since I was talking about languages headcanons, let me share an actual fav of mine: Yuuri actually started studying Russian when he first fell in love with Viktor (’s skating).
A starry eyed little Yuuri, glued to the small bulky television in the living room of the onsen, watching the recording of a young Viktor’s Junior World Championship in Bulgaria, his ponytail whipping around as he twirls and cuts the air in a perfectly executed jump; there’s nothing more Yuuri wants than to be like him, to know what this person made of starlight looks like inside. How can this beautiful angelic boy do what he does, how is it even possible to glide so effortlessly on the unforgiving ice when all Yuuri can do is fall and cry and bruise?
So he starts info dumping, collecting scraps of rare skating magazines, reading article upon article about him and interviews; but then again, there’s only a certain number of them that’s in Japanese, a little more in English, of which Yuuri’s knowledge is still wonky at best. Most of them are in Russian, because you know, Viktor is Russia’s prodigy, so of course. It’s not easy to find them.
Their dial up connection cable whirrs ominously and sucks money and energy, but he doesn’t desist, finds some approximation of a skating fan site with grainy images and pages and pages of minuscule writing, so much it makes his head hurt. Even then, he doesn’t give up. Yuuri is twelve, and stubborn, so he goes to the library and brings home a dictionary, sits down in front of their outdated computer and squints at the screen, flips through the yellowed pages and reads, painstakingly, his vision going fuzzy in between kanji and cyrillic. It’s not the best, but it’s all worth it when one day he realizes he actually can recognize some of the words without even cracking open the ratty dictionary.
When Yuuri is eighteen, he places his heart and dreams in Detroit. He slices himself open and drips red on the pavement of the rink, strips his feet raw and never stops thinking about the force that drives him, locks a wish too big to be contained into the small space between lungs and ribcage. He signs up for a Russian Language course.
When asked, he tells Viktor he had to choose an extra class to take in college. He doesn’t tell him about the little kid hunched over a shitty dictionary at two am begging to know more about his idol (he’ll tell him, a whispered confession in the middle of the night, but now it’s too much, too early). He doesn’t tell him that he knows exactly what he’s doing when he brings a tub of ice cream home and Viktor beams delightedly, exclaims “that’s my favourite!” Yuuri smiles, replies he had a hunch it would be. The old article is clear in his mind, a stolen piece of memory of a Katsuki Yuuri that wanted nothing more than to know exactly what Viktor Nikiforov’s favourite ice cream flavor would be, not knowing there’d be a time where it would become as simple as asking. Viktor laughs, makes grabby hands at it. “I love you,” he sighs wistfully, wrapping his lips around the spoon, and Yuuri flushes, takes a spoonful too, feeling incredulous and warm.
The wish that was trapped inside crawls up his throat and takes off in a huff, no more than a whisper. It has no use now, for it’s fulfilled, at last.
The ice cream tastes better than anything he’s ever had.
I Know Too Much about how libraries and librarians work. This resulted in complicated headcanons about job roles and org charts, trying to figure out how the behind-the-scenes of all the accumulating bits of canon and fanon would work. Hope it’s okay to share this here.
Libraries contain vast amounts of information that create possibilities, and stories, that have an immense amount of narrative weight and power. They are basically one giant liminal space, but one that exists for the people that use it. And it’s the people that work in the library that create that connection.
The Fair Folk have opinions about librarians. There’s a certain amount of idealism involved that would make them vulnerable, but so much of what they know and do is dangerous. They are accorded a certain not-inconsiderable amount of respect and caution, let’s say, and leave it at that.
There are two kinds of librarians at Elsewhere University, two sides to the same coin. There are the librarians who have an employee ID number, and a title on their nametag. They have lunch breaks, vacation time, and salt and iron in their pockets and stashed in odd corners in their desk drawers and offices, just like the rest of the staff and faculty. And then there are The Other Librarians. The other librarians can be found on floors ten through twenty-three. Officially, there are nine floors to the library. (This does not include the rooftop garden that is not accessible by stairwell or elevator.) The sub-basements are officially recognized. The tunnels are not.
