Yesterday one of my favorite darling friends sends me a dead frog, on WhatsApp.
Don’t blame me for this.
Why? I couldn’t say.
I respond, wondering whether kissing a dead frog might turn it into a dead prince. #unexpectedconsequences
Then later that day, outside my favorite restaurant, I come across a dead mouse. Middle of the road. It’s fate saying: Return the volley of urban roadkill messages.
The Asian mouse gets snapped and sent.
Fleeting, everything.
She says:
“Cracker, you need Instagram”.
(She’s half caucasian, half black. She calls me cracker. Where does that fall, in the spectrum of political correctness?)
I don’t have Instagram.
Or Snapchat. Or Twitter. Or really any of the social media things.
Btw, do you?
Anyway. I made an Instagram account. Also maybe in part since earlier today I got an e-mail from some random person, asking me, “who are you really”.
Which, weird question, yea?
Who could I be, besides the guy of whom anyone here knows my name, what I look like, my nationality, where I live, even what I looked like as an awkward teenager, and videos of my pregnant girlfriend).
Yikes.
And since it’s clearly unwise to combine an alt-health, anti establishment, middle-finger-at-a-billion-dollar-industry blogs, with lots of personal life … here’s also my new Instagram:
Let’s call it an experiment.
If you follow me on it, and if yours has interesting stuff (glasses pictures!), then I might get to posting more random, stalker-voyeurism friendly pictures.
(and I will never repost any images of anything or anyone unless you specifically tell me to)
Thumbs up to random days, and random blog detours.
Jake
