Tuesday, July 12, 2005

The Diogenes Club. Heard of it? It’s one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s constructs, a club whose premise lies drenched in unsociability. Members may lounge and read in complete peace, unhampered by annoyances including conversation and acknowledgment of other people, and talk can only happen in the Stranger’s Room.

Originally I had in mind a vibrant community where smart discussion and witty exchanges, both of which would flow by the gallon, could flourish in parallel with readership. All this would percolate in a forum filled damn near to bursting, seams strained to the limits, those limits willfully ignored. The merriment would continue, unbroken, until such a time as the Intertron would collapse upon itself.

Fat chance. The more I read, the more I’m convinced we’re going Diogenes for months to come. There’s a public aspect built in the online world and, exciting thought it may seem, it’s also a tacit invitation for the roiling masses of stupidity to darken the living room carpet. “Sounds elitist,” you might say, to which I’d respond by patting you on the head and sending you back to your assigned corner. We’ll explore this in greater detail tomorrow.