The Tragically Unhip

a blog with three fingers on the pulse of uncoolness.

Funny Signs: Facebook Wars Edition March 9, 2009

Filed under: Art,Neighbourhood,Signage,Technology — Laurin McNiff @ 8:36 pm
n643136435_1914290_5523

Photo courtesy of Craig Dick

chrisbus

Photo courtesy of Todd Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Up until recently, my exposure to Australian culture was limited to the following: Foster’s beer, the Mad Max trilogy (before Mel Gibson went bat-shit crazy), and a girl named Rae-Rae whom I met at a house party in Astoria and subsequently did shots of Jameson with off a kitchen sink. I can now add ”An Idiot Named Craig” to that list of all things Oz.

 

A fellow with the dubious name of Craig Dick has created a public Facebook album comprised of photos of witty, thoughtful flyers printed on computer paper and posted onto various lampposts and mailboxes around Windsor, Australia. In my twisted need for socialization outside of interacting with actual human beings, what I discovered upon reading these flyers was profound: inspiration. In this day and age, when we are all anonymous avatars communicating from behind a plethora of electronic devices, Craig is trying to bring people together by getting them to meet up in person in the real world; all of his flyers invite passersby/readers to physically meet him there at a certain time on an ambiguous day of the week. (I’m sure the irony of him using the technology of Facebook as a means to get his message across is not lost on him.)

 

The problem? As Craig’s funny signs became more popular, a New York writer named Todd Lamb came forward and claimed the idea as his own, noting that he’d been posting witty notes around Brooklyn since 2008 under the name “Chris” and accusing “Craig” of plagiarism. Not only did Craig steal the idea of leaving silly flyers written all in caps on telephone poles around his neighbourhood, but some of his flyers are verbatim copies of Lamb’s NYC originals, as found on Lamb’s homepage as Exhibit A. Lamb has even created a Facebook group called “Notes from Chris (The Original)“, assuring that credit is given where credit is due. In fact, while Craig once had his own Facebook group called “Craig’s silly notes”, active as recently as this afternoon, it has since been deleted, likely as a result of Lamb’s fans leaving angry Wall comments due to Craig’s apparent disregard for intellectual property rights.

 

When I wrote to Craig last week asking to cover his postings, I received this as a reply:

Hi Laurin,

I’m not sure what of interest I’d have to say about them. I think I’d prefer just to let the notes do the talking. You’re welcome to use the images in your blog.

Regards,
Craig.

No word from Craig about the possibility that he stole the idea from someone else, but not claiming ownership for the notes either.  What makes this even stranger still is this article from zoomdoggle.com, which further tilts the scales in favor of “Chris” (Lamb) as the original curator of the funny lamppost notes.

 

Regardless, as a passerby viewing these public messages, whether they be in Brooklyn or in Windsor, I know that the flyers are there to make people at least momentarily distracted from all the stress going on inside their head: the meetings, the paychecks, the drama, that bar crush, the bills, the mortgage, the rent. And while the message is universal (“Let’s get together, people!”), art is art and the concept is only original via its source. Everything we do is influenced by the world around us, adaptations are abound in the world we live in, and imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery—but if we simply mimic the uniqueness of another, then we are neglecting the opportunity to shine as individuals, and damaging another’s credibility in the process. It’s easy to create! Just let go of the fear and throw caution to the wind: it’s art.

 

chrismattress

Photo courtesy of Todd Lamb

craigmattress

Photo courtesy of Craig Dick

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist: Part Three February 1, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — George Blottttt @ 7:38 pm

As we learned in parts one and two, Magnus and Natalya, two cosmopolitan singles on the move, had found each other in a flurry of internet dating that would put the paid actors in those hookup.com commercials to shame. These two heavenly bodies had fallen into orbit of one another, and with the ensuing communication they will have reached their periapsis. Would the friction between the two be enough to cause orbital decay and send their planets on an explosive crash course? Or, would one fly off into that final frontier, leaving the other behind in the vast coldness of space? What is the escape velocity of a broken heart?

Hi Magnus. It is very pleasant that you studied my ideas in the last message. Magnus, I usually don’t tell anybody about my deep ideas and thoughts, but I wrote about it to you, because I believe you and eager to open myself to you. I consider myself to be rather independent woman but probably sometimes I wish there was a man who I can trust. Now I should say that I am so glad that I has found you. Because you understand me and I understand you. :-)
Thank you my dear Magnus, that you have written to me some information about your life, I studied it closely. It helps me to understand you and your life more. I should confess that you became closer to me.

Magnus It’s high the time to go to do some affairs.Have a good day. I wait for your letters.
Your Natalya.

Natalya's butt.

 

I have to confess that this was getting a little one-sided; it seemed to me that my Slavic scampignon’s responses were becoming more and more cut and pasted from some anthology of scam scripts. However, after closely inspecting the photo included, I noticed that “Natalya” was wearing no pants in this latest photo. Maybe I’d get to see a boob or two out of this whole thing. And with those thoughts in mind, Magnus dipped his quill into the virtual inkpot and began a new note:

Dearest Natalya,

I am confused, you ask of me more letters, but your picture you cover your lips as if to say “silence”… is there some silence between us that confusing you? I am very pleased to see more and more of you, maybe one day I will carve your likeness from soapstone and leave it in a forest of a thousand mosquito birds, each singing a song prettier than the last.

I fear there has been some bad news today, my cat, Belinda, has gone missing. I let her out two nights ago and she has not returned, I fear that an antelope has perhaps stolen her away for dinner. But maybe I am wrong and she will return with a missing ear or lopey gait from some hot cat on car crash action… I don’t know what to think…

Natalya, you are like a mystery box wrapped in surprise paper, I wonder what could make you happy? I would like to photocopy those thoughts a hundred times and send them back to you in realization of great passionate reproduction.