The other librarians also have officially-issued library nametags. All they say is “librarian.” Some of the other librarians may have been human once. They may have officially retired. They may have learned too much, or willingly given up something that held them tethered to mundane cares outside of The Library, or made a bargain for something the library needed.
There are stories of a cataloguer, best of his generation, who reached a point where he could recite chapter and verse of the standards, never misjudged a subject heading or used the wrong cutter number. The arcanest of arcane inscriptions held still for him while he captured the true author and all relevant cross-references. There was not a text he could not read, or element of biliographic control that he could not master. The years went by, and the standards changed, Anglo American Cataloging Rules superceded the Rules for Descriptive Cataloging, ISBNs were introduced, AACR became AACR2, and a switch from cards to computer records loomed large. He knew so much, but was afraid so little of it would still be relevant. He made a deal.
He wasn’t the first. There are still cards appearing in the card catalogue today written in copperplate Library Hand script, as proscribed by Melville Dewey, with a pen and an inkwell.
There are still memories on the lower floors of a reference librarian who could find anything. There are people on staff who worked side-by-side with her on late night reference desk shifts, and tell stories of how she had an infinite command of Boolean logic to wring every penny out of the paid-by-the-second online search services. There was not an annotated bibliography or index that she didn’t have at her fingertips, and she could walk a student though the reference interview from “I need a book, I guess” to “help me find three print sources for my introduction to pre-confederate Canadian literature mid-term paper” in twenty seconds with a smile. Rumour has it that she bargained away the memory of every childhood pet she ever had to get internet access in the library for undergraduates. Officially, she retired in the late nineties. But in the Deep Library, there are those who can coax the dial-up modem into connecting to a Dialog subscription that the university hasn’t paid for in two decades, and bring back an answer in seconds every time.
There are fading echoes of the year that the entire cataloguing department and half the reference librarians vanished in the stacks in the early 1940’s. The university was smaller then, and the protections that were needed to balance a tumultuous time in world history took a terrible toll. It was said that if you stood in certain parts of the stacks, you could hear the air raid sirens, and watch the collection grow as refugee books were taken in. There were dark whispers that some of the staff disappeared into the library in a trade for safety for family members or one of the other desperate bargains made in wartime, but some were promoted to the upper floors without warning because the library didn’t want to lose their valuable talents to conscription or worse.
If the Library needs you, it will take you. If you are lucky, it will be on your terms, at a time of your choosing. In most cases, a masters’ degree in library and information sciences from a nationally-certified graduate program is required, though in some rare cases, an equivalent combination of education and experience may be considered.
Most undergraduates and visitors (both the mundane kind that come from outside the campus, and the Visitors), and some university support staff, will leave with a vague impression of any of the librarians as an ominous yet helpful shape, and an overwhelming sense of sameness. This is a type of protective camouflage that the library generates, and it extends to cover all the librarians, the one that leave at the end of the day, and the ones that do not. They cannot all be the same. It is, of course, impossible to run a library without a wide and varied pool of skill sets and personalities, all of which contribute to the, shall we say, unique personalities, egos, interdepartmental rivalries, feuds, and alliances that are the lifeblood of an academic library.
This protection waxes and wanes depending on the year. During the spring and summer semesters following the Chemistry Majors’ Revolt, anyone remotely associated with any of the science departments would find themselves on the doorstep of the library with a ringing in their ears like the sudden absence of a loud noise, holding the books or other information they’d gone to the library to find, with no memory of how it got there. An entire spring-semester introductory chemistry class knows the structure of an APA-style bibliography inside and out, but could not tell you when or where they learned it.
In more recent times, sufficiently motivated undergrads, graduate students, and faculty will have little trouble differentiating one librarian from another, if they are on floors one through nine. (They must, of course, be referred to by job title as they do not have names.)
