Simple Story

I think about silly little things often. Like society, the effects of technology on such and our mental technological utilization models (i.e. how we think and feel about using that technology).

And recently I was thinking about Facebook (Fb). It's collection of data is so profound that few realize how "big" it is. For millions and millions of years we've been existing without the ability to permanently mundane data and have it easily accessible.

I realized that "Big Brother" is a real possibility. Not due to the Government but due to society in general and the need (drive?) of some to exert control over others. I've had a natural disdain toward Fb since the beginning -- something I couldn't quite put my finger on. It felt like I was committing to not just expose myself to the world as a mere snapshot of who I was when I typed in data into my Fb profile -- I'm a fluid being, just like the rest of the world, changing, learning, growing.

We are constantly changing creatures but this is not a post about the social ills of Fb.

This is about how our society likes to be helpful and the latest brilliant example of that is url=http://arstechnica.com/telecom/news/2009/12/sprint-fed-customer-gps-data-to-leos-over-8-million-times.ars]Sprint providing "law enforcement" with real-time and historical geographic tracking data (via GPS) of its customers. Not to mention phone call logs and your text messages.

Cops log into their special Sprint website and they can pull up anyone, at any time, for any reason. I'm sure Sprint lawyers have some nice legal language along the lines of "Official Use Only" and yet, I'm a cop, at home and I can lookup my girlfriend's location using my special log-in -- I mean, just once, is it really that bad?

Are there any safeguards?

We don't know. We just have to trust Sprint and law enforcement (anyone with a badge...). Now, I know there have never been bad cops, but on the off-chance that there may, one-day, we should be dubious.

It's outrageous and disturbing. You suspect someone of a crime, you goto court, you show you have good cause to substantiate such a belief and then you can dig into the data-treasure-chest with proper safeguards on who has access to that information.

Do I want Sprint to provide real-time tracking for terrorists who are about to stage an attack on ... oh, wait, no terrorist would be stupid enough to use such a method. So, do I want Sprint to provide real... No, wait, any "career criminal" would be utilizing pre-paid phones and other much more secure methods.

So *who* are we tracking here.... ?

Soccer Moms and Dads?

That's the scary part of all of this -- one that no one has mentioned elsewhere. That real "evil-doers" don't make it so easy. They use multiple phones, not easily traced and don't have monthly billing on the company card (No, al qaeda doesn't have a company credit card but I hear the healthcare is better than here).

Worst of all -- there's no mechanism to ever find out you were "spied" on.

Who watches the watchers?

Yum

Today was a very interesting day for me personally. And most of it by accident.

A lot came up... Oh, if you wanted to read anything about those three schools listed in the subject -- this is not the post for you. Hit the back button now, resume your regularly scheduled surfing (or college rivalry).


I think I may have decided to write a book. It's odd, I never considered any such thing before and I suspect tomorrow morning when I wake up, I'll realize what a horrible idea it was and return to doing stupid Yum things.

But today.... today, it's a brilliant idea. I've often recounted how socially inept I am. The idea of talking to cute girls pretty much terrifies me as much as talking to a rather rabid raccoon might -- in a dark alley, with fences on either side... and a moat behind me. Talking to the hottest girls -- forget it. My hands get clammy, my shoulders begin to tingle, my arms tense, my balls tuck in close, and my heart-rate skyrockets. We are talking fight-or-flight red-alert locate the nearest emergency exits!

Did I mention the tightening of my chest and perspiration that begins to form if I stay in this state for too long?

Seriously, faced with jumping out of an airplane (with a parachute, obviously... jeez, skydiving people) and walking into a room full of people and trying to have a conversation with the hottest girls in the room. Skydiving, all the way. No doubt. I've done skydiving, it was less scary.

So today for a number of reasons that'll be detailed in that forthcoming book I was sitting in Kerckhoff coffee lounge place on UCLA campus and writing notes for my book and then ended up on a phone call with Ew Bug -- I had to pitch her the idea, as a sanity check. She, of course, thought I was insane but I think I won her over eventually. (not on my sanity, on the book)

I suppose I must give a bit of information on this ethereal book that will change the world (hopefully for a little better). It's about how boys are dumb and girls are stupid and all the misunderstandings and crap between them (and what's really going on). This story's been done to death, I'm not gonna bore you with the reasoning that mine will be great and amazing (and probably about 40 pages).

I was telling her about how, even now, many years since I was in middle school I am still petrified by these pretty girls. I looked around the coffee house I'd been sitting in and there were many pretty girls, the smart looking pretty, the cute "don't care", the nerdy and even the unsure, sort.

