Disconnected

I didn’t have to be Amish for long. The power came back on, and thus far no elderly zombies have risen from their earthy graves, stumbling forth in search of brains or grains.

So I guess I dodged that bullet. But of late I’ve been faced with another nearly insurmountable challenge in this 21st century world—for the past few weeks—nay, months—our internet has worked sporadically, at best.

Sure, you could argue that it’s in fact our neighbor’s internet that has worked so sporadically, but potato, potato, I say to you. The truth of the matter is, there have been nights and days I’ve been left with nary a connection to the outside world.

(Except, you know, my cell phone with its internet, and the ability to go outside, and stuff.)

What do you do when that connection is cut, however briefly? I do occasionally get internet fatigue—I spend all day at my job in front of a pair of computer screens, flitting between the internet and a bevy of Microsoft Word documents, after all. There are nights I come home and the last thing I want to do is stare at a screen any longer. But truthfully, I spend much of my home life with my Macbook on my lap or at least within typing distance. Our stubborn connectedness is the curse of my generation, constant information the albatross around our collective necks.

So what happens when the cord is cut? How do you handle it?

For the sake of argument, let’s say leaving the house isn’t possible. I’m not talking about those evenings when you’ve got errands to run and friends to see; I’m talking about those times when you’re flat broke or feel gross or just plain don’t feel like going anywhere.

I know what I usually do. After cycling through a few stages of grief, and repeatedly checking the wireless connection like an insane junkie in need of a fix, I may relent for a bit. I’ve been reading more lately, which would be better if I were reading Crime & Punishment rather than my recent diet of YA Lit and Anthony Bourdain, but it still feels productive to me. Bourdain is pretty badass, after all.

Then what? Well, without real internet, I’ll admit I spend a fair bit of time checking Twitter and Facebook on my phone. What can I say? I get antsy without constant updates by the likes of @drunkhulk and @docpemberton.

Oh, and there’s always TV, isn’t there? Well, there’s not Netflix, not without internet. But without the novelty of streaming, there are still DVDs to be watched, entire seasons of TV shows to be viewed and reviewed. A Buffy marathon is never out of the question.

The paradox, of course, is that whenever you can’t have something, you want it even more. So whenever that sweet stolen internet connection is cut, however briefly, I’m sure to want to stream a specific TV show or pen an epic blog. I can crave the company of a book all day long, but as soon as I’m home and I can’t get online, it’s all I want to do.

Maybe one of these days I’ll really learn to rough it. Turn off all my glowing screens and fill my time with activities that people did just a few short years ago, when all these connections weren’t yet available.

Maybe one day. For now I’m going to go check Twitter and see if anything good’s been posted to reddit. Maybe do an online crossword or download a new podcast to listen to. Roughing it can't be all it's cracked up to be. Can it?

The End Of The World (As We Know It)

My power was out when I went to bed last night. It’ll come back on, I thought to myself, but set an alarm on my phone just in case. Lucky (or unlucky? Is “my power was out” an excuse to sleep 'til noon and miss work?) for me. It was still out when I woke up this morning, and in fact stayed out until well after noon today.

Naturally, I was woefully underprepared for this Amish morning. A flashlight? What’s that? My sole window is shaded by our porch, so even opening the blinds provided little light. And I’m neither a cat lady nor a candle lady (both equally pathetic, in my eyes), so I only own one sad, beach-scented candle with which to light my way.

Showering by candlelight? Kind of creepy. Applying makeup by candlelight? I’m lucky I don’t look like a clown. Getting dressed by candlelight? I’m not wearing the shirt I thought I was.

And what about everything else! Never mind that I didn’t get to blowdry my hair, what about the fridge and freezer full of food I spent $70 on at Publix last night? Well, it should be fine—for now. But what about next time, when the power goes out and we’re not lucky enough to get it reinstated 12 hours later because this time it’s not due to inclement weather, it’s due to, like, zombies?

Seriously. What would I do in a zombie apocalypse? I have a Wiffle ball bat in my car. That’s about the extent of my weaponry. I get the shakes if I go without Diet Coke for too long, and I’m not sure zombies are willing to wait for me to find a place that has Coke instead of Pepsi before attacking, but no way am I choking down Diet Pepsi if you expect me to fight off zombies for hours. And I’m not too keen on getting dirty—I got criticized recently for eating BBQ ribs with a fork and knife—so getting splattered with errant brain matter? Just not my thing.

So once again, I find myself woefully underprepared. But I have a few options:

1. Get to training. I’ve probably got time to wean myself off the Diet Coke and purchase a flashlight and a bat that’s not made of blue plastic.
2. Give up. Would life in a post-apocalyptic world be all that it’s cracked up to be, anyway? I mean, I’ve read The Road*.
3. Hope that one of you kind souls would be willing to take on some dead weight in the event of the zombie revolution. I’m a team player and I can bake you cookies. Think it over.

For now I’m just going to hope that our power stays on. Those Diet Cokes aren’t going to keep themselves cold, after all.


*No, I haven't.