I received the nested dolls that I ordered through the i-net and they are exactly what I was told they would be. If only life were as predictable as a 4-star eBay auctioneer.

Tell me more about yourself, ask me more questions, I want to see deeper inside of you like an x-ray would, or an MRI… let your email be that magnetic resonance image of your soul, and your beautiful skins, I am enraptured.

More is greater than less, wouldn’t you agree?

I hope to see your pretty face again, it is the highpoint of my long days in the swamp aka office, you have very lovely blue eyes, like a steel heron in japanese watercolour paintings.

Adieu my fair, your Magnus, whom you can call Magnie.

 

After sending this last note, I found myself checking my email every 20 minutes, I was genuinely looking forward to hearing from her. I realized this, and it made me a bit sad. After all, here I was, communicating with a scam artist, bearing little bits of my soul between long passages of absudity, hoping to see a bit of boobie.

Hi my dear Magnus! I’m reading your letter and iI find it rather intetresting to learn your oppinion in your last mail. We exchange our oppinions in the letters and I think I learn you better.

I write to you from the Internet of cafe, it is convenient, but unfortunately is not cheap for me. I do not have own computer, therefore I am compelled to write to you from this populous and noisy place!

Magnus, I am sending you my new picture. I informed you about my work earlier. You know I work in a children’s hospital. Usually I work with children. It is more work in therapy, than in surgery. I work with the therapist together. She the skilled woman. She already works for a long time. I very much respect her. She helps me in all. I measure temperature basically, I write out some recipes. Some days I should remain at night on work to watch children in an accident ward. It really very intense days for me. But when I have a free time I spend free time by reading novels. I am very romantic. I like to dream. I hope you like my picture. I would be very glad to see your new pictures. I would like to to know how you spend your free time. I like to make life interesting for me and for my friends, so I like different types of entertainment. I like to dance, go to the cinema, different parties and of course I adore to spend time on the air communicating with nature. But now I more and more think of a romantic evening with a man. Do you like evenings with your family/friends? I love very much to spend holidays with my girlfriends and when we gather together at the table. How do you like to spend your holidays? Tell me please about it, I am very curious! I would like to ask you a very personal question, I hope you won’t be angry with me. :) Do you have any woman now?

Please write me more about yourself: your feelings and desires. I am ready to read it. Wait for your messages.
My hugs. Your Natalya.

Tree hugger?

 

She sent this exact note and photo again the next day and she hadn’t called me Magnie—something was definitely wrong. I needed a second opinion, so I called up one of my best friends and began to let her in on the story. I sent her an email with excerpts from the Magnus-Natalya exchanges. She thought it was kind of funny, but also brought up the fact that “Natalya” could just as easily be some dude in a room full of dudes copy and pasting email messages all day, trying to reel in a sucker. I had known this all along, but the thrill of writing love letters had removed some of my good sense. While I was nowhere near sending a cheque to her, I was still making an emotional investment in the relationship, and it was proving to be a bit too costly. Still, I tried to keep appearances, but was my heart still in it?

Dear aka.Natalya, You have asked the question I dared not to ask.. do I have a woman in my life? Let me answer your question this way: “Mary, mother of Jesus”. Mary is in my life and I ask her for guidance often, I have forsaken jebus because of his poor grammar, and backwards views on gun control and the gays right to assembly, but I still hold my lighter in the air for Mary Mag… Other than my spiritual lady friend I have no lover in my life, no beautiful angel with wings of fetid complacency as your golden showering beauty shines adequate lighting to read such passionate words upon my nested doll heart cavity. Indeed you are the filling in that cavity. These few weeks, days, we have spoken in email with each other have been so enjoyable I can’t quite keep down my supper, I am tempted to spill my guts to you, on you, with you! Why does she ask me about if I have a woman, is what I ask, and the answer is uncertain as the sound of a tree falling in the woods with no one within hearing distance. Could it be true, does Natalya want to take this relationship to “the next level” and send me nude pictures? I don’t know what to say, your offer of naked pictures is appealing but I am also afraid that you take me for a one night hot dog stand, a simple gigolo… that is not true… I am looking for a girl with true intentions, who can appreciate my Nancy Kerrigan earring collection and love of the artwork of Michael Godard? What I am trying to say, in my shy and awkward sprained ankle kind of way is: Do you have a man? Could that man be me? Magnus the magician, who will pick a card any card and it will always be the 2 of hearts if you are the assistant on my stage show called: “our life together on paradise island”.
Natalya, do not keep me waiting, I must hear more about you and your wonderful worldview, your tender words are like ambrosia to my inner ear cavity, sweet waxy ambrosia, let your words be the Q-tip that brings that to light. I love to hear from you and will better once I get all the damn ambrosia out of my ears… I swear, it must be the humidity, there’s like a cubic pound of wax in these babies. To quote Micheal Diamond, “I want to butter that muffin, serve it on a platter with thanksgiving stuffing, stuffing.”
To you and yours, good health, my dear Natalya, I must run, pressing matters at the agency keep me from writing more, I think of you before I sleep, kisses, Magnie.

 

Less than 12 hours later:

Hi my honey Magnus! I am very glad to news from you. Magnus, yesterday I could not send you the letter because I had no opportunity to enter into the Internet. I don’t have computer at home. Sometimes I use a computer of my girlfriend, but often I use Internet cafe. I am very grateful my girlfriend, that she allows me to correspond with you. But yesterday she was absent at home. I hope, what you Magnus did not lose me. I missed without yours e-mail. Today on work I thought of you and, it was pleasant for me to know, that there is a person, which which thinks about to me, reads my ideas and writes something for me. And how you Magnus You these days missed on dialogue with me? Today we with friends plan to have some entertainment. It will be possible it is club or a disco. It is a pity, that now not there are opportunities to invite you there because you it is far. I think, that we with you could carry out perfectly together evening. I hope, that we shall make still it in the future and we can well have fun. I am sure, that it will be good time for us Magnus! We shall drink easy wine, then to dance, while our legs can maintain it. And after that we probably shall reach somewhere else….., and where I shall make with you some things. Ideas about it me beforehand raise. My imagination very much advanced and I can represent for myself many details of ours appointments. Probably, dear, it is time to me to finish this letter, and I now shall write that a lot of superfluous and I shall have then confusion before you. I wait for yours e-mail, my lovely. Hug and my kiss!!!

