How to Read Social Media Comments

In order to be able to read social media comments you have to understand a little bit about life in a small town.

My grandfather's name was pops because I used to laugh and say he was so big it looked like he was going to pop. I liked how he laughed, especially the day I told him that - he smiled and said it over and over again and the name stuck. I think we both knew I was imagining him on a lonely alamagordo test range detonating at sunset. We always tended to keep a wary eye on each other.

My grandfather was my only true and worthy chess opponent. He was a man who strengthened his game by playing the town minister, or maybe it was the local bishop, I'm not sure which. A small town minister can rise up to the papal ranks if he does his job right. I think he was bishop at that point. And apparently , those two strong men would really go at it .. I came to learn that he'll do anything to beat a ten year old kid. Anything. He wants you to memorize the board. But at the same time, he wants to hammer you. And if he does, he won't let you forget it.

But most of all , I loved him very much. He drank, I think, when I was very, very young - and I was never worried about whether or not he had a cigarette though I heard he quit those too. He died.

But somehow, he must have made an impression on someone else before he died. I remember well the day before he died, I was walking around in the small town, where he had helped to build the General Hospital - at a doctor's office. My grandfather was a country doctor, and that was his office.

I was chasing memories. I think. Maybe it was a lizard. There are chameleons in this small towns so close to the border of Florida that it's almost there. Maybe I was just hunting around for junk in the alleys and backs of the shops on the town square. Maybe I was wandering over to my grandmother's clothing store. She used to head up to Atlanta, have a fun time, get a bunch of dresses and come back down with them for sale. When you're a doctor's wife - with four frisky children - you take your vacations when you can get them.

I remember my Grandfather had a study, just about 20 feet down the hall - maybe a little less, and to the right. It was an office that caught the sun on a morning. It was his study.

My grandfather was a man of very curious mind. He always surprised me that he would know exactly what was the coolest thing I could think of.. and then ask enough questions so that he could ascertain, if indeed, it was cool. And he would invariably come to the polite conclusion that it was - but if he later wanted to give you the message he disagreed with you, he would let you know that as well.

I remember his study. Most of all. Now. I remember in particular a glass jar. And in that jar, was an aborted foetus. A foetus that ultimately was killed by its own God. A stone child.

It was a gray thing. Slight cast, but when the morning sun caught it - the glass lit to an amber shade. And I wondered of it. Finally I asked "Pops - what's the story behind this baby in the bottle?" and he smiled and then furrowed his brow in a very Dr. Kildare-like moment and said, authoritatively, "That " (insert slight dramatic pause. he was kind of a ham) .." Is a stone child. .. My patient ah .. a woman of ... obese character .. " ( again, this is Pops Dr. Kildare Moment, he's wanting you to make sure you get the fact that yes, he has more than one patient. he had tons, but this is his way of bragging about it ) .." came to me complaining of abdominal pain that had been going on for quite a number of years. I examined her, and then proceeded to find a hard lump in her lower abdomen. So, naturally I ordered some X Rays at the mmm General .. Hospital .. " ( which he helped found. again, he was a little proud. and believe me , nobody ever forgot seeing this strange stone child, either the hospital or this.. ) ... " and subsequently found an image of a child. There were no signs of life in the child, of course. Or I would not have ordered the X Ray, as X Rays are dangerous to unborn children .. "

At this point, he had my rapt attention. The sunlight was filtering through the window. The two coal black eyes of the foetus were looking at me through lidded eyes. Its arms were curled up around an imaginary bollywood movie dance move. Legs were slightly akimbo, crossed. A section of the umbilical cord coiled around in the jar.

My Grandfathers voice boomed. He was a country man, and he loved the hunt. He knew I was listening, so he went for the kill. " And .. did you know, I operated on her. I removed a child. And that child . Had turned to solid stone ." She simply never knew she was pregnant, and the child had died inside of her - and had stayed in her and slowly turned to stone.

As it turned out, My Grandfather made a note of every child he had ever delivered, and knew that child's birthday, and name, and whenever he met any child he delivered, he made a point of asking about them, wishing them a happy birthday on the day that they were born. He knew their likes, and dislikes, and the names of their dogs and cats, and all of their family members. This would make little children squeal with delight.

The people who read you on Social Media, are one of those little children.

They will think you are as cool as my grandfather. I'm not. But they are your groupie, and you love her. At one point you were cousins but got bored of that, and besides it was dishonest. you and I are different that way.

I can't remember the names of the people I met yesterday. You have to repeat the name over, and over, and over before I can remember it.
Its said to be an infuriating trait of mine. I remember just a few names, even still. Most names fade. Teresa. That's a beautiful name.

I loved that name.

At any rate, if you want to know how to read a social media comment, you need to imagine her as a hippie. A flower child. So here's how you read her comments. Whatever she says - part of it is being sung out loud. Close your eyes and think of someone wearing a colorful costume with butterfly wings and running all over the place and you ask them for a peanut butter sandwich, and they go .. here! is the peanut butter saaanndwich!! And then they do a perfect veronica with the table cloth.

And the candles. Are still standing.

You end up getting the peanut butter sandwich, but you also get a faded out fax with a sticky note of it, and the rain falling on the glass, and the sound of the wind through the trees.

She Is not in a place . Where they have that thing called road rage. It does not exist where Edith lives. Right now, she is in a place where the local policeman is someone you know. Or at least, you know someone who knows him very well, and to be perfectly honest, there are some pretty theoconservative people there. The whole ... let's take our local police and put them into play soldier black glass tank cruisers, would just mean they roll the window down and talk to you.

She Is in a place where they are trading places with the little bit of tourism that seems to power the economy, and the mayhaw - that they hope will survive the weather weirdness.

So, just sometimes sing them to yourself. And even if you can't read them, because I suspect that every now and then, the people who are always commenting on social media. Get a little bombed..

And I try not to scare them away. But..
That's my next story. And man. It's going to be a good one.

Even more, I'd really love from someone from the band The 1975 to contact me because I think I can write them some pretty kickass lyrics and handle some of the visual / Cookie Thumper type stuff for their vids.

But then. I are illone. said Krazy Kat.

But I'll probably just play some Eve . I have finally gotten the hang of nullsec ratting and it's way more fun and profitable than strip miner gank fest