I am absolutely amazed at the way people misunderstand the language we all speak. There are certain words that seem to have lost their clearly defined meanings. One of them is the word “personal”. According to Bing: per·son·al,adjective.
of, pertaining to, or coming as from a particular person; individual; private: a personal opinion.
relating to, directed to, or intended for a particular person: a personal favor; one’s personal life; a letter marked “Personal.”
intended for use by one person: a personal car.
referring or directed to a particular person in a disparaging or offensive sense or manner, usually involving character, behavior, appearance, etc.: personal remarks.
making personal remarks or attacks: to become personal in a dispute.
So, why is it that personal remarks intended for one person, spoken by one person, exposing one person’s opinion, can be bandied around like public knowledge?
Because, there are no secrets on the Internet! Have you taken the time to read some of the things people post? Do they not realize that what they are saying can be taken out of context, transmitted to others, who take it further out of content, until all hell breaks loose? World wars start that way.
Before you post, think carefully about what you’ve said. can it be misunderstood, misconstrued, or somehow made to be inflammatory? the jokes you post–can they be seen as offensive by some, racist by others?
The Internet is a wonderful way to make friends with people you’d never have a chance to meet otherwise, but it needs care and caution. Guard your words and posts carefully. Nothing is personal or private–not even the so-called private messages. Don’t let your words be misunderstood.
A sneak peak at Lie Down With Dogs:
“Don’t do me any more favors! One of these days, Sloan, you’re going to give me a crappy assignment that I’ll turn into a Pulitzer, just watch and see.” Faye stormed out of the editor’s office, slamming the door behind her, the glass pane rattling in its frame. Her high white blond pony-tail swished from side to side, as she crossed the bull pen to her desk, the hated assignment sheet crumpled in her fist at her side. A society tea? He’d taken away the dog show and given it to Jackson. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, they had. Hadn’t she paid for her damn sins yet?
She ignored the sly “I told you so” looks on the faces of her fellow reporters and sat down. Journalism was a dog-eat-dog business, and she was still the main item on the menu. She was a crime reporter, not a damn social columnist. She didn’t give a rat’s ass about Fifi or Fido, and was sick to death of playing nice with dog show judges and patrons alike, but she’d had a good idea for a story, one with teeth, and Sloan, that no-good, low-down snake, had taken it from her.
Benjamin Franklin had been so right. “If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas, or in this case with your life in shreds. Her mother had always said she was too kind, too trusting. She’d warned her to be cautious of the company she kept, but co-workers weren’t company, not really, and ex-fiances who threw you to the wolves were no better. She’d made faulty assumptions and look at what it had gotten her..
This entry was posted in Uncategorized
. Bookmark the permalink