Category Archives: TechnoFunk
Technologies and the like.
These are days, guys.
If you read Buzzfeed, or are on Facebook, or Instagram, or Twitter, or any social media with other like minded people (re: TwentySomethings), then you know that now is the time to be running, or working out, or eating healthy, or staying healthy, or something like that.
Everyone and their mother is working out and running 5ks and 10ks and 26.2ks and Blerg-Ks and eating all this kale and does anyone really even like kale?!
Seriously. You hit your twenties and it’s just the thing to be doing. Or maybe the time to start telling people about the thing you were already doing. (I wasn’t doing it before, really.)
It involved running and getting hit by things, then rinsing and repeating. Somewhere in the part where we were not getting hit by things, FunSized and I started talking about her latest piece of bling.
FunSized: It’s a Fitbit. It tracks how far you walk everyday. Like my goal is 10,000 steps and it’ll freak out when I hit it.
Me: 10,000 steps, huh?
FunSized: Yeah. I’ll definitely hit it today since we’re doing this, but it just motivates you to move around more. Like I know that you should park far away from Target, but now I actually park far away from Target.
Me: You’re kidding.
FunSized: During winter, I would walk to the store and just walk around until I hit my goal.
Me: …Sometimes when I go to the store, I’m tired and try to get Boo to push me in the cart instead.
So, I decided to join this revolution. I mean, I have a very big office. That has got to be a lot of steps I take everyday. At the very least, maybe FunSized would be right, and it would motivate me to move around more. Thus, the next time I was at Target, I parked as close as possible for the last time ever, and bought myself a Fitbit.
I got approximately 3,573 steps.
“I’ve only owned it a day.” I told myself. “And it was only part of the day. So it really doesn’t count.”
I had 8,105 steps.
“What are you doing?” my mother asks me.
“Walking around the kitchen table,” I tell her.
“FunSized told me this thing would freak out when I reached my goal.” I tell her.
“Hm.” my mother tells me.
I’m in shock that I don’t take 10,000 steps per day. It doesn’t seem right. MY OFFICE IS LARGE, people. But then this happened.
Total steps? 11,373. I’ve never been so happy to see a piece of technology freak out on me.
Obviously I am more than capable of taking 10,000 steps in a day, because I did it the day before. I’m a pro now. So when it gets to midnight, and I only have 8,746 steps, I’m pissed. Like legitimately upset and realizing that THIS IS WHY I AM NO LONGER SKINNY, because obviously I never took the time to park far away or count my steps and I knew I should have been jogging in place while watching The Fault in Our Stars last night.
Me: I finally watched the purple wedding.
Her: Joffrey is such a little chatch.
Me: You’ve gotta hate someone.
Her: List of people you can hate: Cersei, the lady that birthed period blood in air form, the man that chopped off Jamie’s hand and hung it around his neck like an asshole…
Me: NOT THE POINT.
Her: …everyone that came to the wedding and was mean to Tyrion because what a guy, social media spoiler-ers…
Me: STILL NOT THE POINT.
Her: …George R.R. Martin for making us all love his nonsense so much.
Me: He must not get invited to weddings ever.
Her: At the rate you’re going, he can basically plan yours.
Her: I’m just going to add my name to the list after Joffrey and Cersei. Please don’t poison my drink.
Me: I’m going to die alone.
I was catching up on all my BlogLovin’ the other day (and YES, you can follow us on there), and happened to read a post by Lovely Serendipity where she was talking about buying a new record player. And then I was all…
BACKGROUND STORY: My dad is an antique store and estate sale junkie. Since I was little, we would go to estate sales or old warehouse antique markets and peruse through all the riff raff looking for whatever it was that my dad was currently looking for.
Fountain pens. Tennis Rackets. Clocks.
Well, one day, he was antiquing, and he happened to bring me home a record.
And from that day on, I was hooked. Both on the Beatles and on records.
I started collecting records. We’d be at an estate sale — Fleetwood Mac, for 50 cents? Rolling Stones for $1? SOLD. My collection started to grow. Then, my freshman year of college, I got the weirdest combination of Christmas gifts.
From Mom? An Ipod.
From Dad? A record player.
Clash of the musical titans.
I moved out of the parental units home during college. My records came with me. When I moved back home two years later, the records moved with me and stayed in my room.
However, when I got pregnant, Boo got priority over the records. Crib went into my room, records went into the basement — with the exception of the Beatles records, which were in their own box. Privileged.
And then the basement flooded. Records = gone.
After reading the post on lovely serendipity, I decided that I was going to rebuild. Slowly, but surely.
So, I headed to the record store to visit my friends. And I have never been so overwhelmed. Where do I start? What did I have? I never kept like a running inventory of my records, I just kept adding to it. I probably even had an Olivia Newton John album or something*.
