Posts tagged “Twitter

Welsey Shaw is now on Twitter!

Follow her. Link is on the sidebar to the right. Retweet. Comment. Favor(ite). She wants to hear from y’all, and hopes this will be the beginning of interesting and witty conversations, which she loves.



Another down-to-earth celebrity: Anna Kendrick

Anna Kendrick selfie

Self-deprecating selfie.

Anna Kendrick is a hoot. I adore her, and I haven’t even seen that many of her movies. She’s just so effortlessly cool.

She’s funny. For starters. Her Twitter feed is just about the only reason I might want to get Twitter someday. Fortunately, her stream of hilarious comments is public, so I can read them without getting an account, but I must remain on the sidelines.

Her humor is deliciously self-deprecating, but not in that phony (to me at least) Kathy Griffin My-Life-On-The-D-List way. Her Twitter description reads, “Pale, awkward and very very small. Form an orderly queue, gents,” and for “Location” she writes “Probably by the food.” On this blog her post happens to follow the one I wrote about a porn star. I’d like to think she’d be amused to follow a porn star. She’d surely come up with a great tweet about it.

It’s become a bit of a sport on the Internet, following and reposting the tweets of Anna Kendrick. Here are a few of my favorites:



Anna Kendrick bow-tie



It’s refreshing to see an actress in the entertainment biz who really is funny without someone having to put a script in front of them. Anna is among that small group of celebs who just seem to be happy and comfortable. Which is a better long-term strategy than trying to impress behind dark glasses and tinted limousine windows. Go Anna! We need more stars like you.

And finally, here’s a brilliant commercial she made for the [bleep]:


“Putting my head in the toilet…would be a more cleansing experience.” —Emma Thompson

"Don't you dare 'like' me!"

“Don’t you dare ‘like’ me!”

Wow, tell us what you really think, Emma… Don’t be so Brit-polite!

The star of such literary fare as Much Ado About Nothing and Sense and Sensibility says she hates hates HATES social media, thank you.

Also, she HATES social media.

…And did we mention she HATES social media???

Though she’s publicly forgiven fellow thespian Helena Bonham Carter for having an affair with former hubby Kenneth Branagh, if she never met Mark Zuckerberg in an elevator something tells me she’d strangle him dead.

And then kick him in the jewelbag just for fun.

Asked in a recent Vanity Fair interview about joining Twitter, Thompson said:

I’d rather have root canal treatment FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE than join Twitter. That’s not my scene at all. I can’t bear the thought of being connected all the time. God knows what it’s all doing to us. I hope that everyone does realize that we are all just one giant human experiment at the moment. We are just a great big bunch of little gerbils on wheels.

But it didn’t stop there. The two-time Oscar winner thinks these recent seismic changes in how we live are dangerous to our mental well-being, and she’s serious—we are in danger of our whole civilization going down the tubes:

In about 25 years time, maybe, a sudden generation will just drop dead. Everyone will just die on the same day. And I’ll say, “Oh, what do these people have in common? Hang on.” They were connected every day 24/7, you know! And no one knew what it was going to do to them. No one knew! Because we didn’t bother to find out. Because we’re stupid! We invent stuff, we just fling it out there, we let anyone use it. A three-year-old could fucking be on Twitter. A three-year-old! And then they go on and on and on about everything that there is. And get reviewed every day by Facebook. And then we will wonder why, at the age of 60, an entire generation chucks itself off a cliff like a bunch of lemmings. 

When asked if she ever Googled herself, she replied, “Putting my head in the toilet and flushing it repeatedly would be a more cleansing experience.”


She goes on about how today’s Americans are too monied and as a consequence have nothing to do but dream about owning the latest gadget. She said she doesn’t know what to talk to these people about. It reminded me of a famous Tocqueville quote that in democratic societies each citizen is habitually busy with the contemplation of a very petty object, which is himself. Emma must be a handful—and I love her for it.

