By Kara Andrade
As the sun emerges from the gray brown smog that hangs over Guatemala City’s wet streets, we board our plane and are inundated by the sounds of English words, and babies crying — for the most part a universal language of frustration.
Our time here is ended (for now) and I point the Blackberry in different directions while on the plane with the hopes that I’ll be able to send at least one text or one blog entry while in the clouds. I am a horrible role model when it comes to connectivity politeness; make no mistake, it’s a life line and it can get Hobbesian quickly.
One of the freeing things. about being able to write from the mobile is that I am not distracted by the production possibliities a laptop holds. I don’t go into the inbox, I don’t upload and Photoshop pictures, I don’t re-organize my Itunes library, I don’t video edit, it’s about as close to a blank sheet of paper and pen as I’m going to get. And so it is here, while seated on the plane in 30 D with Nadia Sussman passed out next to me and a fully-charged ipod with 10 gigs of songs and podcasts that I begin to write ...
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