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duck tails
04/15/2010 = 04:30 AM

"Sometimes I think my life is one long, continuing duck story."
— Martin

I woke up in the middle of the night with a brilliant idea Golfwidow-style, and by "Golfwidow-style" I mean "I can't make any money off it."

I'm not sure what I was dreaming. All I know is that I woke up first thinking, "Well, Melanie Lynsky would be perfect as Sister Mary Loquacious. All she needs to do is channel Catherine Tate," and then thinking, "Oh, that's just dumb. It means Melanie Lynsky is not perfect, but Catherine Tate is."

So there's my brilliant idea. For my fake casting of the never-gonna-happen film version of Good Omens, I am replacing Melanie Lynsky with Catherine Tate.

I'm sure everyone's relieved to hear that I'm on top of my game for that.

Only I'm not. I'm not creative at all, lately. My subconscious is apparently working overtime to cover for my absence, which is due to the fact that, when I'm not working, I'm trying to catch up on sleep, and when I'm not working or sleeping, I'm trying to catch up on housework or talking to human beings with whom I don't work.

This means I have been spending a goodly portion of what spare time I have on Facebook, which is not only a creativity drainer, it actively discourages independent thinking: "John Smith just found a planet in Galaxyville and he wants to share it with his neighbors. Click here to get liquid oxygen for your rocket."

(Incidentally, there's no such thing as Galaxyville, yet, so I guess I have a drop of creativity left in my conscious brain after all. That's kind of a relief.)

The point is that Facebook, when used judiciously, is a wonderful networking tool to keep one in touch with people far away geographically, as well as getting back in touch with people one hasn't seen in years.

However, it also has interactive games, designed (well-intentionedly enough) to help one meet new people, but it does so via the use of apps (applications, to those of you who have not yet turned off your Atari, put on your parachute pants, sprayed your bangs with Aquanet, driven your Oldsmobiles to the airport, and gotten on an Eastern flight to the twenty-first century).

One is encouraged to click where they tell you and be rewarded, and when one complies, one is paid in the pennies of new contacts and a disproportionate sense of accomplishment, while Facebook cashes in on advertising dollars and the acquisition of one's personal information.

Oh, I'm not inculpable. Don't think that just because I understand what's going on behind the scenes, I'm immune to it. I am embarrassingly addicted to Farmville even whilst simultaneously wondering how I'm able to grow rice, cranberries, or coffee on plots that are not paddies, bogs, or slopes, respectively, just because it's so lovely to be able to milk a goat without actually having to touch one. The only thing on a goat worse than its temper is its smell.

(I just wrote a sentence about a currently-trending celebrity, but I backspaced over it. You're welcome.)

However, recently a Facebook friend of mine started a story in his space, and his friends and family have been dropping bits and pieces into it for the past day or so.

(À propos of nothing, am I the only one who thinks hitting CTRL+C stores data in one's left hand so one can CTRL+V it even if one moves to another computer? I am a dingbat.)

Anyway, Michael's story has been about lots of dumb stuff, but it started out being about a duck, which is really weird, because the last time I participated in one of these continuing story things, it, too, was about a duck.

Look. Duck. http://www.golfwidow.net/archives/012126.html

Anyway, I commented on this odd coincidence in Facebook (and on Twitter and other sites, because I just ping from my email and it updates everything at once), and that was when Martin replied with what became the opening sentence of this blog, because it was so appropriate, I, well, appropriated it.

Yet another example of my creativity going down.

Down. Duck down, which could mean either "soft fuzzy duck feathers," or "watch out for that low branch."

I quack myself up. (Oh, yes, I went there.)

Tags: duck

drinking: ice water
listening to: nothing
glad that: the pulitzer committee still has enough standards not to give a prize to the enquirer