Friday, June 30, 2006

Frivolity defined

I'd like to take a moment, here on Friday afternoon, to tell you about a ridiculous item I just bought.

There is no real, actual, good, reason for me to purchase this particular item (which could be said of most all, of my purchases). This item does not fill a need, or provide a service, or anything.

But it will be cool to play with.

Nice, right?

I'm not a graphic designer, I don't need a professional-grade tablet with over one-thousand (1024) degrees of pressure sensitivity.

I can barely remember how to apply filters in photoshop I've been away so long.

On the other hand, I do really like to doodle. Now I can doodle online. Then I'll start uploading doodles to the web, and Ican share them with you! The readers!

But please don't expect anything like this, or this, or this.

because it will probably look a lot more like this.

I can hardly wait for it to get here.
-t

recommended download:
Dennis Caplinger ,D'yer Maker,
(Led Zeppelin cover from "Pickin' on Zeppelin")

The Grand Induction

We were scheduled to begin the Induction Day event at nine o'clock yesterday morning. It was held offsite in a small conference space about three blocks from the office, but, as any of you who are familiar with downtown crossing are aware, there are a lot of places to hide a small offsite conference space within three blocks of downtown crossing (first time trying to find the orpheum, anyone?), which can make it more difficult than usual to arrive on time.

Knowing this I made absolutely no adjustment to my schedule and instead counted on my infallible sense of direction and inante understanding of the layout and character of Boston. As it happens, it worked out. I discovered the building we were meeting at (Winter Place, off of Winter Street, off of Summer Street, tucked behind a bank, jewelry store, and bagel place) just in time to direct two of my coworkers who I spotted wandering around still searching.

The day began with an introduction from the head of our two-person training department. Everyone hates this guy. He is tall, good-looking, and acts as though all the world has paid good money to see him perform. He acts as though he disdains you, them, the "ordinary people" and nothing is important unless he said it.

After introducing our first speaker he moved to the back of the room to relax and call out sarcastic remarks during the presentation. Later he would drop copies of slides, training procedures, and a few financial exercises on our tables as he continued to speak over the presentation, never looking any one in the eye, because, clearly, no one was important enough to warrant his attention.

His was the name I would give later as an answer to the question "If you could take a swing at anyone here, who would it be?" (I was actually the first to ask the question in a not-so-subtle attempt to find others who shared my dislike for the head of the training department - there were many).

After our second or third presentation we were told the next two presenters had both flown out to New York for client meetings. This earned us a long lunch. Later when the final two presenters didn't show they let us take off.

The grand induction was supposed to last until five, followed by an office-wide barbecue and open bar reception at the Aquarium. We got out at three. As we left the conference space the fourteen of us new guys being inducted quickly banded together, took a quick poll, and decided not to go back to the office for two hours.

Had the presenters been able to see us then I imagine they would have praised our teamwork and ability to come to a decision and stick to it.

So I walked around the city for an hour or so. Government Center, Fanueil Hall, and so on. I enjoyed a few street performances, and grabbed a cup of iced coffee, and then decided to head down to the Aquarium to scope it out.

On my way I remembered that my brother was working that day on the harbor cruises, so I swung by the boats to say hi. He asked what I was doing, I told him I was just killing some time before the party. He suggested a harbor cruise.

So I took one. And it was gorgeous out on the water.

Forty-five minutes later I was back at the Aquarium and who do I spot sitting in a bar across the street but six of my fellow inuctees who had foregone the "walking around the city" and "harbor cruise" and gone straight to "drinking for money before drinking for free." We all headed over to the barbecue.

I must say that I was very dissapointed in the barbecue. I was told it would be an open bar. Apparently the company big wigs do not understand the fundamental difference between "open bar" and "beer and wine." Drinkers of the world, you hear what I'm talking about. "I don't see any Jack Daniels," I would say to the bartender. "I'm sorry, we have either beer or wine, no hard liquor. Would you like some Amstel Light?"

