Dear stranger

Dear guy that texted me two weeks ago,

I understand you were looking for Mike and wondering if he was at Kyle's. I kindly told you that you had the wrong number. You were contacting me from your icloud account.

Humbly realizing that you had texted me, and had the wrong number you gently said unto me 'who the fuxk is this??!'. To which I replied, 'Frank. Not Mike. Not Kyle. Sorry'

And then my new friend was quiet.

2 days later I woke up to a missive from my buddy. 'Fxck you!!! Loser!!'. I responded 'Thanks a lot, have an A1 day!.' Perhaps the wrong response, but I am a lover not a fighter.

A WEEK goes by and he texts me 'You stupid moron, fxck you!' To which I point out 'Well, you texted me and had the wrong number. I disagree.'

A few days go by and I get another love letter from my friend 'You suck, whatev, hpe you die!'

So I sent the juiciest picture of a penis Google Images had to offer.

'wtf gay'

So I sent another couple.

'stop!'

And I started mining the depths of penis picture depravity on the interwebs, hoping my new friend will be having as much fun as I will.

I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you're looking for Mike, I can tell you I don't have any Mike...or Kyle... but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career in IT. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you leave my texts alone now, that will be the end of it - I will not look for you, I will not pursue you... but if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you... and I will subject you to the most awful things from the depths of the internet.

Any time, middle of the work day. Late at night. Talking to your Mom. Whispering sweet nothing to Mike and to Kyle. You will never ever know when you will get a picture and of what. I have many email addresses, many evil friends, and many ways to send you whatever my heart desires day or night, for the rest of your natural life.

So how about you stop good buddy, and let's all have an ice cream.

Capische?

Love,

- Frank

Hardest Thing

I've heard the hardest thing for a writer is a blank page.

I attribute that to Aaron Sorkin or one of his characters but I can't find the source. It is 5am though so I'll throw that out as my excuse.

Disconnection seems to be such a common theme for people that you can't reliably nail down what it is, or what to do about it. As a techie, if I want to look up what the command is to restart the web server then I can, and an answer I shall get. But when I want to look up disconnection, emotional emptiness or a passing feeling that I'm not getting out of life what I should or what I want.

It's nothing new, it's currently filling many shelves at the bookstore. It's selling millions of records and it's filling journals of teenagers, and in this case my first blog.

It's as if I have the ingredients for the perfect chicken pie, I've baked it perfectly and I cut into it. It smells like chicken pie, I sample a forkful and sure enough it's what I expect. But I'm not enjoying it. And I have zero reason not to.

I'm surrounded by everything I've wanted. And it's not that I'm never happy, it's more accurate that I'm not connected. I'll look for the reasons and I will connect again, and I'll write about it hopefully!

That microwaved cheeseburger was a bad idea. Yikes.

- Frank