Yours Natalya.

PS. My girfriend Olga & I

Melange a trois?

 

My initial reaction was that I would do one of three things:
1) Tell her that Magnus is actually Margaret, but that her feelings are the same.
2) Rejecting Natalya in favor of Olga.
3) Writing a letter that was total gibberish with the exception with a “dear Natalya” at the start and a “love, Magnus” at the end.

 

I chose to do neither. Days went by. These letters had been fun to write, but the fun had faded. She showed no concern over my missing cat, my wax filled ears, my work for “the agency”—the thrill was gone. Try as I might to write another amusing response, I had nothing funny left to say. Breaking up is hard to do, but I felt it was the best thing to do. I took several long pulls from yet another bottle of 14 dollar red, and wrote:

Dear Natalya, I fear all is not good, I am done with disappointment, I am tired of rejection. I am far too simple a man for this. I am like a wind-up robot, whose springs and cogs are soiled. The coat of paint is peeling off of the aluminum, it glows dully in the sun. My fingers leaden. I have run myself out, others have run me out. I am manic-depressive, mute and coated in veils of cheery platitude. There is little hope for me. I see people in the street and wonder how they do it, I am sick of being empty. I am full of sugar water, styrofoam, and modeling glue. My veins feel like empty balloons, my heart stings from time to time, I don’t sleep well but am tired all the time. I run on caffeine and distraction. Empty gratification. I don’t want to joke around anymore, I don’t believe you, I don’t trust you… I don’t trust anyone much, I let them let me down. I sometimes try but give up so easily. I am the butt of my own jokes, I stradle a dead horse, the whip is loose in my hand and slipping. I would rather feel this way, apparently… I keep having dreams of failure and not measuring up, I can’t really drink anymore, I thought I could clean myself, I’m thick with parasites, I cling to filth, detritus, abandon… all is not well.
Goodbye, M.

 

It was over, the only remaining communications came from her, the same message every couple of days for a month, like an echo:

Subject line: Hello again
Message: At you all is good?

 

It was something out of a sci-fi novel; I had fallen for an android, an AI, a series of 0s and 1s… I had fooled myself. The nights were starting to get longer and I was idling at a crossroads in my life.

 

Video Blogging: A (Sexual) Revolution January 20, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Sex,Technology,Video — Laurin McNiff @ 10:29 pm

Sometimes, when plugging in and connecting to this vast blogosphere, we forget that solid gold can be found in simple expressions and critiques by regular folk just like you and me: via postings, webisodes, and other forums splashed across the interwebs. Take, for example, this gem I found today while casually browsing YouTube, called “Let Me Smell Yo Dick“ by a woman who goes by the handle “gloriousmandestroya“.

 

When first viewing, you’re not quite sure if this is just a dialogue on change, society, and economic climate; or if it really is a defensive analysis of the act of smelling male genitalia (or fingers) to determine whether a significant other has cheated. It’s a candid (yes, candid is the word I’ll use here) rundown on relationships, cheating, and sex.

 

Other issues that gloriousmandestroya addresses in the 119 YouTube video blogs she’s posted thus far? Hairy armpits, titties, birth control, the joys of being a slut, voting, the N word, the guilt suffered by rape and abuse victims, women who don’t have orgasms, interracial relationships, and vegetarianism. Is she a feminist? A talking head? Clueless? Accurate? Is she a controversial voice of the Internet Generation? Whatever she’s doing, she’s doing something right, because her video blogs have more subscribers (4693 people, as of January 20) than our humble blog gets visitors in a month.

 

Gloriousmandestroya’s “Let Me Smell Yo Dick” video blog is actually a commentary on the song of the same name by Riskay. We’ve posted it here, for your viewing and listening pleasure. 18+ only!

 

 

Your Facebook Status Makes You Look Stupid January 20, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Technology — Elli S. @ 9:55 pm

Something quite noteworthy about the Facebook phenomenon is the ubiquitous Facebook status. Occasionally, I have found myself thinking in Facebook status mode, i.e. the voice in my head will say something like, “Elli has no clean underwear and needs to do her laundry like ASAP. Updated just a moment ago.”

 

What really boggles my mind is the number of people who are willing to share their private business via Facebook status. I’m talking about the emotional baggage that no one wants to hear about, being dragged out onto the wwwdot for everyone to read. It seems that these divulgers may have forgotten one teeny little detail, though: FACEBOOK IS ON THE INTERNET. THE INTERNET IS PUBLIC. If your personal life is in the pits and you Facebook-status that shit, it is highly likely that people will indeed read it. And chances are, no one will pity you when your status is something like this: 

 

Margaret Thatcher* is over it, once again…and for sure this time. 3 minutes ago - Comment


Margaret Thatcher, you look stupid. Foremost because you need the person you are getting over to read on Facebook that you are over him. This doesn’t really prove that you are over him. If you were over it, wouldn’t your status be something like this: “Margaret Thatcher doesn’t see a cloud in the sky!”? Also, the “and for sure this time” bit fully shoots down any legitimacy that this status ever had. Sorry, Thatch.

 

Let’s look at some more examples, shall we? 

