1995 me and 2014 me are a bit at odds.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Sunday, May 25, 2014
OK, Stupid
*I started this draft on 11/10/13 with the full intention of returning over the next few days and finishing it. Then I flaked. I'm leaving it as is.
Sometime in early 2012 something went awry in the synaptic communication in my brain and I created an OKCupid account. I suppose I had these illusions of there being this horde of Eligible Bachelors hiding within Athens whereby chance had not yet crossed our paths. Perhaps they burrow through the old tunnels below the streets of downtown; our own Classic City Mole People, only they're attractive and have jobs and like cats and beer and own computers. After all, I've only been here 14 [quickly nearing 15 now] years, and I only go to the 6-7 places that pretty much anyone I'd usually like go to as well... So I thought "Why the hell not?" and signed up thinking I'd find these elusive available decent-looking emotionally-mature and not-full-of-BS guys somewhere outside my usual haunts.
Excuse me while I ROFLMAOLOLOLOLLLLL! 'Cause for the most part, nope. [This is still true.]
Now, I don't mean that there aren't some good guys on there. I've chatted with some seemingly (I say seemingly because I'm chatting online, which means I can't guarantee what's actually on the other keyboard) normal, nice dudes. Some I could be attracted to, some I'm not, but they're nice nonetheless so what's wrong with just chatting with someone? Maybe I'll make a friend or two, at least. [I've made one new acquaintance that I hang with from time to time in a platonic manner. I did also meet someone else shortly after starting this draft that I've been seeing very regularly since January, so yay for that. And he is very nice. Here is where the old draft ends and where I pick up the story again.]
But, holy shit. The majority of messages I get are, well, nothing special. But many are better off ignored. There are plenty of stories out there featuring folks who've created fake profiles to see what kind of crazy they can find. I'm not one of those, so I figured I'd feature some of the finest in online dating that a regular girl, with a regular profile, gets from "regular" dudes looking for love in all the wrong online places. I suppose in the act of fairness, I should share my profile. Yep. That's me. I like to think I'm not totally off-base in how I've presented myself, but of course without having 10 of my friends over to get drunk and fill all that crap out for me I can't be entirely sure that this is really what I'm like to other people. Either way, it's not a total lie.
The majority of my profile views come from guys under the age of 24 looking for casual sex and from middle-aged men with just about zero in common with me (Christian conservatives love me, apparently). Most never message me. Some do the super-basic "hi." thing. Some are funny because they attempt to impress with flowery language and too much flattery (and the majority of these fail hard at it). And some are just WUT. Lucky for you, I've decided to share some with you.(Note: unless otherwise noted, these are the openers these gentlemen sent. Not stuff they said after established conversation, which is why some that don't seem too weird are included. If you wouldn't come up to me and say it to me in line at the bank, you probably shouldn't message it to a rando girl and expect a serious response.)
I present: OKCupid. Ur Doin it Wrong. click the images to see full size
Sometime in early 2012 something went awry in the synaptic communication in my brain and I created an OKCupid account. I suppose I had these illusions of there being this horde of Eligible Bachelors hiding within Athens whereby chance had not yet crossed our paths. Perhaps they burrow through the old tunnels below the streets of downtown; our own Classic City Mole People, only they're attractive and have jobs and like cats and beer and own computers. After all, I've only been here 14 [quickly nearing 15 now] years, and I only go to the 6-7 places that pretty much anyone I'd usually like go to as well... So I thought "Why the hell not?" and signed up thinking I'd find these elusive available decent-looking emotionally-mature and not-full-of-BS guys somewhere outside my usual haunts.
Excuse me while I ROFLMAOLOLOLOLLLLL! 'Cause for the most part, nope. [This is still true.]
Now, I don't mean that there aren't some good guys on there. I've chatted with some seemingly (I say seemingly because I'm chatting online, which means I can't guarantee what's actually on the other keyboard) normal, nice dudes. Some I could be attracted to, some I'm not, but they're nice nonetheless so what's wrong with just chatting with someone? Maybe I'll make a friend or two, at least. [I've made one new acquaintance that I hang with from time to time in a platonic manner. I did also meet someone else shortly after starting this draft that I've been seeing very regularly since January, so yay for that. And he is very nice. Here is where the old draft ends and where I pick up the story again.]
