words are the semaphores, the grand flags of communication.

Let your reality be imposed upon me. Some climate updates from the frogboiler; or, the torpor report, depending on your mixed-meteorological preferences for metaphors of body temperatures. My cultural stupor was briefly disturbed by the following, as a general sense of apprehension encroaches and a smug inability to understand begins to envelop us all:

The term Earth Browser.

A veteran of foreign wars peddling a "thirty-dollar" vinyl album (Buckingham Nicks) for the asking price of "5 dollars" on the street.

My local paper describing a party where wagyu beef has replaced truffles -- same cost, less ostentatious.

The lunchtime sight of a tie-less suit resolutely carrying a cardboard box with his office belongings towards Grand Central Terminal.

A graffiti tag on a wall on 3rd Avenue in Kips Bay: rumspringa. At least some Amish punks are still at it.

FTW: Nicholas Fehn, the person of our age.

The spam headers "please, respond me" and "get a professional sized pecker now."

My embrace of twitter, despite my vehement reservations.

The fact that Google receives a resume every 30 seconds (or about 20,000 per week).

"We seem to be experimenting some technological differences."

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