Archive for the ‘Internet’ Category

Years ago, I posted this gif here with the title “You and Me.” The gif disappeared, and then today, reappeared:

I was dating someone when I posted it, and thankfully the reeling relationship is so far gone I can’t even remember which of us was represented by the slapping penguin. If I had to title it again, I’d call it “Me vs. World.” And I’ll continue to provide no context, so when future-me reads my blog, she can indifferently pass over whatever obnoxious events prompted the posting of this picture.

I love Google Voice sometimes:

Hi Kat, This is seen as calling from Virginia Mason Medical Center From, Dr. Michael from office to let you know that you went ahead and sent the prescription for Fed has. So Sweet dreams to your Target Pharmacy.

There I was, eating breakfast, playing a game, minding my own business… when suddenly, I receive a message notification. It’s from kat! But oh shit, I’M kat! Why am I sending myself email at 7 in the morning? And why does it say this:

Acres of palm savanna contain mahogany, Bahamian pine, palmetto, maidenhair ferns and several endemic orchids. He also formed the Florida Memorial Gospel Choir with Benjamin Carroll. Congress from New Mexico Territory in 1884. (kat@welljourn.org)

I can only assume this is me in a parallel dimension, attempting to communicate with all other possible me’s in the entire universe, and this particular me just happens to be a poor writer who’s short on introductions and unable to provide any context whatsoever.

Just calling it spam would be too easy.

Hey Google+, platkat was a thing before you were old enough to suck on the tech industry’s teat. I say good day.

I thought I’d do some of that here. The gig was fun while it lasted, but going back to being plain old PlatKat really isn’t so bad. Stay tuned for my next non-scandal!

From a friend, upon viewing my wish list:

The whole list started as a jumbled assortment of the oddest combination of stuff I could find on Amazon. It was a joke, busting on internet attention whores who think they deserve gifts from strangers simply for existing. (Or perhaps showing their tits; either way, not interested.) Then people started actually buying me things from it (anal beads, duct tape, fake vomit, etc.) so I figured I ought to add some real things too. The chicken purse isn’t exactly one of them, but it’s the kind of gift I’d probably carry once to be funny and then it would sit in my closet for several years.

Yes indeed, Amazon played me like a rusty trombone… which you’ll notice is not on the list.

“Why do you have pizza?”

“You’re hungry,” a cross-country runner said.

“Because you want to,” Vernacchio affirmed. “It starts with desire, an internal sense — not an external ‘I got a game today, I have to do it.’ And wouldn’t it be great if our sexual activity started with a real sense of wanting, whether your desire is for intimacy, pleasure or orgasms… And you can be hungry for pizza and still decide, ‘No thanks, I’m dieting. It’s not the healthiest thing for me now.’

“If you’re gonna have pizza with someone else, what do you have to do?” he continued. “You gotta talk about what you want. Even if you’re going to have the same pizza you always have, you say, ‘We getting the usual?’ Just a check in. And square, round, thick, thin, stuffed crust, pepperoni, stromboli, pineapple — none of those are wrong; variety in the pizza model doesn’t come with judgment,” Vernacchio hurried on. “So ideally when the pizza arrives, it smells good, looks good, it’s mouthwatering. Wouldn’t it be great if we had that kind of anticipation before sexual activity, if it stimulated all our senses, not just our genitals but this whole-body experience.” By this time, he was really moving fast; he’d had to cram his pizza metaphor into the last five minutes. “And what’s the goal of eating pizza? To be full, to be satisfied. That might be different for different people; it might be different for you on different occasions. Nobody’s like ‘You failed, you didn’t eat the whole pizza.'”

An excerpt from Teaching Good Sex

If only congress had put this much thought into sex education for our country’s teenagers as it did into calling pizza a serving of vegetables.

“Going off the grid” used to be the understood lingo to signify you were going to disappear without a trace. Without. A Trace. This meant you were leaving home, giving up almost all of your possessions, telling no one where you going or if you’d be back, and heading to some remote location where no one will ever find you.

With the advent of cool gadgets that can do everything but wipe our asses for us, this phrase has taken on a new meaning. It means you deleted facebook. It means you’re not on the internet as often. It means you moved to a new apartment across town because you’re too big of a pussy to break up with your significant other.