But, holy shit. The majority of messages I get are, well, nothing special. But many are better off ignored. There are plenty of stories out there featuring folks who've created fake profiles to see what kind of crazy they can find. I'm not one of those, so I figured I'd feature some of the finest in online dating that a regular girl, with a regular profile, gets from "regular" dudes looking for love in all the wrong online places. I suppose in the act of fairness, I should share my profile. Yep. That's me. I like to think I'm not totally off-base in how I've presented myself, but of course without having 10 of my friends over to get drunk and fill all that crap out for me I can't be entirely sure that this is really what I'm like to other people. Either way, it's not a total lie.
The majority of my profile views come from guys under the age of 24 looking for casual sex and from middle-aged men with just about zero in common with me (Christian conservatives love me, apparently). Most never message me. Some do the super-basic "hi." thing. Some are funny because they attempt to impress with flowery language and too much flattery (and the majority of these fail hard at it). And some are just WUT. Lucky for you, I've decided to share some with you.(Note: unless otherwise noted, these are the openers these gentlemen sent. Not stuff they said after established conversation, which is why some that don't seem too weird are included. If you wouldn't come up to me and say it to me in line at the bank, you probably shouldn't message it to a rando girl and expect a serious response.)
I present: OKCupid. Ur Doin it Wrong. click the images to see full size
Note the time of that first message.
Not too weird on the surface, but still... "I only contact once then I press hide..." as the first thing you say to me doesn't really scream "possible romance ahead".
Uhhhhh... thanks?
Oh, yeah. I have this thing here...
Good thing I don't get paid to write. (Well, I kinda do, but it's very specific things so I've generally got a running tally of what to do).
If I did, I'd be one broke motherfucker. And probably homeless. Or at least sleeping on your couch.
I gotta get on it.
If I did, I'd be one broke motherfucker. And probably homeless. Or at least sleeping on your couch.
I gotta get on it.
Monday, August 19, 2013
How did we all miss this for two years??
Because I shouldn't just post ranting, snark, and self-serving drivel, I bring you a little bit o' awesome.
This was recorded live in Dallas in July of 2011 by Josh Weathers of the Josh Weathers Band. I had never heard of them until today, when this came across the old Facebook feed.
I mean... wut? Me and pretty much every woman I know saw this and considered packing our bags and heading off to Texas. Then I remembered that this and Austin is all that Texas has going for it right now, and my chances of snagging this are zero to nill. Such is life.
Anyway, we can all go home now.
This was recorded live in Dallas in July of 2011 by Josh Weathers of the Josh Weathers Band. I had never heard of them until today, when this came across the old Facebook feed.
Anyway, we can all go home now.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
The Wasp
Is not a wasp.
Well, technically it is. This is a mud dauber, I think. It lives in the left-hand arm of a chair on my porch. The chair I got from my neighbor who got it from his mom and it lived in his house for a while before it moved next door with me. I don't know where his mom got it but its history is most likely filled with facinating stories. Who cares about the fly on the wall or the wall itself? The fly dies in 24 hours and the walls are on the outskirts looking in. The furniture is right there in it, immersed amongst every and all life within a space. Furniture is intimate. Our furniture has seen us naked and absorbed our tears. We've farted and drooled and spilled coffee on it. We've laughed at movies, that, when with friends, we deny enjoying lest we be judged. We've found love and then later shattered their hearts on our furniture.
Think of what we'd hear if furniture could talk.
The chair is dirty. I've never taken the time to vacuum it and take it inside, away from the brilliance of day and the wetness of every other time. The porch is covered but it's no armory. The chair is sun-bleached. There's a hint of what might be mold growing in the creases. There is no odor. It's welcoming, the perfect size and cushiness for curling up with a book. That is, if you're a fairly compact human like I am. Would it be awkward for someone else? Is cushiness a word? The chair can't answer that but I know my opinion.
Besides the grime that's collected over the past year (2 years, maybe? I've lost track of so many things...) the chair has the scars unique to those who cohabitate with cats. Cats do what cats do and are skilled in the use of their equipment. In The Chair's case, the cats opened up the edges of each arm so they could someday be a portal to safe haven for a winged insect with only one real purpose in life.
The dauber lives in the left arm. In years past, left-handedness was considered evil and an affliction. This is where the word sinister has its origins. Not in darkness but in leftness. Leftness meant darkness. Darkness meant evil. Evil means the end of life. The dauber, it doesn't fit her.
