Text in the City Part 2

Gratefully, I’m not alone. This IM-tercourse is a growing phenomenon in our cyberspace replacing real physical space culture. Urban Dictionary.com now defines the hookup that literally has to be hooked up to a cell phone charger as a “Textationship.”

textationshipNot surprisingly, at the 2-week no-face-time itch, my coworker also decided to end things with Balki — who, as it turns out, really is “Mr. Big” in this “Text in the City.” To wit: A short time after kicking Balki to the virtual curb, my coworker ran into a friend at a party who described meeting an all-too-familiar “great guy” — one who sends hilarious texts but can never seem to get together in person. (Hint: It was Balki)

So, Balki the cell-phone boyfriend, you smooth keypad operator, if you’re out there in the world wide webosphere, this is my homage to our 2-week textationship. Thanks for the MEME-ories!

(The creation of this video would not be possible without the help of the following:

Video Technician: Ohki Komoto

Director of photography: http://theirreverentcouponer.tumblr.com/

Music: Sigur Ros “Hoppipolla”

Cat: Poppycock Artemis Schmute the III)

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5 thoughts on “Text in the City Part 2

  1. I just wanted to compliment Ohki Komoto on his/her? video work. Not just a silly 1 to 2 minute splash of imagery but a full 4:40 with plot line and real emotion. I admit that I lost track of time while watching. I was totaling sucked in to this textationship. It may be too soon to talk about what was certainly a painful break-up. I know you are a sucker for tree climbers. But this guy did seem to have it all AND help with the dishes. Scuba diver, athletic, into his body AND enjoys a good read. Must have been hard to let him go. Whatever it was, don’t forget you deserve the best. Chin up, you look great by the way. I’m sure Balki knows what he has lost.

    • Dearest Carlos,
      First of all, garbage-men are the unsung foot soldiers of our war against total moral decrepitude. Mad respect, man.
      And secondly, I can’t tell you what comfort your words are to me. It’s true; though my textationship with Balki was short-lived, I experienced more in that 1″-by-2″ cellphone screen than some people know in an entire lifetime. Sure, there were rough patches: The predictive text gone awry, roaming fees, the fact that I had to shut him out of every movie or play, the threat of radiation…
      But the good times, they were something else, something fierce. I remember him joking about how if we ever got married, my name would be Nico Nokia. So silly now, as I look back. So exquisite then.

      Thank you again for your thoughtful sentiments. If I can reach just 1 person with my story, then nothing was ever really “lost” to begin with.

      To treetop towers and Wildflowers!
      Nico

  2. Thank you for the occupational respect. It is a dirty job, and not too many people find garbage sexy, which is why I’ve begun taking my Paul Reed Smith on the road with me. I manage to get in a few licks in between stops, slide the guitar to my back, pick up a can, dump it, crush it, sling it back up on the sidewalk and rip off a screaming lick. There is a lot of rhythm in the world of sanitation and I try to feed off that. I layer on riffs of sanitary passion and emotion over the low, growling base sounds of a laboring diesel 650 compactor. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the rhythm of jumping off the truck and pounding cans that I find myself pulling a David Lee Roth toe-toucher off the truck. And on some Fridays, during the last round, if we are ahead of schedule, my driver Jose will pullover and stack a few cans together and catch a samba beat using the legs of a busted chair or something and we have a fucking block party right there in the street. So, you know, it is what it is.

    But like any job, it is the benefits that make it worth while. For example, I save a lot on my water bill because I never have to shower before work. Also, the union gives us an allowance for tattoos and vouchers for purchasing new boots, pants, gloves, headbands, wristbands, etc., I always buy the fingerless gloves so I can feel the strings on my guitar. Another benefit is the free ride to work. Yeah, see, I live on my route, so Jose swings by, I’m ready with the apartment complex’s cans and that’s how I start my day. I follow the newspaper as well. Its hard not too with them swirling around my face all day. So, I look for the closest open mic, karaoke, or poetry slam and get Jose to drop me off nearest that location. The cool thing is, no need to go home to change, I’m already dressed to rock. I’ve managed to build a small following on the open mic circuit too, and no, not just the circling crows and pigeons. Also, I’ve inspired a few at the station garage and now there is a few of us starting to get together on Sundays to jam. We decided if we ever get good enough to book a show, instead of being called garage rock we will be called garbage rock. So, yeah, check your local listings under the name Garbage Rock, accent on the last syllable in Garbage.

    So, enough about me and my rocking sanitation. I hope you can forget that fling phone, Balki and get back up on that cell tower again. You know love is a long, long road….

    • Good day Carlos!

      I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that you are the coolest waste-management cat around. I can just see you, hanging out the side of your hydraulic lift, junkyard trashing and guitar thrashing; making all the curler-wearing house-wives swoon with your curbside pickup… lines: “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a DUMP like this, literally.”
      If you ever find yourself down here in ole Dixie, i know of a great little Karaoke
      dive bar called Fox’z where — i have on good authority — many a star was born!

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