patrol

First Edit. Rip the shit out of it. Go on. I dare you.

I have fallen headfirst into a cyber reality. And before you all start sending me emails disputing my use of the word "reality, let me clarify. For me the Internet IS reality. I find houses, jobs, friends and men on the Internet. I plan my travels and book the tickets over the web. There is nothing I can't do online. Walk the dog? Neopet.com. Buy a spray jacket with detachable hood, sheepskin lining and waterproof zippers? Amazon.com. Want to converse with groups of people whose common interest is forcing their pets into the scanner? Catscan.com. It's all out there. And if you dont know where, ask Google or one of the hundreds of other search engines that put the regular printed phone book to shame. If I were a printed yellow pages directory I would hang my cover in embarrsment and frog march myself to the nearest recycling depot. I remember the old
dog-eared phone books that littered my parents house up until the mid 90's. I also recall the vibrant red-pen circles lovingly placed around favourite hairdressers/butchers/bakers/candlestick makers Now I think they have stopped bothering to deliver the plastic enshrouded tome. My list of phone numbers is carefully downloaded via ADSL then uploaded from my PC to my PDA with backups on my MS and IPOD, a link on my WS and a another on my WMD* . And everyone I know is on MSN, ICQ or MiRC anyway.

In the mornings, logging on takes precedence over the local rag. At night I don't shut the windows, I shut down Windows. If an appointment isn't in my online calendar chances are I won't make it. A slow Internet connection will send me spiralling into a black funk that can last for days. If someone cancels one of my downloads, I send them a virus. My definition of meeting someone is chatting to him or her over web cam. I have not met in person some of my best friends. I can type faster than I can talk. TV shows will remain unviewed by me until they have a strong following that have started at least one chat room dedicated to discussing the program. Bands websites are far more important than the actual music. Frames? I'm not buying that record. And by buying, I mean downloading. If I'm going somewhere, my method of travel will be cruising a browser down the information superhighway. Viagra spam is my junk mail and 'someones got a crush on you' emails are my love letters. I myself am turning into a mass of megabites and megapixels. My genetic makeup consists of zeros and ones. A collection of numbers and a HTML code dictate the colour of my eyes/hair/skin. My features are becoming a dull grey colour. My right index finger is developing its own scroll wheel. I say LOL when I mean to laugh in real life. I vocalise an emoticon code when I made a facial expression. I leave social events early in order to dissect them online. My eyes are little squares. I am becoming a megabeing. I have to log off. Mum wants to use the phone.





*Obviously in this time of international terror it could be considered inappropriate to joke about owning a WMD. If you personally find that particular acronym offensive then you probably arent 5the kind of person to read footnotes. So this is irrelevant. Side note: A friend of mines initials are WMD. Cool.