There are operational needs that must be met. It’s hard to plead your case as to why the library really should keep that critical music theory database for your graduate level seminar course that currently costs as much as all of the journal subscriptions for the art history department combined when you’re not sure if you’re talking to the subject liaison librarian for fine arts, the head of interlibrary loans, or an eldritch creature with no face but a really excellent recall for geopolitical boundaries in medieval Africa, and a working knowledge of twelve dead languages, seven of which were never spoken by a human tongue.
(Interlibrary Loans and Fine Arts–the subject librarian, not the department–have been in the midst of a prolonged feud for the past decade over a hiring committee disagreement regarding practicum student placements and a botched exorcism. It is rivalled only by the cold war between Interlibrary Loans and Cataloguing over supply budgets that’s been running since the late nineties. Confusing one for the other would be unhelpful, to say the least.)
The Other Librarians generally do not encroach on their colleagues’ responsibilities. They are still librarians with all of the professional ethics that entails, and are generally orderly and rule-abiding, unless a fundamental principle of librarianship is at risk. (Do not speak of internet filtering within the library walls if you wish to leave with all of your fingers intact.)
The Deep Library should be approached with utmost caution, regardless. Some people in the profession say, your library should have something in it to offend everyone. EU’s library would agree to that statement, with some extensive additions, explanatory footnotes, and cautionary appendices. Respect the Library.
“it won’t be the same/it won’t have the same chemistry.” “no one has original ideas anymore.” “they’re trying too hard to bring this back.”
like shit dude, I don’t care, I would watch 12 hours of David and Gillian sitting in a dimly lit anteroom, throwing pencils at an I Want To Believe poster and eating nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle’s, while the sound of a dial-up connection played in the background.
Ok, so I have a question that I would really love an answer to. But I noticed that you wrote hurt!steve on one of your posts, and I see this use of the exclamation mark a lot. What does it mean? (Can you tell I'm new?)
Welcome to the fandom world :)
This “adjective!name” thing is a writing convention that started YEARS ago. It refers to a short form for expressing the presence of a particular trait or defining quality of a character in a story.
It’s a bizarre way of describing a certain kind of trope associated with a character or a certain kind of story. Ex: hurt!Steve or wing!fic. It was a way to tag before tagging even existed.
This “adjective!name” convention is such a thing in fandoms that it has its own article on Fanlore and a Reddit thread devoted to it. You should read them, it will explain you in detail how it started and how to use it.
TLDR: writing convention inherited from a time fans had a dial up ISDN connection and that it did tutututut SHHHHHhHhHhh DOMDOMDOM DOOOM to connect to the internet.
Can you tell I’m new?
And there is nothing wrong with that. The first time I saw this
on LJ and message boards I wondered what the hell it was too…but then, you get all the “fandom language” and it get better ;)
From my first ipod shuffle to Iphone
From dial up connection to wifi
From your first appearance in Shounen Club and now your own show Itajan
From grade school and now I graduated from college
Tbh, I don’t remember how I actually knew Hey!Say!Jump, I’m in 6th grade when I started listening to their music, following them on the internet, waiting their performance in Shounen club, promoting their new releases in Music station. No one knows I doodled their names in the back of my notebook, no one knows I look forward going home everyday to watch their makings and varieties, no one knows how their lyrics and harmony makes me feel at ease, lastly, no one knows that I started being me and trying not to conform from other people.
Happy 10th Anniversary to the most loved and humble men I know, I wish nothing absolute happiness and success to all of you, I’d like to thank you for always doing your very best just to make us fans happy, thank you for being your true self and nothing changed since tour debut. Thank you for wholeheartedly appreciating us fans and acknowledging our efforts in your concerts. Though I wish you could also perform internationally, so everyone will know how amazing and fantastic you guys are. From the sincerest bottom of my heart, I will never stop supporting and loving all of you!