 

Winston Churchill* is upset that people who call themselves friends can’t be trusted. This does not apply to you four though. 22 minutes ago - Comment


Cyndi Lauper* is i rather have a few friends that are TRUE friends than a bunch of friends that just talk shit. 7 minutes ago - Comment


Why do Winston and Cyndi feel the need to bash their so-called friends over the internet? It sucks that you can’t trust your friends, but telling the world via Facebook is just irrational. What if these people were to apologize tomorrow? If that happened, Cyndi and Winston would have already immortalized these harsh feelings in their Facebook statuses. And, like Maggie, they look stupid making their relationship problems public on the internet. Also, Cyndi made a grammatical error in her status, which really isn’t getting her out of the virtual hole of shame she’s already dug herself into. 

 

But I believe Helen Keller said it best with her status, updated 15 hours ago:

 

Helen Keller* hates when ppl change their status for EVERY stupid little thing they do like every five hours… GET A LIFE  15 hours ago - Comment

 

Eloquently put, young Helen. We at The Tragically Unhip agree.  I especially like your use of the word “like” to portray your frustration. 

 

While Facebook is the best/worst thing to ever happen to procrastinators like myself (I should be doing homework this very second, actually), I can’t help but feel a little distraught over the fact that I found out about my old high school English teacher having a child and that an old co-worker of mine got divorced—by reading their Facebook status updates. Maybe I should pick up a phone once in a while instead…? Nah.

 

 

*Quite obviously, the names have been change for your, but mainly my, amusement. I suppose the people I’m making fun of here—actual Facebook friends of mine—wouldn’t want their names to be used in one of my cynical rantings, but I will mention that all of these status updates are real. Of course, it’s not like any of these people would ever be reading this blog, mostly because I highly doubt that any of these people actually read.

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part Two January 16, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Language,Technology — George Blottttt @ 10:22 pm

As I wrote last week in this post, I wasn’t up to a whole heck of a lot back in November, 2007. To prove my point, here’s a snippet from an MSN conversation from around that time:

George says:
I’m gonna make my own Paris Hilton video.
_____ says:
orly?
George says:
Yeah, me eating Triscuits and playing World of Warcraft, shot in night vision mode.

 

But things were starting to look up: I had a Russian stalker who had sent me two messages and clearly wanted to get her hands all over me my wallet. What can I say? I’m a sucker for Slavs. Channeling my inner player, I decided to take it slow and see how the relationship progressed before sending her the money to fly to Alberta.

 

By the way, did you notice how in her first email she mentioned that both her parents were dead? Who tells you that when you first talk to them, within the first paragraph? Not only that, but she told me how long ago they died. Like I care! Look, as long as they aren’t around to mooch off of my wealthy estate, affording me more time and money to dote on my lovely dancing queen, I will be pleased as punch.

 

My plan was to use the Babel Fish translation website when composing my messages to Natalya: I would write something grammatically correct in English, then translate it into a few other languages before reverting back to English, just to add an air of mystery to the responses I composed to my dearest of dears. Here was my first (and last) go at it:

“Dear Natalya, I am so glad to hear back from you. I know what you are saying about being alone, I live alone too. A stranger in a strange town.”

Translated from:
English -> Dutch
Dutch -> French
French -> Italian
Italian -> English

“Better Natalya, is therefore happy for meaning to speak it about you. Me know that that only says to you on he is only also, screw me. One foreign in one disowned city.”

 

Not too shabby! I especially liked the “disowned city” part. Still, I felt that not sending my own words to Natalya would be dishonest, plus I was pretty sure that I could write in an even more mysterious insane voice than the translation game was allowing for. So after a bit more research, I decided to send my reply:

Very honoured Natalya so nicely to hear from your message.
Here are some details regarding myself. I am 30 years old, guess what? my birthday am the same as yours! ! On 17 October!!, how to amazing that one is! ! ! It is certainly a beautiful day! I was married in the past, but my wife, who died in a train accident, by traveling by the United States. It occured 8 years ago now, and I have placed it behind me. My cat, is baptized Florette, by the name of her. It was a difficult time, but the inheritance permitted me to travel in the world and to learn many new things. I have to drive pleasure ski, and play badminton, my preferred card game is Cribbage, you me will often find to play Cribbage at the old people house where I volunteer on weekends. I think you look very pretty in your dancing dress, do you like to do foxtrot or the manhattan? I learned many of these old dance from a class I took in Carcassone, France, years ago. I would love to hear about your dancing and see more pictures. I am more of a salt tooth than a sweet tooth, I enjoy eating fine meats and brandies. Where did you get such a lovely name as Natalya? My wine cellar is huge. I hope you are well, I must tend to my bonzai, your friend, Magnus.

 

Yes, I chose not to use my real name. Magnus seemed to fit the worldly, eccentric persona I was creating for myself in this internet dalliance, so I went with it. And, not surprisingly, so did Natalya:

Hi Magnus! I am pleased to receive your message. I regret concerning death of your wife, I know as it happens hardly when very close person perishes! Our birthdays in one day! It is surprising! It is possible to celebrate together:-)
Magnus ,I wait for your e-mails impatiently, it means that I’m curious about your life and really very intetrested in our relations. I think, that you have read my profile and could have seen there, that it is very important to me to get acquainted with a good person for serious relations. For this reason I will try to tell you a little about my character. I don’t know what to start with, ok,I think, that I am a very romantic person. I like to communicate with other people, I have a sence of humourIt is very important nowdays in our cruel world. I appreciate in people such qualities as fidelity,kindness and honesty of course . I believe in love, and I think it very valuable thing which needs to be protected.I am not very jealous person. I adore,to say people compliments and I’m always ready to listen to them from other people. For me it is necessary, to keep everything in order. I also like to cook various tasty things. It is worth while mentioning that I appritiate good relations between man and woman. I think that women are more romantic and they dream to find person to have with him serious relations. But very often their dreams are broken, because idealise everything. And many man brake women’s heart taking the joy of life forever. As for me, I had a bad experience in my life with a man. hen we sepsrated I lost the intention to live. Now I wish to find a person to whom I can share my happiness and problems.Now it’s only a dream, but I want it to become true very much. I think, that for women the main thing is to live a family life not but not to build a career . Tell me please, what is a woman of your dream? Sorry tha I bother you by my question, but I’m very curious about you. I impatiently wait for your next e-mail. Sincerely yours Natalya.

