Steve, from the laundromat

I made a mistake not too long ago. I gave my number to a guy I met at the laundromat.

I haul my laundry bag into the facility and typically keep to myself, as does everyone else. and read my nook. I walk past a chubby Latino with a neckbeard, emphatically discussing technology with a less-than-enthused girl folding her clothes. I load the self-service machines, slotting coins and then sit down to get some reading done. Uninterested Girl now leaves the building and Neckbeard finds his way over to me, inquiring about my iPad. I tell him what it is, and he gives it the pseudo-recognition: "Ohh, yeah, yeah. Right, I heard of that." I get the sense that I have now taken up the mantle of Uninterested Guy now that Girl has left, and I will not be left alone to read. I am not. What I did get was this guy's life story, which I believe was about ninety per cent fabrication. His name is Steve. He told me he is a programmer, and replied "Spanish and English" when I asked him what languages he programmed in. Ultimately it was harmless conversation from a harmless guy who simply interrupted my reading. No big deal. He leaves and soon after, I leave.

A couple of Thursdays later I'm back at the laundromat and there is Steve, having captured another too-polite-to-say-fuck-off launderer, and he's chatting away with the same inexhaustible energy as before. He sees me and leaves the first patron to engage me, his new laundromat friend. He catches me up to the recent events in his life, tall tales of Atlantic City, police, and entrepreneurial betrayals. It's a stream of consciousness story that I can tell he makes up as he goes along because of the little details, such as the fluctuating number of kids he has (Steve is, I'd say, in his early twenties) and that he can't make up his mind whether to refer to his sig-other as girlfriend or wife. These things happen.

He asks to exchange numbers because, well, I don't know why. And I also don't know why I didn't say "No." I guess I thought it would be rather defensive to tell him that I don't know him and it is inappropriate, particularly since I didn't actually believe he was ever going to call me. But he has, several times in fact, at various times of the day, including 1am. I ignored them all but once. Today he called me while I'm at work, and I figured I'd see what he wanted. Turns out, he wants to coordinate laundry times so we can do our laundry together. Repeat that last sentence, only imagine Chet from Weird Science saying it. He asked me if I was at home, which I find really odd I guess, although it's really an innocuous question, since I'm not worried about a home invasion. It is stalker-like though. I'm sure he doesn't know where I live, although statements like that are inevitably followed up with questions such as "Are you sure he doesn't know?" To be honest, no I am not sure.

I've included two of the voicemails, which aren't all that interesting, but I have them nonetheless.

10/2/10 10:55 PM





10/10/10 8:19 PM

Electronic Books

Technology to read books has been around for a long time, mostly for reading books in some kind of friendly format on a computer. When Amazon released its various iterations of its eBook reader, the Kindle, it initiated a conversation about books beyond the paperback and PC. And the Kindle has been successful in doing for literature what mp3's did for music. Entire libraries can be digitized and stored and a reasonably small device. It's convenient and practical, if not cheap (still in the early phases of this particular type of technology). I figured I'd wait until a better looking, cheaper eBook reader with a touchscreen came out. It still makes me laugh that whenever we have new interactive hardware, the screens are some kind of ugly binary of gray/black, green/black, green/gray (from old Gameboys and PDAs to original iPods and now Kindle).

Barnes & Noble are releasing their Android-powered eBook, the Nook. Dual touchscreen interface (one using that ugly two-tone e-ink) and another interface, in color, utilizing the Android OS for menu control. Still not cheap with a 259 dollar price tag, but it's the early adopters' cross to bear.

I wasn't initially warm to the idea of a battery-powered device that would cost me the equivalent of approximately 43 actual books (softback, $6 each), not including taxes and actually buying books for the device. B&N asserts that there are thousands of books that are free of charge, but I've learned that if someone is giving something away for free, it's because its value is equivalent to roughly zero. But I've been giving it some thought, particularly since I'm moving into a new place soon, and I would be nice if instead of boxes of books, I had one book-sized device to carry. I'm certainly not moving hundreds of CDs with me, as my music collection is almost entirely digital. Why not books? I do enjoy, as it has been stated by many, the tactile experience of holding a real book. But it's irrelevant to the task, because all I really want to do is immerse myself in the story or information and be as comfortable as possible.

Convenience is a big deal for me. I enjoy perusing a book store while I'm there looking for what I actually want, as it's easily my primary method of discovering new books. But I also get out to books stores (more specifically, Barnes & Noble) less frequently because I have less time and less desire to navigate the traffic. An internet-enabled eBook reader affords me the luxury of getting the book I'd like to read the moment I want to read it, provided it's available. And there's no rule stating that I'm henceforth prohibited from physical book stores, should I feel inclined, post-acquisition of an eBook reader.

The price is steep and I can't imagine the price will go down with the first six months, but I'm considering the cost/value of owning the Nook, and with native PDF support I'll already have a healthy cache of books to read before I even begin considering what I'm willing to pay for an electronic book

People

It's probably better that we can't read each other's minds. Maybe there's something cathartic about learning about other people, conversations that enable us to build a profile for each person we meet and talk to. But those profiles amount to little more than what we think of ourselves.