There are so many intelligent and articulate people covering the hard-hitting
issues in our country these days, that I felt it was my duty to cover the
rather inconsequential bullshit that tends to make up the vast majority of
our lives. Actually, I'll just be griping a lot which, if you weren't aware,
doubles as a synonym for complaining, and as a descriptor for
a sharp pain in the bowels.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Technologically Retarded

For starters, my eyeballs ache. Secondly, my brother got all the technological know-how in the family. Between feeds, diggs, and, not to mention the new FriendFeed, my mind is ready to explode. I am such a crotchety old man set in my ways that I don't even want to employ any of these alleged time-saving devices which organize your favorite websites, notify you of updates, and tell you about all the sites your friends and family are checking out. These all come in addition to all the social networking sites which already allow you to share all sorts of information and the conventional linking route. Should I post it, share it, blog it, e-mail it…damnit I broke the rule of three. Sounds like bop it anyway. It could all have something to do with my inability to use time efficiently, but I also like to do things away from the computadore. Don't worry, that sentence didn't really express a clear thought, but I know what I mean. When I do hit up the interweb, I kind of enjoy wandering about aimlessly, stumbling from website to website. Besides, it's like phone numbers back before cell phones (less than two years if you're me): you had all the important ones memorized.

Still, I was glad to see the Borders next to Penn Station packed tonight. It's nice to know people still read things published on paper and that I scare/make them uneasy/maybe it was coincidence. Three separate times in only a fifteen minute span I would wander into a section and any other person there would immediately retreat.

Last thing. This guy, probably early twenties like myself, was calling in his dinner order on the train tonight, on his Motorola Q to be precise (not that it actually matters. If I had a crazy job, I guess I might be forced to get one too). He was trying to order a fish sandwich, but apparently there was some trouble with the connection. "Fish. F-I-S-H. No, fish, like…" only he couldn't think of an example (and neither can I at this moment) and so he said, "you know, like fish. Like, it's a fish, and you cook it, and you put it on a sandwich." I guess you had to be there, although the story still might suck. I'm sure he got the freshest tartar sauce around.

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