Category Archives: Information Stupor Highway

Idiocy on the internet.

They Just Love Me for My 80085

Once again, my awesome Casio calculator watch — with Indiglo, sucka! — is more revered on the internets than I could ever hope to be. The latest propers were served up today in this guest post by my sister (of the wonderful food blog What’s She Eating Now?) on grubhub.com [emphasis added]:

From bad to good
Simultaneously irate and deeply disappointed, I was explaining over IM to my sister what happened. I feared there was nothing that could make it better except the passage of time.

“Meet me on Mott Street between Grand and Hester in twenty minutes,” my sister typed. “I’ll be in front of a jewelry store on the east side of the street.” Before I could ask any questions, the screen turned gray. What could be at this jewelry store in the heart of China Town that would restore my mood?

Sure enough, as I ambled south on Mott, I saw my sister standing in front of a seemingly ordinary jewelry store. Trustingly I followed her inside. And then I saw it. A sign conveying a menu hovering above a counter in the very back. This jewelry store also sold Banh Mi. My frown started to turn upside down.

Discretely taken photo inside of Banh Mi Saigon Bakery. Yes, that is a retro Casio calculator watch on my sister’s arm. Discretely taken photo inside of Banh Mi Saigon Bakery. Yes, that is a retro Casio calculator watch on my sister’s arm.

And before that, I had Sascha Segan over at Gearlog to thank for a digital shout out on my chrono-numeric hotness.

Wednesday June 24, 2009
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casiowatch.jpg

For geeks of a certain age, a Casio calculator watch brings back strong and fond memories of long afternoons spent in the school basement, playing Dungeons and Dragons. But I hadn’t seen one in real life for years before tonight, when Popular Science writer Amanda Schupak popped up at a press event sporting this elegant model, which she said she picked up on the street for a cool $18.
It turns out that calculator watches never actually went away. Casio shows 15 “databank” watches on their Web site, including several that include infrared remote controls to control TVs and DVD players. If you lose your remotes a lot, that actually sounds like a good idea, provided you’re willing to look like a person who wears a calculator watch.
In an era when many people are giving up their watches for cell phones – or are trying to hack together cell phone watches – it’s interesting to see a brave few buck the trend and go for watches which compute, but don’t call.

Nothing like being the coolest nerd at a tech show.
jf
I adore this watch. I use the calculator with frequency, and have for years. It came in handy when I had to work out a year over year growth in stock price in the office of my old editor at Forbes magazine. And this is an upgrade from the old one I had, which didn’t have a light; now I can tell time at night, too. I’ll admit, however, that I haven’t quite mastered the steps to saving telephone and fax numbers. Fortunately, no one has telephones and faxes anymore.
jf
Unsurprisingly, I get a lot of comments on it, from friends, from strangers. (Normally I detest talking to strangers, but for this I’ll indulge them… briefly.) People are always immediately taken back to the good ol’ days of Ataris, and often recall the Casio watch they used to have, or the one they used to covet back in grade school. Folks often want to try it on, too, which I’ll allow in rare cases, but there’s always a hint of pity in their voices when they give it back, something that says, “God, this is funny, but I’d never wear it (loser).” On the occasion that I run into someone on the street sporting a model, we never fail to lock eyes and exchange a knowing nod. It’s like the camaraderie between guys who ride Harleys, but without the muscles, leather jackets and self-assurance.
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In the end, I wear the watch because it’s a cheap, reliable, and infinitely useful timepiece. Plus, I never fail to giggle when someone asks me for the time and I look down to find that I’ve left 58008 on the face. Yup, ’round me, it’s always Boobs O’Clock.

The Slow Digital Death of Common Sense

Yes, the times are a-changing, and ever quicker, you might say, but the basic tenets of douche baggery are yet the same.

twittergate screenshot

An article ran in Saturday’s New York Times about a Broadway casting director named Daryl Eisenberg who tweeted sometimes nasty notes while holding auditions for a new play, unleashing a deluge of comments on acting web forums (each, presumably, lacking the flair and panache that will one day make each of these irate thespians a household name).

In Act 2, Einsenberg went in front of the drama tribunal of the Actors’ Equity Association union to sort the mess out and establish guidelines of proper Twitter use:

Ms. Eisenberg’s statement:

After a productive meeting with AEA this afternoon, I’m happy to report that we have agreed to both put this behind us.

By mutual agreement, future tweets will not be coming from the audition room regarding the actors auditioning.

I apologize to the actors and professionals who put themselves on the line every time they audition, and will continually strive to make the audition room an inspiring, nurturing place for creativity and talent.

I look forward to working with AEA and its members on future projects, and hope to see you all in the audition room soon.– Daryl Eisenberg

The statement from Actors’ Equity:

Earlier today representatives of AEA had a productive meeting with Ms. Eisenberg to discuss her use of twitter in auditions. AEA firmly blieves [sic] that twitter is a valuable promotional tool for producers to reach a wide potential audience but that tweeting has absolutely no place in the audition room, which is a safe haven for actors who are seeking employment in this competitive market. We believe this incident is now closed.

First of all, how the hell are these people taking themselves so seriously while using the words “tweet” and “tweeting”? It’s remarkable how quickly the silly meme has worked its way into mainstream and professional lexicons. I can’t wait for the day when companies are launching new campaigns on Doody Balls and communicating via Queefs. Or when Twitter is taken over by Flutter:

The troubling part, really, is the way the allure and excitement of a new social technology has obscured the fundamentals of social etiquette. You don’t need guidelines on how to properly utilize Twitter; you need to remember how not to be a total jack ass. The nascent medium has made sentient, rational adults revert to acting like overprivileged bratty teenagers. You got in trouble in high school for passing notes. It wasn’t because we needed to establish a set of rules for ink-on-paper, it was because you were supposed to be paying attention to your teacher. And did you get yelled at for it in college? No. Why not? Because by then you were smart enough to keep that shit to yourself. Using Twitter during auditions sits, on the Maturity Index, right next to a notebook page scribbled with “Do you like me? Yes/No Circle One.”

Folks, it isn’t like we’re talking about establishing coda for digital rights management here, or legislating stem cell research. The emerging technology is not the point, it’s ancillary. This is a simple case of common sense: Pay attention at work, maintain some level of professionalism, don’t be an asshole.

Analog Files: Twitter Taken Down, Tweaking Twats Take to the Streets, Titter in Micro-Pidgin

When some ingenious hacker brought the Tower of Twitter crashing down for two hours this morning, micro-bloggers, their MacBooks and iPhones rendered useless, stumbled bewildered into the streets groping blindly in the sunlight for a way to express their distress. Overheard at a Williamsburg coffee shop, a few reactions to the tweet heard round the world:

  • at anybody! can u hear me? can’t twitter! can’t feel! hold me!
  • at barista, coffee is cold, i’ll tell, people not come here!
  • twitter is down, is Iran ok?
  • Yeah, I know you’re at this coffee shop right now. I’m here, too, and I can fucking see you. Now take that noodly arm and pass me the simple syrup, douche.
  • I’ll text you.

If this hullabaloo has got you reconsidering your allegiances, let Dave show you whatfor.