I’m not much of a caller, and people don’t often call me. However, every now and then a friend will call my mobile. The caller ID on my phone tells me exactly who is calling. So I’ll answer, “Hello?” expecting them to get right into the reason why they called me. But sometimes—just sometimes—they caller will respond, “Hi, Dani—it’s me, so-and-so.”
I don’t understand why the caller needs to tell me who they are. I know who they are. My phone’s screen told me who was calling. When the caller says, “It’s me, so-and-so,” I never know what to say. “Oh my goodness, what a relief! I didn’t think it was you, even though the caller ID on my phone said it was you.”? Or, “Thanks for clearing that up, I was worried it might not be you.”? Or still, “Thank you for reiterating what I already knew, you’ve made my ability to read redundant.”?
The only times a person should need to introduce themselves is if:
a) They are a telemarketer, receptionist, or hold some other form of admin/sales position. For example;
Hello, my name is Annoying Telemarketer from Company That Wants All Of Your Money, I would like to talk you about this product that you probably don’t need but I would like to convince you to buy it.
I have no interest in talking to you, Annoying Telemarketer.
Hello, my name is Bubbly Receptionist from Some Place That You’ve Made An Appointment With, could I please speak to Person That Made An Appointment With Us?
You are too bubbly for my liking, but I will tolerate it as long as we only discuss this appointment that I made with you.
b) The person calling you is calling from a phone different from their own, whether they are calling from a mutual friend’s phone, your enemy’s phone, your ex’s phone, their relative’s phone, or some unknown number like a phone booth.
Instances like these are the only times it is appropriate to respond to my “Hello?” with, “Hi—it’s me, so-and-so." It would also be helpful if you follow this up with a reason as to why you’re not calling from your own phone. Otherwise, don’t tell me who you are.
I’ve never been a huge fan of the Tumblr platform. I don’t really know why. Maybe because most of the people that I personally know that own a Tumblr blog are teenyboppers. Maybe I don’t like that their lifestyle revolves around modern technology, particularly the internet, and I wish they’d get outside more (or rather, be on the internet less). Maybe I like that the WordPress platform allows for users to be more interactive when responding to posts. Maybe I think that WordPress is a more admirable choice for a blogging platform. I don’t know.
I opened an account on Tumblr earlier this year. I posted a few things, and then I decided I didn’t want those things to be on the internet anymore. So I deleted my account and deleted my blog. But I’m back again, and this time I don’t have a specific purpose for my Tumblr account. I don’t have a particular goal that I want to achieve through Tumblr. I don’t know what I want my Tumblr blog to be about.
Yet, here I am.
Why be on Tumblr at all? Why have a blog? Why be on the internet? I find that I ask myself questions like these often, yet I have accounts on various social media sites, all of which have links that will direct you to my other sites. The majority of the time I spend on my phone and computer are spent on the internet. And I find that what I do on the internet is an enhanced version of my real life. Not that the internet isn’t real, but it has a sense of being less real because it’s digital, it’s not face-to-face, it’s not tangible.
I’ll take photos of my cooking conquests to tell the world how great my culinary skills are. I’ll complain about my university assessments to tell the world how busy my life is. I’ll announce major purchases that I’ve been waiting for to tell the world that I own things. And then I’ll stop and I’ll wonder why I needed to do all that. I’m not really telling the world. Is the world even listening? If they are, what are they listening to? What do they hear? What do they see? Who is my audience? Do they enjoy being my audience?
So I find myself in this endless loop of wanting to be here and then wanting to get out of here. Wanting to be part of the internet, wanting to tell the internet what I do in my real life, wanting to show the internet how productive and exciting my real life is, wanting to be part of everyone else’s virtual worlds and contribute to them and ooh and ahh at what they portray to the world—and then wanting to completely get off it, disappear from it and not have any accountability to this virtual world, wanting instead to immerse myself in my real, non-virtual life and actually be productive and actually enjoy exciting things.
I don’t know what I’m doing here or why I’m here. But I’m here nonetheless.