Michael Robert Dyet's Blog, page 70

Hostile Hackers, Malware Mischief-Makers and Edgar Allan Poe

Hmmm, how much good that could be done is lost in the moment we succumb to the temptation to be perverse?

The online malcontents had me in their rifle sights this past week. Early in the week, I discovered that both my website and my novel online companion site had been hacked. Shortly thereafter, a malicious malware bug snuck shut me out of all my programs on my computer.

It’s not the first time my sites have been targeted by that nefarious community known as “hackers”. But the past episodes were minor tampering instances.

This time around, when I entered the URLs, a blank screen appeared with the words “hacked by hacker” in the upper left corner. It is kind of like discovering that your house has been broken into with the added outrage that the vandals put new locks on the door before leaving.

Fortunately, my very talented and generous tech savvy friends were able to liberate my websites from captivity over the course of a few days. The Best Buy Geek Squad cast the demons out of my computer (thank God for back-up drives) for a $200 fee.

Needless to say, I harbour considerable resentment towards the perpetrators of these online joy rides. At one level, I can chalk it up to the price of living in a Microsoft world. We give up some measure of control over our lives when we harness ourselves so willingly to technology.

But I have difficulty wrapping my head around the motivations of these techno terrorists. There is nothing of any monetary value to be found in the bowels of my websites or the unexplored caverns of my personal computer. I’m in tune enough with the risks not to keep anything of value in those places.

Hacking into corporate or government websites I can understand, although not excuse, for the valuable information that is housed there. There will always be people who chose to make their living off the proceeds of crime. For those people, technology is simply another frontier to be exploited.

But the only incentive these keyboard cowboys have to mess with my humble online identity, or cripple my computer, is amusing themselves with the temporary havoc they can create. Simply because I can seems to be their sole motivation.

Such a shame that these obviously technically gifted individuals have nothing better to do with their time. It is such a dreadful waste of talent and skill that could be put to far better use.

It is, unfortunately, a prime example of “the imp of the perverse” metaphor – the tendency to do exactly the wrong thing in a given situation for the sole reason that it is possible for wrong to be done. I’ll let Edgar Allan Poe have the last word on the subject since he definitively diagnosed the condition in his story of the same name.

We have a task before us which must be speedily performed. We know that it will be ruinous to make delay. The most important crisis of our life calls, trumpet-tongued, for immediate energy and action. … It must, it shall be undertaken today, and yet we put it off until tomorrow, and why? There is no answer, except that we feel perverse, using the word with no comprehension of the principle. … [Then] The clock strikes, and is the knell of our welfare. At the same time, it is the chanticleer-note to the ghost that has so long overawed us. It flies—disappears—we are free. The old energy returns. We will labor now. Alas, it is too late! ~  Edgar Allan Poe, The Imp of the Perverse

Interruption Overload: Getting Off the Technology Treadmill

Hmmm, is there a silver bullet for interruption overload or is the solution as simple as the flutter of a butterfly?

Facebook is a pretty reliable measure of the psychological pulse of the working population. The status update comments tell the story. Monday is back-to-the-grind day. Wednesday is hump day. Friday is TGIF (thank God it’s Friday) day.

We all seem to be pretty much in survival mode Monday to Friday just trying to get to the weekend with a little energy left. But then there is the Saturday morning hangover which has nothing (most of the time) to do with alcohol. It’s just the cumulative effect of the daily grind which takes half of Saturday – and sometimes more – to get past.

I stumbled across a new concept this week which sheds some light on the Saturday morning hangover. It’s called “interruption overload” which has its source in the ever changing technology that keeps us on the treadmill Monday to Friday.

The branch of knowledge that deals with the creation and use of technical means and their interrelation with life, society, and the environment, drawing upon such subjects as industrial arts, engineering, applied science, and pure science.

That’s the dictionary definition of technology. It is supposed to enable us to interact with society and our environment in such a way that saves us time, makes us more efficient and makes life easier or more enjoyable. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out like we thought it would.

Computer technology, which is pervasive in our lives, has created a continuous immediacy. Information charges at us in nanosecond intervals. It is a continuous flow of interruptions that is extremely difficult to ignore. As a result, we’ve become conditioned to believe that we have to be “on call” every waking minute and continuously responding.

Our brain can process information much faster than we realize. But it needs time to recalibrate every time we switch our attention from one thing to another. Every switch and switch back consumes energy. By about 2:00 each day, by my estimation, we hit interruption overload. By the end of the week, our brain is exhausted and so are we. Hence, the Saturday morning hangover.

