A few invitations greeted me this morning when I checked email. The invitations were from people I probably exchanged one email with – if ever. I was being invited to join them at a new social networking site called Quetchup, apparently run by internet opportunists following the trend of using cute nonsense words to generate excitement for their venture. I deleted the requests because I do not join groups without first knowing what to expect, and without knowing a few of the participants at least fairly well. Perhaps more importantly, the messages were not from the individuals themselves, but generated on their behalf by the Quetchup computers. Invitations of this variety do not seem very personable and are treated as such.
I decided to take a quick look at my Google Reader before I got too busy watching the boats on the lake. It is my vacation, after all. P.W. Fenton (a.k.a. P-Dub) had a new blog entry. I was compelled as usual to check it out. The topic was “Quetchup = Kvetchup.” You see, P-Dub’s ability to detect bullshit is almost as good as the capacity of some modern non-gay Republican males — the ones that are not gay — to decipher sophisticated non-gay, male-male sexual activity signals from other males in public restrooms.
Satisfying to me, especially when I can smell the bullshit, is impeachment by P-Dub of pretentiousness. So after shaking my head and pressing “delete” next to the invitations to join a group just because my email address happened to reside among the 1000 associates in the address books of people I barely know, I was delighted that P-Dub gave these virtual miscreants the kind of public spanking only witnesses might fully appreciate.
As I read his Kvetchup essay, I began to think about condiments, group behavior, and trust. I think trust and food probably goes back to the stone age when furry humans would huddle together next to a warm beast they had just spent the day converting into food. I doubt anyone thought to bring charcoal, burger buns, or paper plates, and nobody brought bottled condiments to the picnic. Nonetheless, each would contribute to the event.
Not much has changed in thousands of years. Gathering with people for food is still special. We invite people whom we like and trust to our homes for meals, or join groups of which we are members at picnics. These occasions require planning, trust, and contribution from all involved to succeed. When invited to dinner, we want to know what to bring. If someone pays for our dinner at a restaurant, we offer to pay – at least our portion. We feel awkward if we are not a member.
Few items more accurately reveal one’s investment intentions in a group than the brand of ketchup they choose to bring to the group picnic. We all know what it’s like to be at a family picnic trying to be nice to our Great-uncle Boris’ fourth adopted son’s thrice-married neighbor and his new girlfriend when they arrive hammered after we lugged all the food and chairs to the picnic site. Somehow their contribution of a half-bowl of potato salad leftover from his Aunt Bell’s wake last week, and a small squeeze tube of no-name ketchup seems rude.
Bringing something is good manners. But, bring something that permits you to be excused for not being part of the hunting party! Everybody knows that people prefer name brand condiments over those bargain brands that resemble the stuff we like only in shape and phonetic approximation. When we are relaxing with family and friends at a picnic, we want familiar food we trust. You know people who only bring a bag of generic chips and a can of bargain beans are not there to contribute to your group. They want to eat the beast you worked hard to kill and somehow think you will not notice they missed the hunt.
Socializing over the internet can be rewarding as long as we remember that virtual should never mean pretend or fake. Had the creators of Quetchup offered something valuable instead of showing up late with fake stuff they might have been welcomed. Quetchup? Kvetchup, indeed!
