Crackberry

I don't know if Fido's trying to ween me off it or if they just shut down the redirection at the messaging server, but I'm no longer getting emails on my blackberry. And it's very disconcerting. I was walking around today and I kept clutching at my pocket, fiending for some sort of digital communication. At one point, I was in Copley Square and I needed to send an email and I started to panic a little bit. What, am I supposed to go to some sort of desktop computer and log on to my email account? Why don't I just carve me message in a slab of concrete, lug it on my back to its destination, and chuck it through the window? What the fuck. What do you non-blackberry people do? Do you go to some sort of troglodyte workshop to help you cope with the modern world? So ridiculous not to be able to email from your palm.

I guess I only would have had 3 weeks left of it so it's just as well that I'm getting weened of the crackberry. I just hope I can stay away from Crystal Meth now that my # 1 drug won't be available.

"You can do it to me, 'Tina, Do it all night,
Do it all night, 'Tina, do it til it's right!"

3 weeks left at the Fido. Which is good because I'm getting tired of going in twice a week and having the exact same conversation with everyone there, over and over and over. "yep. gotta come in twice a week" - just like I've been telling you twice a week for the past 5 weeks and will tell you twice a week for the next 3.

The Jazzy McGee Update - I see that it has been over two weeks since my last official update, so I might as well use this opportunity to keep you abreast of the situation with my dickhead neighbor. After that weekend blowout where I found that I had an ally in his next-door neighbor, Jazzy got a little pissed off when I was wiffle ball batting my ceiling to the beat of his music late one night (incidentally, he plays the same shit over and over again - he's not a music connoiseur; he's a cheeseball), and decided that he was going to get an eightball of coke and stay up all night talking shit to people on the phone, clomping around the apartment, and playing his music. Well, that pushed my ally over the edge and he called the landlord. I have a feeling that a couple other neighbors may have too, because the heavy bass music has almost entirely stopped, and has definitely stopped at night. Unfortunately, Cheesy McDickhead still listens on his headphones, which means, at any given time of the day or night, we might be in for an impromptu batch of "WOO!"s and "Oh Yeah!"s. I know I sound like an insufferable music square here, but the other week he was listening to Herbie Hancock's Cantaloupe Island, yelling "woo". Now, that's a great album. I own it myself. But if you're a jazz fan in our age range, you bought this album at least 10 years ago and have listened to it countless times. I don't think it warrants a WOO anymore. Sorry, Jazzy M, you're a dork. Anyways, so the music has mostly stopped, but now he stays up all night intermittantly talking on the phone, clomping around, wooing, and fucking what most be the nastiest most hard-up woman in the world. Seriously, he stays up all night. I think he's on the 'Tina. I bought ear plugs last week. And I'm looking into moving. The reality is that I could use a decrease in my rent anyways, now that I'm not working for the Man anymore. And it would give me great great pleasure not to ever hear this asshole's voice again.

Other than that, things are aces.