I’ve just come to the conclusion, at 12:48 this morning, that I don’t write here much anymore because I really don’t care enough to do so. I am not that passionate about anything anymore to the point that I feel I should write about it.
Apparently I’m passionate enough about not being passionate, though. I’ve just told you in a couple of sentences that I don’t care about anything enough to write a public discussion. And look – you’re already growing bored of this post. The fact is that I have had this blog here at benrehberg.com for over six years now and I have only posted 520 times. I’ve nearly tweeted that much in 18 months. And speaking of Twitter, I think I’m getting off of that train. Facebook too. Down with friends who only know me again through a social experiment and marketing shithole. And fuck Mark Zuckerberg.
And lately, fuck Google too, and their sleazy one-night-stand Verizon. I’m beginning to dislike those companies simply because they profit too much on the personal interactions of individuals. It’s a sickness that wears one out from the outside in. First it was search results which were innocent enough. It has come all the way to “push” advertising, where Google will know that since I like pizza and I am near a pizza restaurant, my phone will buzz to tell me the specials there (near future).
No thanks. I’m quitting Facebook, and I am seriously considering not continuing with Google and Android. I do not live where that plethora of information is usable, and I am becoming increasingly afraid that we will become too dependent on this availability of data and personalization. Like GPS has done for travelers – we no longer have maps or ask for directions.
I realize that I am rambling. It’s late and I have been drinking to counteract the early-afternoon coffee that punishes me when I close my eyes tonight.
I used to get a locally roasted and flavored coffee called Highlander Grog downtown in Colorado Springs. It was always a special time when I was able to get it. I took a thermos of it to Literature class on Friday nights, sat up in the morning and drank it, and winter was the best season to have some Highlander Grog. Even more special were the times the coffee shop was actually brewing it, and my daily coffee turned into an aromatic treat.
And then I moved to South Georgia. You’ve heard enough about my regrets of this decision so I won’t bore you with that. But down here, there are quite a few people who haven’t even heard of the television show Highlander, or even muttered the word before. They think they know coffee when they get some bag at the grocery store that says “Gourmet” on it. They have no idea.
My parents took a road trip up the East Coast in late 2005 and discovered Intercourse Canning Company in Intercourse, Pennsylvania. Guess what flavored coffee they have!
So every once in awhile my mom orders coffee from there. This morning is the first time in over a year I have smelled that familiar aroma that takes me back in time. I stood at the coffee pot a few minutes ago with my eyes closed, and I could almost hear Professor Steve Staley talking about Othello. I could feel campus around me. I was back to a happy time, long ago.
So to combat this, I’m sitting at my kitchen table in Adel, Georgia, with a cup of Highlander Grog under my nose, waiting for my daughter to wake up. I can enjoy my good memories from time to time, but that never means I have to stop making them.