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Showing posts from April, 2015

Time Not Found: The Deeper Meaning

Earlier today (shortly after 4PM) I posted the following pic on Instagram and BaceFook. The caption on the pic was "Time not found" with the hashtag of #geekhumor. 
What's funny to me is that I only expected a handful of my geeky friends to like it. You see, when you browse on the interwebs and try to go to a URL (or web page) that isn't there, you get an HTTP://404 error and usually that means "Page Not Found." So...at 4:04, I took the pic. Only it was 4:04. Like the time that was supposed to be on my phone wasn't found.
I'm not sure how many people got it. Then I started looking at some of my friends who clicked 'like' and started wondering why they did so (I would not have pegged some of them for geeks).  So, maybe that's one of those things that is so commonplace now since so many people have such online/connected lives that it's moved from the realm of geek humor to mainstream reference.  I'd like to think not, but it's…

Holding Pattern

It's not that I don't have shit percolating up there in my brain bucket. I do. But sometimes, I think to myself...jeebus...with all the crazy shit going on in our world right now, do people want to really stop and read about how trying to find the right messenger bag is the thing that's got me in a tail spin right now?

And to be fair...it's not really a tail spin. It's just one of my little...erm...compulsions...obsessions, if you will. There are certain things I find myself unable to actually let go of. Like the concept that there has to be a perfect back pack for me (there is. It's here). Or the perfect iPad Mini case (Still looking, but the Clam Case is pretty darn close).

And then there's the messenger bag.

There will be a post about it. Because I'm one of those fucked up individuals who can't actually let something go. I try. But there's a piece of it that still eats away at me until I find someway to release it.  This was an interesting re…

Random Meanderings Ad Infinum And Beyond

I have (I am most certain) posted other entries on this blog over the course of it's life entitled "Random Meanderings." In fact, the blog itself used to bear that very name.

It was one of the more basic titles (and likely the most accurate) that it has had over the 7 years it's been alive.

I posted the following status message on BaceFook:


I have often wondered if strippers actually like when guys 'make it rain' with the dollar bills. Or are they like, "jeesh. thanks asshole. There's something else I have to clean up."
I don't necessarily feel that post needs any clarification. However, it amused me to see the conclusion people jumped to (whether in truth or truth hidden in the barb).

Fact is...I was not at a strip club when I came up with that post. Haven't been to one in easily 15 years. Have I been to Gentlemen's Clubs? No. I've been to strip clubs. Two, actually. Working class dives, not teh touristy out of towner types. If …

The Hook

John Popper says that the hook brings you back. So what, dear reader, brings you back?

Is it that you---wait.

Did I just fucking do that? Did I start with a quote by a 'famous' person? Oh Mrs. Maser, I'm sorry. I know how you admonished against such contrived devices in support of an otherwise sound thesis (although, how sound could it have been if I needed to quote someone other than me?).

Sorry. Where was I? Oh. Yeah. You. What brings you back? Is it that you read this and feel as though we are having a conversation? To let you in on a secret, we are. I know a few people who have flat out told me that they read my blog whenever they can. I am always somewhat surprised and humbled by that. But those handful are the ones I imagine I am conversing with. Which is to say..you. I hear your responses in my head.

Are you fucking kidding me with this? How can you possibly know what we'd say back to you? Well...I don't. But I don't know that it actually matters. I'm…

A Glitch In The Matrix

This is going to be a quick hit because, quite honestly, I'm engrossed in a book and I want to get back to it.

Not writing it, but reading it. Although, I've just taken something for my back, so I may be coming back to writing later tonight anyway, because somehow it's fun when I'm not entirely sober and overthinking things. The meds dull my self-deprecation just enough to be useful. Not that I'd make a habit of them. I typically don't take anything, but today the neck was not about to let me be.

ANYWAY...that's not why I came.

Something hit me.

I'm reading Ready Player One, the book I just can't put down and the quote to start the second part of the book hits me like a rock.

"I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal."--Groucho Marx


Flash back in my brain to a scene in The Matrix.  They are driving on the way to meet the Oracle. Neo has already been unplugged and 'awakened' so to speak.…

Epic Weekend...For Reals This Time

It's no secret that I had something of a shitty week at work last week. Actually, maybe that is a secret to most because I try not to make a habit of bitching about things on bookFace, and I damn sure don't bitch about specifics of my job on this blog (which, even though it has the benefit of security by obscurity, is still less locked down than my FB feed). I don't think either of those things are productive nor, in the end, healthy.

Suffice to say, though, that last week had some serious what the fuck just happened moments (and not in a good way).  By the time Friday rolled around, I was most definitely ready for the weekend. I was most definitely up for whatever. And up for shit to be epic.

I was not disappointed.

I left early (5PM) on Friday and headed to bowling. On the way, I got a call from the Laser Spine Institute. I had called them to see what it would take to actually get a laser spine. I would never be as cool as a flying shark with a laser on its back, but hey…

Quick Hit Then Back To Work

I'm reading a lot about what it takes to make it as a writer.

And what's funny is that it all boils down to basically the same thing.

Read. A lot. Read every fucking thing you can whether it's the genre you intend to 'make it' in or not.
Write. Write every damn day. Write even if it sucks. Because the more you write the less it will suck.

So...that's what I've been trying to do. On days I don't write. I try to read. I need to do better about writing every day even if it's only these bullshit blog posts that like..what...7 people read?

I did. I know more people read these than that. And that's kind of cool (and slightly  oh geez...you read THAT?!) to me.

What's funny to me is that the perception that making it as a writer is easy. Easier say than making it as an actor or rock drummer.   It's not. There are very few rock star authors. Am I going to be one of them? Fuck man. I don't know. I don't have a clue. I'm gonna just writ…

Apple vs. Android

I'm going to start this post by saying quite simply: I don't care.

A friend of mine posted on the bookfacer about issues she was having with her phone. It looks as though she may have inadvertently started a Apple vs. Android debate. I chimed in with my 2 cents. I told her that I went to iPhone 3 years ago and haven't looked back.

I'm not an Apple lover. I'm not an Android Hater. I'm not firmly ensconced in any OS's camp. I was brought up on DOS, but also used AppleII at school. I had a Commodore Vic20 but also used the crap out of my friend's Tandy. I had a PowerBook about 15 years ago until a friend dropped it rendering it useless. And I have had Windows PC's and laptops up until 2 years ago when I loaded Windows 8 on my Samsung i7 laptop and hated the user experience.

It's all about the user experience.

And the price.

Being artistic, growing up I bought in to the marketing hype that Apples were for creatives and IBMs were for business. So I a…

Dead Fish, Fat Pants, and Fat Heads

My fish died today. It was a betta fish that I had named "Tester." Tester was alive on Saturday when I was at work dealing with all of the fun stuff that had set my weekend askew to begin with.  This seemed like a perfect end to the weekend.

I came in to work this morning and went to feed Tester. Even going so far as to actually put food in. It was a good 3 minutes before I figured out he was actually dead.

That fucking figures.  I tried to give myself the pep talk about perspective, but nope. Wasn't working.

And then I realized that, no matter what role people place me in at work, I was in fact allowed to have a bad day. I was allowed to feel sadness. To react to bullshit with something other than a smile that said 'things are going to be alright.'

I'm not a fucking idiot. I know it's $5 fish. I know it can be replaced. But it wasn't really the fish. It was the routine. It was the surprise moments of joy. It was the ability to just watch Tester for a…