I want to "announce" the latest and greatest Lynda Barry interviews, all I know is that when I read anything by her I want to climb to the rooftops and announce its existence.
(Image of me, having given away all my worldly possessions and yelling a URL to the skies, waiting for Shabbetai Zevi.)
My essential blog reads are pretty much Journalista, Comics Reporter, anything Merlin Mann or Paul Sas write. * That, and the version of the Sunday Times, which instead of arriving on my doorstep once a week, shows up in an RSS feed about 4 times an hour. Holy Gutenberg, Batman, am I fucked.
However, like St. Albert said, we are at least partially rational creatures. I know I am trying to sip from a firehose. I know the sugar water from said firehose is addictive as hell.
I have also likened my lot to that of an alcoholic sommelier. That is, my livelihood at least partially depends on being online but I have trouble with the dazzling ever evolving distraction that is the web. (See Paul Graham's excellent essay here.)
So, number one, I have played it safe on this blog in some ways by linking my brains out. And number two, the linking game is a symptom of a 20th c. mind overwhelmed by the boundless cornucopia of coprophilia. Welcome to the 21st c. Information wanted to be free, and now it's metastasized, choking off all other modes in its path. (Just speaking for myself, but if the goggles fit...)
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*So, those links are now listed. I don't need to post, though sometimes I might.
