Snitching
What if I have a client that is launching a new site to compete with LiveJournal and MySpace? I wonder how safe it is to write on here. I'd never have thought to put those two sites in the same arena, but I see how they intersect. Am I being overly paranoid or justifiably cautious? With my current clients, I'm even paranoid to use my gmail account to discuss work. Is someone snooping, will someone snitch?
I performed my own snitching today, with the goal of cleaning up BART (particularly 16th/Mission). As I entered the bottom level of the BART entrance, I saw that nasty crackhead that had been all up in my space last month - attempting to follow me and keep up with my New Yorker pace. He still had a wild-eyed look, but this time he was INSIDE the entrance and darting glances both ways before attempting to light up his crack in a nook just around from the agent's booth.
Usually I would have just ignored something like that and figured it best not to get involved so long as the only harm being done is self-inflicted. Not today. I marched right up to the station agent with, "There's a crackhead smoking his crack down here."
I was expecting the agent to roll her eyes with an annoyed, "mm hmm whateva suga," but I was wrong. Shaniqwa shot up from her seat, threw back her weaves with her acrylic nails, and shouted, "Ohh NU UH! Not in MY station. Where is he!?" I pointed to the nook that had hidden him from her view and she stormed off in his direction.
It felt like I was telling a middle school teacher about someone cutting in the cafeteria line.
--
There's so much to say and so little time to say it when you live it.
Photographic evidence holds. Tragedi breaks the mold.
Birthday parties leave post-modern wall art, living, alive.
Two month reviews and bar-b-q's, how well I survive.
It feels surreal to reach for your dreams dancing in the stardust
And find you can reach, they are solid, and that they hold you tight in the night.
I performed my own snitching today, with the goal of cleaning up BART (particularly 16th/Mission). As I entered the bottom level of the BART entrance, I saw that nasty crackhead that had been all up in my space last month - attempting to follow me and keep up with my New Yorker pace. He still had a wild-eyed look, but this time he was INSIDE the entrance and darting glances both ways before attempting to light up his crack in a nook just around from the agent's booth.
Usually I would have just ignored something like that and figured it best not to get involved so long as the only harm being done is self-inflicted. Not today. I marched right up to the station agent with, "There's a crackhead smoking his crack down here."
I was expecting the agent to roll her eyes with an annoyed, "mm hmm whateva suga," but I was wrong. Shaniqwa shot up from her seat, threw back her weaves with her acrylic nails, and shouted, "Ohh NU UH! Not in MY station. Where is he!?" I pointed to the nook that had hidden him from her view and she stormed off in his direction.
It felt like I was telling a middle school teacher about someone cutting in the cafeteria line.
--
There's so much to say and so little time to say it when you live it.
Photographic evidence holds. Tragedi breaks the mold.
Birthday parties leave post-modern wall art, living, alive.
Two month reviews and bar-b-q's, how well I survive.
It feels surreal to reach for your dreams dancing in the stardust
And find you can reach, they are solid, and that they hold you tight in the night.