For me, it meant going more than a week without a phone while I wait for work to get me a new one. Yes, I’m lucky to have an employer who will replace my scuffed, dilapidated Blackberry which may or may not have found its way into the bottom of a toilet because it fell out of my sleeve, which is not as secure as I thought. I’m also lucky to have dropped it around the time Blackberry was having problems with text messaging anyway AND Apple is releasing a new iPhone, thus bringing down the price of previous generations. That luck ran out today, though. I reached the office a little after 8, and “Good morning” was replaced with “No Internet.”

So now I’m stuck in Everett, an hour away from home, with no contact with the outside world. I have no Internet and no phone, save for the one at my desk which has a cord attached. I have used it exactly once: to place an order for a new phone. I have a flying lesson and a gig after work, and I’m using a desk phone like it’s fucking 1982. Why don’t I just send a goddamn fax while I’m at it… Were fax machines even around back then? I’d look up the information myself but there’s NO INTERNET.

Still, I’m not off the grid. Far from it. I showed up to work and went to a meeting. The set of people most likely to call the police and file a missing persons report in my prolonged absence know exactly where I am. And yet, everyone but my boss went to lunch, so I can’t help but feel like the captain’s first mate, voluntarily joining him on this sinking ship.

But the captain has a cell phone! I don’t!

Scratch that. The admin just walked in with my new iPhone 4. Of course, I can’t just turn it on and let it find a cell tower. That would enable me only to use it for its intended purpose: calling people. Nope, this is a state-of-the-art, all-in-one computing device commonly considered a “smart” phone. It needs a wireless network to set up iTunes, so I can do all my bullshit through there. It doesn’t realize our network is down and automatically search for the next best thing.

SMARTPHONE: Y U NO SMART ENOUGH TO LOOK FOR A CELL TOWER?

****

It’s several hours later and we’re back. As a coworker put it, the Internet is still “slower than pig snot.” My iTunes download is going to take 6 hours. At least I got the info I need to carry on with my day. It’s amazing how reliant we become on technology that barely existed 10 years ago. My greater worry is not my own personal desire to be in touch, but others’ expectations that I have the necessary technology available to return correspondence in a timely manner. I can go without either a phone OR the internet for quite awhile, but missing both presents a problem for school, work, and customers. I guess we’ll see how things go this evening. At the very least, I should get some uninterrupted time to get gas and wash the hearse!

I decided to try my luck at traveling by commercial aircraft and spend a short weekend in San Francisco. Sea-Tac reorganized the security line for the N/S gates, so it’s no longer “choose your adventure”. This freaked me the fuck out, but I didn’t get selected for a scan. After the Great O’Hare Grope hot on the heels of Grandma’s funeral, I was ready to simply not fly at all. I’m still not too crazy about the idea.

My first stop in the Bay Area involved a Cal-Train ride to Palo Alto. The amount of transit happening that day was bizarre. I took a train to Sea-Tac, a plane to SF, the BART to the Cal-Train, and John’s car to Advantage Aviation where we flew over San Jose and Santa Cruz. That’s where Zoey and I would take weekend roadtrips and eat fried oreos on the boardwalk. Mega-nostalgia in effect.

Then John and I headed to the Fark party. It was yet another reminder than internet people in real life are still internet people. Although I’m no stranger to internet meetups, I like that Fark parties don’t happen as often and tend to be more special affairs. We always douse a lot of that “getting to know you” crap in alcohol so it’s not as painful.

I stayed at the weeeeird Hotel Vertigo and took a foggy walk to Zeitgeist to reunite with the group. After some kielbasa and a breakfast beer, we did a little tourin’. Most notably, we attended the Folsom Street Fair, which made Seattle’s Capitol Hill look conservative and uptight. Most of the pictures in that link are not safe for work, and some of the undocumented stuff I witnessed was not safe for just about anyone. But people were having fun, and that’s what matters.

Although I didn’t participate in ass-slapping, name-calling, mask-wearing hoopla, I let Kink.com leave their (removable) mark on me. Since I haven’t messed with fake tattoos since I was a kid, I didn’t know I’d need to scrub it off my body to get rid of it, so I walked around like this for about about a week.

For awhile I forgot I was even wearing it, but for those who recognize the site, it probably looked more like an advertizement for the wearer rather than the company. I probably looked as obnoxious as those people who walk around with their underwear sticking out in attempt to look sexy. I was mostly in dark rooms covering Decibel Festival anyway, so I doubt people noticed.

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Electronic music, The Wizard of Oz, and things that take less than 5 minutes.