To Be or Not To Be on Facebook: That Is Indeed A Question

I recently lost access to my old e-mail address because the company that offered my email service was discontinuing e-mail in its current form, and after that, I also had some unsuccessful login attempts to Facebook and lost access to Facebook for a few days at least. I tried to call Facebook but, of course there is no number to call, and no one is there waiting for your call. I tried numerous times to reset my password and do other things to get back into Facebook, but nothing was working.

So, I paused my efforts, and I was faced with the question, do I really want to continue to be on Facebook or not. I had more time for other things, but I certainly missed keeping in touch with friends on Facebook and what their activities were—their birthdays, their ups, their downs, and their other adventures, and what they recommended, were listening to, or were reading.

Temporarily, I re-dipped my toe in the Facebook morass, and created a new Facebook presence through another version of my name, so I could at least, from a distance anyway, stay in touch, and see if it truly mattered. With this new identity it was interesting to see who Facebook thought I might be interested in meeting as friends and topics in which I might be interested. None really seemed very relevant, but it was fun for a short time to see their recommendations and keep in the mix at a distance.

I paused again and thought about it from an existentialist point of view, and wondered what Søren Kierkegaard might do. From a refreshing article I had recently read and from some faded recollections from my college readings, I knew that Kierkegaard, one of the key figures of existentialism, felt that it is the act of making choices that brings more meaning to our lives; that through making choices, we can live more authentically, forming our own opinions, rather than being guided by the opinions of others, peer pressure, or the society as a whole. For Kierkegaard, understanding the meaning of our existence seems to come through true experiences when we make our own choices, and not following the choices of others.

What would Kierkegaard, who died in Copenhagen in 1855, really think of the virtual world of friends and groups and networks that is Facebook? The social-media enterprise seems to be continually working on its algorithms and to deemphasize content which may be passively consumed and prioritize content that Facebook predicts will make a meaningful difference. Facebook often suggests choices, but often subtly trying to take choice away. I often smile from the content that Facebook predicts will be meaningful to me, but sometimes (more than I might like to admit) they are spot on or close.

Finally, I decided to give it a last try, because I decided it is better to be frequently with my friends on Facebook albeit virtually, then to go back to the more infrequent contacts than often happen only by chance. This time I was able to log on through another device and I was back on Facebook. I made a choice, I will try to choose to be more meaningful and advance truer experience on Facebook by sharing thoughts like these. I welcome the views and journeys of others who have thought about whether to be or not to be on Facebook, and faced this choice.

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Just A Still of the Night Work of Art

 Freddie Parris, the songwriter and lead vocalist of the Five Satins whose “In The Still of the Night,” became one of the most memorable and hummable songs of the group harmony/doo-wop era of rock ‘n’ roll, died at age 85, after what was termed a brief illness. The song originally did not sell all that well, but as time went on, it became more and more popular and often topped many radio stations’ count downs of the “all-time greatest hits.” It is also one of the only songs to have charted on the Billboard Hot 100 three separate times by the same artist with the same version each time. The Five Satins also charted with the romantic heart-beating “To the Aisle,” that was featured in the movie American Graffiti.

“In the Still of the Night” has been recorded by artists such as Boyz II Men and Debbie Gibson, and has been featured in such films as The Buddy Holly Story, Dirty Dancing, and The Irishman. Freddie and the Satins often played at rock n roll revival and oldies shows over the years, and the many times I saw them, always sounded as fresh and harmonious (and as smooth as silk) as they in the 50s, never taking their near-iconic status too seriously.

Freddie wrote “In the Still of the Night” while on a brief leave from military duty travelling by train from Philadelphia to his hometown, New Haven, and he recorded it with the Satins in a small church basement in New Haven shortly thereafter. A fellow church parishioner, Vinnie Mazzetta played a bluesy sax solo in the song that helped set the template for rock sax solos in many songs ever after. The modest beginnings of “Night” exemplified how art can be created from an everyday, typical moment and setting, and yet affect the lives of millions in a very special way for years to come.

Just Like Ronnie Said

Ronnie Spector, who passed away at 78 (not RPMs), had a raw, fresh, full of life sound that skipped merrily past time and era. It jumped from her work on “Be My Baby” and a series of follow-up smashes in the early 60s with the family Ronettes, to her solo career and her reprise in 1987 with Eddie Money in “Take Me Home Tonight (Just Like Ronnie Said).” Her joyful vocals merrily scaled the heavily produced P-Spectored “wall of sound” and gave us a sense of abandon yet tension that made every listen to a Ronnie song a fresh experience. While her personal life had its challenges, she always seemed to overcome them, and be a source of resilience, confidence, and inspiration. She shared with us a sense of hope because the “Best Part of Breaking Up Is When You’re Making Up.” Her notes of optimism will never be stilled.

As a Post Script, long-time WaPost rocker writer Chris Richards wrote at: https://www.washingtonpost.com/.../ronnie-spector.../ and appreciated Ronnie's "Be My Baby" as a "hit single where the blood-pounding drums quickly gave way to a voice that seemed to yearn on behalf of humanity....,and while it surged with euphoric youth-crush desire, it had cosmic wisdom, too — an almost precognitive awareness of the paradox within this highly combustible teen love thing that lives in our memories for the long ride." Ronnie may have gotten that "teen love thing" "for the long ride" from Frankie Lyman who lived just 15 blocks from Ronnie in upper Manhattan. Her voice lessons were listening to Frankie and the Teenager's records and practicing his vocal parts over and over again as described in a 2010 interview with the legendary NY DJ, Dennis Elsas at: https://wfuv.org/content/ronnie-spector-2010... Happy listening for the long ride.

"Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness" --Griffith's Prine

 The world's a little lonelier with the passing of singer/songwriter Nanci Griffith, here singing John Prine's "Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QNBeP8dzYdg

Every time I saw her in concert she put on a great show that seemed like it was meant just for you and me. May she rest in peace and song.

YOUTUBE.COM

Nanci Griffith - Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness

Nanci Griffith sings Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness (written by John

Bobbified and Dylanized at 80

 

Yes, I hear that Dylan turned 80,

a week or so ago.

He always seemed the eternal youth.

Can 80 be the new 30,

or is it just part of the flow?

I always was suspicious

about drawing lines and such

Making judgments by ages.

But does it really matter,

all that much?

Dylan always had an interesting tie

to time and to place,

and talent and art,

among other things we rate.

He was time out of mind,

watching the river flow.

Yet timely, untimely

or sometimes ahead of time,

being present, living in the past,

pointing to the future, all at one time.

He sang about staying forever young

yet trafficked in music however old.

He never wanted to be the voice of his generation;

yet sometimes played as if he wanted

that veneration.

His name a bit poetic

stood for freedom flashing.

It had little connection,

to his real name, somewhat clashing

He was a zimmer room just the same

A Robert Allen man,

A man walled

within a name.

His songs were ever changing as he performed

or spawned them differently

each time he takes the stage

He spewed them all a little diffidently.

He says he never listens to a recorded Dylan version,

because his songs are not stopped in time or place.

Never ready for reversion.

His voice and styles are ever changing,

never quite the same.

Always rearranging

As if it were a game.

He croaked, he crooned

He moaned, he mooned.

He countrified, he gospelled.

He quick talked, he spooned.

He slurred, he annunciated,

He pronounced clearly.

He seemed mocking and joking

But sometimes sang so sincerely.

He never stayed in one place

One age, or in one time.

He radio hosted

He painted pictures to be posted,

His own master pieces.

That modestly increases.

He prized in Nobel literature

When he hardly ever proses

Yet poetically speaking he ranks.

Even in all of his poses.

He claimed heritage to Woody Guthrie,

He created, he recreated,

He posed, he supposed.

His youth was a fable;

For the times he always changed it,

it never was quite stable

When asked how many folk singers,

they were in the early 60’s.

He answered in fractions, or percentages

Or in complete fictions.

When asked what his songs were about,

Dylan often retorted:

"Some are about four minutes, some … five,

…some, believe it or not, … eleven or twelve."

Some never ending, he smiled and he snorted.

He liked to be elusive

Went from authentic to commercial

His songs sold cars, soda, ladies garments, and computers.

Always controversial.

He plugged in at Newport,

When Seeger cut his chord.

He banded with the Hawks,

Spewing walk outs and dis-chords.

His songs were wrapped in albums

They were copied and covered.

But often were bootlegged

Stolen and pirated, and always rediscovered.

He recently sold his catalogue

To a too big to fail corporation

but did he ever own it.

Is this cause for celebration

Sometimes he seems

Deserving of all the time in the world

and at others hardly a second.

The length of this musing

may be worth it or a waste.

Time is elusive

and we can’t address it in haste.

His songs get discovered

by artists many-styled

there are tapes from the basement

and songs in the aisles.

I saw him on that first trip

to the bright lights of NYCity

in a dimly side room

that was crowded and oh so gritty

It was at Gerdes Folk City,

And a hat that he passed

I put a quarter in the lining

It was good timing

His fame was cast.

I was officially a paid fan.

He played for us a little longer,

He smiled and he harmonicized

like a tambourine man, but a little stronger.

A quarter at the time seemed large to a teen

the price of a yearbook,

a ticket to the silver screen

Seems hardly worth anything now

certainly not worth a year or a book

in our cyrpto constantly changing

world of pay it was hardly worth a look.

So Dylan at 80 celebrated

In concerts and art shows.

His freedom flashing

His world aglaze

His never ending tour never slows,

And he still can amaze.

Is he worth it

to pay tribute

to an everchanging symbol

I'm not sure…

But I know this

He’s a poet and a riddle

And that's why I waited,

some days past his birthday

To ponder and critique

He surely is worth it.

Are these thoughts a worth saving

I am still not so sure.

I went to “save” and “save as”

Ultimately, I wanted them to endure.

Time magazine that chronicler of life

said that Bob Dylan

lectured for his Nobel Prize

the way he’s lived his life:

on his own terms and in his own time

free of other man’s strife.

Dylan never suffered

false fake, or clayed-footed prophets

He’s the enemy of treason

Some say he was born to rock it.

He’s the enemy of strife

He’s the enemy of leisure

He’s the enemy of the unlived

meaningless pleasure

He ain't no falsified prophet

He just knows what he knows

He’s now modeled for a Hibbing monument

Clayed from his head to his toes

He goes where only the lonely can go

At 30 or 80

His lyrics are studied in college classes

As fanciful and as weighty.

11Michael Perlin, Cindy Mullaney and 9 others

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