WTF, mate.

If I had known that there would be zero hard liquor I would absolutely packed accordingly (a flask of Johnny Walker Red). Instead I had to content myself with Sam Adams, which is a real dissapointment when you've been looking forward to a nice evening of whiskey for two days.

The food wasn't bad.

At the barbecue I learned that I was not the only one who hated the training guy, that my manager only became a manager because he was the most senior member of the group when the job opened, not because he was the most qualified, or because he wanted the job. I learned that the VP the guys in the office most like to see is Jill from New York who makes a monthly visit to the Boston office. Half of the guys in the office are convinced they have a shot with her. I think she is totally out of their league.

I also learned that the whole crowd has little to no tolerance for alcohol. After two beers the entire place had goofy smiles pasted to their faces and were giggling like school girls at anything anyone said. Feel good times all around. This is certainly not the "drown your sorrows" attitude I saw at the old job.

As the barbecue wound down the Executive VP raised his hand and yelled "Everybody follow me, we're hitting the bars and putting it on the company card!" and like that the whole tent emptied for an impromtu pub crawl along the waterfront. I finally got the whiskey I'd been promised and was in time to see the Red Sox win in dramatic fashion.

I deem the night a success, and sitting here now I am amazed that three beers last night is enough to knock these guys out for work today.

If I have any lasting impact on this office, it should be turning these folks into real drinkers. That's not a bad legacy.

-t

in the spirit of lazy summer nights:
Led Zepplin, D'yer Maker

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

For sex or money?

Who does a guy have to pay off to get AIM on his computer around here?

This is not an angry rant, nothing of the kind. Coming in I knew the INTERNET was expressly forbidden. I accepted this, grieved, and tried to move on.

Happily, a few days hours after I started working I learned that the policy about internet browsing is paid lip service only, and if you are compelled to check your fantasy line-up the very moment you get in to work because who knows which A-list, must-acquire, talent may have become available in the thirty-minute train ride to the office, that's ok.

So I've been surfing the net since. Mostly I've been surfing and resurfing the same old waves because as much as I'd like to explore other coves and inlets to find new and better breakers, the fear that the new waves could be brightly-colored, loud, contain offensive material, pictures, pop-up ads, or ocean-disabling viruses, keeps me trolling the same old spots.

But that's not really the point. Exploration is happening, but at a tedious pace. The point is that ten minutes ago I got up to grab a free soft drink and glanced at the computer screen of the guy who sits directly across the aisle from me upon which I noticed A GIANT INSTANT MESSAGING WINDOW!

I don't even have access to change the system clock on my desktop, I am totally unable to install third party software. I am not an administrator, nor have I stolen their passwords. There is no AIM in Mudville.

This other guy though, I can only surmise he has special connections with the IT group that earn him AIM privileges, new cd drives, and pretty nice-looking (sounding?) speakers.

So all I'm saying is, if it's expressly forbidden unless IT is your buddy... who do I have to pay off?

-t

recommended downloads:
Midtown, Empty Like The Ocean
Morcheeba, Daylight Robbery
Rautakoura, Ruutitynnyri (you might have to google that one)

Definitely not a cult

Tomorrow is Induction Day. Are you excited?

I am. A day long event full of philosophies, strategies to succeed, and pro-company propaganda.

After that they're hosting a barbecue.

But really, I swear it's not a cult. There are no uniforms, no ritualistic chanting, and the only drinks served at these things are alcoholic.

-t

p.s. updated links sections. did you notice?

Monday, June 26, 2006

In the corner pocket

Friday was my first night out with this new office gang. You may remember some of the stories about drinking with the old office gang. All of those stories were about how much I hated them.

This story is a little different. First, everyone shows up, the whole office, and after about an hour the group starts to break up.

At the old place this meant the old married people would go home, the young single people would go home, and the old single people would stay to get hammered and try to hook up. Watching drunken thirty-somethings groping each other in public is not my idea of a good time.

