gamu-gamo rush.

As a brother of mine noted, “we live in a society where it’s possible to live through a day — weeks even — without human contact.” You could be sitting in front of your computer and maybe order a pizza. Want some new material possessions? eBay. Want to get updated on what your friends are up to? Text messaging, blogs and social networking sites.

After almost two weeks of being netless, (apparently, the copper wires for the DSL was stolen by your friendly neighborhood pretend-linemen, to be melted into something you’d see at a tiangge near you soon enough) I have just been subjected to pure human contact. And it’s great, save for the fact that we have come to rely on such means to get in touch that it’s a bit hard to get used to living a disconnected life. (Most especially if your occupation requires you to be online.) Of course you could argue that we do, in fact, have internet connections in the office, and that online nonsensery is possible from 9-to-6, (or 8-to-5, depending on what time I actually get in) but I would decide otherwise.

It’s easy to forget that “PC” stands for Personal Computers, and I think it’s better to have a dichotomy between office computing and personal computing.

I lived through the ordeal. Whoop-de-doo, and it’s not like you get medals for getting through the day without getting the daily spam and what-not, but yeah, for netheads like me, that’s a big deal. Would I live through a disconnected life again? I wouldn’t mind, so long as it doesn’t take almost two weeks to fix.

Last night, we got bum-rushed by moths. Like something from a sci-fi movie, they entered the windows in swarms, probably to eat our flesh(or just plain annoy, whatever).

My cousin lit up the kitchen lights downstairs so they moved there. He then turned on the electric fan and watched as single units get sucked in at the rear, to be spewed out to the wall to splatter. I took out the alcohol and set a line of struggling ones on fire. It took maybe an hour and a half until the threat was finished. The kitchen floor was disgusting, as the white tiles were covered in black and brown rustling. (an odd color to find, earlier in the day when you’re tasked to clean it up.) We were kind enough to leave things as is, my cousin and me, for the lizards. (yeh)

This happened last year too, two days before a major typhoon.

Yesterday, a torrent of text messages proclaimed that “070707 (or 07072007 for us y2k-compliant people) is the luckiest day of the year” — I beg to differ, you know, with the Eva Longoria wedding.

What would happen if Optimus Prime and Megatron used their scanning beams on a pair of Nike’s instead?



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