Here’s something I’ve dug out of the archives for the next generation of Animaniacs fans. It’s an old radio interview of Rob Paulsen and Jess Harnell as Yakko (later Pinky) and Wakko promoting Animaniacs on the Kids’ WB network back in…okay, my memory’s faulty, I’m not sure exactly when. I want to say, maybe about 1994, ‘95? In true Animaniacs fashion, they make topical references and get away with some slightly risque humor. :)
But before you listen, a couple of notes:
The audio quality, while good for its time, is not exactly crystal clear. It’s also going to sound a little pieced together, some places more obviously than others. That’s because when I originally downloaded this, it came in fifteen .wav files (a sound file format that was common in the early '90’s but got largely phased out with the introduction of .mp3 format). Each part was less than a minute in length. That sounds ridiculous today, but bear in mind that most home computers back then still used dial-up 56K modems to connect to the internet. Short sound bites were about all they could handle in a reasonable amount of time.
So what I’ve done - probably pretty poorly - is string together each piece to make one big mp3 for your convenience. I’m not sure if the entire interview is represented here, either - some parts may have been edited or just accidentally left out by whoever initially recorded this.
Still, it’s something that maybe most Animaniacs fans, especially newer ones, haven’t heard before, and I wanted to share. So enjoy!
<b>Lance :</b> okay so you slide up to red and say "You're purrrrrrrrfect."<p/><b>Blue:</b> *makes 90s Internet connection dial up noise*<p/><b></b> Lance *hastily covers his ears* NO!No, not like THAT!!!! Smoother....<p/><b>Blue :</b> *Plays elevator music*<p/><b>Lance :</b> -.-' well work on it....<p/></p>
windows 95 computer with a dial-up connection to the internet. Cute smiles and rides to the local amusement park with your squad,varsity jackets and baseball caps,
that broody boy with the motorcycle and leather jacket,always good with words.spiked hair,plays the electric guitar,nike backpacks,late night walks to the local store,eating ramyun,singing along to the backstreet boys
oversized sweaters,wearing lots of chains and lockets. Frosty lips,cold hands,talking to your friend at midnight using the landline.the ferris wheel rides at the beach,orange pickup truck,the smiths playing in the background while you try to sleep
tousled hair,early morning coffee,denim jackets and lenon glasses.playing the acoustic guitar,bonfire camping,late night talks,writing letters to them, making mixtapes and reeling back your fav song on cassettes,sunsets and bicycle rides,goodnight kisses
silky long hair,innocent smiles,dorky guy everyone loves,high waisted pants,black converse,Turtleneck sweaters, pizza party and Pjs,Sony walkman and headphones,cool summer breeze.
LOL, lq desktop backgrounds/screen savers from season one. I think my favorite part is all of the out-of-context quotes. It’s also funny to remember that I didn’t have the patience at the time to download the full versions with my 33.6k dial-up internet connection. Such a pity, really.
i. the first time they have sex is incredibly awkward because they’re both really young and they don’t actually know what they’re doing and Thomas spends weeks thinking he’s done something incredibly horrible because he doesn’t realize that Guy is also blaming himself for the bad sex, and then they discover the existence of sex how-to guides on the internet with Guy’s horrible dial-up connection.
ii. the first time they have sex and enjoy it, Thomas still thinks he’s done something wrong because he can’t understand how Guy has gone from being in silent disappointed pain from the first time to completely wrecked the second time and he tries to go slow until Guy gets fed up with him, flips them over and takes control.
iii. when they’re in the studio trying to compose or arrange something new, Thomas puts on his helmet when he’s got a creative block, and Guy teases him relentlessly for it.
iv. Guy’s been trying to quit smoking for years and he’s got an irrational fear that if he quits completely, he’ll lose some of his creativity, so he always keeps a pack on him just in case.
v. they both dress up as the robots and get entirely into character because they’ve integrated a sort of method acting into their style, and they don’t tell anyone or talk about it, but it’s strangely more comfortable to be a robot than a human sometimes.
vi. it was only in their youth that they experimented sexually, in their middle age they’re comfortable just sitting together and talking about middle-age stuff and making weird music together, although Guy occasionally slaps Thomas’s butt and Thomas occasionally sneaks in a kiss.
vii. Thomas struggles with the urge to be incredibly protective of Guy and the knowledge that most of the time he just wants to be left alone, so when they travel around for music, he’s always got an eye on Guy just in case he needs something (and sometimes Guy makes up random reasons for Thomas to come to his aid just because he knows Thomas has an intrinsic need to involve himself in his life).
