Friday, June 26, 2009

Summer Recess Entry 2: Like, Far Out?

I like to check my e-mail in the morning before I go to work. There's just nothing like using the internet with a cup of coffee by my side before putting on a stupid t-shirt and making terrible sandwiches for a few hours.

It helps me deal better with the fact that I'm 22, still in school, and making 100 dollars or less a week. In fact, if I have enough time to essentially do nothing in the morning, I'm usually quite chipper by the time I'm behind the grill.

Unfortunately, after today, I was left only with a sense of ambivalence.

Today I opened up my Yahoo! e-mail account and things looked pretty normal. Most of the time, the only e-mails I receive involve Facebook telling me that someone did something on or around my profile.

Most people deem these irritating enough to tear their eyeballs out and then subsequently eat them. I voluntarily signed up for them because otherwise I would get next to no e-mail. It helps me feel involved with the digital revolution.

I promptly deleted the e-mail and logged onto Facebook (yes, that's correct. I don't read them.)

Anyway, this is where things became not so normal.

Kinger had sent me, and I'm assuming a couple other individuals, a somewhat lengthy message that I will spare all of you from. To briefly sum it up, he has decided to "go incommunicado," as he put it. Basically, he will be turning off his cell phone and not logging into any means of online communication for an unknown amount of time.

This is not an unfamiliar concept to me. I've known many people who decided to shun digital communication for a small amount of time before. The length of time it lasted and the media boycotted varied, but two things were always the same: these people were all of the occasionally irritating sort, and they were all doing it just to prove a point.

Yes, JUST to prove a point.

The idea that Kinger would ever conceivably think of engaging in this sort of pretentious, "back you into a corner" hackery is the singlemost disheartening thing I have ever run into in years. Before you jump all over me with "why, Bob? Maybe it's a good point," let me tell you something about the type of people who do things just to prove a point.

This is the kind of fucker that does things "just to prove a point, man." Now, let me cover my ass here: my political beliefs are, more or less without exception, so far left Rush Limbaugh would melt if he came within 10 miles of the last place I took a shit. I wear annoying little peace sign pins on every hoodie I own. I would say that I more than likely believe about everything that this sorry sucker does.

What's the difference? Well, I'm not a douche about it.

If I think that people are too reliant on the internet, sure, I'll talk about it, but I'm not going to completely abandon all 21st century communication for a month just to prove that I'd be living some sort of unimaginably better life.

You know why? Because I like the internet. And chances are Sunflower Starchild over here does too. I bet you he's on environment-conscious and animal-free living message boards every day.

In fact, let's knock those out right here. I choose not to eat meat. I don't fucking brag about it all day. I may not be so good with my electricity use or gas consumption, but I guarantee you that Sunflower's car doesn't run on vegetable oil. And he's using the fucking internet to talk with his brethren anyway.

Still, hypocrites like this will do things like choose not to use a cell phone to prove they're not reliant on digital media, or simply rail on you for engaging in pretty much anything that isn't listening to Phish or buying really expensive organic onions (which he will then do in front of you.)

Too bad his macbook counts as digital communication and the taco bell wrapper in his gas-guzzling peacemobile (see: SUV) doesn't exactly smell like anything remotely organic.

Now, don't get me wrong, I respect protesting and example-setting. In fact, I've met people who fit into Sunflower's little social group (which I thought died in the 70's) that are very nice, down-to-earth, intelligent, and REASONABLE individuals. I'd say that about 7-8 times out of ten, I really like modern hippies.

However, for every 10 people like this, there are 100 bags of bad weed like Sunflower that give an otherwise legitimate worldview a shitty reputation. Sadly, this is the case with any great social movement that becomes a fashion trend.

So, with all this in mind, you can see where I'm worried as fuck-all about Kinger. If Kinger has, in fact, stumbled into improper practice of progressive, respectable politics, I fear that he will be too far gone to receive my aid.

To make matters worse, I have no way of reaching our loudmouthed hero. Aside from Timapalooza, my relationship with Kinger had been relegated to the occasional IM session or text message.

And all I can do is sit here and wait...

So, here's hoping to whatever God there may be that Kinger has not fallen in with the likes of Sunflower. I've always believed my boy to be a worldly being above such base forms of contradication and mosquito-like annoyingness.

I am currently hypothesizing that he is not simply trying to "prove a (moot) point" and, in fact, has come into possession of a rickety old cabin in the woods somewhere.

With this new assett, he has decided to retreat deep into the greens of the forest, where he can live a life as one with nature. I further theorize that he is doing all this in hopes of channeling ancient Native American spirits through his body, and finally growing a real beard, as opposed to the patchy, prepubescent mess that would crawl across his visage after every three days without a shave. He will, ideally, emerge several weeks from now with a sleek, full mane that could kill a bear, or at least put Billy Mays in a coma.

If that or something similar is not the case, I think the nature of my chronicle will be taking a very sharp left turn in the near future. Stay tuned, folks. Big news may be afoot.

this is what Kinger will hopefully look like when he resurfaces

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