Some weeks the hangover lasts well into Saturday afternoon. By Sunday afternoon, we’re already starting to psych ourselves up for the week ahead. Is it any wonder we find ourselves thinking: Where did the weekend go?

The experts tell us we need to develop coping mechanisms to battle interruption overload: manage the expectations of our co-workers, turn off the telephone, shut down the annoying “new e-mail” notice, etc etc. Sounds good in theory, but all we’re really doing is letting the “interruptions” pile up to be dealt with in a mad rush at the end of the day.

I wish I had a silver bullet to kill interruption overload. I could make a fortune selling it and retire early to a technology-free tropical island. But I don’t think there is a silver bullet for this problem.

The best I can offer is the butterfly metaphor. Most butterflies only live a few weeks. You would think they would be frantic to jam in as much living as they could in that short space of time. But instead they choose to flutter about calmly and serenely enjoying the little time they do have.

So let’s adopt the butterfly metaphor for our lives. Let technology spin madly on but don’t tie our wagons to it. Step aside from it as much as we can and take pleasure in the simple things. We can’t slow down technology but we can opt out of the pace it sets. I’m in – are you?

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Random Act of Metaphor: Cedar Waxwings in Wind-swept November Trees

“No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees / No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds – November! ~ Thomas Hood, English Poet, 1799 – 1845

Hmmm, was that small flock of Cedar Waxwings a chance occurrence or a gentle reprimand?

The gray and sober days of mid November are upon us. After October’s spectacular pageant of ever-changing colours, November seems such a sombre month. The trees are lifeless skeletons. The leaves have withered and been raked into submission. The sky above is a watered down, blue-gray slate.

It seems such a betwixt and between time of year. Technically still autumn by the calendar but long past the charms of that season. The chill but elegant graces of winter are still only on nature’s drawing board.

Such were my thoughts as I took a short walk along the lakefront today. The winter ducks were in but staying well offshore in the choppy bay. There seemed little to be enthused about.

But then I detected a lisping call. Binoculars up and scanning. Graceful Cedar Waxwings, sleek and crested, waxy yellowish green accented by a bright yellow tail band. A half dozen of them flitting about gregariously, despite the November pall, in the wind-swept trees along the path.

A random act of metaphor, a gentle reprimand, to remind me that I should be more gracious. Nature needs a rest after spending herself exuberantly on lush summer and gaudy autumn. She needs a month to recharge and reinvent herself.

November, perhaps, is nature’s way of teaching me patience – a lesson I seem to need to learn over and over. Never my strong suit but I shall try again. I shall make friends with November.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To”

instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Hurricane Sandy, Caution Lights and Contagious Behaviour

Hmmm, perhaps we need to stop at that yellow traffic light for reasons much more important than obeying the law.

I was at a Men’s Group breakfast this morning at the church I attend. At one point, the conversation turned to aggressive driving habits. Chief among our concern was people who choose to believe that a yellow traffic light means hit the gas and barrel on through – even if the light is red by the time you reach the intersection.

There is a glaring selfishness about this behaviour. I’m more important than anyone else so everybody should just get out of my way. Trace the psychology a bit deeper and you arrive at an underlying apathy. I can’t be bothered to worry about anyone else. I just want to get home, close the door and shut out the world.

Increasingly, it seems we live in a survival of the most selfish society. And survival means looking straight ahead all day so we don’t risk seeing someone who might need our help.

But occasionally we get reminded that, as the saying goes, no man is an island. There are times in life when we have no choice but to pull together.

Many of us were glued to our televisions earlier this week as Hurricane Sandy charged up the east coast and took direct aim on New York City. Hurricanes don’t often find their way this far north so we find it hard to believe we’re really at risk – or at least we used to.

Hurricane Hazel did take a mighty swipe at this area back in 1954. But aside from signposts at a nearby conservation area, showing how high flood waters rose at the height of the storm, she is mostly just legend to anyone in the Baby Boom generation or later.

To be honest, my first concern was that Sandy would keep barreling north and unleash some of its fury on me. I even went so far as to buy some extra canned food and put candles out in case I had to make do without electricity. Fortunately for me, the city I live in was largely unaffected, although an hour south in metro Toronto she did wreak some minor havoc.

As we watch the news coverage from New York and realize the full extent of the damage, it becomes apparent that recovering from a natural disaster just doesn’t work on the every-man-for-himself philosophy. People have to pull together to make the long journey back.

So there is a silver lining of sorts in the Hurricane Sandy storm clouds. It reactivates the dormant sense of community which brings out the best in many people. But it’s a shame that it takes hardship and tragedy to make us do what really should be second nature to us.