1) Eric Bittle gets drunk and the next morning Jack has a voicemail of Bitty singing the chorus to Lady Marmalade.
1.5) Jack accidentally plays the voicemail on speaker in front of Shitty, who just pauses before asking “You think he’s doing the Patti LaBelle or Christina Aguilera version?”
2) Eric Bittle and Kent Parson get drunk when Jack is out of town and the next morning Jack has a voicemail that is half Bitty and Parse singing “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” and half the two of them arguing over if “nous” or “vous” is the correct way to say “us” before the message is cut off.
“It’s just another way to earn money, if you’re interested. It’s easy!”
Your friend had found out that you were falling on hard times. No matter how many jobs you had or how much you budgeted, ends were just not meeting. You felt as though you were out of options and couldn’t continue to struggle any longer. You friend had suggested an easier route than working yourself to the bone. She had been doing it for a little over a year, and so far she’s excelled incredibly.
“You’re telling me I have to hook up over the internet for extra cash? I need the help, but I don’t think I can do-”
“There isn’t always sex involved.” She interrupts. “You usually go on a date, establish what you’re looking for and go from there. I know so many people who haven’t ever had to exchange sex for money. Plus, you never know! You could find a long lasting relationship this way!”
You huffed. “I’ll look at it.”
After saying your goodbyes, you power up your old desktop and wait for your near dial-up internet to connect. You couldn’t believe that you were even considering finding a sugar daddy. Sure, nice cars, trips, dates and such were great. However, finding someone online to take care of you just sort of felt wrong…
The webpage finally loads. You sign up and fill out the profile information, topped with the best picture of yourself. You browse through other profiles which were all older men between the ages of 40-80 years old. It was weird! Many of these men were married and had kids that are well past your age.
There was just no luck or interest in scoping someone out on this site. It was a warped sense of stability. Who would be comfortable with using someone for their money? That’s terrible! Not to mention, even if you did find someone, you wouldn’t be able to treat them as well as they did you. You could barely afford to feed yourself. How could you pay that back to someone?
You left the webpage open as you wrote down your monthly finances. Again, you eliminated as much as you could to save money and pay for other bills. Stressing and almost pulling your hair out, you set your notepad aside and look through your online profile once again. To your surprise, you had received a message. It was probably a “welcome! This is how you use our site” sort of things..
But it wasn’t. Someone actually wrote you. His name was Andy. Andy was very, very young compared to the rest of the men you’ve come across. He was very attractive and also lived near you. Maybe it was worth a shot..
You two seemed to hit it off pretty well. He told you about his job and asked you about yours. He complimented how pretty you were, and said that you shouldn’t be working, but being spoiled and pampered instead.
“Why did you decide to do this?” He asks.
“My friend recommended it to me. She saw that I needed help… It seemed to work out for her.”
“So I see.” He says. “Would you let me take you out? I’m very interested. Maybe we can get to know each other a bit better?”
You agreed. This was the first date that you’ve had in a long time. He’d be picking you up, and probably take you out to a fancy high class restaurant. What would you wear? Your clothes certainly weren’t rags, but you didn’t own anything super formal or spectacular.
You went into your bedroom and rummaged around for something. You’d have to make whatever it is that you had work. You didn’t have the money to go out and buy something. Not that it mattered anyway. What you could afford didn’t even come close to what the expectation would be for your high class date. Andy didn’t ask you to outdo yourself, as for being in a wealthy environment, it did add pressure to you.
