The malicious cigarette slinger?

I saw a cowboy walk pass me, strolling behind his illustrious belt buckle proudly, and smoking two cigarettes - holding one in each hand, almost as methodically as if he was squeezing a pair of revolvers.

Steadily, the heels of his boots clanked against the concrete sidewalk in a rhythm that can only be match in the chaos that is rush hour. He looks calm, patient and almost aimless. My first thought, of course, was he must be one of very few cowboys in this city.

Where does he live and how does he fit into a place like this: Seattle? Are there cowboy bars or other saloons for him and his Wild West kin to frequent?

Where did this man come from? And maybe most importantly, why was he walking by me so tranquilly in the mix of this post-workday tangle?  Where was he going?

Even after he disappeared from sight, I stood there wondering why he chooses to be a cowboy in a city full of musicians, artists, poets, and sushi connoisseurs?  Hmm. A dubious moment indeed.

I bet he doesn't even like sushi.

I kind of loved it

To me it's a monsoon. To everyone else, we'll they're talking on their phones, sending emails, texting, and listening to their mp3 players. I suppose there was the occasional person struggling to keep their umbrella from flipping up like you see in the cartoons, but most seemed oblivious. Not me. Tonight I was a pawn in the middle of a metropolitan storm.

The wind blew from all directions. It's not like I have never witnessed this before, so I wasnt completely surprised, but I was bewildered over the uncountable number of rain pellets shooting upward into the cubby I formed with my body and black umbrella to keep my head and shoulders dry.

I could see it swirling in the halos of the amber street lights. The rest which hit my skin seemed invisible.

It was nearly a 20-minute walk and I soon found myself in the dry confines of the public bus, venturing home after a day of work downtown.

So many faces; everybody coming from their own worlds, with their own life adventures, and their own stories to tell. But here on this bus we were united, if even temporarily, within inches of one another awaiting for the next person to reach their stop. We shared the same stale stench of wet bodies and musty air. The dim neon lights shine only as bright as to know where one another are, and are not welcoming.

This unity is evanescent however, and almost immediately we, as bus riders, create yet another individual world.

The headphones turn on, the phones and internet become active again, and books appear from backpacks. I can see it all. I too have ventured off by myself to write on a pad of paper.

I can hear the guy next to me make call after call. He just told his unknowing friend that he blew out his back and was unsure of attending the upcoming event this weekend.  This man also loves his wife. I heard him say so.

On my left a droplet of water nicked my thigh. It has sporadically dripped from the roof of the bus this entire ride and I am sure it will target me before long. It is a similar droplet to those that scatter the bus window across the isle. On the other side of that window I can see a blurred soccer game under the lighted field. How can they stand upright in that wind?

To my right I have clandestinely observed an older man read a book on his Amazon Kindle. Have you seen these yet?

For some reason seeing this man read a book electronically on his tablet reaffirmed that I was some place new. It reassured me that I like it here.

One by one this collective group of strangers depart the bus. I am often the last one off, but not tonight.

I hate working in cyber clutter

Everyone clicks!

At least everyone who uses a computer - and maybe more. It's a necessity, I think.

But what has really begun to irritate me of late is the accidental clicking of advertisements and hidden links as I browse many of the million web pages. As a result I find myself backtracking all too often after being whipped around the Internet like some cyber-pancake batter.

I put blame on my extremely slow and cluttered computing machines, both at work and at home. 

Machines as I see them: programmed size, capability, and limits. Unlike humans they can't understand frustration at it's core. I, on the other hand, do.

Experiencing this, there is a realization that it's a strange duality living with technology. Because for as much as one can hate it, it is also that highly beloved -and more so- taken for granted (i.e. counting on your alarm to automatically sound every morning).

But back to the irritation of trying to click around the web when computers or websites slow down so much that you want to simply throw it out of the fifth floor window you look through everyday.

Ok.

Check out this site, kotaku.com.

As part of my newest job duties at a PR firm, I browse this site every morning. And with each new morning the frustration, irritation, and disbelief grow as I try to quickly search the site for relative articles under deadline.  I cant explain why because Im not a program writer or web developer, but I do know it sucks -- A lot.

Go ahead, click around the site a little bit. Scroll through it....   Maybe it is working just fine. But a site so cluttered (kinda like this post) makes it difficult to load pages and even browse at a normal rate.  Also notice the amount of links scattered across the screen.  Take that, combine it with other slowly operating opened browsing/Word windows currently on your screen, and I dare you to spend over an hour going back and forth without constantly clicking on links!

Then there are the links and other graphics that simply open a window by hovering your mouse over it... One word: ANNOYING.   Also: INEFFICIENT (for me).  I dont care about the Netflix offer damn you! I already use the service!

This may sound like nothing to you today, but one day you'll see.

In the words of Peter Griffin, "That is what really grinds my gears"