Here though, at the new place, after about an hour it was the old married people and the old single people that left, and all the young people stayed.

Doesn't that make more sense? Yes. It does.

So we played pool, all of us in the same age group, and not for money because it turns out one of my coworkers and his fiance are pool sharks and could beat everyone else even while one-handed, drunk, and blind-folded. Nevertheless, it was fun to play. I'm pretty sure I was holding my own until about the sixth Johnny Walker.

And when I say "holding my own" I mean I lost two games for every win, and that's not counting the three I lost scratching on the break. And when I say "sixth" I mean "I think it was the sixth, but I lost count about the same time."

Right, that's another thing, is drinking Johnny Walker really a big deal? I was the only guy at the bar who wasn't drinking drafts which elicited a few questions:

"What are you drinking?" they would say.
"Johnny Walker" I would say, or "Whiskey"
and they would say
"WOW."

Really? Big deal? I drink it because I like the taste. I wasn't drinking it straight, I wasn't throwing it down one-after-the-other. Is there something I should know?

Anyway, after about the sixth or so I stopped making quite as many shots and also stopped caring about the game.

Then later I went home. It was a late night, I think, but it was a lot of fun.

I had intended this post to be more substantial, I don't know what happened...

-t

recommended download
J.G. Thirwell, The Venture Bros. Closing Theme (available at adultswim.com

Friday, June 23, 2006

Two for the road

Last night I participated in a focus group focussed on the popular opinion of a prominent product, and the opinion of the marketing for that product.

The product? Beer.

I arrived at the designated office at the appropriate time, signed in, and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

They had piped-in elevator music IN THE ELEVATOR.

I would have ridden that elevator to the top floor of the building if I could have. That was practically the highlight of my whole night. An elevator, with music, I thought those had become extinct in the modern age.

I say it "would have" been the highlight of the night because when I got up to the focus group they provided the actual highlight: Free Beer.

That's right. I was asked to participate in a group to talk about beer, and in return I was given $70 cash money, elevators with music, and free beer.

We sat around, the six of us in the focus group, assigning personalities to different beer brands, talking about our tastes, likes and dislikes, and sipping on cold beers that come in green bottles from other countries.

It was not a bad way to spend a thursday evening in the summer when there is no Red Sox game on.

The only better way to spend a weekday evening in the summer is to pitch the game of your life in wiffleball, which is what I had already accomplished on Wednesday, the day before the beer study.

I had every one of my pitches working for me: curve, sinker, knuckleball, riser, slider, knuckle-curve, cutter, you name it, I was throwing it, and throwing it for strikes.

I pitched a two-hitter through twenty-two innings. The game was tied at sunset the end of regulation, but we kept playing, because you can't end in a tie.

The game went for six more innings through dusk/twilight/navyblue without any runs scoring, and we still kept playing after pitch dark. When it was physically impossible to see the ball, the strike zone, or the other fielders we finally suspended the game on accoun of darkness.

A 1-1 tie through (approximately) thirty-seven innings. I'd given up five hits, and struck out sixty-eight batters (we play two outs an inning, there were four ground outs).

I'd be making millions in the big leagues if I could throw a baseball half as well as I can throw a wiffleball.

Instead, I got a night off, seventy bucks, and some free beer.

and don't forget the elevator music.
-t

recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, My Wasted Friends
Morcheeba, Everybody Loves A Loser
Bowling For Soup, Almost

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Dependant Personality

I'm in the midst of a personal crisis: My iced coffee doesn't taste good.

There's nothing wrong with the coffee, it's the tried-and-true Dunkin' Donuts blend, no, I think it's me.

I used to be addicted to the stuff, a heavy drinker, six cups a week, or ten smalls (because the paper cups are better for the environment). And it did become a problem - not the expense, not coffee breath, nothing like that. It was a problem because I am apparently accutely susceptible to caffeine dependence.

