My phone honked with a National Weather Service warning for tomorrow; snow, ice up to four inches. I’ve had cell phones since the days of the brick, um, that’s what we called them, they were about the size of a brick. I never liked the fucking things. I had cell phones for professional reasons. I was glad to be rid of them when my professions or lack thereof no longer called for them. The second ex wife ran up such huge bills, um, unpaid, that was on me but, you know, fuck it, for my free phones I thought no service would ever give me a phone again. Cell phones are a pain in the ass. I wanted to keep my stable number of the previous fifteen years.
Two years ago when I had to upgrade phone, I couldn’t keep the number or the plan. Whereas the number I have now means nothing to me, it is the number where my scattered love ones can get ahold of me. Except for the second ex wife, or, I suppose the first one, neither has asked for it though. I think my kids would give their mom my number but they’d only give sunny the finger.
Mostly a cell is intrusive. Except for advertisements the world wide web only gives you what you ask for. Cell phones are always squawking about shit. Amber alerts for instance. I’m not sure what they want me to do with a partial plate from a suspected kidnapping in Detroit at three in the morning, which disturbs me less than the idea that there are people who are glad for that information. I also wonder how they choose, I mean the victim, I assume the phone alert is to everyone in, well, at least the ninety mile as the crow flies radius between here and Detroit. But, I find it hard to believe that there are so few kidnappings (I get maybe four amber alerts a year) between here and Detroit. I also am missing the logic of immediate alert to the public.
If I were a shift captain for any level of law enforcement with a partial and a location, the last thing in the world I’d want is vigilante’s or looky loo’s on my streets. The idea of the kid on the milk carton was if you recognized the kid you’d call in and say you saw him or her with elvis at the seven eleven; noboby with a scanner and a posse took their breakfast out on a hunt. But, besides armed wannabe’s, you’re also warning kidnappers with cell phones, especially if the info is wrong, the cops and cell provider just gave you a great misdirection. Or, if it’s a small town and the graveyard shift, it gives any bad guy with access to a cell a good idea of where the few cops on the street will be.
That all seems obvious to me. Maybe a sign up sheet and a vetting process would be a good idea? Weather alerts make sense, but, shit, anyone who has to be somewhere during the alert time is going anyhow and will know the actual weather in real time. It’s not like there are sneaker waves or flash tsunami’s here. Anyone who alters there day based on the weather here is probably living in the wrong place. Granted, four inches of snow in late April is unusual, but not as unusual as, say, four inches of snow in Portland at one time ever. In thirty five years I never saw that much snow in my backyard in Portland metro. I’m guessing there’s a hell of a lot more snow on Mt. Hood right now, but probably not below government camp.
Wow, I’m boring the piss out of myself. I can’t seem to manage to do much more than bitch so I’m maintaining a mean level of agreeable bitching. Nobody will take offense or defend the weather, and, I suppose somebody could take offense at the idea that I don’t go looking for partial plates at two in morning, but fuck em. If you still can’t grasp why I might bitch about that (I’m not bitching about being woken up, I turn the ringer down at night) let me ask a tangent sort of question in a pleasant ay; Why don’t I get alerts that a kid was recovered and the bad guy(s) apprehended? It’d take a real asshole to complain about that, but nobody gets those alerts. Wouldn’t it be cool though, uplifting, give faith in those who protect and serve with lethal force on their hips? Just saying.
That’s also kind of fiction writing 101, or it should be. Take a fairly shocking occurance, like amber alert warnings, and turn them on their head. Nobody should ever be out of ideas. Maybe out of motivation to follow through on their writing ideas, but, that’s not a block, that’s inertia and ennui.
OD still has a facebook page, a fairly active one. Mostly when I wander by it’s people lamenting the loss of OD (c’mon, it’s late in the season y’all) or looking for an old “friend” under the only name they know, the OD pseudonym. Today there was a link to internet archives, several snapshots of OD front pages throughout the years. I guess if you were on one of the front pages your shit might show in the archive. That took me fifteen minutes before getting bored. It’s sort of the milk carton version of amber alerts. You read until your cereal is gone. I think at this stage it’d be awfully redundant to leave a note there about the popular sites for OD migration.
Full disclosure? Part of what is boring about prosebox is the OD migration here is either people I like or people I don’t know. I was invited early on by at least three people and I think I did the same, not that you needed an invitation to get in, just that nobody had heard of prosebox. Like cell phones I don’t think I’m a common journal user. I don’t mean I’m unique or special, I just don’t use all the features and I’m not very social. It’s sort of the opposite of special or, um, the other meaning of special “C’mon my special little guy, put on your special helmet and get on the special bus”.
I’m pretty sure I could use all the features if I wanted too — heh. Some of my best friends are special … heh. I — am done with that shit.
So, just to be clear, if you’re going to hunt armed and dangerous kidnappers at five tomorrow morning in the Detroit area the roads will be slippery.
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