Horse Walks into a Bar: My Digital Lifestyle

It was one of those bars where the smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey permeate the air like that of bat turds in a cave, a way-off-the-strip joint in Las Vegas wedged between a wedding chapel and a lawyer whose sign promises to beat your DUI. I had stopped there on my long walk from the Consumer Electronics Show to my hotel last week for a refreshment.

There was the predictable cast of characters: two cowboys at the end of the bar who eyed me like pit bulls gaming for a fight, an aging Tony Orlando-type putting the make on a blonde, still beautiful in the dim light but obviously poised for a long downhill trip on a luge.

Then there was the horse:

“Buy you a drink?” he whinnied.

“Sure, but don’t get any ideas,” I replied.

“Ya in town for CES? “ he snorted.

“Yup,” I answered. “You too?”

“Yeeeess,” said the horse. “I am here in pursuit of a ‘digital lifestyle’. There are signs all over the place saying that a digital lifestyle is something, like a bag of honey-glazed oats, that I should desire.

“But you’re… a horse.”

His face grew longer as he sucked up a double gin Martini in one loud slurp, pulled out his iPod, his Blackberry, his Playstation Portable and his Ultra Mobile PC and threw them on the bar.

“If I wasn’t a horse, I couldn’t carry all of this crap.”

“But, you have all of the latest gear, I think you would be a poster…uh…horse, for the digital lifestyle.”

“Yup, I am in constant connection with the barn, my trainer, I can shop for blankets, I’ve got a huge following on MyStall, but I feel unfulfilled. I don’t feel very….horsey.”

“I know what you mean, man,” I said. “My day and night are consumed by checking email, keeping my blog current, making sure batteries are charged. Ten years ago I took afternoon walks, now I don’t have the time.”

“Hmm,” rumbled the horse, his deep baritone rattling the glassware, “Ya wanna get out of this place?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Hop on.”

I climbed up on the horse and we headed out the door. The bartender ran out after us.

“Don’t you want these?” he yelled, clutching the gadgets to his chest.

“Naaw,” whinnied the horse. “I’m off the stuff.”

“Ee haw,” I screamed as we galloped off into the desert.

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