She should have picked the right side. It's closer to the house and more protected. The TV tray-turned-side table is not on the right, though it should be since I'm right-handed and therefore not sinister. But does it work that way in wasps? If so I imagine that perhaps maybe she's left-winged, since after all that's the side she picked. And maybe if she were human she'd have voted for Obama and supported gay marriage.
I can't see into her nest; the frayed upholstery acts as drapes. I know she's solitary like me. She buzzes in, buzzes out, she sometimes stops to sip at a bead of water- or beer- that's collected on the TV tray-turned-side table. She's a loner, but also like me I imagine she craves just a bit of company. Company that doesn't ask for too much and doesn't tire her out or make her feel smaller than she actually is.
the dauber doesn't ask for much either. She's never shown any real concern with my presence. I sit in the chair, she leaves. I sit in the chair, she returns. Each time she returns, she does a quick buzz around my head. I think she's making sure it's just me there; someone she knows, the familiar face. And then she says a quick hello before disappearing into the armchair cavern she's settled for.
I watch her fly off and wonder if she's happy. It's a simple life, the insect life. Hatch, mature, mate, see the hatchlings off, and die. Still, I wonder how far she traveled that day, and how many more days she has left to travel. I wonder if she'll venture too close to a stranger; and if she does, will that be her end or will she evade the hastily grabbed magazine? Does she like the beer beads I've offered her? I only offer the best. When she comes home, is she relieved that it's me curled in the chair and not the transient neighborhood cat? Or is she simply tolerating me as a good neighbor with a good fence?
The wasp buzzes by for the last time this evening. She retreats into her comfortable place, where though her worries are many she can tend to only herself. Somehow this helps. Tomorrow she'll go out again. It won't be different from today.
The book I'm reading stopped holding my interest long ago. I know this because I've read the same page maybe three times, maybe five, and with each pass it's all new to me. So I mark the page and go inside. I'll watch television and then go to bed, most likely after a brief accidental sleep on the couch.
Tomorrow I'll go out again.
Well, technically it is. This is a mud dauber, I think. It lives in the left-hand arm of a chair on my porch. The chair I got from my neighbor who got it from his mom and it lived in his house for a while before it moved next door with me. I don't know where his mom got it but its history is most likely filled with facinating stories. Who cares about the fly on the wall or the wall itself? The fly dies in 24 hours and the walls are on the outskirts looking in. The furniture is right there in it, immersed amongst every and all life within a space. Furniture is intimate. Our furniture has seen us naked and absorbed our tears. We've farted and drooled and spilled coffee on it. We've laughed at movies, that, when with friends, we deny enjoying lest we be judged. We've found love and then later shattered their hearts on our furniture.
Think of what we'd hear if furniture could talk.
The chair is dirty. I've never taken the time to vacuum it and take it inside, away from the brilliance of day and the wetness of every other time. The porch is covered but it's no armory. The chair is sun-bleached. There's a hint of what might be mold growing in the creases. There is no odor. It's welcoming, the perfect size and cushiness for curling up with a book. That is, if you're a fairly compact human like I am. Would it be awkward for someone else? Is cushiness a word? The chair can't answer that but I know my opinion.
Besides the grime that's collected over the past year (2 years, maybe? I've lost track of so many things...) the chair has the scars unique to those who cohabitate with cats. Cats do what cats do and are skilled in the use of their equipment. In The Chair's case, the cats opened up the edges of each arm so they could someday be a portal to safe haven for a winged insect with only one real purpose in life.
The dauber lives in the left arm. In years past, left-handedness was considered evil and an affliction. This is where the word sinister has its origins. Not in darkness but in leftness. Leftness meant darkness. Darkness meant evil. Evil means the end of life. The dauber, it doesn't fit her.
She should have picked the right side. It's closer to the house and more protected. The TV tray-turned-side table is not on the right, though it should be since I'm right-handed and therefore not sinister. But does it work that way in wasps? If so I imagine that perhaps maybe she's left-winged, since after all that's the side she picked. And maybe if she were human she'd have voted for Obama and supported gay marriage.
