Last week, Lowcountry Weekly had the privilege of participating in the third annual Lt. Dan Weekend as media partners. Translation? In exchange for our help in publicizing LDW3, we got to hang out with some of the people involved, many of whom are genuine, bona fide heroes. Last week, those heroes saved another life – mine.
September always catches this editor off guard. After a low key, easygoing summer – interrupted only by that fleeting burst of hysteria we call Water Festival – my inbox suddenly erupts with a flood of exuberant press releases vying for my immediate attention. Once summer passes, Beaufort’s the most happening small town on earth, and all those happenings start happening at once.
Every time I sit down to write this column, I’m obliged to contend with the devil on my shoulder… and the angel on my other one. The former is forever jumping up and down, vying for my attention – “Pick me, pick me! Write something controversial! Get ‘em all riled up!” – while the latter sits quietly, with her secret smile, trusting me to do the right thing. She doesn’t know me that well.
I’ve been writing a lot, lately, about the ways that social media tends to emphasize, and maybe even enhance, our various divisions – be they social, political, religious, or what have you. I have a friend who calls it the “Facebook Effect,” this unfortunate phenomenon that emboldens people to say things online that they would never, ever say – in language they would never, ever use – in person, face to face.
August makes me grumpy. It always has. Not only are we knee deep in swampy, soupy summer now, but we know what’s coming – September… with all its false promise. We never learn, do we? Every year, we look to September with renewed energy and hope in our hearts (back-to-school! first-day-of-fall!), only to have that hope crushed out – mercilessly – by a month even hotter and more oppressive than August.
No? Then you’re probably much younger than I. More and more people are these days. But verily I tell you, children, there was a time when email simply didn’t exist… when humans were limited to painfully primitive channels of communication like the telephone, the fax machine, and an ancient priesthood of intrepid message-bearers called the US Postal Service.