Folks at Google are probably not giving us a hint with “ex pat,” short for expatriate, but I wish they were. Yes, the example provided is of Pat, or Patrick, who, like most of us, want to venture off east- or west-ward over seas to more exotic places — as critique of America, or simply for better food — but simply stayed, for a mortgage, career, relationship, or other thing one is supposed to have. The big bros Google and Facebook know your IP location at all times, and should those vectors point to your office, living room, or bedroom, then let’s say it’s not your fault, but the fault of this internet who re-wired us into thinking that 4 hrs offline is some venture into dark mysterious non-connected places. A text that isn’t answered in 5 minutes is symbolic dust in the shape of a middle finger. True, the expatriate wouldn’t be so free were it not for ongoing travel logistics one attends to over email, but the inadvertent “ex pat” username is a good reminder of the tethers to which we are bound by carpal tunnelled wrists. I went canoeing yesterday with co-workers who were freaking out because they hadn’t checked their email in over 4 hours; some of us flipped, our cell phones and wallets floating down stream in neurotically sealed zip-lock bags. We came across a deer carcass who, from the degree of its decomposition, hadn’t checked its email in like 14 days. Holy shit, the river went.