Munjoy Hill Cocoon

I know I don't talk about school very often, but the Spring semester is VERY close to being over, I have one final left. Then hopefully, I'll be done the following Spring. 


In my Writing the Feature Story class, we all participated in a peer-review workshop. One of my older classmates often has a theme with his stories, "Kids today" (shakes finger.) His paper was about how audience fragmentation and the consumer dictating the market in the music industry has led to Top 40 music being total shit. We talked a lot about it, and he actually ended quoting me in the piece- once about my love for Gaga and Katy Perry, and once about the safety of using cell phones as a defense mechanism. Just shows how many interviews he actually conducted... But anyway, there was a passage about how iPods and smart phones have enabled people in society to cocoon themselves, giving us a lack of social interaction and sense of community. Again, I disagreed, saying that I rely on my cocoon to get me through the Greater Portland Metro Bus ride every day. Citing again that one time I wasn't wearing my headphones and this guy ended up showing me his colostomy bag from his last trip to the ER because he was stabbed in the abdomen. 


Sometimes, though, it can be difficult to remember that when you're in public and you're wearing headphones, you aren't really invisible, although you feel invisible. 


I had just set out for a mini-East End shopping excursion- mangoes at Rosemont, seltzer at Colucci's, and Epsom salt for ahem, a medical issue I'd been having.  There was a man standing outside of an apartment building which notoriously has all kinds of trash and shit on the sidewalk all summer. He was probably about 6'1", black oversize hoodie, baseball cap. Maybe a facial piercing or cubic zirconia studded earrings. He was probably somewhere between 18-22, I don't know, I'm a terrible judge of age. I crossed the street towards him and his friends while another woman, middle-aged, middle class, was also approaching them from the other direction. She was walking some sort of hound dog. 


The man started asking her if she used to live near Washington Square, because he used to live near Washington Square. He must've recognized her dog. I was listening for some clues about where the hell Washington Square is, and then I noticed that the guy's face was covered in a bright red rash. But I kept walking and didn't really think anything of it, except that I was going to have to ask Rebecca when I got home where Washington Square was...


I was almost at the bottom of the hill when this guy and his girlfriend (or, the woman he happened to be holding hands with) and yelled in my face: "DID YOU GET A GOOD FUCKING LOOK AT MY FACE NOW?" He was obviously really angry, and I was annoyed because I happened to be texting Cleveland- walking and texting is hard enough as it is. But then I realized that to him, it must've looked like he was some sort of medical oddity or something.  Honestly between my bad vision and my curiosity about Washington Square, I barely noticed it was something other than acne. Nothing on Web MD seemed to look the same as what this guy had, btw.


But I'm even sympathetic to people staring at you because of weird face things- after that car accident, I had to wear an eye patch or sunglasses to work at a coffee shop. I get it. He continued angrily yelling things at me, and I continued to pretend like I didn't hear him, thank to my iPhone. Then I heard him yell something like, "AND I'LL FUCK UP YOUR BOYFRIEND, TOO!" from further down the road. Which was weird because how the was he supposed to know that I'm in a relationship? Did he Facebook me? Good thing I have ol' Cleve, because if some random stranger told me they were going to beat up my boyfriend and my boyfriend was non-existent, I would've been really sad. 


Anyway, the icing on the cake was that then they walked into Rite Aid, which is where I was going. Instead of following them in and risk getting stabbed, I walked around the block a few times to ensure my safety. Hours before, Cleveland updated his FB status with "It is a wonder how we ever avoided eye contact before the age of the iphone." 


It's also ironic that a man who bartends at Forest Gardens, a dive bar near campus that I hang out at sometimes, lives on the hill and says one of the great things about Munjoy Hill is that people actually look you in the eye. 


What a weird day. 

Emoji? Emoj-you!

Mandy and I have become obsessed with emoji, and it's actually kind of sick.

