July 4th, 2006


Bamboo feed

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

I moved into my new Neukolln flat on Sunday, and was delighted (on top of all its other delights) to find a big, fat, open, free wifi signal flooding both rooms, a signal just called WLAN. Two days (and trillions of gigabytes of Japanese porn, just kidding) later, it's been passworded. So I must go back to sitting in cafes, doorways, or shady bamboo-planted courtyards (like the one you see above, a very pleasant place with an open signal) until I get my own legit signal installed. (Anybody know a good Berlin DSL bargain? Or do I have to go back to Deutsche Telekom, those vandals who'll just use my money to stick a football on top of Berlin's most beautiful building?) Now, I'm very good at "divining" for open wifi signals, I have a great instinct for the kind of places they're likely to be found. But to have one, right in my flat, and to lose it... well, for a seasoned wifi hunter that's like seeing an underground stream drying up or a juicy antelope bounding into the brush.

Anyway, blogging will be on reduced service this week as a result of this outrageous outage. If you need to think of me at all, picture me under that parasol, or, more probably, driving a van full of boxes past crowds of football fans and Turkish market traders. I'll leave you today with my latest Wired piece, which is about vaginas you can blow up, or something similar.

Art School Inflatable

"Along with the angst and proving of talent, art schools' annual year-end shows reveal unexpected treasures. Where else will you see a party dress that inflates into a rubber dinghy? Commentary by Momus. This column is available as a podcast."

The funny thing is that the podcast actually contains some weird electronic interference at the end (courtesy of my eccentric tube mic) which sounds exactly like air being squeezed out of an inflatable dinghy-vagina. Or something.