The me-first bug is highly contagious. I’m by no means immune. Occasionally, I go through a yellow light that I had time to stop for. I feel guilty as all hell when I do and resolve to nip that behaviour in the bud. My wish is that community behaviour could become equally contagious.

The yellow traffic light can be our metaphor for community. It means caution in the conventional sense: The light is about to turn red. But it can also mean caution in a metaphorical sense: Life is about to get another degree tougher if we neglect our responsibility to live in community with one another.

Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

 

Relentless Change: A Human Preoccupation

“Nothing in the world is permanent, and we’re foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we’re still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it. If change is the essence of existence one would have thought it only sensible to make it the premise of our philosophy.”

W. Somerset Maugham (1874 – 1965), The Razors Edge

Hmmm, am I foolish not to fall in line with the juggernaut of change? Is my existence dependant on running alongside it however fast it demands?

One of the unequivocal realities of life in the 21st century is an ever accelerating rate of change. I’ve come to believe that the world we wake up to each morning is demonstrably different than the one we saw when we closed our eyes few hours before.

A few “change reality”mstatistics that were presented at a meeting I recently attended:

Every two to three years, the knowledge base doubles.
Every day, 7,000 scientific and technical articles are published.
Satellites orbiting the globe send enough data to fill 19 million volumes in the Library of Congress – every two weeks.
There will be as much change in the next three decades as there was in the last three centuries.

I couldn’t begin to catalogue the change I’ve witnessed in my lifetime. But let me put it in perspective for those of you in Generation Y.

I remember the debut of”Pong” – one of the first video games. It simulated, in very low tech fashion, the game of table tennis (aka Ping Pong). At the time, we thought it was absolutely revolutionary. Now it seems about as novel as the horse and buggy.

But the questions I struggle with are these ones: Is change, by definition, progress? And is progress, as W. Somerset Maugham asserted 70 years ago, the essence of existence?

Technology has certainly increased our productivity. A single person today can accomplish three or four times the amount of work that a person could 25 years ago. But I still work a full day and, quite frankly, I’m at least three to four times more stressed. So is that progress? It’s a trade-off that you would be hard pressed to convince me is a good one.

All of life evolves. I won’t dispute that fact. But there are also constants that endure:

The seasons still gracefully progress through spring, summer, fall and winter. The cycle repeats itself over and over largely impervious to the forces of change.
Birds still answer the instinct to fly south in the winter and to return in the spring. The miracle of migration apparently doesn’t need to be improved upon.
Creeks still trickle into streams which amble into rivers which flow into lakes, seas or oceans. They don’t require updated software twice per year to complete the journey.

It seems to me that change – and the need to be better, stronger, faster and always in a state of flux – is mostly a human preoccupation. Nature gets along fine on its own enduring rhythms.

My metaphor of choice for the true nature of existence is the Cicada. They remain underground for four to eight years, emerge to soothe us with their electric buzz and then give birth to young who repeat the cycle without feeling any need to speed up the process.

I can’t stop the relentless pace of change. But don’t deny me the right to resist it and to take delight in the creatures that do so quite successfully.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.comor the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To”

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Random Act of Metaphor: Pirouetting Dust Particles in October Sunlight

Hmmm, if we had the acuity to see that even microscopic flecks of dust tumble in respectful relation to each other, would we try harder to reach harmony with our fellow man?

I was at a Board retreat today discussing and planning the coming years at our church. It was an inspirational group of people sharing their vision for the future. In the midst of this discussion, one of those in-the-right-place, at-the right-time moments occurred.

The sun reached the perfect height in the sky to send a shaft of light through the upper window and across the room. I had exactly the right angle to see dust particles spinning and whirling, twisting and twirling in the delicate frame of light.

It reminded me that there is often much more than meets the eye in any given circumstance in our lives. We think we see the whole picture and that we have the definitive answer. But, in truth, all we have is the particular and limited perspective of that moment.

I was engaged in the discussion and only allowed myself a few seconds to observe the pirouetting particles. But even in that brief glimpse, it seemed to me that there was an exquisite harmony in their movement. They were not just random specks of matter tumbling through space. They were reacting to one another and to a rhythm from some greater being.

The exquisite dance of dust particles in a wash of October sunlight – a random act of metaphor to remind me that there is rhythm in all things and that there are few treasures more precious than perfect harmony.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

 

 

Clocks Ticking – Wheels Spinning – Memory Slipping

Hmmm, has the way we experience time changed in this modern age where we succeed or fail by the ticks of the clock?

Every now and then someone asks me one of those “how long” questions. How long have you lived in Brampton? How long have you been attending your church? How old is your cat? These are routine questions that should be easy to answer.

