Tag Archives: internet

Blip Service

How I plan to die.

This is how I plan to die.

This is part 42 in our never-ending coverage of the techpocalypse. Note to self: Kill everyone on staff for overusing the apocalypse thing. -Ed

Once upon I time I said, “Golly gee whiz wilikers, I wish I could see anything I wanted at the time of my choosing. You know, that on demand shit.”

That’s when Lt. Uhura showed up, called me “Captain Adventure,” stunned me with her phaser and uproariously laughed, “Be careful what you wish for.”

One thing they never told you. After one is stunned by a phaser blast one will tend to void their bowels. Finally something worthy of pay-per-view.

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Technology Pitchfork

Your humble correspondent pondering tech. And wanting to die.

Your humble correspondent pondering tech. And wanting to die.

There’s a crap for that. Stick a pitchfork me. I’m done. Well done. By Satan himself.

The future’s so blight I gotta dig graves. A pitchfork works well for that, right?

So, technology. Let’s talk about that. It’s here. It has landed on our chests like a motherfucking elephant in a COPD commercial. Let me posit this: How’s that technology working out for you?

In a moment I’m going to share my ideas regarding the three-pronged attack on our very existence by technology. (Get it? Pitchfork?) I used to think there was only one prong but that was before spring break. I’ve since expanded my thinking (as well as something else).

Call it my Grand Unification Theory of Technology (GUTT) if you will. It’s time for a gut check. Spoiler alert: Mine has been spilled open by a pitchfork. Dammit. They let anyone own these things.

It’s time to stick ’em with the prongy end. Make the jump and I’ll get to the point.

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You Must Present

I like this image. No disrespect to Pankaj Ghemawat is intended.

I like this image. No disrespect to Pankaj Ghemawat or the Eight Percent is intended.

These days, if you decide to come after Twitter, you had best bring your A-game. You gotta have cred. Because, when the shit hits the fan, you have a grand total of .42 seconds to capture the attention of that potential follower or lose ’em forever.

You get one chance. One!!

Strike while the iron is hot. Seize the day. Squeeze lemonade out of their lemons. Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.

That’s where I come in. My latest business idea will give you insta-playa status. Make the jump for our special presentation or choose the path that leads to dying alone.

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Happy Holo-Days

Sadly, Christmas technology just isn’t there yet.

We’re still celebrating in the old old-fashioned way. The wheel. Analog travel. And at what cost? Jet lag. Transportation risks. Fights over sounds and smells. Great expense.

In the far future we’ll step into the transporter room, say “energize,” and all meet instantly at uncle Joe’s place in the Bavarian alps.

Assuming most of us won’t be around for the 23rd century, what the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?

My idea for a short-term interim solution is the hologram Christmas. Imagine it. You finish the last season of your favorite show on Netflix, have a seat in the imagine chamber and voila, you’re magically in the living room sitting around the hearth with the rest of the fam.

Fa la la la la la la!

No mess. No fuss. No road rage. No dodging other drivers brandishing weapons. No worries about snow in the pass. It’s just a good as being there. Better, even.

The technology is almost there. We just need some holo imagers, holo emitters, contact lenses embedded with Google Glass, and sufficient bandwidth. I’ll bet clever programmers can even come up with realistic holo versions of our current level of tablet and phone technology, so we can all lose our faces in devices just like we already do. That’s authenticity.

Happy holo-days to you and yours and everyone you’re willing to interface with.

Comic: Millennial Baby

baby-comic

An open letter to Anita Sarkeesian #gamergate

"Anita Sarkeesian + Research Materials" by Anita Sarkesian is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Sarkessian with some of the video games used to research Tropes vs Women in Video Games. “Anita Sarkeesian + Research Materials” by Anita Sarkesian is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Note: I have chosen to include the “gamergate” hashtag with this post. Am I using it correctly? I don’t really know. I don’t have a friggin’ clue. I am not a gamegate scholar. I don’t have the time or inclination. I don’t really care if I’m using it improperly. That’s not what this post is about. IMHO a lot of people are trying to control, define and co-opt the term based on their own bias, point of view and/or agendas. I’m not taking sides in any gamergate wars. Any offense you perceive as you read the following is your own. –Ed.

Dear Ms. Sarkeesian,

May I call you Anita? I hope so. If not, that’s okay, too. Either way, no offense is intended.

I’ll be honest. I look up to you. I think you are a true modern day hero. When I say “hero” I mean that in the grandest sense of the word. You rock.

Wikipedia says that “[a] hero (masculine) or heroine (feminine) refers to characters who, in the face of danger and adversity or from a position of weakness, display courage and the will for self-sacrifice—that is, heroism—for some greater good of all humanity.” Two different words for “hero” based on gender? Isn’t that part of the problem? Whatever. Either way, I believe a “hero” is you.
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A Link To Centuries

knockingAll I want for Christmas is a “no soliciting” sign. I had one before but a solicitor stole it from my door. I know because I was inside ignoring them when it happened. And, true story, they were selling for the company where I worked. Unbelievable.

In the meantime…

It was a Saturday afternoon. My wife and I were hanging out in the living room with the cats. I wasn’t wearing pants. Suddenly, there came a sound from the door. The cats ran away. The moment was lost.

You know that knock? The one that says, “Hey, it’s me.” It goes like this:

Knock knock!
Knock knock knock knock knock knock.
Knock knock!

I heard that sound and cocked an ear. “Who the hell can that be?” I gasped.

No worries. It was a just a salesperson.

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