Holy Jeebus!

“It’s not real”. Can’t stop posting...

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 09:34:58 -0500

“It’s not real”. Can’t stop posting Beardyman videos.

More Beardyman - the last 2 mins or so pure awesome.

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 20:36:00 -0500

More Beardyman - the last 2 mins or so pure awesome.

Love it. But, then, I get it. blueyesbrunet: Font geek. How...

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 21:48:59 -0500

Love it. But, then, I get it.

blueyesbrunet:

Font geek. How nerdy is it that I understand this and I’m not in the biz?

Another Reggie Watts Experience.

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 08:51:03 -0500

Another Reggie Watts Experience.

Reggie Watts, Wax and Wane. Max weirdness, mad skills. Long, but...

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 08:48:35 -0500

Reggie Watts, Wax and Wane. Max weirdness, mad skills. Long, but don’t miss the last minute.

Now there’s one I haven’t heard...

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 19:33:28 -0500

Now there’s one I haven’t heard before.
trawlingthegrey:

That’s unfortunate.

I think I worked there once. Or twice. meetingboy: Org chart...

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 11:07:29 -0500

I think I worked there once. Or twice.

meetingboy:

Org chart from Italy. Apparently their businesses run just like American ones.

found by @dj_akasha

Military interrogations have Miranda rights, too, dummies.

Sun, 14 Feb 2010 10:30:05 -0500

I was watching Meet the Press this morning, Rachel Maddow kept putting representative Aaron Schock (R-Illinois) on the spot and he kept throwing back the same tired Republican talking points that have all been proven wrong. Case in point:

Maddow: “What’s the basis of the assertion that reading someone their Miranda rights is unsafe? We did that with every single person who has been arrested on terrorism charges since 9/11. Nobody’s ever made an issue of it until the Obama Administration and this case with Abdul Mattoulah. Literally, what’s the problem with being read your rights that wasn’t the problem before?”

Schock: “Well first of all you suggested earlier that reading someone their Miranda rights has never indicated that they talk less to our intelligence forces..”

Maddow: “We’ve never heard that from the FBI.”

Schock: “The fact of the matter is we do know that after the Christmas Day bomber was read his Miranda rights that he did, in fact, stop cooperating with our intelligence.”

Maddow: “That’s not true, actually. I mean, it’s now what we know from the people who’ve been involved in it. The factual basis of these assertions is so thin.”

Anyway, I have a real question about the Miranda thing. The Department of the Army has something called Form 3881 - RIGHTS WARNING PROCEDURE/WAIVER CERTIFICATE. Here’s a link to the form (opens in a new window) - go read it and come back.

According to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, before someone is questioned, they have to sign that form, either preserving or waiving the rights indicated on the form, which are essentially the same as the Miranda rights. So not only do accused persons under military law have to be advised of these rights, they have to provide written proof that they were so advised, and written proof of whether or not they waive those rights.

So what the fuck does it matter whether a suspected terrorist is read his Miranda rights? With respect to Miranda rights, what difference does it make whether the accused is treated as a criminal or an enemy combatant?

Go register for LessConf2010 right now.

Wed, 03 Feb 2010 12:05:03 -0500

“A conference for entrepreneurs, marketers, designers, coders, business people, freelancers or anyone who wants to be inspired by amazing business people.”

A few months ago I attended a one-day conference here in town called LessConf put on by a local company and I wrote a rather lengthy blog post about it and why I enjoyed it so much. They’ve scheduled LessConf2010 for May 21-22 in Atlanta (2 days this year) and I’ve already registered to go. The price is a little higher this year, but still a very reasonable $402 during early registration. The lineup is still under wraps, but if it’s anything like last year it will be stellar.

They only have 250 seats. Go register now. You’ll really enjoy it, and I’ll buy you a beer while we’re there.

Allan has been posting up the videos of the presentations from 2009 to the Less blog, on a schedule that appears to match Scott Adams’ schedule for sending out Dilbert newsletters, that being “approximately whenever he feels like it”. I think at this point the only ones missing are the Gary Vaynerchuk presentation and the discussion panel, and I’m not sure if those are going up or not, but I’ve copied in the links to the others are below, in case you need more convincing.

