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aden, megnéztem
valdi, nem mp3. rossz közös ismerősnél informálódsz
Ezt pedig olvassátok el. Egy Ben Weasel nevű csávó írta, aki egyrészt a Screeching Weasel nevű együttes énekese volt, másrészt rendszeresen publikált minden amerikai fanzinok öreganyjában, a Maximum Rock N'Rollban, harmadszor pedig jó arc. Ő az emailről ír, de nyugodtan értsétek a fórumozásra.
Na szevasztok.
"E-mail is to the art of conversation as a 70's porn loop of a woman fucking a German Shepherd is to the Mona Lisa. Through rapid-fire, stream-of-consciousness missives written in a style that can only be described as Moron Shorthand, e-mail reduces the varied and beautiful languages of the world to a series of grunts, much in the way our Neanderthal ancestors must have communicated. While I'm all for reducing certain things to their most basic elements - music and fucking are two that come immediately to mind - communication is not among them. A conversationalist tells an adversary that he is an uncouth cad unworthy of the speaker's respect; that he acts in ways befitting a drunken ape; and that he deserves to be flogged with the whips of intelligence until some insight an decency finally begin to seep through his pores. An e-mailer tells said adversary to fuck off and calls him an asshole. And spells "asshole" wrong.
E-mail is, by nature, an affront to the art of communication. As an alternative to a fax machine, I suppose it serves its purpose. But used as a back and forth communication tool, it has destroyed the communication skills of the internet generation (or perhaps never allowed those skills to develop in the first place) to the point where original thoughts are verboten; to where the common courtesy of phrasing a sentence in a way that suggest some thought was put into it no longer matters; to where visual assaults upon the reader via the ignorance of capitalization, punctuation, and grammar are commonplace; to where the art of communication - and maybe more importantly, gift of language - are shat upon; to where wandering around the internet scratching ones self whilst emitting written grunts, belches and farts is par for the course; and to where the most on can expect from the e-mailer is a use language and communication that approaches that of the dialogue in the average Pepsi commercial.
Yeah, the schools suck, but parents and government officials complained about shitty schools when I was a kid. Yeah, people don't read enough - that's a big part of the problem - but have people ever read enough? Yeah, kids play too many video games and have too few real-life adventures. But virtual reality - and I really like that term because I think it's incredibly accurate in describing the state you enter the second you log onto the Internet - has for many of you become a substitute for reality. Your social skills have suffered accordingly and your communication skills have either failed to develop maturely or have deteriorated altogether. You have isolated yourselves further from the rest of society - strangely, though, you may "talk" to more people on the internet than you do in the rest of your life, you have fewer friends and less meaningful conversations.
There is no information superhighway. There's just a large Twinkie floating out there in cyberspace, millions of people attached to it's fluffy, sponge-like outer shell, attempting to get to the creamy unnaturally white chemical-filled inside like so many ants."
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