Drinking coffee wasn't the problem. Stopping was.

It got so bad that if I missed a day without coffee a migraine would set in turning my formerly caffeine-saturated brain into a head-sized Io, on of Jupiter's small moons, breaking apart and erupting molten material from the inner core due to intense tidal forces brought on by the gas giant's gravitational pull.

I recognized that I had to cut back, way back. So I did. It wasn't easy. Friends and family sometimes refer to this stretch of my life as "the lost period." The first few weeks were spent just surviving crash after crash after crash, like trying to coax a day or two, just a few more hours out of that college laptop from Gateway running Windows ME so you could try and back up your research papers and mp3s to an external hard drive.

After that it got harder, I would snap at people, cursing and sniping and being generally unpleasant, disagreeable, and mean.

But I made it through. I stopped drinking coffee almost altogether. I was a new man. My average heart rate dropped by ten beats per minute. My hands stopped shaking. My eyes changed color from hazelnut back to blue. I vowed to never fall into the trap again.

Now, years later, I do still imbibe in the occassional caffeinated beverage. But now I have limits. I have become much more of a social drinker. If I'm out with friends I will let myself enjoy a coffee. Never two in one night, never more than three in an eight day span. I never order a large, and only order a medium if I'm eating something solid with it.

Lately, though, things have been sliding a little. The new job starts earlier but I haven't adjusted my schedule yet. It means earlier mornings and late nights, which means I'm not fully awake in the mornings. I made the mistake of turning to caffeine.

I swore I wouldn't. That I didn't need it. That I wouldn't use caffeine as a wake-up. But I did. And now I sit here, with my iced coffee in hand, tasting bitterness, cream, and unflavored, watered-down coffee.

It's horrible.

I need to get back to where I was. Back to where I can appreciate coffee. Because if I keep drinking it I'm going to descend into pandemonium, and if I ever want to come back out it will mean migraines, and volcanoes, anger, furious anger.

This is a cry for help. Somebody stop me.
-t

recommended downloads:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, Heroin
The Velvet Underground, Heroin
The Dandy Warhols, I Never Thought You'd Be A Junkie (Because Heroin Is So Passe)

In the interest of interesting reading

I read a ton of blogs in the morning. I get to work, open my email, then start clicking links.

After a while I start to thinkg "I enjoy reading these, I should update my own blog so that others can enjoy reading it."

Then I try for three hours to come up with something to say. Usually I end up talking about how bad my posts have been lately, or my beard, or how good I look (usually the beard posts do not coincide with the looking good posts).

So today, after staring at my screen trying to unsuccessfully exercise the creative/witty/cohesive-narration part of my brain I realized this:

In order to write a good post I should take some time each day to reflect on life; the important things, the not so important things, and the really important things that don't seem very important at the time but upon further consideration reveal themselves - the sheep in wolf's clothing of things - or is it wolf in sheep's clothing? I don't know analogies.

Then I realized that the only things I have to reflect on are (1) work, (2) sitting around at home watching television, or (3) last night's main event: sitting around watching the dog sitting around staring at the clock.

Really. She was fascinated by the second hand.

So, unless I experience some spontaneous burst of creativity, inner-sight, or a cocaine habit, you can expect more of the same.

Maybe later I'll write about something exciting, like punctuation.

-tgme


recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, I Don't Want What You Got (Goin' On)

Monday, June 19, 2006

Scruff

It's an exciting time in the world of sports: a controversial time-out call in game five of the NBA championships could be the difference in the series; Edmonton has gone from "about to be swept" to "totally dominating" in the last two games against Carolina in the NHL finals, and has forced a Game 7; and, of course, the World Cup has captured the hearts and minds of the United States just as it does every four years.

To make things even more exciting, I have decided to grow a playoff beard. Actually, it wasn't a real decision, I just stoped shaving for a few days.

But now, it's a decision, because I realized that the Oilers, Heat, and the US National soccer team haven't lost since I started growing the beard.

