Monthly Archives: September 2014
We no longer live in an analog world. Our bulky cameras have been slicked into thin rectangles, a conglomerate of phone and camera and gameboy so small that we forget we carry it with us.
Blogs are a compression of life, but in the condensing, much is lost. The world consists of indeterminate shades of gray (though definitely not fifty), which the structureless blogs cannot capture.
Nick’s life is a mess, he knows it, and yet he moves through. Cynicism lurks behind almost everything he says (“Don’t trust your government, kids”), but it never dominates his character.
Hear me, please. I like America. I like English. I like being a millennial. But, really, if I hear the word abreves again in serious conversation…
For our minds to keep up with the data deluge, we require tools like the infographic, engineered to squeeze the gap between our complex environment and our curious yet limited cognition.
I have a theory that we don’t really learn much of anything by watching a bunch of characters who espouse the same values, worldviews, and ideas that we already believe.
Today’s devices generate far more information about their users and are no less adept at broadcasting propaganda that encourages behaviors which support the powerful and their myriad injustices.
I was always driven by the idea of the adventure and seeing new and unique places—after all, Carmen Sandiego wasn’t going to find herself—and sought out all opportunities I could find.
“Hello. My name is Gabe. I’m a proud Ravenclaw vegetarian with a tendency toward Monica-from-Friends-spirited lovers!” seems to lend greater depth and texture to who I am.
We were born, not in the shadow of a wall that divided nations, worldviews, and cultures, but into the sunlight streaming through its cracks.
Fantasy football isn’t practical. It isn’t realistic or especially constructive or useful. But so many of us play it. It’s the fantasy fulfilled for so many sports fans, and I think it’s a precise way to define us.
The video-photo-flipbook booth was a hit. Even my 91-year-old grandfather got in on the action—twice. Milling guests flaunted their flipbooks, the brief sequences looping like analog Vines.
Enter ethics. Step, for a moment, into the conscience of a football fan. It’s as ravaged as the gridiron after triple-overtime, as bumpy as the pebble-grained leather of each Wilson™ game ball.
So when we say we do not know how to do something, we do not accept defeat. We do not even sign up for Tae Kwon Do classes. We type “how to roundhouse kick” into the search engine of our choice.
It’s not very likely that police officers are more racist than everyone else. So when we talk about the police, we are not talking about the problem.
Do not snap pictures of people when they don’t know they’re being photographed (unless it’s funny. Then do it every time, obviously. Ten seconds of embarrassment is good for the soul every now and again).
But now that everyone and his mother uses them to serve cocktails and curl their hair, I think we have to put them under the microscope.
I can’t be the only one scrolling down so much because Pinterest is a thing and BuzzFeed is still publishing The Definitive Rankings of the World’s Hottest Gay Rugby Players.
So, as is often the way of things, my words are both signifiers of my absence and presence. I am both absent and present. I am with those I love, via my smartphone. I am also decidedly far, far away.
Why was I so afraid of losing this thing? I thought of it as Sampson’s hair—when I grew it, I scored more goals in hockey, hit harder, was a better leader, made better jokes, talked to more girls…
I am going to window shop for a while, wish that I knew what to do with a giant dead fish so that I could say I bought a giant dead fish, and then I will go and buy some delicious tacos.
Ultimately, it is Dunham’s writing that makes Girls so enjoyable. It’s cringeworthy. But it is also realistic. Her self-doubt mingled with entitlement is intoxicatingly accurate.
Katy Perry supports gay marriage. Katy Perry wears latex dresses. Katy Perry shoots whipped cream from her bra and sings about booze and cocks and parties.
Brunch implies slowing down, lingering over food with friends or family. It’s relaxed, unhurried. Everything the rest of the week, for many of us, is not.
So what right do people like us have to write about suffering, and if we do have a right, what authority can we bring to the task? A couple things come to mind.
I’ve also dared to bring out four waters by hand instead of using a tray. And, I’ve started recognizing my customers, especially the Groupon-wielding bunch.
even I can lament the anticlimactic answer to the perennial question of our youth: “Where in the World Is Carmen San Diego?” She’s sitting in a café in Palo Alto writing a nasty Yelp! review.
It took me a while to realize that glasses could be a fashion statement. (Granted, it took me awhile to understand the concept that wearing an all-purple outfit wasn’t a fashion statement.)