The truth is I don’t remember the “how long” figures for those things. I think perhaps I should do the math so I don’t have to keep saying “Sorry, I don’t remember”. But I can’t seem to find a reliable point of reference from which to work.

There are some “how long” questions that I can answer. How long have you worked here? 11 years. How long you have lived in this building? 8 years. I remember these particular things because they are time-stamped by significant events.

9/11 happened a few months after I started working at my present employer. I’m not likely ever to forget that year.

I moved into this building when my ex and I split up. The year is inscribed on our separation agreement which resides in my important documents box should I ever need to be reminded.

It seems I need these time stamps to keep track of the chronology of my life. It could be that my memory is losing its edge as I get older. The body slows down as the decades pass so it stands to reason that the brain does as well. But I’m not convinced that is the one and only answer.

Life comes at us at an accelerated pace these days. Quite often, it seems I struggle just to keep up. It is all I can manage (and sometimes I don’t manage) to remember the deadlines and the “no later than” dates that I can’t afford to miss in the next week.

I seem to be running – literally and figuratively – a good percentage of the time to keep up with the pace of life. One of my all-time favourite comic strip scenes is a single frame Ziggy comic. Ziggy is sitting at a desk surrounded by stacks of paper. The caption reads:

I’m going to stop trying to get ahead so I can slow down the rate at which I’m falling behind.

That sentiment has come to characterize the way I feel about life. “Catching up with life” has become the name of the game.

My hypothesis is that we experience time much differently than we used to. Originally, time was the way we measured our existence and put it in perspective. It kept us grounded and allowed us to feel we had a place in history.

But, in the 21st century, time has become the enemy. We’re always on the clock scratching and clawing our way to keep from falling behind. Time is now the way we measure success or failure. Success equals being able to do more in an hour than the person in the next cubicle. Failure is being on the wrong end of that equation.

If I had to pick a metaphor for time as we experience it now, it would be wheels spinning in the sand. We never seem to get enough traction to catch up.

Perhaps it is not so surprising that I can’t answer some of the “how long” questions. Too many of my brains cells are occupied with calculating “how soon”, “by when” and “how much time do I have left”. The clock keeps ticking, my wheels keep spinning and my over taxed memory keeps on slipping.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog .

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2 . Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

Called Home Again By the Effusive Graces of October

“There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October.”  ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne, American Novelist and Short Story Writer

Hmmm, is there anything quite like the grand, old dame October?

Each month of the year has its claim to fame. But the 11 sisters are hard pressed to compete with the effusive graces of October. As Nathaniel Hawthorne so eloquently expressed, October exerts its’ influence on us like none of its siblings can.

The experts told us not to expect vintage fall colours this year. The summer long drought, they warned, had sent trees into early dormant states. But October seems to be of another mind. My 18th floor view looks down upon an October pageant of colours quite equal to any other year.

A row of trees there cloaked in harvest gold still freckled at the edges with late summer green. Here and there outbreaks of burnt sienna like autumn flash fires. Accents of hushed scarlet fringed with muted yellow from the more humble species.

More shades of green than I’ve ever conceived of: frosted, white-flecked green and ever vibrant evergreen… stone-washed, watercolour greens and spruce-blue, winter greens.

Even the sky gets into the act. Early morning today was sunlit with periwinkle blue and mint cream clouds. Now its mood has shifted to pearl gray clouds that drift northward with uncertain intent.

October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again. ~ Hal Borland American Author and Journalist

There is no getting around the fact that October is a time of transition.Each leaf that loosens it grip and spin-tumbles to the ground is one more step toward winter.

But October is much more as well. It is the harvest season when all the fruits of summer’s labour are, literally and figuratively, gathered in. It is the season of thanksgiving, of reflection, and of clearer vision. So often we only see the beauty when it is waning.

October has a character quite unlike any other month. It dresses itself in the metaphor of homecoming – calling us home from our summer sojourns and beckoning us to linger awhile as we watch its kaleidoscope of hues, emotions and semblances.

Such a shame that it holds court for only 31 days. It doesn’t seem nearly enough. But perhaps that is October’s moral: Time is short. Life hurdles on. So live in the moment, embrace change and waste not what is gifted to you.

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travelers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken. ~ Thomas Wolfe, American Novelist

Echoes of the Past: Heirlooms of Our Legacy

Hmmm, how much of years gone by do we carry with us as we cobble together our life and chisel out our legacy?

In my younger days, I gave precious little thought to what the footprint of my life would look like when the last chapter of my life was closed. I was much too busy trying to figure out where I belonged and what career path I was going to take.

