Whaaaat!?!?!?

<p>Created by Oatmeal</p>

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Posted via email from Kellyfornia on the state of... well, things.

Whuffle Envy

According to some random person who posted from somewhere in the world onto Wikipedia: 

Whuffie is the ephemeral, reputation-based currency of Cory Doctorow's science fiction novel, Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. This book describes a post-scarcity economy: All the necessities (and most of the luxuries) of life are free for the taking. A person's current Whuffie is instantly viewable to anyone, as everybody has a brain-implant giving them an interface with the Net.

The term has since morphed into a synonym for social capital, including its use in the title of the Tara Hunt book The Whuffie Factor. 

Basically, what Wiki was trying to say is that Whuffle = your popularity factor. 

If you want to think this concept is still just a think of futuristic sci-fi fantasy, not applicable to today's capitalism, money-grubbing based global marketplace. Wrong! Whuffle is here, now and prevalent in our culture; you've seen it. Look to the left bar on your Facebook profile or better yet, fanpage, and look at that number of friends of fans. How many followers do you have on Twitter?

That's your whuffle. 

Do you not find yourself continually checking that number and rating your "worth" in the Twittersphere by said number? Gosh knows I do. 

Think about it: wanna get a message spread. The more friends/fans, increases the probability of your message getting seen and /or sent exponentially. I want people to know me so that they will spread my messages. I want to be as quick to the punch and as effective as those other people with 5000 +, 10,000 + or more followers. What am I doing wrong? Why is my whuffle so low? I'm suffering from severe Whuffle Envy. I long to gain more friends. I feel follower greed creeping inside of me, and realize that, like my father once said, "you can take money out of the picture, but you will always have currency and with it, always people greedy to make it all theirs." 

and then...

I realize that I'm worrying about a word called Whuffle, and I laugh. Twitter on fair Kelly, at least 118 people are listening somewhere, ooh just went up to 121. My stock's ah-rising. 

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Posted via email from Kellyfornia on the state of... well, things.

PASSIVE EXPLOITATION = lame mini trend abuse of wife

I'm writing this to tell you that I will not be discussing Crying Wife, EVER except for this warning: If you've heard about crying wife, don't go there, have some dignity. It's a lame exploit of a person, period.

As the rock pillars say in the underground passages in the Labyrinth: "Don't go, Turn back before it's too late."

Or the worm before them, "Don't go that way, never go that way!"

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Posted via email from Kellyfornia on the state of... well, things.

The Spandy-Mom

You know what really chaps my hide? Actually this one makes me giggle a bit, the not-so-in-shape mom wearing super high-tech exercise gear. (I see dozens of them, twice a week during my daily stops for my own addiction fill at the local Bucks.) Those of us who actually exercise, and by this I mean sweat, know that more often than not you wear grubby comfy clothes, like those old loose sweatpants, the tank with holes in it that is just too banged up to where in public otherwise.

It's like taking a busted car in for a paint job. Each Friday I enter the coffee shop to a Music-Man mass of women "Picking and talking" a little, and I have to constrain my laughter, pulling it inside for what I call the Snicker Giggles. (or sniggles).

But, I do fear these women, because one day, biologically I too could become one of them. So if you ever see me at Sports Chalet, with a pair of high-priced Nike spandy-pants stretched out in my hands, Please, Please, Please smack me in the face and remind me that I have multiple old sweat pants at home for the sweating in.

"Spandex: a privilege, not a right." - Matt Lillard 

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Mammoth rock band

Mammoth, first day on the slopes. I love powder!

Posted via web from Kellyfornia on the state of... well, things.

Traveling to Mammoth by Moonlight...

Time: 8:22 p.m. Thursday, January 28, 2010

Place: Somewhere on the 395 Highway, midway to Mammoth Mountain.

Situation: 214 miles away from our destination and one Nick Jenkins is helping keep me awake as I drive along the immense trek of road to Mammoth.

            The mountains, all the way south along the Sierras, are covered in a white snow that glows the softest palest blue white under a full moon. The moon has lit up the snow enough that we can drive without our headlights on and navigate as if it were daytime. I wish I could’ve taken some picture with my wonderfully adept iPhone. Alas, I was driving – that could not take place.

            And my co-captain, Jenksy, tried his best, yet was unsuccessful in figuring how to disable the flash. So all we got was a bright image the my windshield. No harm, no foul.

Time: Unreasonably late. We’ve arrived safely. Till tomorrow.

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Posted via email from Kellyfornia on the state of... well, things.