 

Wow, she really cared! What a sweetheart. I couldn’t resist: (You should note that I responded within one hour of receiving her message)

Dear Natalya, I am a busy man, between my 2 jobs and my pets my life is zoo. So I’m terribly sorry it has taken me so absolutely long to reply. Still I dream of you at night, in your lovely aquatic marine dancing uniform and overwhelming make up, on face. I am no make out artist, or pick up romeo, I prefer to cook a meal in the oven than in the microwave. I prefer candied apples to pop-corn, movies on a big screen, or the back seat of my car. My favorite colour is beige, I eat fish for breakfast and I live in a house far too big for one person. I wish to make some babies on an island of cotton candy and have each one to be bigger than the last. My favorite song is “Doncha” by the pussy cat dolls, second favorite is the Rite of Spring by Stravinsky. Tell me about you, are you also enjoying a bath of jello? I yearn for your foreign touch, the smell of your hair, do you groom yourself? I have a collection of Matryoshka dolls, and wish to peel back your layers like the onion where we met, online. I see your profile is gone… are they trying to keep us apart? I am shocked and pained to think of days without our conversation. My voice is gone, since my operation, and I sound horrid, so we must speak in words. My darling, I await your next lovingly crafted reply. Now I must go and return some bottles to the recycling plant, of my heart. What do you think of the strong canadian dollar? It inspires me, I wish to purchase items from the internet and sell them in my store at a slight mark-up. I only have work in my life, and now, maybe you, dear Natalya. Send me pictures of yourself, for I need to put a face to your name and print them on my custom lithographic machinery. ’til next we speak, yours truly, Magnie.

 

I really thought this last email had gone too far, no way she would reply, s/he would clearly realise I was ” ‘aving a laugh”. But NO! I had woven a spell and she was bound by it, my little Russian minx…

Hi Magnus. I am glad to receive again your message, every day we begin to learn each other better and it is very interesting for me. I love your letters and every time wait for them. They help me to forget about cruel world, they like a sun ray in the dark realm.
Magnie, I send you other pictures of me. I hope, you will like it. Tell to me more about youself and aboyt your family. Do you have many relatives or not? How often do you gather together ?I’m the only child. As for my private life I can’t say that I’m happy. My last relation with man was the last year. I left him. Now I think we did not love each other and had various interests. Among all the man who I know I cannot chose anybody for serious relations. Nowdays there are less and less decent man, so it’s rather difficult to find one.You see I had to address to i-net. This is my last hope to find a fair man with whom I can keep up the time. Probably here I can find the person who will love, appreciate and understand me. It is not important for me his financial situation and work. I’m interested in a man who is older than me, who has a great life and love experience, who knows how to appreciate women. In my turn I will be ready to give all my love, tender and care to such a person. I think that the main advantage of the woman is to be fidel and have skill to make family happy, without quarrels and conflicts. Ok, my letter comes to its end and I have to go. Mine favourite Magnus, write me your ideas of life. I wait for your messages. Your Natalya.
PS.I do not think that canadian dollar strong, but I think that the American dollar – weak!

PPS.By the way that you want to buy on the Internet? And how many nested dolls you have?

Natalya?

Natalya??
Is this even the same girl?

 

The sight of cleavage, even of a shady nature, was enough to propel Magnus into the lustful madness of young love:

Dearest Natsha, My heart skips a beat when I see your goldenized face in the sunlight, you are in the darkness? Let my shine a flamethrower on your forehead, burning away the tears with the heat of passionate exchanges. I am reminded of my favorite song: “Midnight at the Oasis” by Maria Muldaur… when she says “Let’s slip off to a sand dune real soon and kick up a little dust… I’ll be your belly dancer, prancer, and you can be my sheik”. Yes my harem is a little small, but there is only room for one, which by process of elimination would be you, sweet Natalya, you make my toothache, my belly twist and turn into a noose. When you say you are mine I picture baby diapers and ziplock bags, maybe some lovemaking under a starry ceiling with glow in the dark star stickers on it and the romantic sound of the nearby quarry. I want to touch you on the inside.
I am sorry, I have offended you perhaps? I cannot help my passions, for you seem quietly beautiful, I am afraid that I suffer what Shopenhauer envisioned as the ‘will to life’, I wanna make the babies soon, see my future son and daughter become productive labourers for society. I am a simple man, with complex carbon-based atomic structure. I am like any man in that way, but I am different because I have you as a friend Natalya. I want to know more about you, what did you study? What city do you live in? What is your favorite fruit and/or vegetable?
Oh Natalya, it is too painful to think of you, who only shows me such small glimpses in photographs. Would you send me pictures of you undressed, standing in that sunlight? I would picture you dressed in the elaborate fashion of the 1890′s, and would bedazzle you with pearl necklaces, and ornate silk scarves. I would wrap you in my arms and would be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
But no, the thought of your breasts rising and falling with your breath as you stare into the darkness, the imperceptible hairs on your skin, risen by the shivers, the way your hands have grown old by your pained experience… I am truly sorry you have been hurt, I hope you are like me now, one who would never hurt again… Dear Natalya, I grow close to weeping, I must retire to my antechamber, bestill your soft heart. Magnus.

Next week: E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part 3.

 

E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part One January 7, 2009

Filed under: Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — George Blottttt @ 1:50 am

November, 2007: Edmonton, Alberta.

 

The nights were starting to get longer and I was idling at a crossroads in my life.  My hedonistic summer adventures in Cow-Town had chewed all the flavour out of me and spit me back out, curbside, in chilly Oil-Town.  I live in the suburbs in my 83-year-old Great-Aunt Nancy’s basement and I’m pretty much lonely.

