I don’t know if you belong to any book or movie groups on social media, but they’re an awesome way to connect with like-minded entertainment junkies where you can delve into plot holes, critique subplots involving second string characters, and debate ad nauseum the politics of certain actors, but let me tell you, it’s seriously not as boring as that run-on sentence just made it out to be.
Sometimes, you’re given homework. Again, membership is usually a little more interesting than my descriptors would lead you to believe. Anyway, fellow members (you know who you are) will routinely offer up puzzles to the rest of the group. Like, what was that movie that had the title with a name of a flower in it… or that book, you know, the one that came out 30 years ago with a red cover and a character named John. The responses to these vague campaigns often run the gamut. Some, like me, take it as a challenge.
Of course, there are always those who respond, why don’t you Google it? I mean, they have a point. Google is right there. Google is your friend. But then again, isn’t that the point of these niche groups? To talk, discuss, and generally obsess over whatever it is the group is patterned after? It’s the perfect place to ask those types of questions, and quite frankly, I’m not sure why the “go ask Google” people are even in those groups if they don’t want to help a fellow bibliophile or cinephile in their pursuit of a dated book or an obscure film.
And what about the people who create these intriguing side quests and then apparently drop off the face of the Earth?
Yeah, does anybody remember a book about a girl named Jane, I read it, oh, about 25 years ago, had something to do with the sea, and something bad happens. Yeah, that’s all I’ve got. Anybody know it?
Then you have fifty people throwing out answers, some of which are pretty damned decent guesses and either those folks have a vast mental library or else they’re fantastic researchers… but, we’ll never know the answer to this riddle, because the original poster never comes back to say, yeah, that was it! Or no, you’re all wrong, are you crazy, of course that wasn’t it!
I mean, at least come back and give the rest of us some closure for god’s sake. I think those people need a course in manners. Hey, I remember that book! By a lady named Miss Manners of all things. Maybe I should recommend it to them.
You know what, though? This lack of rejoinder happens in any online group that has people as members, the one constant being, well, people.
Seen in a backyard gardening group: What’s this plant growing in my garden … I never planted it, it just showed up one day, fully grown. Can I eat it? Will it kill my cat!? What’s the deal? And someone responds, because they always do, with encyclopedic detail, pictures and all, to let the would-be gardener know not only the name of the plant, but a delicious recipe their grandmother had using that very plant. Others pile on with their own identification and recipes for teas, salves, and oils. But does concerned forager and cat owner ever respond? Nope. We’re just talking to ourselves at that point.
It’s the whole being behind a keyboard rather than face-to-face thing, I think. Even though the internet connects us, there’s still an inherent disconnect.
And we still don’t know what happened with her cat.
So funny and true!
The plant was a Triffid, the book was by John Wyndham, Howard Keel starred in the movie, and every time I hear a crow “drumming” I tense for the stinger…
Howard Keel, that’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. 😀 I haven’t seen that movie, but just looked it up and can’t believe I missed that one!
Decent book, so-so movie. About par for ‘60’s B-movies. But that sound they make is just like one that crows make all the time, and that mental connection stuck. Just like the air raid sirens which they used in Pal’s “The Time Machine” when the Morelocks called the Eloi in to dinner 😳 – made quite the impression on me as a child, especially when the Kansas air raid sirens started to go off… (Tornadoes, not “dinner!”)