Once upon a time called NOW!
My work philosophy this year has been “Do more with more.” I bought a PDA to keep myself on track and organized, and I practically live out of the thing. The date book tells me when I need to be where, and I enjoy passing that responsibility on to a piece of electricity. The desired effect is what I get, when I improve my intergalactic funksmanship. The to-do list acts as a rose thorn in my side, always prodding me to get things done that need getting done. Things like getting tickets to the Big Wu concert, organizing a windsurfing throwdown and paying off my tuition rape.
Yesterday I got an email saying a hold had been put on my records because I didn’t file a credit check last year. Apparently they sent an email “to all students with more than 90 credits” last May the 16th (which was conveniently the last day of finals) telling them to file a check. I read yesterday’s email on my PDA while working at the Wooch! table this morning, called up my mail from May 16th (which was, conveniently, the cut-off day for copying emails over to the handheld) and saw that they had indeed not sent me that important email. I smirked. “Busted, CLA. We’re gonna tear the roof off the sucker.”
Luckily I wasn’t drunk this morning so I trucked on over to the office and filed. Elapsed time from problem to resolution with PDA: Less than 24 hours. Elapsed time without geeky brain-assist toy: April 2003- subject booted out of college to beg for quarters and gin on street.
Last week I picked up a keyboard for my PDA, which allows me to write anything anywhere, and then Hot Sync it to a Word file that parties on the Mothership. The thing folds up into a nice little square that fits in a pocket and can be used to beat rats to death. Yesterday I spent more than four hours killing rats and writing weblog entries, short stories and finger-nimbling exercises.
Also, after two years of hand-wringing and plotting, I finally got a digital camera (which, in keeping consistent with the Parliament/Funkadelic naming system, is my Bop Gun… and me, I’m known as Lollypop Man, alias the long-haired sucker). I carry it around with me everywhere, just in case a worthwhile image pops up and needs to be stolen. Hey, when the developing is free and recyclable and pictures of ugly people can be deleted, I might as well waste film, eh? In my future of being an international super-journalist I will need some sort of photojournalist training, and I might as well teach myself.
So now my poor little Lowe Alpine backpack of four collegiate years is now bursting at the seams with electronic treasures that beg to be stolen. While walking to school today I realized I can do nearly everything I need to do with the tools I now carry on my person… write, photograph, jive to music, compose and decompose emails, remember which room my class is in… I can now do a lot while away from the apartment, but not enough. I still need to go home to dump my writings into the Mothership, download and process photos, upload blog entries, transfer email, recharge music, access high-speed internet, etc. Unfortunately going home always seems to sap the momentum of the day, so if I can reduce it to the place where I eat and sleep I will increase my effectiveness by… some kind of percentage or something pseudo-scientific like that…
I have two options. I can get a Radio Flyer and a car battery and tow the mothership around with me. Or. I can grow a beard and pretend I’m a professor and steal a cubicle in Kirby Plaza. Why, if I managed to get an office I could throw down a few bucks for a cot and a hotplate and move into UMD. I’d save a bundle on housing, and may be able to con them into putting me on payroll.
Yeah, I’m the new assistant professor for… uh… Parliament/Funkadelic Studies.
Oh, you’ll wanna talk to Danny Eaton on that one, he’s the one running the show. Enrollment? Well, Billy Barnard complains that we took all his students. We’re comin’ to you directly from the Mothership. Top o’ the Chocolate Milky Way. 500,000 kilowatts of P-Funk power.
So kick back, dig, while we do it to you in your eardrums.