Des Traynor & Eoghan McCabe

Kevin Hale

Colin Devroe

David Hauser

Jason Fried

Mike McDerment

Derek Sivers

Keep an eye on the Less blog to see if the GaryVee video shows up, cause it was great (as was the panel).

Awesome.

Thu, 21 Jan 2010 10:52:57 -0500

Awesome.

Bought a new HD TV and had to draw myself a picture to get the...

Mon, 18 Jan 2010 11:53:28 -0500

Bought a new HD TV and had to draw myself a picture to get the wiring straight.

Jesus is Watching You

Wed, 13 Jan 2010 08:56:00 -0500

A joke, courtesy of my mom…

A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables when a voice in the dark said, ‘Jesus knows you’re here.’

He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight off, and froze. When he heard nothing more , after a bit, he shook his head and continued. Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard ‘Jesus is watching you.’

Freaked out, he shined his light around frantically, looking for the source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot.

Did you say that?’ he hissed at the parrot.

‘Yep’, the parrot confessed, then squawked, ‘I’m just trying to warn you that he is watching you.’

The burglar relaxed. ‘Warn me, huh? Who in the world are you?’

‘Moses,’ replied the bird.

‘Moses?’ the burglar laughed. ‘What kind of people would name a bird Moses?’

‘The same kind of people that would name a Rottweiler Jesus.’

A Christmas Tale

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 09:42:55 -0500

I’m one of those people - the ones who write a Christmas newsletter each year. However, with understanding that many people find this sort of behavior irritating, I do my best to spice the normal who-did-what up with humor. So, this is what went out this year…

It’s been a pretty quiet year. Cheryl was concentrating on school, taking three courses in the spring. Cayce was concentrating on the business, still trying to make a go of it. The kids were… um… honey, where are the kids?

I kid, of course. The kids had a good year, Eoin played another couple seasons of soccer, Aine tried it, but returned to gymnastics. Both are doing well in school. But, really… as we go back over the year there’s just not a lot that stands out in the “I can make that funny” sense. We’re just not quite in the holiday spirit. We sort of go through a cycle, I guess: two years on and one year off. We have a tree this year, but whether due to laziness or just being busy, we have utterly failed to roll out any outside decorations. The usual list Cheryl makes of what went on in the past year that prompts me on what to write has yet to materialize and, well it’s the 15th and there’s a deadline. So, I’ve given it a lot of thought (and by “a lot” what I mean is “very little”), and I’m just gonna tell you this story of my evening last night, and hope that you find it funny (cause it is).

The first sign of trouble greeted me as I walked through the door. As the story goes, to what do my wondering eyes should appear… In this case, what appeared was my wife, Cheryl. At the sink. With a plunger.

“We have a problem.”

The sink/disposal was clogged. A bucket-full of week-old spaghetti will do that. I’m pretty sure it was all a plot and that Cheryl actually boiled up extra spaghetti just for spite. She denies this, but I ask you: where’s that box of vermicelli, Cheryl? Where?

I poured half a bottle of Liquid Plumber into the water and we sat down to eat some tasty meatloaf and taters. And, hey - guess what? Liquid Plumber sucks eggs. Seriously. I have never, in all my 40 years, seen Liquid Plumber have any appreciable impact on a clogged drain. Ever. Ever. Friggin’ ever, I tell you.

So. Cheryl started pulling stuff out from under the sink and I got a bucket from the garage and prepared to drain everything and get at the problem.

Before we venture any further into the story, you should know that I have this thing. Everybody’s got their thing, right? Well, I’m no different. In high school and college I worked for a number of different restaurants, and I bounced around quite a bit among all the different jobs – busboy, barback, waiter, host, bartender, cook – basically every worker-bee restaurant job in existence. By far the least enjoyable job in a restaurant of any size is dishwasher. And the worst place to be a dishwasher? The Chili’s restaurant off of Old Keene Mill Rd. in Springfield, VA. In early 1987. Trust me on this, I tell no lies.

