Saturday, February 17, 2007

Implacable, Intractable, You

The thing that sucks about having a computer with Wifi access is that you can pretty much enter the internet from anywhere in the world. I have proved this particular point numerous times already on my little vacation. I cannot get away from you, so I will write anyway, even though I did not anticipate writing at all until I returned to Korea. Such is my addiction to the internet and the people who read me. Such is my addiction to those lurkers out there who might chuckle or laugh in their beer over silly stories crafted by Sara.

And so it is that I found myself sitting in the snow on darkish evening at the end of Philadelphia in a car wondering if I had the right address, and fairly sure that I did. I was thinking as I was sitting in the car that I was not perhaps sure the address was correct, so I opened up my computer. My faithful companion and driver doubted my ability. "No, no, we are in America, land of the free internet, home of the people who don't know how to secure a connection. I know I can get online."

And with these fateful words I push the buttons on my computer to make it click and flicker and start and then do a quick search for available networks, and sure enough within ten minutes I've hacked a loose feed and have pulled up ye ol' Myspace page to figure out what is going on the big bad world. The snow started falling and I checked knowing I was in fact in the right place yet again.

This was only the second time that having a live feed appear when needed had proved a special trick. While sitting in the parking lot of a Chinese Restaurant in Atlantic City I decided to take a moment to look up directions to this very same spot I was know parked in front of, and sure enough, after a few clicks and misses I had a hot feed that got me directions to the end of Philly and cottages in the woods.

And even before this, as I lamented and despaired while sitting in a shabby motel in the middle of Pittsburgh. As I lamented and lonely and wondering what to do about the cars that were not working and the life that seemed to be getting out of hand, well there we are sure enough, access was at my fingertips when I wanted it, and I found it, and logged in and checked my email. I'm so angry about all of this.

This trip home was supposed to cure me of my addictions. It was supposed to force from my head, my fingers, my mind, this insatiable need to thrust my presence ever more onto the growing black hole that the internet has become for me. America was supposed to be backward enough to dissuade me from all my sometimes passions and insane writing. But no, no America, you have failed me. At some point you stopped being lackadaisical and actually caught up with the rest of the universe so that the same tricks I can pull so easily in Korea I can now pull just as easily here. Oh, America, how you have failed me.


And so it is that even now I sit on a wireless connection upon a couch luxuriating at the fabulous Ms. Skimmel's and writing. Why do I write? Because I can, surely, but much more so because I know that somewhere deep down people may read it, and that fact that you are out there with your own connection, your hotwire into the collective mindshare that is the web, that drives me to write this even though I'm supposed to be on vacation.

Ah well, I relent and do what must be done. I'll write you stories, my pretties, stories and stories, but I must decide how to write and what, but oh the stories I will eventually tell. For now I will continue to be annoyed by my inability to get away from it all when I tried so hard to do it.

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