Someone who works here in the office has a body odor problem.
I mean, that’s not exactly accurate, is it? The person who stinks doesn’t have the problem, everyone else does. So we have a body odor problem, he doesn’t.
Which is apropos of nothing, but it got me thinking about how glad I am that I don’t manage people anymore. For many years I managed people in technical support, as many as 25 at any one time, and there’s nothing good about that job. Not a single thing.
Oh, when I first got the job I thought I was hot shit, but it didn’t take long to realize that it’s a stooge position. Dirty work.
So I was minding my own business, looking online for a larger or better version of this promo photo of Boom Shaka:
Have you checked out the podcast recently? Yes, it’s still a thing, and it’s still going strong. Do your ears a favor and luxuriate in the wonders of my voice. Or something. It’s like a blog, only not.
Junípero Serra was a Spanish Friar (you can tell by the haircut) who established the first California missions. The missions are nice places to visit if you like California history and looking at “historical” things that were almost completely rebuilt in the 20th century from the remnants of crumbling piles of adobe and rotten wood.
Personally I do like those kinds of things, so I’ve been to a lot of the missions. If you think your life is tough, go to one of the missions that’s out in the middle of nowhere and imagine living there, with those resources and meager comforts. The people who settled the West were some badasses.
I’ve always loved Polaroid cameras. But apparently Polaroid didn’t love them as much as I did, because they stopped making film in 2008. That was bad news for everyone involved, or at least for me, and when I realized that the film was no longer on every drugstore shelf in the free world, I accepted the inevitable, sold my wonderful Spectra Pro and forgot about the whole thing.
Well, I forgot about it until I watched a documentary called Time Zero: The Last Year of Polaroid Film. That’s when I learned that a magnificent lunatic named “Doc” bought up the equipment in the last working Polaroid film factory somewhere in the Netherlands, put together a team of like-minded visionaries and set out to recreate instant film.
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.
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.
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 (for its time), and a valuable tool for anyone who was researching – or simply curious about – Bukowski’s mountain of work.
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.
The NSA “PRISM” outcry that is threatening to take over the Internet is pretty funny, considering the NSA exists for the sole purpose of listening to everything, and that is exactly what it has done for the past 60 years.
I guess no one cared in the past because it was only their telephone calls, telegrams, telexes and radio broadcasts being scanned. Now that it’s important shit like your Tweets, well, that’s not okay!
We’ve both hobnobbed with our share of celebrities, and while it is ridiculous and they are just people, it can still sometimes throw you off.