Monday, May 10, 2010
Da liddle boid is a snitch
Birds of a feather by Pants
We don't mean to crow, but here at Seat of Pants we pride ourselves on our pathological resistance to networking. The Pants paranoia is well-documented on these pages. We don't do Twitter. We don't do Facebook. We don't even do Comments. In short, we make Luddites look like progressives. We are just not that interested in publishing what other people have to say, especially since there are more other outlets for them to do so than there are microbes in the universe. We do, and always have, welcomed emails. We don't feel obliged to answer them but will do so with glee and relish if they are half-way interesting. Fortunately, they mostly are.
We take the view that everyone is a spy. We know we are. We believe that if you cannot be seen, you cannot be shot at. Blogging is something at which we feel we ought to maintain a reasonably high density and standard, without having to resort to telling the truth, naturally. No one here is able to work out exactly why we feel this obligation to humanity at large but that is probably because we simply don't know enough about the laws of unintended consequences. We do know enough to stay out of their way. We are crowing. We are sorry.
Do we have a point? Thought you'd never ask. Loose fingers type clangers. Two of our finest Australian wits in print have been in trouble recently for ill-advised tweets. Catherine Deveny of The Age lost her job for uttering exactly the sort of distasteful morsels that ensure perpetual gaiety here at Seat of Pants. Miranda Devine over at The Sydney Morning Herald scored herself a tongue-lashing for suggesting an electronic adversary might be 'rogering gerbils' - a jibe which might have been quite naughty in the 1970s but certainly not worth getting into trouble for now. Let us also say how thrilled we are to be living in such a dignified and mature society.
Spooked by the spectre of the cyber-shadow with a seemingly endless appetite for globally popularising the most incoherent of banalities, another columnist has today announced her separation from Twitter. Helen Razer invokes by way of an explanation the kind of logic that we at Seat of Pants would normally deplore. But, in the current circumstances, we can find no fault with it. In short Ms Razer reasons that if one builds a train system, sooner or later there will be a collision. It is the same with networking, only much, much more likely to happen to you. Hear, hear.
Having said all that, we are reasonably confident that if we had a Twitter account at Seat of Pants, we could make a significant contribution to lowering that particular bar, especially late at night when we would almost certainly be tempted to try.
Bear with us please, we are lumbering towards a conclusion. Mondays eh? It seems to us that although a Christmas card cannot find you even though its envelope contains your full name, correct number, street, town and state but has the postcode a little bit wrong, the entire world can pinpoint you with scud accuracy by the simple deployment of a few random key words. We do not like these odds. We never have which is why everything Pants is, well, pants.