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Old as dirt. Twice as gritty.

Post-apocalyptic Castanet
by Jo Slade - Story: 70274
Jan 30, 2012 / 5:00 am

 
I'm sitting here completely out of my element (you thought I was going to say completely out of my head, didn’t you), because I am typing on my grandson's computer instead of my own (by his heartfelt request). For child-safety reasons, his computer is not - gasp - connected to the Internet, which means that for all practical purposes, I am typing on a typewriter. A big fancy typewriter with an Apple logo, but a typewriter nevertheless. 
 
This started me to wondering, can you even buy a typewriter anymore? I’d google the answer, but there’s no google in this temporary world-without-internet. Are typewriters still made? And if so, why? Personally, I wouldn’t mind having one just in case I ever have to hand in my column while living in some insanely nightmarish post-apocalyptic world without computers, electricity or Starbucks. I’d be sitting amid the ruins, typing away on my manual typewriter and chewing coffee beans, and maybe shooting passersby who looked at me the wrong way. I’d develop one of those squints, the evil kind, for effect.
 
I'd google 'apocalyptic' right now if I could, to confirm that I'm spelling it right. Instead I have to simply hope for the best, or, perish the thought, get up and use a dictionary, the book kind, assuming one still exists in this or any other house. There isn’t a search text box in a book dictionary, though. How can you search a word without a text box? 
 
Thinking about things (something I do on occasion to surprise my brain cells) I realized that Castanet would look pretty different in a post-apocalyptic world. The news, for example, would have to be typewritten by war-ravaged reporters staggering dazed through streets, finding their gruesome stories. “Wall of flames destroys downtown” “Mutant cannibals roam streets” “Lindsay Lohan ‘didn’t notice’ end of world event” “Six creative ways to cook the Christmas rat” “It’s the bomb . . . no, really” “Party Bus on hold”. Weather would be pretty easy. “Forecast for next 100 years: “Sub-zero temperatures, gray skies with 100% chance of heavy fallout”. 
 
To help those intrepid apocalyptical reporters, I would probably advise them to develop the squint. Really, there can’t be enough emphasis on a good-quality evil-eye squint.
 
After the news and columns have been typed, they’d need to be taken to a little shop around the corner that would just happen to have, after all these years, a rickety non-electric hand-crank photocopier. Does a hand-crank photocopier actually exist? Well, I can’t google that information right now, but I'm just sort of hoping it does because otherwise there sure would be a lot of typing to do.
 
Telephones would not be working, not even the dial phones, so Castanet wouldn’t really know who wanted to subscribe to the news and who didn't. That question would have to be sent out citywide by smoke signals, but if staff got too caught up in the accompanying drum beat, they might start getting the signals wrong which could result in the wrong message going out. Puff-puff-puffpuffpuff-puff, ‘You suck, nyah nyah nyah”, a message that would almost certainly be seen by half-starved and rabid gang members arming themselves for a murder spree. Yes, there would be dangers in the post-apocalypse world, dangers that we can't even imagine. 
 
Classifieds would remain popular. For Sale: Car, electronics fried, makes great home. For Sale: Sofa, glows in dark. Wanted: One-way ticket to the Southern Hemisphere. The Castanet discussion board forums would see some changes as well. Instead of idly sitting at a computer typing comments willy-nilly, members would have to write their thoughts on paper then run them down to the office and post them on the Castanet Emergency Post-Apocalyptic Bulletin Discussion Board, at which point all the other members would have to rush down to read what was written, and reply. We’re looking at pandemonium here, especially if the topic is one that gets members riled up. Which is every single topic. The moderators would have it good though. They could just hide behind a door and issue warnings *WHAP* as members walked by.
 
An alternate plan for the forums would be to lock the membership in a room, probably a padded one, and there they could have their debates. In the case of political or religious debates, guns could be provided to clarify points. 
 
I’m not really sure how my mind ended up on apocalypses, but maybe it comes of typing in the bedroom of a six year old, which is different than, say, typing in a sane and quiet office. There’s more camouflage in this room than the entire Canadian military, I’m sure. Guns are strewn from one end of the room to the other, and there’s rope in here, and first aid kits, and what seems to be a green-fuzzed unidentifiable food item, ie ‘emergency rations’. Overall, I’d say I’d be in a pretty good spot for writing a column in a post-apocalyptic world, but as long as we’re still in pre-apocalypse mode, I think I’ll stick closer to home.
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Die: update Facebook status
by Jo Slade - Story: 69970
Jan 26, 2012 / 6:00 am

 
Death happens to everybody sooner or later, or so they say. And until recently, this pretty much meant the end of you in all senses of the word. You dropped dead, got planted, then people stood around the grave and said stuff about you. “Oh my, how sad”, or “Nothing will ever be the same again,”, or sometimes, “Ha, ha, I never paid you back that five bucks!”. While all this chatter was going on, you’d be lying sit feet under, thinking of the responses you’d make had not death so rudely and permanently silenced you. Such was the afterlife.
 