The dish area was configured so that you were blocked in on all sides - you actually had to go under one of the roller bars to get in there. The steam from the dishwasher rose through the half-eaten food on the dishes and enveloped you in a misty, soupy fog that permeated your clothes with wet stink and stayed in your pores through your next three showers. It was disgusting, and I was in there a couple times a week (though I was technically a busboy). I hated it, and to this day I get nauseous when I smell that wet food smell. I habitually rinse the food out of dishes left in the sink even though I’m not actually washing them or putting them in the dishwasher, and I badger Cheryl and the kids every time they don’t rinse theirs. So that’s my thing.

On with the story… of course, at this point you see where this is heading. There I am, sitting on the floor reaching under the sink, with the trap unscrewed, but contemplating the best way to dislodge it, knowing there was a gallon or so of warm, greasy, spaghetti-water up there in the sink, waiting patiently for it’s moment, it’s Big Hollywood Break, if you will. Do I just pull it away quickly, or try to angle one side down and away? Decisions, decisions.

In the words of a famous silly movie: I chose poorly. The best way to describe what happened next is that the sink drain burped on me. But not one of those little lady burps that squeak and everyone giggles. And not even one of those nasty, foul-smelling things I let go on Cheryl after eating radishes. This was the Merry Christmas burp: one-beer-too-many-and-there’s-no-more-room-at-the-inn. And guess what – I’m the barn.

I won’t disgust you with (any more of) the details. Suffice it to say that it was all I could do to keep Mr. Tasty Meatloaf and his date Miss Taters from trying to crash the party. Cheryl ran out of the room into the garage - I’m not sure if the smell got to her, I’d really like to think that was it, but I suspect that she actually went out there to laugh and snicker in private and compose herself before facing me. Meanwhile, the sink drained, I put everything back together and – still covered in sink burp – started to clean up the mess. Cheryl took the bucket outside to dump it and I started spraying everything down and mopping up.

The story doesn’t end there. The kids had been playing this whole time, I don’t know what they were playing, but I notice in retrospect that it had been a loud and raucous game, but we were too busy with the situation at hand to pay attention. Suddenly, Aine lets out a scream, and I hear a crash and look up to see Cheryl’s three-foot-tall and 2-foot-tall vases teetering towards me from the countertop. I manage to catch one, but not before it knocks the spice rack over and sends the marble mortar-and-pestle crashing into the dishes, while the other vase rolls off the counter in the other direction with a crunchy thump. Both kids are frozen in place, staring at me with eyes the size of saucers. Apparently, they had never actually seen steam come out of someone’s ears.

WHAT IN THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD OF SPORTS ARE YOU TWO DOING IN THERE?

That’s what I wish I’d said. What I really said was “WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING IN THERE?” This was in my loudest Daddy voice. Honestly, I do my best not to let loose with any blue language in front of the kids. At this point, however, my top was fully blown and I was mentally rehearsing Clark Griswold’s Christmas rant, just to make sure I had it straight should I need it. I continued to holler at them for a minute or so. When I finished, Eoin sort of choked up and ran to his room. Aine, often the tougher of the two in these situations, quietly headed over to the couch, but close to tears as well. So, you know: Mission Accomplished. I took a breath and finished spraying out the sink, called Eoin back in and told him to put all the spices back together, and went to take a much-needed shower, and a breather.

I’m skipping the part where I came back into the kitchen after my shower, reached into the fridge for something and knocked an almost-full glass jar of spaghetti sauce crashing to the floor, because that was just life laughing at me, and honestly if I told you about that you’d be convinced that I was making it all up.

When I came back to the kitchen I called Eoin in, gave him a hug and apologized for my outburst, and explained to him that maybe he should listen in the future when we tell them not to throw pillows in the living room. He agreed, and we both chuckled as the cat rolled around after some piece of fuzz or another. I called Aine in and gave her the same talk, but little miss tough-britches is no easy sell.

“Daddy, I think you were a little harsh on Eoin.” Always the protector, this one. Pity the girls that treat him badly in the future and have to answer to his wild little sister. I explained to her that everybody knows the house rules, and when you break the rules and bad things happen, well sometimes Daddy’s gonna yell.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to use a bad word.” She’s tearing up again at this point. I explained that I was pretty miserable at the time it all happened, and that sometimes people tip over in situations like that and lose a little control over what they say.

She wiped her face and looked me right in the eye, and said, “Well, there’s just no reason for it.”

