The Skinny White Boy KastPod

Yeah… Yeah… Yeah!

The hottest new thing in web two point oh land is Plurk.com. Plurk is a site that lets you you follow your friend’s time-line. Like twitter! No wait this is better, really! Plurk allows you to post comments to your friend’s time-line. Oh, like Jaiku? Yeah! and it let’s you upload photos. Wow, it’s just like MySpace! Now, don’t get me wrong there is no problem with having a choice. After all, car manufacturers have been building copies of each other’s cars for decades. I like my Kia Sorento, you like your Hyundai Santa Fe.

But Plurk, “plurks” with my privacy! It did something to me today (for as much as a website can do anything to you) that I really am upset about. So upset, that I will never return to that damn web site ever again! I don’t care how cool they are, or how Canadian Plurk is. After 5 minutes on their site I am totally, and forever, done with these clowns. So what happened?

I decided to check out what the buzz was all about. I open my fave browser and type in www.plurk.com. After a while the page loads, and what is on the top of the page? “#insert friends full name here# invited you to plurk”. Mind you, #insert friends name here# was the name of someone I actually know. This was not some bogus message! So how in the hell did Plurk find out we are related? How could it have known? So I call my friend and asked if he invited me to Plurk, What he answered was that he tried to use the “Find friends on Gmail” facility in Plurk but that it never worked. Also, on checking his Plurk profile, it shows that he invited ZERO friends. So how does this damn web site know we are related?

Let me get this straight. I do NOT have an account on Plurk, none of my friends have EVER invited me to join, yet Plurk tells me that a person I know has indeed invited me, even though that person has never invited anyone?

At this point I cleared as much of my personal information as I could. I closed the browser, deleted cookies, cleared my cache. Yup! When I went back to those fuckers dot come, the invite was gone. So what is Plurk looking at to get this info? I am not going to trust these bastards for as long as I live! Is it looking at my Gmail account? Is it looking at Twitter activity? What?

Never again will I visit that site! NEVER!

Otherwise known as… No wrong. Part of Memphis in May is the “Beale Street Music Festival”. Locals simply call it the Music Fest. Three days, some god-knows-how-many bands, blues, soul, rock. Bottom line: Fun! A short overview…

FRIDAY:
Missed it completely. It was raining way to hard. This is supposed to be fun. Instead BBQ at Corky’s

Saturday:
Arrived too late. Walked in during Colbie Caillat (or however you spell that). As much as I like the tune “Bubbly”, she really isn’t all that good on stage. Buddy Guy was phenomenal! Not in the least because he decided (as always) to walk into the audience and he was *THIS* (imagine forefinger and thumb less than inch apart) from where I was standing. Lou Reed? He gives the sixties a bad name. There just aren’t enough drugs to make those spacey jams interesting. He would do well to just perform his songs without the experimental crap. Left after 2 songs and went to the Blues tent. Watermelon Slim. Interesting… I thought his voice was a little off. A buddy told me his voice is ALWAYS off. Hubert Sumlin was cool, but not as cool as Pinetop Perkins. If I get to be that age and still play the piano like that. Oh wait, I don’t play piano!

SUNDAY:
Porta-potty was the first stop. Aretha Franklin was top-notch. Never mind she was a royal bitch. Poor Mike, the sound guy… “Mike I don’t pay for that buzzing”. Never mind she was just presented with a key to the city (presented by the mayor, who got boo’ed off stage). Overheard during the show: Honey, Aretha Franklin has something to say to you! Guy then held his cell phone in the air to the tune of Pink Cadillac (We go riding on the freeway of love…) Blues tent boring, one can only stand so much Fergie before having to see the Black Crowes who were giving the sixties a bad name, and they weren’t even born back then. Time to head out. Out, where we had to change a flat in one of the more unsavory parts of town, only to come home to a dog that puked on the carpet.

WHAT A GREAT WEEKEND. GONNA DO THIS AGAIN NEXT YEAR