 

One winey night (a $14 bottle of red, most likely), I fired up the computer and fell back on an old crutch: online personals.  I’m looking for a hard-headed woman, I hummed, one who will make me do my best. So I signed up to The Onion’s personals site in the hopes of meeting some ladies who not only enjoy its quippy satire, but who are also interested in dating a bearded video game developer with no driver’s license.

 

After signing up, it became clear that I wouldn’t be pursuing any of the Edmontoniennes on the site, partly because there seemed to be only two women within 50 miles of me, but mostly because these services are “pay to play”, and come on—that’s just a few steps removed from the oldest profession. I refused to pay; successful courtship would require an enterprising young lady who was willing to make the first move based solely on my profile. (Favorite TV show? Stella. Favorite food? My great-aunt’s leftovers.) Needless to say, I forgot all about it the next day.

 

Then, a few weeks later, I got a cryptic message from someone through The Onion’s personals, with her email address in code form. See, if you are a guy, you can’t send another member a message without paying, and if you do send someone a message, they monitor it to make sure that you don’t exchange email addresses, but instead continue to use their pay system. It was the first message I’d received since enrolling. She lived in Toronto, so I wouldn’t ordinarily respond, except for the novelty and safety of it all. But is that even a good reason? Her name was Cinderellagirrl.

 

And so, after a particularly crappy Friday night spent soloing pints at a sports bar, I decided to go ahead and contact this Cinderellagirrl because I really appreciated all the work she put into embedding her email address into her message. I replied to her email through my rarely-used, safe-for-spam email account by saying something like: ”I like codes and cyphers and stuff, am I talking to the right person?”

 

I got a reply, consisting of the two pictures below, and this message:

Hello! How is your day?

Now I would like to tell you some more details about myself. I’m 24. My birthday on October, 17, my name is Natalya. I never got married and I live alone! My mother has died 5 years ago, my father has died 3 years ago! At me did not remain relatives! Since I graduate from College I have been working in children’s hospital. When I have spare time I go the gym to do sports because I take care of my body, also I like to dance! . I like to travel and visit different places, but my work does not allow me to do it frequently. I have many friends, we spend the time together, play billiard, tennis, and have other entertainment. I don’t have many pics myself, but I try to find some more pics. I send you my picture so you can an idea of me more closely. I want to confess to beeing a sweettooth, I like ice-cream, cakes, candy. But I can allow it seldom because not to be fat. What else can I say to you about myself? I love beautiful clothes and different things of light colours. Light-blue, pink, beige and other colours make me relax and even feel better. And what is your favourite colour? Please Ask me some more interesting things about yourself. How do you prefer to relax? What is your character? What is your preferable qualities in women? Do you want to have a wife? You can also ask me questions in what you are inetrested in. I impatiently wait for your letter and eager to answer all your letter. And of course it will be pleasant for me to receive your new photos and even want to learn about you some more information you. Write to me, I wait. Your friend Natalya.

 

Natalya?

 

Natalya!

 

 

Amused, but highly suspicious, I went back to review her original message through the Onion, but this is what greeted me instead:

System notice: The body of this message has been removed as this member appears to have been abusing our terms of service. By blocking this member’s message, we reduce the incentive for future abuse and thereby provide a better overall experience for our members – we apologize for any inconvenience.

I knew immediately that this had to be some sort of scam. And I think it may have been brought on by one of my profile answers:

Fill in the blank: _____ is sexy; _____ is sexier.
A fake Russian accent is sexy; a real Scandinavian accent is sexier.

Regardless, I wondered whether I should respond to her email or not, and if I should try to string this along some more. Who would have guessed that by stringing her along, I would be winding myself up instead…?

 

 

Next week:  E-Dating a Scam Artist, Part 2: I must tend to my bonzai.

 

So When Did the Internet Become Cool? December 29, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Musings,Technology — Tess Hart @ 8:06 am

Growing up as a young geek into an adult geek, I’m sure I’m not the only one who has noticed that a lot of things that were once considered uncool or dorky have gradually been absorbed and claimed by the mainstream. Like the internet. In the days of yore, when the internet was still in its fledgeling years and the dot.com bust wasn’t even a glimmer on the digital horizon, we had online services like CompuServe and Prodigy and 14.4 kbit/s modems; those were cutting-edge. Companies never included URLs in their commercials, and most people didn’t even have an e-mail address.

 

I remember my seventh-grade Technology teacher showing my class a primitive, text-based version of the ‘net. He typed a few words to a Technology teacher in North Carolina: “Hi, this is Mr. H—’s class. How are you guys?” He made eye contact with each and every one of us as we sat erect on our backless stools (“great for posture!”). In the light of the overhead projector, he looked like a mad scientist on the verge of a monumental discovery. And someone—presumably another seventh grade Technology teacher, and not a serial killer—typed back on the screen: “Hello. This is Mrs. E—’s class. The weather here is nice. How is it in New York?” It was as if we had made first contact with extraterrestrial life, albeit of the Raleigh variety.

 

In the cafeterias, the boys from the computer club were evolving into a separate species at a faster rate than ever before, at least according to popular opinion. They sat, exiled to their own lunch table, and discussed enigmatic text-based role-playing worlds beyond the physical plane that the rest of us inhabited, worlds that could only be accessed from their home computers. By day, they took AP Calculus and aced Honors Chemistry tests. By night, they were half-elven rangers, dwarven barbarians, vampires, dark paladins, and level 5 magic users with other 15-year-olds from around the state, maybe even the country; Dungeons & Dragons had gone online.

 

Popular opinion was that everyone had (or should have had) better things to do with their precious hours of after-school freedom than sit and type in front of a computer. There were malls to be shopped at, varsity teams to qualify for, garage bands to be formed and disbanded, cigarettes to be smoked, parental liquor cabinets to be discovered, CDs to be listened to, and dark poetry to be written. Who in their right mind, after writing a thesis paper on To Kill A Mocking Bird for ninth-grade English, wanted to spend another three hours at the computer, communing with faceless freaks in parts unknown?

