Facebook has gotten downright sneaky in its ways of tricking you into think you deactivated your account when either: A. You did not deactivate. Or: B. You deactivated but somehow reactivated without realizing it. It used to be all you had to say was “this is temporary” but now if you say that there is a dropdown list of how many days you will be away, with 7 being the maximum. After 7 days your account is automatically reactivated. It has a whiff of desperation about it. I did get an email saying that my account had been reactivated but I did not notice it because it got filtered to a Facebook folder, where I had dozens of unread messages received before I deactivated a couple of weeks ago. Stupid, I think.
Waiting to see what happens with the reporter, who checked in on Friday to say he was on constant deadline until the elections tomorrow but had no loss of interest in this story. He had earlier said his editors were in love with this story, saying that it a very New York thing, so I’m interested to see how he and they handle it. I told him I’d be happy to meet up in person and show him how it’s all done, not only because I think that’s the only true way to communicate the magic of it all but also to prove without question that I am who I say I am. At this point I don’t see how there could be any doubt at the newsroom but I wouldn’t want to leave even the slightest bit of room for haters and doubters to piss into this.
I had not heard back from the reporter for a couple of days after sending a couple of lengthy emails, so it was good to hear back. I decided that coming forward, albeit from behind a curtain, was necessary. Without something like this the project would evaporate. The timing feels about right. I’ve also been slowing down my performance of this, since weather has been poor but also because there seems to be a plague afflicting the kiosks, in which a majority of them are failing to work. This might throw a crowbar into my desire to show the reporter in person how it’s done.
One observation after taking a few days off from the project are that the anti-smart city activists look more ludicrous to me than ever, pissing into the wind like it even matters. The company that makes those stupid machines must have made a laughing stock of that shit.
I went to an eye doctor today for what should be the last time in follow up to the mysterious eye injury. I found what I thought was a bloodstain in the kitchen but there is no way that’s what it is, returning me to the ludicrous theory that a delivery guy got road rage on me and punched me. I’ve changed my mind about that since this morning. Listening to my latest Payphone Radio calls.