But that was then, this is now. The modern human, in particular the hipster Facebookian, isn’t going to put up with that sort of repression of expression, not after having wasted a good chunk of his life posting status updates of every single thought or half-thought that ever wafted through his mind. No, the Facebookian would like, upon expiration, to continue with his status updates, despite being inconveniently dead and mouldering in the grave. And it has troubled him mightily that the option was not part of any current funeral package.
 
However, this seemingly impossible thing is now entirely possible, thanks to a remarkable new app developed for just such grave situations. The developers at Willock, an Israel-based company, recognized the real dirt of the matter and started digging around for answers, knowing that millions of people urn to shovel out after-death updates (now that was a lot of pun). In sync with the needs of modern humankind, Willock has created an app called ‘ifidie’ (if I die), which allows the Facebook user to have the absolute last word, death be damned. After all, going down into a grave shouldn’t mean your Facebook wall goes down as well. Dying is bad enough, becoming completely unable to update your status update is a whole lot more serious. 
 
The app, available here: http://ifidie.net represents the kind of advanced modern-think that gives me the warm fuzzy feeling that most people reserve for fluffy white kittens. ifidie is so ‘today’, so unimaginably tacky, and so terrifically unnecessary, that it’s impossible for me not to love it. This app, in just three easy steps, gives you a way to talk from the other side once your day of personal doom arrives. First you need to register with the service (presently this step has to be done while you’re still alive, but who knows what the future will hold), then you fire off your videos or text messages, which will only be posted after you’ve bitten the proverbial dust. With this app, people will barely notice that you’re dead, what with all the activity on your wall. 
 
You’ll also need to choose three friends from your Facebook list who can vouch that you are well and truly dead, not just badly hung-over from the party the other night. You’re advised to choose three trustworthy friends, presumably because your bad friends, ie most of your friends, would instantly come up with more creative uses for the app. 
 
The ifidie’s slogan is, “What will you leave behind?” Indeed. I’d say it’s more to the point to ask “What won’t you leave behind, now that you have this app?” How to begin, really.
 
“Well, now I’m dead and gone. Or am I really gone? What’s that noise behind you? Hi there. Where’s my damn five bucks?”
 
“It’s brutal down here. Omigod! I can’t breathe! Oh wait. I don’t have to breathe anymore.”
 
“Party time! 6 pm. Forest Lawn.”
 
For more details: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UUvSP0CPim4
 
Now I have to get back to working on my last status update. I’m leaning toward “Huh? What the . . . hey, who turned out the lights?”
 
Shaw
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Dancing with Roy Henry Vickers
by Jo Slade - Story: 69689
Jan 16, 2012 / 5:00 am

 
Back in 2006, I did an interview with one of Canada’s most beloved artists, Roy Henry Vickers. I was doing a lot of interviews in those days, but the interview with Roy stood out from the others because the man is so compelling, with complex depths that slowly come to light in conversation. The interview proved to be a popular one, so popular that the magazine ran it a second time when launching a new publication a couple of years later. But more importantly, the interview marked the beginning of our friendship.
 
Roy and I liked the idea of working together again, and so over the years we’ve danced around with a variety of project ideas. Sometimes it’s Roy’s idea, sometimes mine, but either way the ideas are good ones, often great ones. However, we have a shared tendency to wander off into other projects, sometimes several at once, and so the ideas are put on the shelf. Still, we’ve been comfortable about it, knowing that something will happen when it happens. 
 
In his book Copperman: The Art of Roy Henry Vickers the dedication reads, in part, “to those who know that weather is not good or bad, it is simply weather.”
 
In so many ways, Roy’s art itself is ‘simply weather’. Certainly anybody who sees it knows that it is ‘good’ (an understatement), yet his work transcends such one-dimensional concepts. His work exists not to sell, not to awe, not even to beautify the world, although it does all three of these things. The work exists because each creation born in Roy’s heart and soul is brought forth to be on canvas, each stroke a word, each painting a story, each finished piece of art existing solely to ‘be’. Being purely without agenda, his paintings help us find our own place in the complex weave of a shared human history. We aren’t manipulated into feeling anything other than what we ourselves have in our hearts. This art sweeps us along on Roy’s journey through life, and we are forever affected.  
 
If you’re not already familiar with it, you can see Roy’s artwork on his website: http://www.royhenryvickers.com
 
An elder now, Roy has recently embraced the native tradition of elders who have wisdom to impart: storytelling. He once told me, “I hear the storyteller and am choked with emotion at his ability to share from a very emotional and intimate place. His fears of doing so are rewarded by the attention and respect given by the listener.” His storytelling is mesmerizing, and whether he’s speaking of life’s lessons or painting lessons, you are rapt, hanging on to each word. With his carefully spoken words, he gives you the space needed to think, just as his brush strokes give you the space needed to feel.
 
