I am admittedly anti-technology. Ha, ha, ha, Olivia, what are you doing on a laptop computer, then, posting a web-log to the internet? How fast your fingers move across that shiny silver keyboard, how rapidly you copy and paste using keyboard shortcuts! Well, I pick and choose my modern marvels. Computer, yes, internet, yes please, laundromat, a necessary evil. I blow dry my hair in the winter and heat up tortillas on my electric stove. I have been known, on occasion, to answer a telephone call on my mobile wireless device. Sometimes I even send a text message to my email. All I eschew are the following: Facebook, Television, and Microwave. And the only thing I really need, like, desperately crave, leave all else behind, desert-island list: that silver rectangle more potent than nicotine, the iPod.
Tag Archive: subway
On historical cross-referencing
So the other evening I was making my way to something cultural, oh I don’t know, a book signing or something. I am a lady of society and therefore was wearing a long coat. Also it is winter outside, and it always will be. I am proud of this long coat, because it is cutting-edge. By “cutting edge” what I mean is that it has an “interesting shape” which is just a fancy way of saying “it doesn’t look that good on me”.
LYNX (!) what’s up is down
This week, on the INTERNET. The distinguished cat serves a glass of water, half full and half empty.
canadian-lynxSnow may save us all: none of us would dare put a slushy boot on a subway seat.
So that’s the good news, and the bad news!
a tale of two tweezers
I have my spies now, intrepid reporters, walking the streets and riding the public transportation of America’s finest cities with their eyes wide open; both in eager anticipation to – and in abject horror at – what they see.
Lately, a text message from a friend in Boston.
the scholar and the actor
It is natural, at times, to feel that the world is against you; no one understands you, everyone is insane. I find myself saying that exact phrase, sometimes aloud, as I navigate crowded public spaces. “Everyone is fucking crazy,” I mutter, under my breath, shuffling along. Ha! Look at me! Sunglasses on a cloudy morning, carrying multiple canvas bags, paint splattered sneakers, well; it would seem that I am the object of my own disdain.