It's chilly tonight in LA and a coffee house, warm liquids to smell and imbibe is a very inviting spot for studying for finals. Most people were on music players or laptops or hunched over books with crowded text and matching crowded notes on their notebooks.

As I was describing the scene I spotted these two girls that were my sort of hot. They were sitting catty-corner to each other at a rectangular table for 4 (but 7 chairs were squished in there, a post on one narrow-end). The blonder of the two girls was facing my direction (though I was facing away from her) and wearing this white Harvard sweatshirt, her blond hair pulled tightly back into a sort of bun-like thing (with this cool side swish on top, I don't know actual hair terms, sorry). Her friend was definitely wearing earrings and I do believe she was as well (her eyes kept distracting me apparently). Oh, her friend, actually the one I noticed first, when she came in. Very cute, this thick eyeliner that somehow worked perfectly, I would say it was too much but she looked good in it, so obviously I was wrong. She was wearing a gray UCD sweatshirt (and I think black tights, or close to).

Now obviously, you don't get that sort of description if you aren't going to star in this story. They were hot. And they didn't notice me at all.... I thought I caught Harvard glance at me but it looked like she was staring off into the distance while thinking about something (I was legitimately in her line-of-sight) and she quickly turned away, still holding up the laminated piece of paper she was obviously referencing at some point.

I tried, afterwards, to see if she looked my way at all, a glance, a little eye-play, anything... any sort of clue.

No. And that's where it would have ended any other night.

But tonight, I realized that a Harvard sweatshirt in the UCLA coffee house was a perfect "Why?" opening line. I didn't have to get a phone number, an email, a name, anything... I suck at those things anyway. All I wanted -- really -- was to make them laugh. Obviously, I don't have a chance with the hottest girls in the room but a chance at making them giggle? That's a challenge I might be able to meet. (they would have been hot outside this room but being a amateur scientist it would be inappropriate for me to make such declarations without testing my hypothesis, preferably starting with my room)

I told Ew Bug I was going to talk to them, she said, "No you're not." I was a bit surprised by this, I forget that my utter fear defines me for so many people, this is the Yum they "know and love", and she added, "That's not you," you don't talk to the girls.

Sadly, this is pretty much true. In high pressure situations (See Racoons Above) I freak and never, ever have it work out. (i.e. when I work up the nerve to talk to them, I get shutdown, rejected, and or otherwise put off)

But this was pretty easy, I didn't want anything from them but a laugh and ostensibly an explanation on her attire.

I said it and we decided I'd call her back and let her know how it went.

...

And then I hung up.

And I had to do what I just said I was going to do.

The palpitations began. My whole body began to tense and I began "fighting" to relax. First, I glanced over. She hadn't once looked at me but I didn't want her hand in marriage, I wanted to just ask about her sweatshirt. I mean, that's totally non-threatening.

I casually finished writing the page I had been working on before the phone call. The handwriting is a bit harder to read. I clicked through my iPod for some song that might calm me. She was texting on her phone and I didn't want to interrupt that. Interrupting studying? She probably needed a break from anyway but sending a text is usually a time-sensitive sort of activity.

So, I waited, wrote and listened. Finally, off the phone and I began to freeze. Should I put on my heavy motorcycle jacket.. No, no, I look all bulky in that and it'd be weird, I look cooler with just my sweater... but then I have to leave my stuff here... and if it goes badly I have to come back to the table... and I'd have to worry about my phone and wallet on the table, or I could carry my bag and leave my jacket but then ...

I was a bit ... nervous.

Finally, I decided I'd take all my stuff (even if I look like a guy in a sumo-wrestling-suit) and my bag and just hit them up on the way out. Yeah, that's great.... but as soon as I stood up I had to piss. Not really very bad, but enough that I stood up, grabbed my stuff, put on my jacket and walked down the tiled floor toward the door. I mean, obviously, I should goto the bathroom before I spoke to them -- you know, in case I.. Uh.. suddenly lost all bladder control and ended up wetting myself, right, yeah.

I walked into the hallway, there's got to be a bathroom right around... oh, no -- I walked down another hallway and then through some doors to the outside (don't they have signs anywhere?). I just need to find a bathroom but every step was taking me further from the Harvard and UCD. So, I stopped on the little bridge between buildings and turned around.

Just do it. Just... just walk in there...

And...

