A few days ago, I got to get together with a bunch of other women bloggers in this neck of the woods.

We met at the home of the Well Read Hostess, and Kristin is indeed both of those things.  Also in the house were a dozen other local bloggers, but we missed Emily, who was at a cheerleading competition.

Sun shone through window prisms, sending little chips of rainbows around the walls, and the refreshment table was full of irresistable temptations.  As a centerpiece, Kristin even had a giant fishbowl full of little notebooks and ribbon-tied pencils stamped PHILLY BLOGGERS.

Nobody was at a loss for words, as you can imagine.  One of the biggest conversations was detonated by mention of Facebook and its fad, “25 Random Things About Me.”  We all agreed we hadn’t participated in this because that would be blowing 25 potential blog posts in one fell swoop.  I enjoy reading them though, and still write the list in my head, especially the random fact that I once got into a catfight with a transsexual at a wedding. 

But back to Facebook.  We bloggers, only one of whom was under 30, don’t spend money to send cartoon cupcakes on birthdays, we don’t throw snowballs, we don’t join groups, and we’re not too sure if we should tell the moms when one of our teenage friends curses like a sailor or puts up compromising photos.  I am in contact, superficially, with so many people that I’m confused about what tidbit in my head came from a real-life conversation and what came from Facebook.  Plus, how important is it to know that my son’s nursery school girlfriend’s mother just got done walking the dog and is thinking about a bath, or that my college classmate doesn’t know what to get his wife for her birthday?  

My line in the sand is drawn between Facebook and Twitter.  I’ll do one, not the other.  I can barely update my status on FB once a week, let alone tell cyberstalkers what I’m doing every hour or so.  And why would anyone care?  And how embarrassing would it be not to have anyone following me on Twitter?

All these means of communication have snowballed.  And that giant rumbling sound you hear?  It’s an avalanche of verbiage bearing down.  I’m a writer, and I love this blog, and there are many other blogs I read religiously, but we’ve reached the point of hyper-insane-overcommunication, people.  I am part of the problem.  

Or, to quote my son Hugh when he was two years old and being cared for by a logorrheia-stricken babysitter who hadn’t permitted five seconds of silence in four solid hours, “Too much words!  My head hurts!”  


That said, if you’ve got the time for lots more great reading, check out members of Philly Bloggers on our blogrolls off to the right.   These are way more worthy than trolling for the latest profile updates of your friends.   Trust me.

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