After finding what you planned on wearing, you went to bed. Maybe by the morning you’ll wake up in a six story mansion with breakfast in bed and this will all be a dream..
Well, you could dream…
As the next day came, you ran errands and did what you could to prepare for your date later on. It was all you could think about. Was he nice? Did he expect anything in return? You had no idea. The best thing would be to take it slow, and only talk about certain topics, such as money, if he brings it up first. In a way, you wanted it to be more than for a financial gain. Andy did seem genuinely sweet, but anyone can be who they choose to be online.
Once the late afternoon came around, you took a generous amount of time to get ready. You were all around impressed with how well you managed to make yourself look with what little you had. When on a tight budget, you really learn how to work around certain things. Checking the time, you see that it’s almost time for Andy to pick you up. Your wallet and few bits of makeup to touch-up with are placed inside a small clutch, then you look into the mirror one last time.
The doorbell rings, you begin to feel anxious. What if he doesn’t like you? Or was expecting something different? There was only one way to find out…
“(Y/N)?” He smiles.
You nod, smiling back. He hands you a bouquet of flowers. They’re pastel colored roses that were held together by a beautiful crystal ribbon. They were probably very expensive, and imported from somewhere else.
Andy takes your hand, giving it a kiss. “You’re much more beautiful in person”
You blush, thanking him. You hook your arm under his elbow as he escorts you to his car. You’re stunned at how nice it was. It wasn’t something you’ve ever seen before. The car shined and dazzled like an onyx in the moonlight. The seats are comfortable, when you sit back into the passenger’s seat. The car itself alone probably cost more than what you earn in a year. A lot more.
When you arrived to the restaurant, it was dim lit with chandeliers and candlelight. The wine glasses that sat on the tables were so clear that they were hardly noticeable, and even the waiters looked like millionaires! You weren’t entirely comfortable in this type of setting. It wasn’t what you were used to.
As the host leads you to your private booth, people stared and whispered. They knew that you didn’t belong there, and more so what you were after. You tried to feel less intimidated, since you knew that you were here to enjoy your date.
“Order whatever you like.” Andy smiles.
The menu prices were outrageous! You carefully looked through the menu, trying to find the least expensive things on there. You knew better than to order just whatever, because once it added up, you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying to take advantage of him.
You settled for a chef’s salad (which that alone was $40) and a few extra sides. Nothing too major. You were grateful that you did a little bit of grocery shopping earlier in the week, so you could definitely eat things more of your taste when you arrived back home.
Andy looked at you questionably. He knew that you were shy about this. It didn’t bother him, because he understood how odd it may be at first to pursue this kind of relationship. Once the waiter returns, he takes your orders and places a big bottle of wine in front of you, along with two glasses. The wine had a sticker near the bottom of the label. Although the print was small, the price clearly said $370.
That number alone made your stomach drop. Almost four hundred dollars for alcohol? For Andy, that was cheap. He spent thousands per day on everyday items and activities, therefore it wouldn’t put near a dent in his finances.
When your meals came, they were fancy and garnished like a piece of art. You didn’t want to eat it because it appeared to be so spectacular.
“Thank you.” You say, picking up the fork.
“You’re welcome, (Y/N). I want you to enjoy yourself.”
You eat your food in silence. Before it became too awkward, you ask him
“If you don’t mind me asking, what draws you into this lifestyle?”
“Do you mean my career?”
“No, I mean sharing your wealth with other women.”
“I haven’t had the best of luck when it comes to other women of my social status. They either already have everything, or want to have power over me. I want someone who wants to spend time with me and wants me for who I am. I want to be able to spoil her and take care of her. I can’t do that with a woman who already has everything.”
“Are you hoping for something long term?”
“Definitely long term. I don’t want to grow old and alone. I want to hopefully find someone that I am able to share my life with.”
You began to feel guilty for dating him to seek money. Yes, you did need it, but Andy was a great guy. He was just like anyone else, searching for happiness in his life. You really considered dating him for who he was. The money could wait.