I stopped shaving, they stopped losing.

Now, some of you may find this a bit unsettling. Let me put your fears to rest: I will shave eventually, so don't worry about it.

Unless the US keeps not-losing. Then I might pull the old amp out of the closet, dust off my shades, and start that ZZ Top cover band I've always dreamnt of.

-t

recommended download:
Ryan Adams, The Bar Is A Beautiful Place

Thursday, June 15, 2006

I don't need to work hard, once I make it I will. What's wrong with that?

I don't like reading the blogs written by successful people. I'm perfectly content spending my time thinking about all the wonderful success that awaits me "sometime in the future" I don't need to be reminded that other people have already made it.

I also don't need to be reminded that those other people have been working hard for years to get where they are.

A kid I graduated high school with was just named Director of Operations for a professional sports team - and no, not some lame professional sport where that doesn't mean anything like MLS or MLL (lacrosse) - a real professional league.

Sure, he's maybe the most diligent worker I've ever met in my life and has been so singularly focussed on establishing himself in the world of professional sports that I'm often surprised he remembers to eat every day, and he's been dedicated to this idea since he was eight, but he's twenty four years old.

Twenty-four. That's young. Think Theo Epstein. Think Dougie Howser.

Ridiculous.

And I'm sitting here thinking "Yeah, in a year and a half I'll have that sort of success too. My book will be a best seller." or "My company will be making millions." or "I'll be on my third screenplay for Paramount." or "My hit tv show will be in its second season." or "I'll be a household name."

Nevermind that in order to accomplish any of those things THE THING I NEED TO NOT BE DOING RIGHT NOW is wasting my time at a stupid job AND POSTING BLOG ENTRIES THAT HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN PROOFREAD never mind thought-out, well-planned, or edited.

If I don't actually start to do SOMETHING then that "success two years down the road" will always be two years down the road.

On the other hand I'm totally telling everyone I know that this kid just got named Director of Operations because, seriously, that kicks ass.

-t

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

I am the only person I know who posts before 11:30 AM. More of you need to start doing that.

Today I am wearing black shoes, black socks, charcoal-colored Dockers flat-front chinos, a maroon shirt with charcoal-colored buttons and the sleeves rolled up, and I look awesome.

The only way I could possibly look more awesome is if maybe the shirt didn't have a few wrinkles because I was too tired to care that much about ironing this morning.

Yesterday my funds both tied out for the first time since I've started this job. I was done working by about eleven thirty, and spent the rest of the day watching World Cup soccer (hence the preceding WC rant ). Today I am trying to keep my eyes open for large rubber bands. The kind used to keep stacks of manilla folders, ot inter-office envelopes together.

I plan on collecting many of these rubber bands and then making a long chain of them, like you used to when you were a kid, with those fabric loops. You loop one over the fingers of one hand, then loop another over, then lift the loops of the first over the second, and then repeat that a hundred times.

The fabric loops also made great potholders if you had that potholder frame and could figure out how to loop the ends and tie a knot that wouldn't come undone.

Seriously, we made, like, a billion potholders when we were kids. Great fun for mindless hours of summer vacation!

So I'm thinking I can duplicate that sort of chain if I find enough of these rubber bands. Then I'll have an elastic chain which is the first part in what will become an office-supply-a-pult.

-t

recommended download:
Under the Influence of Giants, Mama's Room

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

News from the underground

Ok, just before I left my old job the group structure looked a little like this:

management:
hypermanager & the kid that I hate

then

seniors:
me, the vietnamese girl, & the quiet girl

then

rank and file:
lurch, pony boy, the stupid kid, the bible guy,
& the kid that I didn't hate


I left, and the vietnamese girl left, the kid that I hate transferred to another group.

All of our funds were passed down to the rank and file, and all other responsibilities were passed up to the quiet girl and hypermanager. They both were recently promoted one step each.