With a troubled past (he was once known as Raging Roy) and redemption found, he recognizes all too well the fleeting nature of life. “I'm filled with the awe of life, how beautiful and how swiftly it passes. The light in the morning brings a clearer vision of the world around. The mountains are closer, the river laughs, my children love to snuggle every day and often. My wife expresses the joy of being together and what a privilege it is. I sometimes am struck with the thought that I will not be here much longer, then I realize it's true! Life is short.”
 
He’s right about that, life is indeed short, but Roy Henry Vickers is making the most of his time here on earth. And I have no doubt that one day, at the right moment for both of us, the chance to work together again will appear, and the dance will be lovely.
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Thinnest ice
by Jo Slade - Story: 69558
Jan 12, 2012 / 5:00 am


Bored indoor cyclists have been asking me, “How the hell do you stay unbored while cycling indoors? Isn’t it the most boring thing in the world to do?”
 
“Why yes,” I tell them. “It is.”
 
There is absolutely nothing that makes an indoor bike ride remotely as enjoyable as an outdoor ride, however there are ways to temper the boredom. Some ways are better than others. One good way will be coming soon, once I get a head cam and film my regular outdoor rides so that I burn them to disc and re-ride the courses on the indoor bike. 
 
Another way, decidedly less good, happened just yesterday when I put on iTunes and set iPhoto to a slideshow of photos to give me something to look at and something to hear while riding. With the window wide open, I even had some fresh air for my fake-bike-ride. Ten minutes into the ride, iPhoto froze at a picture of the sulking dog. I secretly agreed with the computer, I would freeze at the sight of such misery as well. I often do. I reached over and slammed a few keys to unfreeze the computer, but it stayed frozen on the spot, seemingly willing to wait until the dog stopped sulking. It was not aware that the wait would be a long one, since the ‘undo’ button for dog-sulk with that dog is permanently broken. 
 
 
Cursing violently, I dismounted the bike to see what was happening. When everything else failed, I did the dreaded last-ditch I-really-hate-to-do-this step: the hard shut-down.
 
The computer was having none of it, though, and flat-out refused to shut down. Having had my bike ride - for what it was worth - so rudely interrupted, my next idea was to get a hammer and smash the computer into submission. However I wisely opted instead to unplug it from the UPS, which did kill it, ‘kill’ being a fairly accurate choice of words because what happened next was absolutely nothing. I plugged the cord back in, and pushed the power button. Nothing. I was staring at a completely dead that’s-all-she-wrote Mac. 
 
Have you ever noticed that when an electronic item won’t do what it is supposed to do, you keep hitting the same button over and over again, hoping it will reconsider? I must have pushed the power button a million times. Then I waited, and pushed it a million more times. Zip point dog doo.
 
The hammer started to look good again.
 
I looked up prices for a new computer, and the hammer idea quickly receded.
 
Sitting in front of a black computer screen is a fairly hopeless feeling. I tried to think of an upside to the situation, and came up with a minor one: I wouldn’t be able to get this week’s column done! I had the ultimate ironclad dog-ate-my-homework excuse! A small consolation prize, true, but you take what you can get in this world. 
 
It was hard to just sit staring at a dead box containing so much suddenly unaccessible stuff, so I crawled under the desk to inspect the UPS. Green light, check. Battery light, check. Still, I unplugged the computer cord from the slot and plugged it into a different slot, then hit the exhausted power button one more time. Voila!  C major chord, music to my ears (the chord is the start-up sound for a Mac). Everything was back to normal, no apparent harm done, and I smiled even though my column excuse had just flown right out the window. 
 
Best sound to hear.
 
 
 
So today the one single thing I really need to do is get a new UPS unit, but the problem is, it’s sunny outside, which means that I’m going for a bike ride instead. I’m typing these words as fast as I can so I can get out there before the sun unexpectedly disappears, which the sun is wont to do in winter. I am typing on thin ice, of course, and my bike ride will be haunted by visions of my computer alone with a corrupt UPS, but I’m going riding and that’s that. The UPS can wait. A sunny day in January is something not to scorn. It must be seized, and preferably on a bike.
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About the Author

This bio was written by Jo Slade. As you can see she has written about herself in the third person. What normal person would do that? They just wouldn't. Who knows how many other persons might be involved in this thing, a second person? Another third? I worry about it. I - she - we - can't even keep it straight, this paragraph is a damn mess, there are persons all over the place. Round 'em up and shoot 'em. That's what I'd do, and by golly I think that's what Jo Slade would do as well.

Biographic nutshell: Jo has been messing around with words for a long time. Sometimes she'll just say words instead of writing them, it saves on paper.

This column: The columns that will appear here are of a highly serious and scholarly nature, therefore it is advised that you keep a dictionary and ponderous thoughts nearby.

If, after reading the column, you find yourself tossing and turning at night, burning with the need to email me, just do it. I answer to jo@castanet.net







The views expressed are strictly those of the author and not necessarily those of Castanet. Castanet presents its columns "as is" and does not warrant the contents.

Previous Stories

New feature For more stories from Jo, please visit the Old as Dirt. Twice as Gritty. archive


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