To paraphrase that famous hack, Shakespeare, I pose this question:
To share or not to share; that is the question: whether it ‘‘tis nobler to make passionate SP info free to Perb brothers, or suffer the arrows of secrecy in a community of giving?
I’ve just passed my 10-year anniversary on Perb (hey Mods, I’m still awaiting my gold pen in the mail), and as I reflect on my evolving habits I ponder this question.
Like most of you I have benefited immensely from the chatter and brotherhood of Perb. When I first started I was like a kid in a candy shop, amazed at the free flow of information; so much so that I felt compelled to share all my experiences and notch as many TOFTT as possible in gratitude.
Of late, however, I have been more discreet with my intel. Over the years I’ve met a small posse of dudes on Perb through DM and maybe half a dozen in person with whom I am in semi regular contact with (Thanks Perb!!). I do find that I am a little more choosy lately about who I share information with, both on the open forum and via DM. If it’s a real greenhorn (like less than a year) or someone from out of town, I’m happy to offer whatever insights I may have. But lately, I’ve been checking the registration date and posting history of people asking for info, and if they are “new member” from 2020 with a history of only taking info and not giving, I’m much less likely to respond.
Likely I’m becoming a curmudgeon in my dotage, but that’s the way I’m evolving. I’m curious about how others handle their precious intel….
Below is the entire soliloquy from Hamlet, which is an interesting read. And fitingly, he concludes that it is better to have sinned and remembered them with his fair Ophelia that not to have sinned at all. I would agree. And would even go as far to suggest to sin as much as possible before the meter expires (with the caveat that your sins should do no harm to others)…
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.–Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.
To share or not to share; that is the question: whether it ‘‘tis nobler to make passionate SP info free to Perb brothers, or suffer the arrows of secrecy in a community of giving?
I’ve just passed my 10-year anniversary on Perb (hey Mods, I’m still awaiting my gold pen in the mail), and as I reflect on my evolving habits I ponder this question.
Like most of you I have benefited immensely from the chatter and brotherhood of Perb. When I first started I was like a kid in a candy shop, amazed at the free flow of information; so much so that I felt compelled to share all my experiences and notch as many TOFTT as possible in gratitude.
Of late, however, I have been more discreet with my intel. Over the years I’ve met a small posse of dudes on Perb through DM and maybe half a dozen in person with whom I am in semi regular contact with (Thanks Perb!!). I do find that I am a little more choosy lately about who I share information with, both on the open forum and via DM. If it’s a real greenhorn (like less than a year) or someone from out of town, I’m happy to offer whatever insights I may have. But lately, I’ve been checking the registration date and posting history of people asking for info, and if they are “new member” from 2020 with a history of only taking info and not giving, I’m much less likely to respond.
Likely I’m becoming a curmudgeon in my dotage, but that’s the way I’m evolving. I’m curious about how others handle their precious intel….
Below is the entire soliloquy from Hamlet, which is an interesting read. And fitingly, he concludes that it is better to have sinned and remembered them with his fair Ophelia that not to have sinned at all. I would agree. And would even go as far to suggest to sin as much as possible before the meter expires (with the caveat that your sins should do no harm to others)…
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover’d country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.–Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember’d.
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