I'm not sure if you can see what these are, but I'll try: fax machine, gavel, ghostie, red balloon, trophie, coffee, cheers, martini, ramen, pasta, eggplant, merecat?, whale, octopus, six smiley faces of varying horrific emotions, okay, praise the lord, look up, rainbow, bicycle, barber shop, mailbox, clock, "Ok," "fast forward," "rewind," "Cool."

Bump!

Have you ever been asked to Bump?

This confused the hell out of my friend Bryan once, when someone tried to "bump" him. He was holding his phone, and they kind of hit his hand. He had no idea what was going on. Bryan does not have an iPhone. Bumping... could totally be a euphemism for sex.

It's actually an iPhone (Android?) app, and theoreticly, it's awesome. You download this free application from iTunes or the App Store, and magically, you do a fist bump, holding your phone, and your contact information is exchanged. You can include photos, your email, even a Facebook friend request, and it takes only a second. It's so much easier than typing the other person's name and entering their phone number, the old fashioned way (but just as fast as writing your number down for someone, the even older fashioned way.) I know a lot of people with iPhones. Just went through my contact list and found at least 30 people, including two or three who used to have iPhones, not including anyone who might have an Android or Google Phone or whatever other kind of phone is capable of bumping.

Whoever invented the Bump application, however, did not take into consideration this experience I just had:

I'm at happy hour with Angela Pizzo, and one of our other friends, whom we lovingly refer to as Little Big Snack. We're enjoying a glass of $2 wine when one of LBS's friends meets us. This guy, we'll call him Jeremiah, I've met a few times, but have never established a relationship with outside of LBS. He seems like a nice enough guy... but he's more than a few years older than me, we don't seem to have much in common (other than our Lewiston roots- REPRESENT!), and I'm not attracteved to him at all. According to LBS, however, he's a bit of a ladies' man. Really, though, I'm not one to judge. Jeremiah asks me if he saw me at 90s night at the Asylum the previous weekend, and if you would have seen my dress, you'd know that was kind of a stupid question. It was skin tight, black, and studded. I told Mandy that night that it felt like everyone was watching me, and she said I was right, because the dress was mesmerizing. It was like... Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation, or something (pictures soon!)

It becomes apparent that the four of us all have iPhones, and on our way out, while LBS is in the bathroom, Jeremiah asks Angela and I to Bump. Problem: I have no desire to give this man my phone number. Under normal circumstances, I'd do a number of things to get out of this. I could: offer to take his and tell him I'd call him; write down a fake number; ask him to get it from our mutual friend; change the subject altogether. Fuck you, Bump, now I have to give it to him. The ONLY way out of it is to lie and say that you don't have the app, which is ridiculous, because it's one of the few apps that everyone has. This is what it looks like after you've bumped:

So you're standing there, both holding your phones, and you KNOW if it doesn't go though. There's no excuse.

As luck would have it, I run into Jeremiah the next night at Bubba's Sulky Lounge. He's wasted, I'm not. He tells me we should hang out, very matter of factly. "You have my number, just call me," I tell him, having no intention whatsoever of ever taking his call or calling him back. He tells me he's shy, which I know is bullshit, just part of the game. For the rest of the night he lingers next to me on the dancefloor. I try and make eye contact with his sober-er friend to let him know that Jeremiah is cramping my style. It doesn't work. The lights come up and he asks my friends and I to have a drink at my house. We obviously decline.

The next day, he texts me and invited me to a BBQ. Honestly, there is very little I love more than grilled meat, but I didn't respond.

Here's another guy who has a problem with the Bump app:

Happy Easter

My New iPhone Case

So, if you know me at all, you know I'm obsessed with my iPhone. I can't LIVE without it, I send and receive 1,500 text messages a month, and you can judge me all you want, just don't take it away. I update my Facebook status, I check my email all the time... Anyway, I'm a huge klutz, and since the iPhone is always with me, it's endured some significant wear and tear. Actually, I broke it twice, and had to get it replaced... Which explains this recent trip to the Apple store, where I got this new case. It's kind of funny, right? It reads, "Juicy Couture: Born in the Glamorous USA."