And, well there you have it. How do you respond to a double-barreled take-down like that? And from an eight-year-old? I don’t know. I told her she could go back to the living room and she walked away without another word. It set me back something fierce, and I’ve been thinking about it all day, which is why you’re hearing about it now. There’s really no more point to it all beyond it’s kind of a funny story, and for whatever weird reason thinking about it all day resulted in this warm feeling about how much I love my family. We all have bad days, but when your little girl calls you to the carpet and essentially tells you to shape up, you can’t help but smile and move on. And, if nothing else nice happens for the next month, the thought of that alone will keep me happy through the holidays, even though we’re not quite in the spirit of the season.

So, if you are in the holiday spirit, more power to you. If you’re not, take comfort in the schadenfreude of my misery of last night. Either way, just know for sure that …

We wish you and yours the very best this holiday season, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Dividing by zero. Bad Idea.

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 14:54:00 -0500

Dividing by zero. Bad Idea.

The first concert I ever went to was Rush Signals in 1982. I had...

Sun, 13 Dec 2009 12:05:09 -0500

The first concert I ever went to was Rush Signals in 1982. I had just turned 13 and my older sister bought the tickets for my birthday. I guess she had noticed me wearing out the grooves in her copy of “Exit, Stage Left” (as well as this album and “Moving Pictures”).

As we pulled up to the Capital Center in D.C. we realized she had left the tickets at home, and we completely missed the opening act, whoever it was, going back to get them. It was awesome, and not just because my sister let me drink wine with her afterwards.

Anyway, how epically cool that when I asked Michelle to write something about Rush via Twitter, a) she actually did it, and b) this is the album she knows and writes about. She’s a great writer, I follow her on Twitter and really enjoy all her stuff.

feelgoodhits:

Rush - Subdivisions

While this tumblr is about my favorite songs, sometimes I take requests from people for songs/bands they want me to write about*. This one is for @yardboy.

Ahhhh, this will be fun.

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 21:49:47 -0500

Ahhhh, this will be fun.

Ordered a new wireless-n half-height mini card for my laptop....

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 19:53:50 -0500

Ordered a new wireless-n half-height mini card for my laptop. How fucking ridiculous is this?

"Blumpkin"

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 22:48:57 -0500

“Blumpkin”

- My favorite new word.

Kids are honest. Brutally so, sometimes. Go with it.

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 12:23:06 -0500

Kids are honest. Unless they’re talking about something they want, or something they did (or didn’t do), you can rest reasonably assured that whatever a kid under 12 tells you is the truth. They have no filter. If a kid tells you you’re fat, you are. If a kid tells you you’re ugly, well face it - you’re ugly. And if a kid tells you you’re Billy-Joel-ugly, but without the talent or fame, go ahead and smack him for being a rude little shit. After you do that, though, you should also give up hope of ever dating anyone remotely resembling Christie Brinkley (unless you are talented and/or famous).

Realistically speaking, though, these are things you already know. Take me, for instance. I’m fat. I know it. At a soccer practice some kid’s 3-yr-old sister comes over and says to me, “you have a BIG belly”. The kid’s mom, mortified, grabbed her daughter and started to scold her. The kid wasn’t doing anything wrong, she was just being honest. I told her mom “it’s okay, it’s not a secret” and she chuckled and relaxed a little.

The point is to not let it get to you. You know you’re ugly, or fat, or an asshole. I’ve never actually been called an asshole by a little kid, but I’ve seen it in their eyes. They’re thinking it, and the only reason they don’t say it is because they know they’ll get in trouble. Regardless, it’s true - I am, at times, a complete asshole. Especially to little kids, who are easy targets because they can’t really fight back.

Don’t fight the truth. Just admit it to yourself, embrace it and move on. One final example… My son (10 yrs old) was explaining to me something they’d been doing in art class, where they drew a portrait without looking at the page or lifting the pencil. He asked me if he could draw me and I told him no. He asked why not, and I answered “because I’m pretty ugly”. His response… “No, daddy, this would just be your face.” You know what I took away from it? My son thinks I’m a pretty good-looking guy. From the neck up.

I see what you did there.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 23:13:24 -0500

I see what you did there.