We’re Getting Frog Ether

FrogDamn you, auto correct!

I’m starting to keep a running record of all the crazy shit that’s written on my behalf by that absurd algorithm, or whatever the hell you call it.   For the love of Pete, I don’t even know what an algorithm is!  But it sounded like a word that fit.  So there.

Algorithm. Yep. It fits.

I scurried off to dictionary.com so I could look up the definition, lest I sound like a complete idiot. There were numerous descriptions. Here’s the one that fit the best:

A finite set of unambiguous instructions performed in a prescribed sequence to achieve a goal, especially a mathematical rule or procedure used to compute a desired result. Algorithms are the basis for most computer programming.

 Hmmm…  “used to compute a desired result.”

Frog ether was not the desired result of my text.  Which leads me to this…..

How can there can be an auto correct of specific words, but not an auto  correct that auto corrects all the shit sentences auto correct creates from correctly spelled words that should never be put next to each other?  Yeah, I know. That’s a ridiculously long sentence, but I’m totally serious about this auto-sentence-correcting thing-y. Does it exist?

It should. Because I’d love it if that frog text got corrected to what I was really trying to say.

“Wire friending broth erthy”

Sheesh!  What does a girl have to do to get a little clarity around here?

 

Where In The World Is Jules Howe?

MapMy good pal and I – along with a couple of other dudes who love film – just returned from the Sundance Film Festival.  I was going to post some cool stuff about it along with a funny story about what happens when you forget to put your glasses on in the morning.

But, no.

I have to tell THIS story.

For anyone who knows me or reads my blog (thank you, thank you if you do), I am not well-versed on the ways of technology and how to use it nor how it uses me without my knowledge.

Flying home, aforementioned peeps and I were talking about privacy settings on all the devices we lug around like appendages we can’t live without.  This is somewhat ironic since my girlfriend was just telling me a few nights before that stuff comes up on her Facebook page about where she is or where she’s been. She and I both pondered how in the Sam Hill that happens. I told her I don’t think that’s ever happened to me.

As usual, I was wrong.

I just found out from the Timeline thing that I was at Mission Ranch recently. There was a map….and a little red pin showing the exactly location of the place. Yeah, okay. I was there with a group over the holidays. The relevance of that and why anyone would give a shit is my first thought.

Then I give it a little more thought and my blood pressure goes up and I have to take a Xanax and pace around my office for a while.  Not out of fear, I’m just pissed off.

Fortunately, I don’t have any stalkers that I’m aware of because Facebook (or whatever device made this happen) put a giant “She Is Here” target on my back without me knowing it. But the worse thing about all this is that I don’t have any idea how to control it because of my limited technological prowess. I’m at an extreme disadvantage. I suddenly feel like a patsy in a world of I-don’t-know-what.

Advertisers? Marketers? A government experiment?  What!!

Naturally, I want to know how this happens but I’m afraid to ask because I fear it involves a learning curve and at my age, I’m pretty set on going straight.

But I don’t think I can do that. I have to know because I’m stuck in a world I know very little about soon to become just a speck in a nebulous universe of clouds and hashtags and faceless pings and tracking devices that I don’t even know I’m carrying around.

[You do know that the proliferation of technology in our society was what drove the Unibomber crazy, right?]

We saw a film at Sundance called Afternoon Delight where the main character has a meltdown which I identified with immediately.

It was about The Cloud and what the motherfucking hell is it?  And what is it capable of? I mean think about it.  It’s this “area” that we can’t touch or feel or see that stores all of our digital belongings.  It’s not a place. It’s not a thing.  It’s godlike.  We have to trust and have faith that It will always be there for us…therefore It merits a capital letter when referring to It.

Just like God (unless you’re so inclined to refer to Him as g-d in which case It might need to become I-t for some).

Seriously, folks. I’m gobsmacked by all this shit. It simultaneously fascinates me and repels me. I have nothing more to say so  I’ll just quote Mick and Keith who had no idea their words way back in the day would have such relevance today:

Hey you!  Get off of my cloud!

I have no idea if this cloud thing has anything to do with anything and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. It’s too exhausting to decipher. It’s all the same to me and I am stuck here. Trapped. I need this stuff and hate this stuff. I consume it, I gobble it up and it threatens to choke me. I try to spit it out but can’t.

So I just swallow hard and hope for the best.

P.S. Just so you know, today I’ll be in Monterey getting my legs waxed at 606 Lighthouse Avenue at 1:00.  Then, I’ll probably stop in Carmel for a coffee with some friends at that little place between Areias Jewelry and the Coach Store on Ocean around 2:30ish. Then to Whole Foods at Del Monte Center where I’ll purchase some nice baby arugula and some roast chicken.  I’ll be there around 4:30 if you’re in an abduction kind of a mood. Say! How  about I make it easy for you…I’ll bring the duct tape.

I [upside-down heart] Psoriasis!

Translation:  “I hate psoriasis”

For the record, I don’t suffer from psoriasis but if I did, I’m sure I would hate it.  I just chose that to illustrate my point [which, in the scheme of things is useless but somewhat interesting].

I’ve become fascinated with how we communicate. Probably because the way we communicate is changing so rapidly.  And, in my humble view, it’s not always for the better. I guess it’s cool that we can  connect with each other 27/7 using a mind-boggling array of methods from e-mails and texts to  [insert method of your choice] from wherever we are in the world.  It’s convenient, I admit . But it’s making us all a little more impatient and lazy in a certain way.  I’ve gotten so used to getting answers RIGHT NOW that when I don’t get them? I start getting serious ants in my pants and I have to remind myself that I sent that text question 12 seconds ago. Getting an answer back from my waxer about whether I can come in for a Brazilian next Friday isn’t urgent and doesn’t require an answer in 30 minutes or less or it’s free like a fucking pizza delivery. I constantly have to remind myself to stop, take a breath, and buy a disposal razor if I have to.  It’s not the end of the world.

But never mind all that. What I want to talk about here is what I’ll call “the symbolic sentence movement” for lack of a better phrase.  You know, using those little emoticons to denote feelings or set the tone of the written word?

Yes, I use them in moderation. Like Botox.  But I really only like two of them:  the smiley face and the heart.

Smiley faces are nice. They denote happiness. Hearts are wonderful because they denote love.  So prolific is the heart symbol that in their absence, we can just spell out the word and everybody gets it.

I heart puppies.

I heart Spanx [not really but you know what I mean]

I heart furry little bunnies.

But what about things you don’t like…or even hate?  Where’s the symbol for that?  I mean, everybody hates psoriasis, right?  I mean hates it!  It’s horrible.

Since emoticons are used to alert a reader to, according to Wikipedia “the tenor or temper of a statement”, there should be a symbol for it.

Given my limited tech knowledge, there probably is but I just don’t know the right key strokes to make it appear.

So I made my own hand-made version: the upside-down heart. Seems fitting that turning a heart upside-down would be a gentle substitute for the word “hate”.

I [upside-down heart] war.

I [upside-down heart] Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

I [upside-down heart] those tiny wrinkles around my mouth that nothing will fix. Grrrrrrr.

Yeah, somebody smarter and quicker than me has probably already come up with this upside-down heart notion.

Whatever.

I [heart] my upside-down heart.