I can't see into her nest; the frayed upholstery acts as drapes. I know she's solitary like me. She buzzes in, buzzes out, she sometimes stops to sip at a bead of water- or beer- that's collected on the TV tray-turned-side table. She's a loner, but also like me I imagine she craves just a bit of company. Company that doesn't ask for too much and doesn't tire her out or make her feel smaller than she actually is.
the dauber doesn't ask for much either. She's never shown any real concern with my presence. I sit in the chair, she leaves. I sit in the chair, she returns. Each time she returns, she does a quick buzz around my head. I think she's making sure it's just me there; someone she knows, the familiar face. And then she says a quick hello before disappearing into the armchair cavern she's settled for.
I watch her fly off and wonder if she's happy. It's a simple life, the insect life. Hatch, mature, mate, see the hatchlings off, and die. Still, I wonder how far she traveled that day, and how many more days she has left to travel. I wonder if she'll venture too close to a stranger; and if she does, will that be her end or will she evade the hastily grabbed magazine? Does she like the beer beads I've offered her? I only offer the best. When she comes home, is she relieved that it's me curled in the chair and not the transient neighborhood cat? Or is she simply tolerating me as a good neighbor with a good fence?
The wasp buzzes by for the last time this evening. She retreats into her comfortable place, where though her worries are many she can tend to only herself. Somehow this helps. Tomorrow she'll go out again. It won't be different from today.
The book I'm reading stopped holding my interest long ago. I know this because I've read the same page maybe three times, maybe five, and with each pass it's all new to me. So I mark the page and go inside. I'll watch television and then go to bed, most likely after a brief accidental sleep on the couch.
Tomorrow I'll go out again.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Macias is the new Black
Remember this absolute nightmare of musical nightmares?
Now imagine that Ms. Black here were to come across Zoltar Speaks and wish to be big. And a man.
"We we we so excited"
Now imagine that Ms. Black here were to come across Zoltar Speaks and wish to be big. And a man.
That's Rebecca right there, in the Dukes jacket.
Know what'd you get? This.
"Say farewell to the hate"
We not so excited.
You're welcome, by the way.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Despite All Our Rage...
Oops. It's been since July since I posted something. Crazy how I keep thinking I want to write, but then I never actually do it...
A while ago, I found this book in the used bookstore. Every now and then, I pop into Jackson Street Books and just sort of rifle around. I don't usually have any one thing I'm looking for, and I don't worry myself with checking reviews and whatnot for books I buy there. I go in, pick up something which I've solely judged by its cover (or title), read the inside jacket for subject matter and maybe a page or two to be sure the writing style doesn't make me want to stick sharp things in my eyes, and boogie on out of there. After checking my bank balance... so anyway, that book came home with me.
I haven't finished it yet, but as the title suggests it's about the acceleration of just about everything. No lie. I just got through a chapter where it talked about how the work environment of the average American has changed over time- more hours, less compensation, more overtime or off-books work, less leisure time, more uninterrupted access to employees/coworkers through electronic means, less quiet time, more time spent commuting, less time to cook healthy meals, less time to socialize, less vacation time... less living. This book was released in 1999, too, so what's crazy is to look at the hurry-up-edness the author had witnessed at that time, and realize that with all the innovations for productivity and corporate claims of upholding a work/life balance, the tools available for easing the average worker's workloads haven't done squat to actually free up some time or actually make the worker more productive. Which I kinda can't wrap my head around in some ways.
Why, in 2012, are we stuck in cages? We are... most of us get up in the morning at a specific time, to a specific and terrible sound. We move ourselves from home to some other location with arrival at a specific time. We sit in a specific area of a specific building. We meet with specific people about specific topics at another specific (and generally inconvenient for at least one person) time. We do our tasks for a specific number of hours. And we leave at a specific time, to return home, where other types of specific duties wait, but often go ignored. We're boxed in, for sure. And it makes no sense any more. It's not relevant to today's technologies.
This is the age of lightning-fast electronic transmission. Of having the ability to communicate with someone down the street or on the other side of the world with the same level of effort. Of being able to manage most tasks online wherever there is a connection available. We answer our cell phones and check our work emails during "non-work" hours. Most folks have resorted to mostly email-based communications anyway. We have 24-hour grocery stores, 24-hour banking, 24-hour restaurants, 24-hour gyms, 24-hour communication and news and bombardment of information. For all intents and purposes, we've become a 24-hour society with a 24-hour workday.
