"I like" outrage...!

As I sit cradling my ancient and massive laptop like a crazed, paedophile shopping centre Santa, inappropriately fiddling the immaculately tuned kids…KEYS I’ve gotten to know over the years; suddenly realizing that my mind is being poisoned by the all too familiar background droning of Hotel Cæsars dribbling, badly written characters(mute, sweet relief!), I start to ponder the addictive nature of technology and my own paradoxical relationship with it.

I will freely admit that I’m technologically retarded, somewhat by choice, but mostly as a result of my lack of understanding towards even the fundamental workings of anything one might power by the help of an electric socket.

I stubbornly claim to prefer the finger blackening feel of a newspaper, but still I spend more time reading the ever-updated online versions as not to dent my economic state. I also claim not to use any of the mind-boggling extra features you find on a mobile phone, but I refuse to go back the medieval times of the landline telephone. I Facebook, Twitter, Myspace and Blog, but I don’t understand how it works.
I like knowing and understanding things, even trivial things like the name of the earth’s second moon, 3753 Cruithne or that a ducks quack does not echo. Sadly, not everything is worth knowing as I learnt after some brief wikipedia’ing about the internet. I came to the conclusion that technological ignorance sometimes actually is bliss.

Think about the origins of the internet for example: The internet was created by the military as a tool for their evildoings; luckily nobody cared. Then the universities started using the internet as an instrument for sharing information; sadly no one cared about this either. Finally the sleazebags of the world found that the internet could be the perspiring future of porn and suddenly everyone was interested and the internet as we know it was expeditiously created. Behold the power of boobs!

Now I spend a nauseating amount of time on our favourite cyber-pastime-doodle-playground Facebook and this is where my fickle pondering saw its origin today.
As a result of some novel-induced Orwellian discomfort and a sudden realization of the bone-chilling solitude living alone can forsooth be; I reluctantly chose to utter my despair in a Facebook status update: Siren Løkaas needs a hug.
Fully aware of my own reactions to status updates of this nature, I somewhat expected people to ignore it completely, but I had forgotten about the newish lazy-mans “I like” button on the page. That was what my emotionally charged, status-update lapse of facebook-judgement got me; an unexplained “I like.”

Why must everything be made so easy, quick and emotionless?

Hare Krishna

Siren

Woest me, my mobile did a wee!

I’ve always thought myself a good-natured friend and allie to technology. I have never once laughed at the one-armed robots to whom we owe our cars, or the handicap-seat/elevator/rollercoaster thing one might install where stairs and old ladies collide.

Although I see the enormous benefits of technology in every aspect of society; I do find myself thinking “I don’t give a fuck, mate…” when my father insists on explaining to me the technological advances in the world of busses, in an insanely detailed and repetitive fashion. Not to mention the sordid “advances” I had to learn and teach whilst working at the local grocer in my old neighbourhood.
I was all but ecstatic the day I came in to work in the morning, only to find a sharply dressed IT man about my age with stylish raven hair, but with a growth of what looked like a grey blob of afro on the side of his head (sadly I noticed this whilst carrying a bucket of water and a mop, non of which I managed to hold on to after he turned his head; he really looked like he had Don King bursting out of his brainbox!). This raven-haired mutant alien-carrier was there to install a new system in the PiB (local in store post office). This all happened about three weeks before my last day of work, but I still had to learn all that complicated asparagus and of course the IT man was there not only to install, but also to teach us poor retarded parrots how to use it. Tall as I am I spent two hours with Don Kings grey mop right in my eye line. Needless to say more than a few packages went missing those last weeks I worked there…

The reason I’m pondering the world of science and technology is that apparently they have all turned against me in an uproar of (the)Matrixian proportions. Tuesday last, I found myself penniless and thought I’d transfer some funds from my second account onto the account with a visa card attached to it. This is to me an everyday occurrence and therefore I could not comprehend the feeling of impending doom I felt deep within my seventh chakra. I stuck the masculine chip off my visa card into the feminine slot off my magic bank-code-creator-keychain-thingy and waited for the two to start the process of creating new life. However, the female part of the lovemaking equation had sadly perished in an untimely manner not yet explained.

“What the hell do I do now?” An understandable outburst I hope you’ll find. Luckily a sudden shock of brain activity led me to remember my MasterCard, but not the code to my MasterCard… As I cursed my memory space, that can only be described as being goldfishesq, I frantically dialled the number for my banks helpline. The soothing sound of jazz played off a cassette in a tunnel, calmed me down as I sat there with the mobile to my ear looking at the laptop screen, where my banks login page mocked me silently.
Dooo-bop-bop-a-diiiii-daaaaaaaaoooooow-bop-dooo-da
A friendly voice welcomed me to the helpline, I didn’t catch her name, but no matter, I was finally in the land of stupid questions and tolerant bankers. I told her my problem and she solved it easily: transferred money and sent me a new keychain!

But now I was late! I cursed the retched keychain and ran out the door, doing an improvised Bambi-like dance routine on the icy surface that make up the streets of Oslo, wearing ill-advised cowboy boots made for an American desert.

I of course made a grand entrance at Chateu Neuf, but found that I was the first to arrive. “Well, nothing to it! I will call them and let them no I’m here.” No, I fucking wouldn’t! As the second part of technology’s evil plan came to play. My mobile phone had had an aneurysm and was now blipping, slobbering dead weight I my pocket. I had to just stand there until they came, like a sad little dog, tied to a bicycle outside a shop..

What did we do before we had the mobile phone? I can remember the days before the mobile, when we called each others houses and made plans to meet up somewhere. Back then you just had to be there and hope that the other person would show up; or else, you just had to fucking go home…
As I write this I keep thinking that the pre-mobile phone era wasn’t even that long ago and yet I feel like I’m speaking of a grander time when mother went to the river for drinking water, grandfather smoked a pipe and couldn’t read, father did the mans' work around the farm and us children took our Shetland ponies for a three hour joyride to the nearest merchant to spend our hard earned penny on a new dress!

I will probably never stop squawking in anguish, like a frightened Emu just realizing that her wings don’t really serve a purpose, every time I try to use an Apple appliance, but I mean no harm by my ignorance and I will do better! Please just leave my new phone alone…

Sampai Jumpa and for God's sake: gratefully say a sincere "thank you" the next time a traffic light bestows a green man of walking upon you!

Siren