The day after her comments emerged in that Vanity Fair interview, an article in a San Francisco Bay Area newspaper pointed out  how app developers more and more are targeting young children—very young, as in one or two.

The Oakland Tribune story talked about developers who want to put smart phone gizmos in the hands of children who don’t really understand concepts like data mining or opting out, or even privacy. Some parents defend these apps—one family says their third-grader is reading at the level of an eighth grader, something I find hard to believe simply because to read at such a high level requires more than just early exposure to technology. It necessitates life experiences, not just being able to process larger batches of words than your peers, and these can’t be rushed along; they have to happen. How was it ascertained he was reading at an eighth-grade level? Who tested him and how? Is “reading at an eighth grade level” defined as just assuring his parents he “knows what the words mean”?

Besides, every parent believes their little puddin does things so much better than all the other tots. Remember, at Lake Woebegone, all the children are above average.

Read more about Emma’s rant here.

…And about the trend of apps for tots, which interestingly had its headline changed from an originally critical one to this more positive one, here.


The sun also sets

Ernest Hemingway & Pals

I saw this picture recently and started wondering, as I always do when I see pictures like this: who has/had it better?

Here’s Earnest Hemingway and friends, sitting in a cafe in Pamplona, Spain, where the bulls run. This was around the time he was writing The Sun Also Rises.

This is every modern fiction writer’s dream, the fantasy of everyone you see pounding away on a MacBook in a coffee shop. Hemingway and his pals hung out in Europe, particularly France and Spain, soaked in the times, lived adventure, and then he wrote about it. Fitzgerald did the same thing. This lifestyle has been greatly romanticized in modern times. If you’ve seen Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris, you know what I’m talking about.

And looking at them, I’m struck by how these people changed history, made a mark, an impression on people, and they didn’t have Twitter. They didn’t even have to worry about such a thing. They spent their days writing.

That’s good for us. All those artistic legends and more—Pablo Picasso, Man Ray, Salvador Dalí, Gertrude Stein, T.S. Eliot, Josephine Baker, Cole Porter—converged on Paris at the same time. They produced. If Ernest or Scott or Pablo had spent their time posting to Facebook or setting up websites for their work, organizing book parties or deciding on a proprietary font for their names, think of all the time they would not have spent writing. Or thinking about what they wrote about. Or just experiencing life that they then converted to fiction. (As it was, Fitzgerald only had Zelda to blame for his interrupted productivity.)

So much of the fiction I see today seems like it’s based on television. Or movies. Or the Internet world—what the writer knows about people through the narrow sampling of blogs, Google and text messages. Our worlds, despite the massive access to information we have (or maybe because of it), are getting smaller. I recently wrote about an artist I admire tremendously who prefers to shut herself away in solitude. This may be why her work is so profound. Depth isn’t a hallmark of much of today’s fiction. I know some people will automatically say that’s only because we’re only remembering the good stuff, that Gatsby didn’t sell well initially either. All true, but I still think, fifty years from now, despite the fact that there are more writers than ever publishing more works than ever to an oversaturated market, I don’t think we will come away with as many masterpieces.

And I don’t think artists are, in the long run, doing themselves a favor by being their own publicity machines. Maybe Warhol could do it. But everyone is not a Warhol and thank goodness for that, because one was enough, despite what modern prices for his work may be. I think he was brilliant at capturing and marketing the zeitgeist, but penetrating it? Getting beneath it and shedding real light on it? I don’t think so. I can hear the hate mail coming already, though.

Interestingly and coincidentally, as I was writing this I came across an article in the New York Times, The Rise of the New Groupthink. It concludes that despite the vogue of “brainstorming sessions” among businesses, solitary thinking actually produces better results. This finding doesn’t surprise some of us who are unimpressed with trendiness. I have never sat in a brainstorming session that yielded anything noteworthy, and groupthink actually has a dangerous tendency to homogenize thinking—the opposite of what’s intended. I used to work in advertising, and such sessions are de rigueur in that industry. I would sit patiently, silently counting the minutes, and then return to my office and come up with real ideas. My boss probably thought the sessions were doing wonders for me. My boss understood nothing about creativity, as most business and even academic-types don’t.