Now, as I settle into my mid 50’s and wonder where all that youthful energy spent itself, the notion of a legacy creeps into my thoughts. I imagine all of us weave our life-long tapestry with the hope that so small part of us will carry on when the candle of our life flickers out.

Thankfully, I’m not yet anywhere near the point where I’m revisiting my life to tally the final scorecard. But I do find myself casting occasional glances behind me, so to speak, wondering how many mistakes I’ve managed to mitigate and how many success credits I have accumulated.

As I ponder that unanswerable question, another comes on its heels. Am I the sum total of all myexperiences? Am I carrying with me the baggage of some 19,700+ days? (Yes, I did the math.) If so, that is a ponderous weight to carry.

What got me thinking along these lines? On my way home today, I passed the Community College I attended almost 40 years ago. A few memories from those days skittered through my head like leaves tumbling in the autumn breeze.

They seem inconsequential now. That time was, after all, a false start – leading to a profession that didn`t suit me. I circled back to university and learned how to think for myself rather than just live someone else`s words. Thank God for the quiet voice that compelled me to do so.

And yet, if I am honest with myself, there were formative experiences in those three seemingly wasted years. I grew out of one skin and into another. I learned to live with uncertainty and to trust in the process of finding my way.

It seems that all experience must accumulate and cross fertilize to form us into who we become. Nothing is really ever left behind even if it slips the grasp of memory.

But, of course, the process of becoming never really ends. Each echo of the past, each one-of-a-kind heirloom, is like a DNA molecule that interlocks with others to form new strands of who I am – a perpetual work in progress, it would seem.

I do hope to leave some kind of legacy. It doesn`t have to be a grand one that will be recorded in the history books. But I hope it will be a distinguishable image on the mural of time. One that a few of those who come after me will observe and think:

Hmmm, now that`s an interesting metaphor. I hadn`t thought of it quite that way. It puts things in a new perspective. Like a shifting wind, or a deeper dive and, yes, a sudden light.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com  or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To”

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Social Media: The 200 Tentacled Octopus

Hmmm, is social media a new paradigm in social relationships or the threshold where we lose ourselves in technology?

First a confession. I hesitated tackling this mind boggling topic. It seemed like a good way to get a massive headache. Better to hunker down in front of the TV with a big bag of potato chips and see who pockets the $10 million dollar prize in golf’s Fed Ex Championship. Nevertheless, let’s have a go at it.

I turned to Google (now a player in the field itself with Google +) to try and get a handle on the scope of the phenomenon. Just how many Social Media sites are out there? A Wikipedia article listed about 200 active sites including 13 “viral communities” that have more than 100 million users – with a caveat that the list is limited to the notable, well known sites.

Okay, so let’s sum that up as “too many to count”. I can feel the headache starting.

But surely there is some means of putting it in perspective? Well, try this on for size. If Facebook, the undisputed king of social networking, were a country based on its number of users, it would be the world’s third largest in terms of population – larger even than the U.S.

Can’t wrap your head around that? Let’s come at it from another angle. Twitter averages in the neighbourhood of 40 million tweets per day – and recorded more than one billion tweets in the month of December 2009.

Yikes! Where is that bottle of Advil?

Suffice to say, social media is here to stay. How it will evolve, and what new frontiers it will push forward into, is far beyond what most of us can speculate. So let’s narrow the focus. Is social media a technological phenomenon or a sociological one?

Social media is only possible because of what is commonly referred to as “Web 2.0” – technological breakthroughs that changed the Internet from being a one-way street, where those with the technological know-how pushed out information to the masses, to a user-friendly, democratic two-way street where anyone can put up content. Score one for technology.

On the other hand, one can argue that technology is a tool that develops in response to human needs. If the desire for a new and border-busting way to socially interact hadn’t existed, Web 2.0 would have gone in a different direction. Score one for sociology.

Looks like we’re wrestling with the old “Which came first – the chicken or the egg?” dilemma.

The most thought-provoking statement I came across, as I Google-surfed looking for some sort of clarity, is this one: We are no longer just using the Internet as a tool – we are becoming a part of it. Social media puts us into the web.

I don’t know about you – but that’s a pretty scary concept to me. 200 active and notable social media sites pulling us into the web. Convert that to a metaphor and you get a 200 tentacled octopus that doesn’t let go once it pulls you in.

I think I’m going to spend less time on the web. Suddenly it seems a dangerous place to venture into.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of “Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel” – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael’s website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com  or the novel online companion a www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to “Michael’s Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm” at its’ internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the “Subscribe to this Blog: How To” instructions page in the right sidebar. If you’re reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for

postings once a week.