I wandered aimlessly through the records, not knowing where to start, and ended up leaving with two albums.
Store Clerk: A little freeze-frame for you?
Me: Don’t you judge me for getting J. Geils Band.
Store Clerk: Hey, I applaud you for even knowing who they are.
Me: Oh. Well. Thank you.
Store Clerk: No problem. It’s all love in here.
And so the quest continues.
Any suggestions, people? Since I’m pretty much starting from scratch and I don’t remember everything I had, I don’t know what I need to replace, or what I need to add, or where to even start.
Geez, this is depressing.
Although. I do know what my next purchase will be, once I can find it:
*I did not own an Olivia Newton-John album. I did, however, own Grease.
- Make a Fun Filled Shopping at Estate Sales (showcasesantiques.wordpress.com)
- Get an Electrohome turntable-in-a-suitcase for $79.96 shipped (reviews.cnet.com)
- Introducing The Beatles – COLLECT THESE! (tackyraccoons.com)
- Be the Record, Not the Needle (scottbarstow.com)
I had this whole post I was going to write about how I’m on this letter writing kick. Seriously. It’s my latest obsession.
I’ve hashtagged it. I’m trying to use up all the stationary I’ve accumulated over my life, which is an excessive amount.
Do you want a letter on Pohacco stationary? I’ve got that. Hello Kitty? Got it. Beatles notecards? I’ve got oodles. Those dollar bins at Target tend to sell cute little notecards, and they are only ONE DOLLAR. I must buy them. In case, you know, I write letters someday. Like today.
But while I was prepping to write this great post about letters and HOW YOU CAN GET ONE FROM ME, complete with doodles and Gelly Roll writing, I decided that I needed some inspiration.
I head to iTunes, ready to sing along to “Amsterdam” by Guster.
I wanna write you a letter, wanna write you a book…wanna…NOT BE ABLE TO PLAY THE SONG BECAUSE MY HARD DRIVE IS NOT WORKING.
I seriously start hyperventilating. My life is on this hard drive. All my music, every single photo I’ve taken since I got a digital camera back in 2005, every book I’ve written, homework going back to at least the seventh grade (God only knows why I’ve kept that), my effing TAXES, did I mention EVERY SINGLE PHOTO THAT I’VE TAKEN SINCE 2005?!
My first thought is to call theAsian and cry. Since he is 100% Asian, he has a tendency to be able to save my life when technology fails. Which is a lot.
Maybe it’s because my parents decided to marry and thus create a little half n’ half baby. But Technology and I do not get along. Someone told me once that I need to defriend Technology. And they are correct.
Case in Point:
I finally get an iPhone. It’s so shiny and pretty and the best phone I’ve ever had. Two weeks after getting it, I’m biking to soccer practice. I put the iPhone into my sweatshirt. The sweatshirt into my stuff sack. When I get to the field, the screen somehow managed to crack to oblivion.
“Did you drop it?” asks HSM while I cry to him at the Apple store. “You have to drop it just right for this to happen.”
“It was wrapped up in my sweatshirt in my bag on my back!” I wail.
He shakes his head. “This would only happen to you.”
While typing one day, LeBebe tries to Houdini out of his playpen (He’s just learning to walk at this point).
I immediately jump up to catch him, and when I’m holding him and telling him why we do not climb out of our playpen, I turn to see my computer. Which I dropped on the floor. Oops.
“I brought a computer for you,” I tell theAsian.
He laughs. “I’m guessing that means it’s broken?”
“No,” I say defensively. “It works!”
“I dropped it and the screen flashes now.”*
I load all of my worldly possessions onto a hard drive to attempt to keep my computer from being overloaded. I go to plug in said hard drive and it will. not. load. It won’t even recognize. I take the thing to Best Buy. Geek Squad, save me.
“I can’t figure it out.” The guy hands it back to me, shaking his head. “It should work fine, but it doesn’t even want to load.”
“What about my files?” I am about to cry.
“SOL.” He shakes his head at me. “But I won’t charge you since we couldn’t fix it.”**
I buy a new digital camera. A few weeks into owning it, Macy and I are out and it somehow drops and breaks.
We go to a casino. I win big money. I buy a new camera.
Fast forward five months. Macy and I are at a hockey game. I put the camera into my pocket. We climb on a tree.
I wake up and the camera screen has cracked.
Technology. Hates. Me.***
*Normally, I don’t drop things. Technology just blows up on me. I have witnesses.
**theAsian managd to successfully pull all my data off the broken hard drive and put it onto a new drive. Fuck you, Geek Squad.
***Feel free to donate to the “Buy L.A. a new hard drive foundation.” It will be my third hard drive. Although, I did manage to get it to connect by using a camera USB cord. I just can’t touch it, or it yells at me and starts making scary noises.