Oh, shoot now the guy from another table is talking to them. I don't want to interrupt -- I should ... No, this is not that bad... I was rehearsing what I was going to say, mumbling to myself, I'm sure, "Hey, I was just sitting over there watching you.." No, no, you're not a stalker. "So, what's up with the Harvard sweatshirt?" So, you're not going to say Hi? Make it clear your just curious not accusing her of school infidelity, let's fight stuff. "Hi, I just was wonder why you have a Harvard sweatshirt on?" I was running through it in my head and trying to figure out the best approach.

Should I sit? Should I stand, should I ask to sit, should I approach from the other side of the table so it's not too intimidating or should I just walked up to the empty chair next to Harvard and ask her from there, even though that'll require that she turn to me and there's no easy way of me sitting there because that chair is squeezed in there.

I know you're saying to yourself, "You need to CHILL OUT," but that's like saying "relax" to someone afraid of heights, looking down an elevator shaft. It may be totally irrational and overblown but it's there to me (and I don't think it is irrational or overblown, girls can be mean, I know, I live in Hollywood -- though I think they were meaner in high school).

The guy at the other table turned back to his stuff. NOW OR NEVER.

I approached, the words in my head actually stuttering, "Hu.. Hi.. Uh... sweatshirt." I tried to let it go and walked up, pulled out the chair a bit so I wouldn't be squeezed in there and they looked up at me with the "WTF" face.

I said something along the lines of, "I couldn't help but notice the Harvard sweatshirt and so I just had to ask what's up with that?" To my pleasant surprise, she smiled and laughed a bit.

She admitted candidly that she had no association with Harvard whatsoever. I laughed at this. Is this the right moment to mention she had a cute voice? She was way prettier up close? I was mock surprised, "So, you don't goto Harvard?"

"No."

I asked why, not? She gave a long tirade about SATs, GPAs, ACTs, etcs and I looked to her friend and said, "I think she has some self-esteem issues, you might want to work with her on those... have her look in the mirror and say to herself 'I can do it'" or I can goto Harvard or some such. They spared a giggle for me.

I dug a bit deeper and she admitted she got it while visiting the Harvard campus and she felt like she should get something from there. Oh, I didn't buy this... I pressed, "Oh, so you didn't want to goto Harvard at all?" (UCD asked if she applied, she hadn't)

"Yes, I mean, in a perfect world I'd goto Harvard" and I joked more about her self-esteem and she noted her friend (also very attractive up close) was wearing a UCD sweatshirt. Her whole family had gone there (But not her?) and I asked why she was wearing her's.

(I made some lame joke about them being the only ones in sweatshirts at this point... it sucked, we needn't recount it)

It was just comfortable to her, which was great, perfect, really. I told her it was okay, so long as it had one of those soft-fuzzy inner-liners. She told me it was a bit old, so it had worn away some. It was a sort of "comfort" sweatshirt (and comfortable girls apparently look very hot to me?).

Summing it up for them, "She wears it because it's comfortable and you wear it because it makes you smart?" I was giving Harvard a hard time and she admitted it was her sort of lucky sweatshirt. Ultimately, it made her feel good, which is all that counts in my mind.

She said something along the lines of needing it to make sure she passed all her finals, motioning to her work, and I took it as a sign I had overstayed my welcome (or was soon about to). I didn't get their names, nor their numbers. No emails, no... I'll never see them again but I said, "Well, I'll let you get back to studying, I don't want you to fail because of me." (or some such) And goodnight.

I started walking away and I turned back and said, "Hey." Harvard turned her head all the way to the right to look back at me and I added, "I hope the sweatshirt works." Then turned and walked off.


I don't think Harvard and UCD will ever know how hard it was for me to do that. They couldn't have any clue; they probably think it's a bit weird, in hindsight, but they were completely relaxed and their body language was friendly. They instantly joined in the conversation and I didn't feel creepy or weird or like a jerk or any of those things that girls can shoot out in a glance like sharp, small darts with pinpoint precision and speed.

It went... dare I say, perfectly? I accomplished my goal. I made them laugh. (maybe a giggle or two?)

I guess that should be gratitude enough for them but I still would like to say this all to the universe. Thanks for being nice. You were clearly hot enough to be "those bitchy girls" and you weren't.

As I walked out into the cold air, it was refreshing, the dark night barely noticeable as I hopped up on a chair and threw my arms in the air and jumped off. YES! Like so many things, it's the doing that matters.

Thanks, Harvard and UCD. Your boyfriends are damn lucky (if you have none at this point then there is something seriously wrong with UCLA boys and when they finally figure it out... they will be damn lucky guys).


Yum