There Is Such A Thing As Too Connected

I noticed something while I was at BlogHer last weekend. Bloggers are addicted to their technology. I realize this is not a revelation. Hell, I’m addicted to technology, too, even though I don’t have a smart phone. I do have an iTouch and a laptop and a fairly decent camera. I’m on Twitter and Facebook and Flickr and Linked In.

But what I’m not is connected to the internet when I’m hanging out with people, be it 5 friends around a backyard bonfire or at a conference with 2399 other people. I want to talk to people. I like the interaction, even though it’s sometimes really difficult. I don’t like feeling that I’m playing second fiddle to a Blackberry or iPhone. It reminds me of high school friends who would only firm up plans with me when they were sure their boyfriends or cooler friends (which usually meant friends with cars) weren’t busy.  It drove me crazy then and it drives me crazy now.

This phenomenon isn’t exclusive to BlogHer. I have friends who are compulsive about checking their emails and texts and Twitter feed and Facebook page when they’re out and about with me. If they get a text, they answer it, even if they’re in the middle of a conversation with me. If someone pings their phone, they have to check it, no matter what they’re doing. Out to dinner, at a party, even at the movies; it doesn’t matter. The little electronic beep takes precedence over real, live people.

While I was walking around New York City last weekend, I noticed several bloggers riding in one of those pedi cabs. Each of them was face down into their mobile devices, not paying any attention to this vibrant city surrounding them, more concerned with what was going on online than what was going on in front of their faces. It reminded me of the movie Wall-E. People on their hover-chairs, screens in front of their faces, never seeing the people beside them.

I’m all for social media. I gobble it up with the best of them. But sometimes you just need to put the fucking phone away and live in the moment. Don’t tweet about it, don’t post it to Facebook, just look up. Breathe it in. Wallow around in it. Disconnect for a bit and see what’s going on around you.

The Night I Danced With Barack Obama

I went to BlogHer’10. I know, I know, you’re all sick of hearing about BlogHer, but dammit, I had fun and it’s my blog, so I’m going to talk about it.

First, the party to end all parties. Sparklecorn. I briefly danced with this fine fellow. He’s very thin – the office must be wearing him out.

I let a few other women have their turns….

I danced. A lot. My feet had blisters. My blisters had blisters. Me and Velma and Rachel and ChickyChickyBaby and FairlyOddMother and a bunch of other ladies whose names are escaping me (I had still had 5 drink tickets when I got to this party and they gave me another one at the door).  I watched Poppy and Blackbird do some fancy footwork.

I laughed and danced and danced and laughed and admired the sparkly, shiny cake.

I talked to people I only know from Twitter. I met new people. I wasn’t shy. I didn’t hide in the corner, clutching a drink. I didn’t flee in terror. I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I just had pure, unadulterated fun.  I was complimented on my outfit many times, was told my hair was lovely and people squee’d at me when I introduced myself. Squee’d. At me. And I finally, FINALLY got to meet Jessica, from Oh The Joys. She hugged me. A lot. It was awesome.

I snagged one of the sweet Sparklecorn t-shirts, which garnered me more comments the next day than I think I’ve ever had on a blog post. It says “Judy Blume did not prepare me for this.” I’d show you a picture, but, well, I wore it. I may have worn it to bed and then out the next day (I showered, I showered!) because I had no clean shirts left.

Thank you, MamaPop and Sweetney, for throwing such a fantastic, fun party.  And to BlogHer, for once again, running a great conference. I’ll have something on the sessions soon – the ones I attended were (I’m running out of synonyms for fantastic here….) fabulous.

The Obligatory, Ubiquitious, Pre-BlogHer Freak Out Post

*Insert picture of a woman flailing around, flapping her hands, flinging garments hither and yon.*

*Insert a picture of a jumbled pile of shoes.*

*Insert a picture of a make up bag, gaping open, blush brush frayed, a disc of purple eye shadow in a container.*

*Insert a picture of a power strip, iTouch charger, camera charger and lap top cord.*

*Insert a picture of flat iron, curling iron and hair dryer*

*Insert a picture of body wash, shampoo, conditioner, wash cloth, toothbrush and toothpaste.*

Had I actually done any of these things yet, I could post pictures. Alas, I have not and I leave in four days.

*wibble. wobble. freakthefuckout* Also? NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!  I keep doing this happy little shimmy every time I think about it, which is roughly 8,947 times a day. I’m doing a lot of shimmying.