So why are we all having to drag ourselves out of bed with the help of an alarm clock, relocate to a place a couple miles (or many miles, if you aren't as lucky as I am) away, and cram a bunch of tasks that aren't really required to be done in that context within the confines of 9 am and 5 pm? I of course agree with the argument of company continuity and wanting coworkers to know each other. I agree that every now and then we all need to sit down together and talk about shit in person and brainstorm and all that. But a lot of these things can be accomplished in a day or two. Or at least in smaller 'office hours' sessions. The rest? No strict deadline, outside of "in a timely manner". What difference does it make if I write a press release (which I email for second opinions, FYI... hurry up and wait) at 9 am in my freezing "office" (which is not an office, but a cubby where I can't get one freaking second to think without interruption) or at 4 pm in the quiet, comfortable environment of my house or wherever I think I'll work best?
I do like the social aspect of the office. I just don't see the true value in forcing it on everyone in today's age. And the social part of the office is actually pretty detrimental to true productivity. Anyway, going back to my press release question... which one's better? Well, for me, the one at 4 pm will be a better written, more creative piece. I'm not at all a morning person, and I think a big part of the population is with me. I can go to bed at 8 pm, and I still will have the damnedest time getting up and moving if the sun's not up yet. It's just not natural for me. I'd be best suited to wake up sans alarm clock around 9:30-10 am and start working around 11. That's when I become a fully-functional, productive human being rather than a fuzzy-headed, overly-caffeinated, brain-blocked zombie. Though ideally I wouldn't work until 7 pm. The thing is, though, that I most likely wouldn't need to. Because I'd be that much more productive. It's not the amount of time you put into something that matters, it's the amount of care and the desire to do a good job. It's having ownership over what you do and being happy to do what you do.
Rather than look at total hours worked, people could be reviewed simply on whether or not the job was completed as necessary, and whether or not they actually did a good job. For this to work, though, everyone would have to work on salary. People getting paid hourly will milk that clock for all it's worth if they work too quickly and clear out the ol' To Do list before the whistle blows. High levels of productivity don't really mesh with hourly pay unless someone regularly has to work more than 40 hours a week; then it's a godsend. But for those in jobs like mine, where most of my tasks can be done anywhere and at any time of day? Salary and flexible work hours would be amazing. Just get stuff done. Meet with the folks you need to meet with. Maintain communication. So there's no meetings and I would rather take Sunday/Monday as my weekend? Big deal. So I don't have meetings and I just have to update a bunch of crap on the website and answer community emails? I'll get up when I get up, get on it, and work until I'm done. And it'll be good.
I guess I'm just amazed at how far we've come with our devices and connections and fancy-schmancy things that keep us going 24/7. And I don't see why the general office workplace hasn't modified over time to use these things to its advantage, all while ensuring fitter, happier, more productive employees. It's the current, yet outdated, system that makes a worker feel like a pig in a cage. On antibiotics.
Everything has accelerated. It's accelerated to a point that we might be about to lap ourselves. What happens then? Does the universe unmake itself? Or do we realize that we have ways to stay fast, while using our modern tools to get back to a type of slowness of lifestyle we haven't seen in 50 years? Our devices should be making life easier. They're not. So what now?
A while ago, I found this book in the used bookstore. Every now and then, I pop into Jackson Street Books and just sort of rifle around. I don't usually have any one thing I'm looking for, and I don't worry myself with checking reviews and whatnot for books I buy there. I go in, pick up something which I've solely judged by its cover (or title), read the inside jacket for subject matter and maybe a page or two to be sure the writing style doesn't make me want to stick sharp things in my eyes, and boogie on out of there. After checking my bank balance... so anyway, that book came home with me.
I haven't finished it yet, but as the title suggests it's about the acceleration of just about everything. No lie. I just got through a chapter where it talked about how the work environment of the average American has changed over time- more hours, less compensation, more overtime or off-books work, less leisure time, more uninterrupted access to employees/coworkers through electronic means, less quiet time, more time spent commuting, less time to cook healthy meals, less time to socialize, less vacation time... less living. This book was released in 1999, too, so what's crazy is to look at the hurry-up-edness the author had witnessed at that time, and realize that with all the innovations for productivity and corporate claims of upholding a work/life balance, the tools available for easing the average worker's workloads haven't done squat to actually free up some time or actually make the worker more productive. Which I kinda can't wrap my head around in some ways.
