This week, my cranky old cell phone died, so I joined the addict-addled world of the iPhone. And because I have to have every free application created, I joined the addict-addled world of foursquare
. Because I want everyone to know how to find me. That won't be annoying at all, considering how much I like people.
Foursquare proved its usefulness within hours after I joined when I saw several recommendations for Super's Bungalow Beer Garden
Dive bombing has officially gone digital. I hadn't heard of this joint before foursquare.
I arrived at Super's before my friend Julie and informed the foursquare world of my whereabouts before dumping my phone into my purse. It's the first time I've let go of it in 48 hours. As the bartender took my order, my purse buzzed.
"Oh, text message. Sorry," I said.
"Were you outside texting a few minutes ago? Because some of those guys yelled at someone texting outside."
Not me -- but I had a feeling I knew who it was.
"That place is hostile!" read the text from Julie.
"Are you hiding?" I replied.
"I'm in my car. I was waiting for you outside and texting you, and some old coot yelled at me not to take pictures!"
I assured her that the I'd protect her from angry, techno-hating old coots.
We sat at the bar for two hours without incident, even as we both played with our phones. I checked Twitter at one point to see that, minutes earlier, Julie had Tweeted, "Rhi rhi is permanently banned. She's been told." At least, that's what a sign above the cash register said.
What? You don't sit at a bar with a friend you met on Twitter, drinking beer and Tweeting? The aughts are almost over; get with it.
Sometimes, like last week
, Dive Bomber lacks photos because taking them might draw too much attention to me. But I also enjoy getting under peoples' skin. As I left, I took out my real camera -- the one with the flash, not the iPhone one -- and photographed Super's. Maybe someone will yell at me on foursquare.Robin Wheeler writes the blog Poppy Mom and is a regular contributor to Gut Check. She also has a strange attraction to drinking establishments with jars of pickled -- or possibly fossilized -- eggs. She reports on these dives every Thursday.