 

But slowly, almost secretly, I took a few baby steps into the online world myself. I had an AOL account, with a profile that said my gender (female), state (New York), and included my favorite quotation at the time. I had a buddy list of five other friends, one of whom I “blocked” from time to time depending on whether or not I was mad at her. My screen name was Cranberry503, after my favorite band. I developed the beginnings of internet “street smarts”: never giving my password out, and never revealing too much information about myself, like full name or zip code. I learned a new language—LOL, ROTFLMAO—and an entire dictionary of emoticons that stretched from the standard smiley face [:-)] to a buck-toothed vampire smiley [>:-E] to a beach bum frown [8-( ]. I entered political chat rooms, where I made sharp-tongued (or sharp-keyed?) arguments against the destruction of old-growth forests in Oregon and passionate defenses of a Woman’s Right to Choose. Shy in high school, I discovered myself loud and outspoken in this strange online landscape, where the deaf could fully participate in any conversation, and private clubhouse chat rooms could instantly be created. I was part of a new but closeted generation of geekdom; very few girls in my class even admitted to having screen names. I can still recall the proud and daring day when I updated my AOL profile with my first name and felt the thrill of exposing a tidbit of my identity to a largely undiscovered, brave new world. Then movies like Hackers and The Matrix showed us how the computer geeks of the world were going to save us all (while looking amazing in leather), and roles became confused forever.

 

At least, that’s the way I remember it. Today, if you don’t have at least three miniature electronic devices that let you take pictures, watch videos, look up directions, read movie reviews, or listen to music, you’ve been living under a rock for the last decade. And if your gadget doesn’t do all those things at once, it’s just primitive. The “kids” these days talk to their friends on G-chat while updating their Facebook pages and think nothing of posting photos of themselves that friends can see and strangers can find ways to access. Screen names like “SweetPea0134″ or “Racer5894″ are no longer necessary, as people tend to use their full names now. Adults list their career histories for all to see on LinkedIn. “To google” is a verb. Having a profile on an online social networking site is no longer considered socially repugnant; rather, lacking one marks you as just plain rebellious. And what would a linguist 1,000 years into the future make of our rapidly evolving online language, with its symbols, acronyms and abbreviations? Webster’s even just announced that “overshare“, the act of divulging too much personal information online, was 2008′s Word of the Year.

 

So what does the computer geek lunch table look like today? Are its patrons still exiled, or are they consulted and venerated? Who are the true geeks now? Have they evolved into higher life forms? Have their once unattractive traits of computer literacy been absorbed and adapted into other cliques? The girls who once regarded the computer dorks as a separate species now argue over comments left on each other’s Facebook walls, send Twitter updates from their mobile phones, and giggle over online videos and web pages. The cute-but-distant musician with the soulful eyes is more likely to woo girls with the playlists on his iPod than with the massive tome of CDs he once kept hidden under his bed. The internet has gained recognition in almost every adolescent demographic as a treasure trove of pornography. And adults, too—parents, professors, bosses—can also be found on Facebook. They have photos of themselves at parties, or with their kids. They send status updates to let people know they’re watching The Colbert Report, or had great vacations in Mexico. The true, pure computer geek still roams free in the lands of elves, but he is no longer limited to text-based worlds; he can now interact with players from around the globe in graphic-rich fantasy worlds.

 

It’s hard to forget the expression on my Technology teacher’s face all those years ago when a classroom in Raleigh asked us how the weather was in upstate New York. I used to say that all I learned from that class was good posture, but the truth is that I hid my own excitement when we made first contact and our peers in North Carolina responded. (“One giant step for Man…”) The borders of the technology realm were clearly marked “NERD” to try and keep “my kind” (or, what I wanted “my kind” to be) out. Maybe I’m just old and tragically unhip, but these days, the lines that mark us “geek” and “mainstream” have blurred. Yet slowly we began to absorb this world—or this world absorbed us—and closeting my inner geek is a practice I’ve abandoned.

 

Gregory and the Hawk Gets iPhoned November 17, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Music,Musings,Technology — Laurin McNiff @ 8:08 am

Recently, during one of my outings into Manhattan with folks I barely know, I had a chance to play some real Texas Hold ‘Em with a few sweaty, keys-to-my-car-on-the-table players. I had lost a significant amount of cash, but in the end came out strong: with an iPhone and $300 to my name, thanks to an ace-high flush.

 

For a short time I used the iPhone just as an iPod and didn’t understand the excitement behind another one of Apple’s costly products, but I liked its improved sound quality along with being able to shift around my playlists according to daily mood (read: it’s fall and I’m an emotional lesbian in the city). But then the trackball fell out of my BlackBerry and was being held together with scotch tape. I finally gave in and activated the iPhone on my AT&T plan.

 

Within several days I understood the hoopla surrounding this magical device. It’s the ultimate city/party tool. Wherever I go, with applications like Remote (which remotely controls any iTunes library) or Taxi (which brings up an immediate list of available taxis near your GPS location), this has turned out to be a life-saver of gargantuan proportions. I’m especially looking forward to trying out the new Fake Calls application, which permits you to get out of bad dates or other unpleasant social situations by ringing you up on command, thus permitting you to pull the “Oh my God, I have to go, my cat just died” spiel.

Photo courtesy of wideastheocean.com

Photo courtesy of wideastheocean.com

 

The most valuable iPhone trait however, has got to be its value in mobile reporting. With a direct link to Facebook and other social networking sites, I can immediately publish a post to the Tragically Unhip, wherever I am. This was put to the test on Saturday night, when I dragged myself out of a near-death bed coma to see a band called Gregory and the Hawk at Glasslands in Brooklyn (which is located at 289 Kent and also houses the monthly lesbian hipster party aptly named Secret Faggot), and subsequently typed my assessment into my iPhone.