Why, in 2012, are we stuck in cages? We are... most of us get up in the morning at a specific time, to a specific and terrible sound. We move ourselves from home to some other location with arrival at a specific time. We sit in a specific area of a specific building. We meet with specific people about specific topics at another specific (and generally inconvenient for at least one person) time. We do our tasks for a specific number of hours. And we leave at a specific time, to return home, where other types of specific duties wait, but often go ignored. We're boxed in, for sure. And it makes no sense any more. It's not relevant to today's technologies.
This is the age of lightning-fast electronic transmission. Of having the ability to communicate with someone down the street or on the other side of the world with the same level of effort. Of being able to manage most tasks online wherever there is a connection available. We answer our cell phones and check our work emails during "non-work" hours. Most folks have resorted to mostly email-based communications anyway. We have 24-hour grocery stores, 24-hour banking, 24-hour restaurants, 24-hour gyms, 24-hour communication and news and bombardment of information. For all intents and purposes, we've become a 24-hour society with a 24-hour workday.
So why are we all having to drag ourselves out of bed with the help of an alarm clock, relocate to a place a couple miles (or many miles, if you aren't as lucky as I am) away, and cram a bunch of tasks that aren't really required to be done in that context within the confines of 9 am and 5 pm? I of course agree with the argument of company continuity and wanting coworkers to know each other. I agree that every now and then we all need to sit down together and talk about shit in person and brainstorm and all that. But a lot of these things can be accomplished in a day or two. Or at least in smaller 'office hours' sessions. The rest? No strict deadline, outside of "in a timely manner". What difference does it make if I write a press release (which I email for second opinions, FYI... hurry up and wait) at 9 am in my freezing "office" (which is not an office, but a cubby where I can't get one freaking second to think without interruption) or at 4 pm in the quiet, comfortable environment of my house or wherever I think I'll work best?
I do like the social aspect of the office. I just don't see the true value in forcing it on everyone in today's age. And the social part of the office is actually pretty detrimental to true productivity. Anyway, going back to my press release question... which one's better? Well, for me, the one at 4 pm will be a better written, more creative piece. I'm not at all a morning person, and I think a big part of the population is with me. I can go to bed at 8 pm, and I still will have the damnedest time getting up and moving if the sun's not up yet. It's just not natural for me. I'd be best suited to wake up sans alarm clock around 9:30-10 am and start working around 11. That's when I become a fully-functional, productive human being rather than a fuzzy-headed, overly-caffeinated, brain-blocked zombie. Though ideally I wouldn't work until 7 pm. The thing is, though, that I most likely wouldn't need to. Because I'd be that much more productive. It's not the amount of time you put into something that matters, it's the amount of care and the desire to do a good job. It's having ownership over what you do and being happy to do what you do.
Rather than look at total hours worked, people could be reviewed simply on whether or not the job was completed as necessary, and whether or not they actually did a good job. For this to work, though, everyone would have to work on salary. People getting paid hourly will milk that clock for all it's worth if they work too quickly and clear out the ol' To Do list before the whistle blows. High levels of productivity don't really mesh with hourly pay unless someone regularly has to work more than 40 hours a week; then it's a godsend. But for those in jobs like mine, where most of my tasks can be done anywhere and at any time of day? Salary and flexible work hours would be amazing. Just get stuff done. Meet with the folks you need to meet with. Maintain communication. So there's no meetings and I would rather take Sunday/Monday as my weekend? Big deal. So I don't have meetings and I just have to update a bunch of crap on the website and answer community emails? I'll get up when I get up, get on it, and work until I'm done. And it'll be good.
I guess I'm just amazed at how far we've come with our devices and connections and fancy-schmancy things that keep us going 24/7. And I don't see why the general office workplace hasn't modified over time to use these things to its advantage, all while ensuring fitter, happier, more productive employees. It's the current, yet outdated, system that makes a worker feel like a pig in a cage. On antibiotics.
Everything has accelerated. It's accelerated to a point that we might be about to lap ourselves. What happens then? Does the universe unmake itself? Or do we realize that we have ways to stay fast, while using our modern tools to get back to a type of slowness of lifestyle we haven't seen in 50 years? Our devices should be making life easier. They're not. So what now?
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