Eau de toilette
February 11, 2010 // Link
“Do you know what homeopathy is?” she asked.
“Sure, it’s the idea that water can ‘remember’ trace molecules of wolf’s bane but always completely forgets the pounds and pounds of pooh that’s been in it.”
I didn’t make a new friend today.
Another suburban family morning
February 12, 2010 // Link
I just learned about the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, and now it seems like everyone is talking about it.
Taking the red pill
February 17, 2010 // Link
Ever have a day where you wished you could just wake up, Matrix style?
Sure: human-battery slave, I get that. Really I do. But still, fresh start, you know?
Written out
February 20, 2010 // Link
I made the right decision recently. Thanks to a pal, I had snagged a job writing dialogue for an upcoming video game. Great pay, interesting premise — a pretty good gig overall.
But I quit.
I can’t go into details about why I walked away: I’d signed an NDA, and I stick by my promises. But I can say the game company announced a policy that I disagreed with, morally. It wasn’t a “we eat kittens” policy, but it was a “we hate our customers” policy. I can’t even describe the policy itself, because that might clue you into which game company it is.
I was sorry to bail on my friend, who set me up with the project. Here’s a non-NDA-breaking snippet from my letter to her:
I’m a put-my-money-where-my-mouth is kinda guy. I boycott evil corporations, I vote with my purchases, and I generally try to be a good fellow with a (relatively) clear conscience. I don’t drive a hybrid, but I also don’t invest in tobacco companies, so I’m flawed but trying to do my best. And I just don’t want my name on a product with [insert evil policy here]. The guy in my mirror doesn’t look like a guy who would support something like that.
So I lost out on having my name on a potential video game blockbuster, as well as the highest per-word fee ever offered. But even so, I’m happy I gave up that sweet writing gig. Not often you can say that.
Circular impression
December 31, 1969 // Link
Oh Twitter, I’ve always loved your easy interface, and your complete lack of Facebook’s oh-so-annoying applications. Any place where there aren’t a hundred people asking me for help with their virtual farms is a good and proper place.
But collecting endless reams of “followers” is like needing everyone to sign your yearbook. Where I come from, a book filled with scrawls of “have a nice summer” doesn’t mean you are popular. It means you’re in the chess club. Believe me, I know; I’m chess club personified.
[aside]
Ironically, I’ve never actually been very good at chess. What’s up with that?
[end of aside]
Twitter, how can I put this delicately? I just don’t like the other people you’ve invited to your party. Some of my friends are here, and they’re fun. But you swung the doors wide and invited in every marketing bozo in a cheap suit.
And they showed up with brochures for timeshares, and joy buzzers, and karaoke machines with all the lyrics replaced by ad jingles. Plus all they do is quote each other, over and over.
And almost every single one of them is in a pyramid scheme.
I could go on, but I think you see where I’m coming from. It was lovely to see you, and the party started off great, but your friends and my friends just don’t get along. Frankly, your friends are assholes.
Sorry Twitter, it’s time for me to move on. It’s not you, it’s me.
Wait, no. It’s you.