“I don’t want you to apologize for being rich; I want you to acknowledge that in America, we all should have to pay our fair share. That our civics classes never taught us that being American means that—sorry, kiddies—you’re on your own. That those who have received much must be obligated to pay—not to give, not to “cut a check and shut up,” in Governor Christie’s words, but to pay—in the same proportion. That’s called stepping up and not whining about it. That’s called patriotism, a word the Tea Partiers love to throw around as long as it doesn’t cost their beloved rich folks any money.”—Stephen King: Tax Me, for F@%&’s Sake! - The Daily Beast
“What charitable 1 percenters can’t do is assume responsibility—America’s national responsibilities: the care of its sick and its poor, the education of its young, the repair of its failing infrastructure, the repayment of its staggering war debts. Charity from the rich can’t fix global warming or lower the price of gasoline by one single red penny. That kind of salvation does not come from Mark Zuckerberg or Steve Ballmer saying, “OK, I’ll write a $2 million bonus check to the IRS.” That annoying responsibility stuff comes from three words that are anathema to the Tea Partiers: United American citizenry.”—
“Gertrude Stein did us the most harm when she said, “You’re all a lost generation.” That got around to certain people and we all said, Whee! We’re lost. Perhaps it suddenly brought to us the sense of change. Or irresponsibility. But don’t forget that, though the people in the twenties seemed like flops, they weren’t. Fitzgerald, the rest of them, reckless as they were, drinkers as they were, they worked damn hard and all the time.”—
“I’d like to see you and talk about things with you sober. You were so damned stinking in N.Y. we didn’t get anywhere. You see, Bo, you’re not a tragic character. Neither am I. All we are is writers and what we should do is write. Of all people on earth you needed discipline in your work and instead you marry someone who is jealous of your work, wants to compete with you and ruins you. It’s not as simple as that and I thought Zelda was crazy the first time I met her and you complicated it even more by being in love with her and, of course you’re a rummy. But you’re no more of a rummy than Joyce is and most good writers are. But Scott, good writers always come back. Always. You are twice as good now as you were at the time you think you were so marvellous. You know I never thought so much of Gatsby at the time. You can write twice as well now as you ever could. All you need to do is write truly and not care about what the fate of it is.”—Hemingway to F. Scott Fitzgerald, from Letters of Note
“File-sharing had rendered us, the knowledge guardians, irrelevant. Within a few years, knowledge had ceased to confer any distinction, and hoarding it had become about as socially advantageous as stamp collecting. Thanks to the Internet, cultural knowledge was now a collective resource. Which meant that being cool was no longer about what you knew and what other people didn’t. It was about what you had to say about the things that everyone already knew about.”—Why the Old-School Music Snob Is the Least Cool Kid on Twitter - NYTimes.com
It’s my fifth cakeday of coming out here, to the internet world capital, San Francisco. I wouldn’t be here if there was no internet; I have no particular inclination towards hippiedom or comp sci or biotech, but once I learned it was the place to be if you loved the internet, I was dead set on moving here. Cause I fucking. Love. The internet.
I love Wikipedia. I love Tumblr. I love Flickr. I love Quora and Reddit and Instagram, and I love how I know my friends are looking for a new job when I get their Linkedin request. I love going to iTunes and browsing new iPad apps by release date. I love how my Twitter feed gets overloaded at SXSW. I love that stupid red dot in the top bar on Facebook.
I love that there are online personas. I love that some people, in real life, are exactly what you expected, and others are completely different. I love that I have friends online that I wouldn’t hesitate to talk to online, but would feel shy introducing myself to in real life.
I love that my mom has a blog, and I love that my grandma blasts her politics over email so much I set up a separate filter just for her. I love that I met an ex on Craigslist who announced our engagement on Twitter and it’s all over now. I love that right now, a lot of you know exactly where I am, and a lot of you have no idea; not because the information isn’t out there, but because you don’t care.
If you’re reading this on April 16, I’m in Japan. I’ve been writing and polishing this post for a few weeks now because one night I realized that the internet really is the fucking love of my life. Pine, Telnet, BBSes, Gopher, lynda.com, juno, WebPagesThatSuck and Geocities: you are how I learned to meet people online, and then how I learned to make websites. Thanks to all of you.
I’m writing this post because it’s my fifth Sanfraniversary—a nice round number by all counts—but I’m writing it about the internet because I’ve realized: it was never about San Francisco. I never moved out here for love of the trolleys or the fog. I moved out here because I love computers and networks and the way humans are able, in amazing ways, to abstract communication and contact to a level that typing buttons to input visuals on a screen makes us feel something.
Every day, I feel things because of the internet, and that’s amazing. Humans have been using abstracted communication for thousands of years, but it’s never been so instantaneous, never so capable of bringing folks of completely different backgrounds together in conversation. This is a huge step. Good job us.
I love that someday, this blog post might seem strange. My children might stumble across it, and they’ll ask me questions, and I’ll tell them how bad dialup was. They’ll ask me about MySpace and I’ll say “Oh, honeychild, you have no idea.” And they won’t, but I will, because I was there. Even better, I get to help design it, right now.