Bye, George

I felt a meeting of the minds with George Carlin, who, for all of that signature crankiness, had his own peculiarly positive outlook on life. And shortly after the debut of his 2001 HBO special, Complaints & Grievances -- a personal fave -- I noticed several "routines" bearing the comic's name begin floating around the Internet. Among them were "New Rules" (actually, a Bill Maher bit), various jokes and something called "The Paradox of Time."

The latter prompted the man himself to deem it a phony online -- not to mention "a sappy load of shit." Carlin wanted fans to know that he took great care with his work and kept his standards high. "But most of this 'humor' on the Internet is just plain stupid," he wrote, "and it bothers me that some people might believe I'd actually be capable of writing some of this stuff." With that Web beef -- and a humble nod to the legend -- in mind, I submit my own, technology-related complaints and grievances for summer 2008:

First off, this texting fiasco. As a lover of the language that Carlin so masterfully dissected, I wince at -- and yes, occasionally participate in -- its devolution. It's bad enough that this whole "hearting" thing persists: I thought the dumb-ass mutation of a noun into a cutesy verb was kaput, but it somehow manages, as do phrases like "Google me," "MySpace him," "YouTube that." Go Facebook yourself. I'll get to that in a sec.

In the meantime, let's examine logistics here, people. Texting is a portable device kinda act, no? -- implemented and received on small screens. It's a nice distraction when you're in a meeting, convenient when you just need to know a place and time, handy for a simple yes or no question. It is NOT -- repeat, NOT -- the vehicle for elaborating on your relationship drama, picking a fight, filling everyone in on that day's dietary consumption or anything else requiring but a phrase or two.

You know what people on limited plans think of those novel-length texts you send that stretch out over two and three individual messages? Lame! Weak! Especially when you resort to abbreviating "for" to "4", "thanks" to "thanx," "you" to "u" and so on. I do it, too -- character conservation is a necessary evil, kiddo, but if you're still plunking out War and Peace after such substitutions, pick up the damn phone. (You'll likely get voicemail anyway, so let 'er rip until the two-minute limit cuts you off, ya windbag.)

And please don't feel obligated to reply to everything, particularly via those precious keypad-created emoticons. The "conversation" is over, done, finito. Let it go -- don't blow another of my 10 cents with a "'Kay!!!!" or "Gotcha" or ";-)". Take a single page from chats with a like-minded text buddy, quoted here verbatim: "What?" "Movies." "Where?" "Home." "Beer?" "Bring it." That is all. See how easy it was? Ah, the beauty of brevity.

Ditto for you IM-ing souls. Chances are good you've got just as many windows open on your desktop as I do, if not more. I don't need that flashing IM box at the bottom of my screen tray/dock for your "Uh huh," ":-)" or umpteenth "LOL." Spit it out, move on, and get to work -- or at least let me get back to mine. Go determine if you're Hot or Not, get your Zombie on, send a Vampire Bite or Throw a Sheep at someone. Which brings me to the most egregious techno trend of 2008: the swelling, swill-filled Book of Face.

It was pestersome enough when MySpace degenerated into obnoxious friend and band add-requests, glitter graphics and page layouts so mind-bogglingly busy one can't even read the text. I segued over to Facebook, like so many others, with hopes of a leaner, less middle-school-styled online environment. But before you can say "Superpoke!" the siege of cyber-time-suckage began anew -- every login met with a bajillion odd game and personality and quiz requests.

Facebook is far more than the new MySpace. It's the new spam, the vile new viral chain letter that never met an application it, or you -- and you know who you are -- didn't like. I won't play Magnetic Words. I appreciate the Good Karma, buddy, but I will not send it back to you. I don't care what Drink or Dog or French Philosopher or Kama Sutra Position I am. Brand me an enemy of the earth: I want nothing to do with the (Lil) Green Patch.

I'm not gonna enter the Coolest Person Contest, and -- nothing personal, again -- I'm not gonna vote for you in it, either. I'd rather no animated Gifts, and I won't buy you one. And don't get me started on the creepy, Big Brother nature of apps that suggest I add "people you may know" or mention friends to others. Please, uncheck me and everyone else who's not returning your Hot Potatoes and Cause invitations and Got Love? apps from that little "forward" box to send it to all of your friends. Cut us a friggin' break.

It makes me wonder how we ever annoyed each other before the Web era, the old fashioned way -- on the pre-caller ID telephone, the pre-IM computer or, more ancient still, in person. I think of Carlin's words when debunking all this Internet waste: "I figured out years ago that the human species is totally fucked and has been for a long time. I also know that the sick, media-consumer culture in America continues to make this so-called problem worse."

"But the trick, folks, is not to give a fuck. Like me. I really don't care. I stopped worrying about all this temporal bullshit a long time ago. It's meaningless."

I'll try, Mr. Carlin. I'll try.