I have just learned that the kid I didn't hate is leaving that group on friday. I have also learned that pony boy is sick and tired of assuming more and more responsibility and wants to get the hell out. He is interviewing all week.

The group has not picked up any new employees. When they both are gone the group will look like this:

management:
senior hypermanager, quietmanager

rank and file:
lurch, bible guy, the stupid kid

You might be able to look back through the archives and find a post or two where I state that I hope the group goes down in flames after I left it.

It has.
-t

It's certainly not the flu...

I'm feeling a little light-headed. I've been sitting here at my desk typing with clammy hands, alternately feeling hot and feeling chills, and I was thinking to myself, what am I coming down with? I figured it out...

WORLD CUP FEVER!!

Ugh. Honestly. I have been trapped here at my desk forced to watch the games as they are aired on ESPN2. I do not hate this, in fact, I can get behind any sporting event that has a modicum of strategy, skill, talent, excitement, or worldwide implications.

I'm telling you: I could watch the world championship polo match and not hate it.

But, just because I'm watching it and not hating it doesn't mean it couldn't be better.

First: It is terrifically hard to get behind a sport where the expected outcome is a 0-0 tie.

A TIE.

Sports should have winners (and losers).

I'm not saying the 0-0 France/Switzerland game wasn't exciting, I'm saying if maybe it was a little easier to score then you can look forward to a last minute goal. Buzzer-beaters in NBA and college hoops are ridiculously exciting, but in World Cup soccer everyone, even the players, seem to resign themselves to not scoring past the eighty-seventh minute.

Which brings me to another thing -

Second: Count DOWN, please. Why do Europeans count up? These are the people that invented, and then perfected, time-keeping devices, so I get that they like time, but why, for Pete's sake, do they count up?

Looking at a clock that reads 78:52 doesn't mean anything to me. We were watching a match earlier and someone asked how much time was left. That shouldn't be a question I have to do math to answer. Really, go ahead, figure it out. Wouldn't it be easier just to see that information displayed?

Just start the clock at 90:00 and let the time tick away. Watching strikers race toward the opposing goal while the clock ticks up can't possibly be as exciting as watching them race with mere seconds remaining, can it?

Would Jack Bauer ever have to disable a bomb that was counting UP to the explosion?? No.

Third: This is the last bit, and it's for ESPN - can you please use your stupid little info blurbs to reveal information that is actually relevant to the game we're watching? You know you're broadcasting to an American audience that doesn't care. Maybe you should try involving them, and explaining a little of the game while the match is going on.

What's that yellow arm-band mean? Is there a difference between a free kick, and a corner kick? How and when can players be substituted, do they need to wait for a whistle, like basketball, or can they change on the fly, like hockey? I get that a yellow card is bad, but how bad, and what determines when one is given? Finally, WHO THE HELL ARE THESE TEAMS?

You should be able to find someone in the soccer-loving rest-of-the-world who can draw some parallels for this United States audience. "France plays a lot like the Dallas Mavericks, they are outside shooters who concentrate on offense, whereas Brazil plays like the Miami Heat, they've got two big go-to guys, and a third guy who'll remind you of Dwayne Wade, plays offense and defense, and makes everyone around him better."

ESPN, you're blowing your opportunity to highlight the crazy characters you know we love. Where are the human interest pieces about the players with dyed hair, crazy nicknames, flamboyant behaviour, and on-field rivalries? Where are the sideline interviews with coaches and players, and where are the roving reporters you usually send out into the stands to interview crazy fans?

AND SHOW MORE INSTANT REPLAYS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. Your camera angles cover about fifty yards at a time, you can't show a little picture-in-picture replay action in slow-mo? Come on.

And, oh yeah, where are Alexi Lalas and Mia Hamm? GET THEM INTO THE STUDIO FOR SOME COMMENTARY.

It's not bad. But it could be better.


-t

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Cover This

This is a song I hated in high school.

Much later I heard a live recording and found a new appreciation for the song, the group, and their music.

