I had an option. I could reach to my left and grab my laptop and type my thoughts and create something. Or I could reach to my right and grab my phone and check my email or the World and consume something.
Alas – I chose the phone, and I regret it. Now I’m typing to get my head straight again because the phone was full of laments and complaints and “please send me” things that I can’t address till I’m home… but it will bug me, sitting on my shoulder until I forget about it, leaving me with a nagging feeling of needing to do something, but being unable to execute it even when it explodes distractingly back into my mind.
When I have time and the wherewithal, the bandwidth both mental and literal, and the files, yes – I’ll send you a tech sheet, and I’ll send YOU a presslist, and I’ll listen to YOUR performance and see if I can explain why the sound you got on your phone isn’t the sound that you heard in the room.
And until I can sit and do that I’ll try not to think about how I need to sit and do that.
For the moment we’re running down the dream on I-95, traveling south beneath omnipresent but not terribly threatening clouds with the hope of performing outside at a venue that’s patently miserable if we’re stuck inside… it’s been a disturbingly easy drive, and though we’re being passed by WALLS of DC commuters, almost as if we were an x-wing flying down the Death Star trench in reverse, we’re happily moving along at a stable pace.
Y’all use your gas like that. Foos.
I’m thinking too much about the end of the world via nuclear, biological or economic warfare, ecological catastrophe or cyber-singularity. I sure hope our robot overlords like acoustic-grunge. Despite inroads in the worlds of content creation on visual, textual and musical fronts, I think I’ll be able to do what I do better than an AI for at LEAST a little while longer.
Those “we will not be replaced” paranoid racists doth not know from whence the true threat cometh!