 

So this is a two part review: first for the iPhone, then for a remarkable up-and-coming band that is indigenous to this amazing, brightly-lit, 24-hour bodega-embraced city.

 

Gregory and the Hawk is an indie alt-folk band that touches on sounds from Broken Social Scene, Iron and Wine, and Explosions in the Sky, with heavy and touching melodies that take the listener back to rainy days with exes, when staying in under the covers was better than going out on the town. Meredith Godreau writes songs that most of us can relate to and touches on all the varieties of heartbreak and emotion with a soft voice and deep intensity. They have two full-length albums available on iTunes, so if you miss the soothing sounds of rain against your window and the bittersweet ache for the one that got away, then this band is a must for you.

 

Panoptical Illusions: or, Foucault has The Last(.fm) Laugh September 4, 2008

Filed under: Culture & Society,Music,Musings,Technology — David Fiore @ 3:19 am

Michel Foucault was remarkably prescient in choosing to focus his critique of modern society through the lens of the panopticon. Today, more than 30 years after the publication of Discipline and Punish, we’re living in a paranoiac paradise of bigger, better, longer-lasting surveillance (brought to you in large part by the same thing that is bringing me to you, right now—our friend, the Internet).

 

The thing is, though (and my use of the word paradise gives me away here, I think), for the most part, we love it! And I’m not sure why anyone’s surprised. Because, really: In order to reject the desire to be known that is at the root of the desire to be seen, you have to reject the self itself. Foucault was prepared to do that. But are you? It seems to me that the desire to share our experiences runs pretty deep in our species, and is also the fountainhead of things like emphathy, art, and, ultimately, ethics. Do you want to get rid of that stuff? I don’t. And I’m willing to risk the possibility that someone might be watching me shower each morning in exchange for the chance to project something essential onto a screen near you.

 

Which brings me to our subject for today: Last.fm. (That link is to my very own profile, by the way—you should add me!) Is this a good thing for the world? Do people really need to know what songs I’m listening to, every minute of my life?

 

Yes. I think they do.

 

Not because I’m special, or a particularly canny music fan. No. This is for my own good. Not yours, really, although I’m happy to return the favour by witnessing your own journey from station to station (of the cross?). That’s what friends are for. You see, when I know you’re out there, I know I have to put my best foot (or ear, in this case) forward.

 

I can’t listen to Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday on repeat for sixty hours while I write my honours thesis. (Well, since I just admitted to that act of folly, maybe I could, but still—it’s quite a different thing to give you information like that wrapped up in this ironic package than it would be to let you actually watch those same 14 songs “scrobbling” over and over and over again, isn’t it?) I also can’t listen to Mini Pops Christmas very often. Not if I want you to think I’m cool. Or even a reasonable facsimile of a human being. Which is what you help to make me, right? All of us, at our terminals, can play benevolent God(s) to each other!

 

That’s a lot more comfortable than going out into the desert and waiting for the heat and malnourishment to connect you to the Big Brother in the Sky. Besides, those anchorite monks didn’t listen to very diverse music. I’m betting their playlists would score pretty shamefully on the “open mind index”.

 

Guerrilla in the Missed Connections: Analyzing the Stalk Market September 1, 2008

Filed under: City Living,Culture & Society,Dating,Technology — David Fiore @ 6:01 pm

I am very far from being a relationship expert. I’ve been known to go months between dates and put off cohabitation-crushing confrontations for years… and yet, some vestigial pride without any visible symptoms has kept me from going the way of our subject for today.

 

Craigslist’s Missed Connections are legendary, of course. In theory, they’re a beautiful thing. Can you fault people for obeying E.M. Forster’s celebrated dictum (“Only Connect”)?

 

Sure you can. As any firefighter will tell you, many of the vicious infernos that wreck lives across the urbanized world are caused by faulty connections—and I can’t help but see most of these whacked wires in that light.

 

But you be the judge. Here’s a fairly characteristic sample (worth quoting in full) of what you’ll find floating in the aforementioned Slough of Desperation:

venfome metro station – m4w – 27 (mtl)

to the beautiful, serious, black haired lady:
Each time I looked at you you turned your eyes away. Your eyes are beautiful and gorgeous, your hair is fabulous and fantastic!
I sat in front of you, dark blue chemise
Your seriousness has a beauty in it. i would like to get in touch with you
You got off at berri

 

Do you foresee any happiness for the parties concerned? If you do, you’re a more optimistic sort than I am. I envy you. I also think you’re a damned fool—and possibly even a dangerous one. So watch yourself.

 

Few “Missed Connections” posts deconstruct themselves quite as neatly as this one does. You might even argue that guerrilla analysis is hardly required in this case. But be gentle with me; I’m launchin’ a franchise here. Next time I’ll tackle something a little more ambiguous, a little closer to the legal limit on the “heavy breath”-alyzer test.

 

But right now it’s time for the paraphrase! To wit:

venfome metro station – m4w – 27 (mtl) (Ed.’s note-What can I say about this? That’s not the name of the station!)

Dear stressed-out knockout,

Meet the cause of your discomfort. I stared at you for quite a while, and you really seemed to hate me for it. This only fanned the flames of my ardour for you. Nothing sexier than a woman in crisis—especially one with such fabulous, fantastic hair (who does it for you, by the way? We’ll talk!). This world is quite a tragic place, and I love seeing that pain reflected in a dark-haired lady’s eyes. Please allow me to trouble you some more, possibly for the rest of your life. I took careful note of your movements, and if I hadn’t been late for work, I would have followed you straight to your home. No worries though—soon enough, my drinking problem and penchant for harassment will get me fired, and I’ll have all the time in the world to make certain that you don’t elude me again.

Consider yourself warned.

Have a nice day.

 

Have a nice day!

Dave