I've heard a lot of covers. Matchbox 20's lead singer Rob Thomas defined a cover once, at a live show, as a song you wish you'd written yourself.

This is the first, very cool, spoken word cover I've heard. And it's pretty cool.

And when you're done with that...

recommended download:
U2, Sunday, Bloody Sunday
O.A.R. with Matt Nathanson, Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Evergreen Terrace, Sunday, Bloody Sunday
Pillar, Sunday, Bloody Sunday
The Living End, Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Friday, June 09, 2006

Preferred

I prefer Dunkin' Donuts coffee to Starbucks.
 
I prefer backpacks to briefcases.
 
I prefer wearing jeans and a t-shirt with running shoes, to wearing a suit.
 
I prefer baseball to soccer.
 
I prefer IM conversations to email or phone conversations.
 
I prefer comedy to drama.
 
I prefer wiffleball to badminton.
 
I prefer racquetball to squash.
 
I prefer not working to working.
 
I prefer sleeping to getting up before eight thirty a.m.
 
I prefer MarioKart 64 to MarioKart DS.
 
I prefer fiction to nonfiction.
 
I prefer Bucky Katt to Garfield.
 
I prefer subtitles to dubbing.
 
And I'd rather be wise than dead.
 
-t
 
recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, I Will Let You Down

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Six of one

I'm writing to let you all know that I've been conversing via email with John, Samantha, Lindsay, and Donny today. I have twenty emails in my inbox containing conversations about the following:


(1) the price of a vodka tonic, the famed Russian proclivity for vodka, and comments on the modern ingredients and method of making vodka with an opinion on where the best vodkas now come from;



(2) foosball, origins of, possible derivations for the name foosball, a brief history of the game and a link from google to some interesting websites dedicated to the topic;



(3) criteria that make a bar a good place for a company function, including but not limited to foosball, low level lighting, an attractive waitstaff, cheap drinks and tvs;


(4) talk about new jobs, both my own and other people's;


(5) tentative travel plans for September;


(6) discussion and clarification of Donny's eyelash injury.


So riddle me this:


Besides the automatic company instituted archival procedure that will lock these conversations up in a dedicated encrypted server for the next fifteen years so the IT department, or government, or outside auditors can amuse themselves by reading them sometime in the future - how is this any different from Instant Messaging?


-t


P.S. How many of you out there read the title "six of one" and thought to yourself "Is this post about the Borg? Because the title sounds like 'Seven of Nine' and she was a Borg, though, it actually reverses the naming protocol." ?


Those of you with your hands raised are nerds.


P.P.S. How many of you read that post script and thought "Man, Seven of Nine was the lamest character ever. You want a cool Borg you should pick Hugh or Locutus from Star Trek: The Next Generation because those guys kicked ass."


You folks are double nerds.


RECOMMENDED DOWNLOAD: (I'm serious here guys)

The Ike Reilly Assassination, My Wasted Friends

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

bona fide

I take it on good faith that things are going to work out, that they're going to be ok.

I'm just letting you know.

Also, I had a really great idea for a web comic that I can't execute because I no longer own a copy of photoshop. I remember when Adobe was charging four hundred dollars for a six hundred dollar piece of software. Now they're charging seven hundred bucks for a piece of software of which I will only use about four hundred dollars worth.

But it would have been the best kind of web comic. The kind that isn't really funny, isn't updated consistently, and seems to have server issues or problems with image hosting every other week or so.

-t

recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination:
Garbage Day, I Don't Want What You Got,22 Hours of Darkness, and Heroin

Friday, June 02, 2006

So you won't say I didn't warn / invite you

I mentioned this in the second half of a previous post. Now I'm giving it it's own:

You Are Invited!

what: Open House
when: Saturday, June 10th begining at two o'clock
where: my house

There will be food, and fun, and all that jazz, but you should be concerned primarily with these two facts:

There will be ping pong. There will be beer.

-t