In Brevity: Shitter #RIPTwitter
Chuckling to myself, I went on Twitter and wrote a tweet. I cleverly included a hashtag and clicked the “Tweet” button. Damn, but I’m funny.
I was now a content producer. Please, no autographs.
Excited, I clicked the hashtag which had magically transformed into a link to bask in the glory of my newfound celebrity status.
My eyes scanned the page. Uh oh, trouble! My tweet was nowhere in sight! “Alas, what’s happened?!” I cried out to the universe.
DIY: Genderproofing Your Home
What? Another DIY post? Wow. I must really be in the mood to be helpful.
Target, apparently a retail establishment that peddles cheaply-made crap (most of it likely sourced from overseas and presumably made with cheap labor) recently announced it was taking down gender-based signage in their stores. The new policy applies to departments like “toys” and “bedding.” Clothes, apparently, still have a long way to go, baby.
The old way of shopping worked something like this:
“Hey, we gotta get a toy for Pat. The kid is having a birthday soon.”
“OMFG! What gender is Pat? Do we even know?! That’s it, man. Game over. Stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen.”
“Whoa. Easy there. Calm down. We know what it is. Pat is currently a boy.”
“Whew. Okay. Close one. Let’s go to Target. We’ll head for the section labeled Toys For Boys. Make no mistake about it. We will not go down the aisle labeled Toys For Girls. No fucking way!”
At the store: “Now these are toys for boys. Get the erector set, Lincoln logs, Army men, flamethrower, truck nuts, 8×10 color glossy of Mike Rowe, a jumbo jar of Rambo sweat, and box of Cuban cigars.”
“Fuckin’ A.”
Now, thanks to Target, you can shop the new way:
“Oh, noes. The ‘boys’ and ‘girls’ signs are gone. Now we’re forced to choose from aisles simply labeled ‘toys.’ What are we supposed to do now? We’re gonna die!!!”
Don’t go sticking your head in an Easy Bake Oven just yet.
You Must Present
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.
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.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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