When I look at this photo of Hemingway and his friends, I understand something my advertising boss and others I have had to deal with over the years do not: creative thinking happens when you’re sitting in a cafe, when you’re walking along a trail, when you’re taking a shower or even something else in the same room (messy if you keep a pen and pad with you, I know). Creativity can’t be booked between ten and eleven-thirty on Tuesday in Conference Room 2-B. The artists who sat along the Left Bank in Paris were spending their time much more efficiently, despite modern day wisdom. They were working, or gathering material for their work. Would Hemingway be making better use of his time having drinks here or removing himself from the world to tweet, or post on FB, or work on his website, announcing a new deal on his last book or trying to create “buzz” for his next? All his posts and video uploads wouldn’t be worth one short story. I wonder how any masterpieces are lost today because of these distractions and obligations.

Don’t get me wrong. Some people can do this sort of social media. And some people hire others to do it for them, which I think is probably the best idea. I am reminded of reading once how the wife of Charles Schulz was annoyed that the cartoonist was not very good with his hands, and more useful around the house. I felt to the contrary she should have insisted he spend every moment he possibly could with Snoopy, Charlie Brown and the rest. Only one man could draw Peanuts. Plumbers are a dime a dozen.

Heningways and Picassos aren’t. I’d feel sorry for those gentlemen today, having to organize events on Facebook and deal with answering tweets and maintaining their social profile on the web, instead of doing what they do best. We think all our gadgets and multitasking make us more efficient, more productive. Sometimes we forget about that hazy thing called quality. Often it’s a singular, solitary endeavor. There was a reason Thoreau escaped to the woods, and Melville was a loner. I look at this picture above and I imagine the thrill of coming across Hemingway at a cafe and sitting down next to him to see what he was doing, what he was thinking. I would be very disappointed to find him fiddling with his Twitter account.

Why write novels in the age of tweets?

I do wonder about this a lot.  I wonder it as I note that most things that interest me are old-fashioned.  I am never on the cutting edge.

Of course the pronouncement of the death of the novel is nothing new.  But in the age of micro-bursts of stimulation, where 60 undivided seconds is considered epic, how many people still read 300-page novels?

Some must.  There are writers are making good money.  But I notice almost all of them are genre writers—mystery, crime (really big these days, and the more grisly the better), sci-fi and fantasy, and of course vampires and werewolves.  As a general rule, you can put them down and pick them up again anywhere, in small, medium or big bites.  Can’t do that with Jose Saramago or Paul Scott or Virginia Woolf.

But perhaps this is nothing new.  “I like a good western.  You can pick them up and put them down anytime,” says the police sergeant to the dime-store novel writer in 1949’s The Third Man.  Today, however, sitting in the coffee shop where I like to write, I note that everyone around me is on an electronic gadget.  Despite the proximity of two bookstores (both with smaller inventories than they used to; one is close to going out of business), no one is reading a book, much less a novel.

In all fairness, I do see a good deal of reading in here, and it’s novels.  But computer use outnumbers novel-reading, and I live in an area that is supposed to be well above the national average in terms of literacy and book-reading.

I hope novels don’t go the way of classical music, old films, and other activities that are special interest, for connoisseurs (read: geeks).  In the meantime, I stubbornly continue to write.  I to see people around me tweeting and Facebooking and playing with their cellphone apps instead of getting lost in the stream of consciousness of a good author.

But I don’t care.  Some thoughts can’t be tweeted.  Those mustn’t be allowed to disappear.

I think Virginia Woolf would agree.

What about you?  Do you read less and tweet more?  Does your laptop time take away from your reading time?  Share your thoughts.  —Hey, you can use a computer to do it!