Once dinner was over, Andy took you home. You’ve learned quite a bit about each other, enough to go on a second date and keep in close contact. Although this was the very beginning, it was the start of something that would last forever.
Looking back on that day, you can’t help but feel as if it’s the first time you’ve fallen in love. Now, you and Andy were living together in his home. He treated you like his queen. Andy showered you in gifts and expensive dates, and even more importantly, his love. Nothing materialistic that you had meant anything unless if you were able to share it with him. Each time he handed you money of purchased you something, it wasn’t just another gift. It was one of several ways he showed you how much you meant to him.
(I have lived in a village in Madagascar with no electricity or internet for 5 months. Struggle.)
I loved you. You were there for me for a really long time. You
were there during my very awkward teen years, when I would stare at white boxes
with weird SNs and colored script filled with messages from my friends down the
street. You were there when a giant photo of Shaun White was my background on
Myspace. You were there for all the long nights in high school that I had with Wikipedia
–I mean- researching. You were there through it all.
As I grew older, our connection only grew stronger. For six
years I carried you around in my pocket. I had the whole world with me. All of
the time. I was invincible. I held infinite knowledge. I could watch Youtube videos
anywhere and I could constantly, mindlessly scroll through people’s lives in a
newsfeed, without having to wait too long for the gray boxes to become photos.
And I “liked” everything about this!
I will never forget our love. Even when all four of my
family was on Netflix at the same time and it took forever to load the shitty 4th
season of Arrested Development. You
were there for me. I will always appreciate that.
Times between us began to get rocky when I was on the move
from country to country and I no longer had a phone plan. But I tried to hang
on! I became an expert at chasing free wifi. I would stand out in the cold in
London, in front of a closed McDonalds on Christmas, just so I could send a
snapchat of a cat. I would walk in city centers with my phone raised in the
air, searching for a non-password protected line. And I always found you
eventually. (Except for in friggin’ Germany! That country is so behind the
times! How has it become such an economic powerhouse without accessible wifi/w-lan?!)
But now, I truly have to come to terms with it all. It is
over. I live in the dark. There is no electricity and there is no internet. I
can only find reception if I stand atop one hill in this village and it is not
always a successful endeavor.
Before I arrived here, I had a news addiction. I had a blog.
I made my life look super interesting all of the time on Facebook (all lies,
but who needs to know?). Now I can’t load the news! I don’t even know who ISIS
IS anymore! The gray boxes never turn from gray to colorful photos! I can’t
follow the Stock Market! The Black Market! The Drug Market! The Boston Market!
My blog will remain down-dated! (The opposite of ‘updated?’
IDK I can’t Google it!?!) My Facebook-Cred has sunken! Sometimes things won’t
post, or sometimes you, dear internet, mess with me and post something
repeatedly! This makes me look like an internetally-incompetent great-grandma! I
just can’t take it anymore.
I am off of the grid! I haven’t used this little internet since
it was 1997 and I was waiting for dial-up to connect to the phone line on our Windows
’95 tanker. I am back there now. But instead of an unknown and exciting future,
you have become a cherished, foggy memory. You are an untouchable frustration.
It is best if I accept it and go on living without you as best as I can.
Whyyyyyyyyy (fy) Gods Whyyyyyyyy (fy)!?
But I am picking up on your non-existent signals. I get it.
In my life you’ve gone from AOL to AWOL.
You have many friends, you will be okay. And I found this
heavy paper thing with a lot of letters. I think it is called a…book? It fell
apart. But I will have it rebound. My rebound book.
Good bye my friend. I am taking the plunge. I am going back
P.S. I hope Mark Zuckerburg speeds up this satellite-drone-wifi
shit. I would totally pay to have a wifi drone hovering above my hut. (I know
you can see this Mark. Isn’t that how this works?)
Mortal Kombat is the worst fighting game. That shit ain’t even fun to watch. Everything look so clunky and whack. Zero finesse. Out here lookin like they playin online over dial-up connections even when they local.