The latest Apple iPhone went on sale today, with all of the now typical hysteria and hyperbole.
People are sleeping in front of the Apple store? Oh. Again? Huh.
But it’s still news, man, gotta get some cameras down there to lock it all down for posterity. So future generations can look back and clearly see what a wiggly mass of stone cold geniuses we were.
Sorry, I had to channel my inner Emily Litella for this one (kids, go ahead and Google that name). I know we’re all human and therefore susceptible to trends and peer pressure, but this ice water/bucket mania sweeping the Western world feels like more of a desperate look at me kind of thing than it does anyone really caring about what the stunt is supposed to “raise awareness” for. WATCH THIS! SOMEONE IS POURING WATER ON ME! THAT’S HOW MUCH I CARE!
All the Cons with their sold-out convention centers full of unwashed masses engaging in elaborate cosplay – I have to say, I don’t get it.
Okay, that’s not completely true. I do understand why some young men might enjoy going to these things…
My hair is long, as it often tends to be, and lately I’ve been letting my beard grow. It’s been doing its own thing for almost five months, so it’s about as long as it’s ever been. Unlike (some of) the hair on my head, the beard is almost all white. I wear jeans every day, and usually a t-shirt, sometimes a shirt that buttons up, if there’s a meeting or I want to look like what passes as professional in my business. That doesn’t take much.
People love to read lists, it’s a scientific fact!
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Have you seen “The Holstee Manifesto”?
Holstee is a company – oh, sorry, I mean a group of “cyclists, illustrators, surfers, builders, yogis, pizza-lovers, climbers, and creators” – who sell $36 posters (plus $10.54 shipping) and $4 dollar a pop inspirational/aspirational note cards (six to a pack, $10.54 shipping).
So if you need, say, a big green number eight for your wall, and you have $50 in your budget for big green numbers, they can hook you up.
You probably know a guitar player. They are everywhere, like ants or citrus fungus. You can’t stretch your legs without kicking a guitar player. If that guitar player plays an electric guitar, odds are they have at least one effects pedal (and if they have one they probably have half a dozen). Guitarists call these effects stomp boxes, because they sit on the floor and you, well, stomp on them to turn them on and off.
Well, this is funny.
Clicked link in a guardian article. Led to a bukowski blog, which featured a rude commenter, His profile led to website. Led to @mjpinLA.
— Patrick Delaney (@pxdelaney) April 30, 2013
I retired my HTC Android space phone after using it for a year. It did a lot of cool things. A lot of cool, unnecessary things. And it cost a lot of money. Money that was ultimately wasted because I never used any of those cool, unnecessary things.
I mean, not never. I did use two apps quite a bit. The Chase bank app for depositing checks, and the Fresh and Easy coupon app (because that’s where 99% of our food comes from). So the question was, is it worth a thousand dollars a year to deposit a check once a month and to avoid printing out some coupons?
I have another long post here that I have been waiting to publish. It’s called, The senseless, tragic rape of Charles Bukowski’s ghost; John Martin speaks. It was meant to be the final part of the series (which was never meant to be a series in the first place) but I can’t bring myself to post it, so I think I’m going to mothball the thing.
The article, The senseless, tragic rape of Charles Bukowski’s ghost by John Martin’s Black Sparrow Press tells the story (read that first if you haven’t already), but for the curious there is an interesting bit of back-story.
In the 1990s I ran an artists/writers/photography site called smog.net, and it had a Bukowski section. The primary tool on the site was a works database. A pretty comprehensive resource, and a valuable tool for anyone who was researching, or simply curious about, Bukowski’s mountain of work.
Someone was talking about paper cutters today, and it brought back some unpleasant memories. For most of my life I worked at jobs that were dirty, difficult and dangerous.
I’m in the midst of a seemingly never ending task. A place I often find myself.
What makes my feeble mind encounter a ridiculous mound of sorting, scanning, building, fixing and otherwise general tedium and say, “There’s a great use of your time!”
If this stuff was really important, wouldn’t someone else have done it already?
If you’ve ever read anything by Charles Bukowski, you no doubt remember the feeling you had the first time you came across his work. For better or worse, Bukowski is one of those authors who you don’t easily forget or ignore. Very few people are ambivalent about him.
I am writing a book. I’ve written a few books, but this one is different. It’s really long.
It started as a short story about being on the road in a punk band, Sonny Vincent and The Extreme, back in 1980 and 81. One day I looked at it and thought, “I wonder what it would be like if I expanded this thing to cover my entire music career?” and now here I am, 106,000 words later, trying to beat the thing into submission.