or "Putting the Logging into Blogging"
The great thing about having a laptop and a wireless router in one's house is the ability to use the internet wherever is most comfortable in the moment. I first used the internet regularly when I was in middle/high school, and was blessed with a computer in my room and a dial up connection theoretically capable of a jaw dropingly underwhelming 56kbps. Often while sitting in front of my computer for hours on end, chin propped on fist, I wished there was a way I could be on the internet and lay down. I dreamed of mounting a keyboard and a 17" CRT monitor on a swivel arm next to my bed. Not only was this idea far fetched, it was downright dangerous, as anyone who has ever dropped a CRT monitor on their chest knows.
Lucky for me, technology leapt forward during the constant "drugs, sex and alcohol party" (a phrase so aptly coined by Crazy Jesse's parents) phase of my life that lasted from early 2001 well into 2004. By the time I rejoined the world of computing, the internet was wireless (I really almost shit myself when I found out about this) and laptops could be had for less than a grand. Good news for my old dream, to say the least. So I soon enjoyed the internet in bed, which was just wonderful.
Not thinking things could get any better, it happened that one day whilst computing I was filled with the overwhelming urge to defecate. I set my laptop aside and began the search for reading material, when I was struck with a high and beautiful idea- why not take the computer with me.
Remembering when I was young that my father would go into the bathroom with the newspaper tucked under his arm I thought: "The old man has been one-uped," and proceeded to relive myself and check fark.com at the same time.
Go ahead- judge me. Call me "disgusting," "impure," even "juvenile." Go ahead, tell these things to yourself while you read from the back of the Mr. Bubble bottle for the 100th time. You know what I'm talking about. And you know what I'm doing...right now.
1 comment:
That is disgusting. This means that you were blogging, taking a shit & talking on the phone to me at the same time. I REALLY didn't need to know that. Next time you're doing such, please don't answer if I call. Just let it go to voice mail. Please.
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