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Monday, June 30, 2003
Post number one.
Maybe I should start off with a joke:
A guy walks into a bar and sees a dog lying in the corner licking his balls. He turns to the bartender and says, "Boy, I wish I could do that." The Bartender replies, "You'd better try petting him first."
It's Monday the Thirtieth of June, Two Thousand and Three. Better known in my birthyear (1963) as: "the future". I'm still waiting for the jetpack and disintegrator ray that Popular Mechanics promised everyone back then. I'd even settle for some of those "meal-in-a-pill" tablets. "Doctor, I'm depressed about going through the holiday season all alone". "Hmmm, well I'm off to the golf course so just take two turkey dinners and call me in the morning."
A short while later...
Having wandered off to eat my lunch and reflect upon the third eye of Shiva, I find myself retuning to my little corner of hell feeling somewhat refreshed. Certainly not motivated to produce anything I'm paid to, but refreshed nonetheless.
It's been pouring rain all day and the afternoon shows little sign of clearing so I guess I should grind away for the benefit of my employer. I keep scanning the newspapers for that $60k a year job where I get to lay on the sofa, eat bar-b-que potato chips and channel surf but I never see it posted.
I like to blame my meaningless existance on my highschool guidance counselor, who never told me that I had the option of a career in the lucrative field of pornography. Back to work I go.
More time passes....
Who am I? Bill friggin' Gates? What do I know about adding code or modifying text on the internet? I'm like Homer Simpson: if I learn something new, some older knowledge falls out. All I want is a place to pop this big mental pimple so I can get on with life rather than spend my time navel-gazing at the ineffectiveness of my existence. I certainly don't want to spend my valuable angst-time "formatting data" in an "effective and visually-pleasing manner".
Feh.
0 comments
Maybe I should start off with a joke:
A guy walks into a bar and sees a dog lying in the corner licking his balls. He turns to the bartender and says, "Boy, I wish I could do that." The Bartender replies, "You'd better try petting him first."
It's Monday the Thirtieth of June, Two Thousand and Three. Better known in my birthyear (1963) as: "the future". I'm still waiting for the jetpack and disintegrator ray that Popular Mechanics promised everyone back then. I'd even settle for some of those "meal-in-a-pill" tablets. "Doctor, I'm depressed about going through the holiday season all alone". "Hmmm, well I'm off to the golf course so just take two turkey dinners and call me in the morning."
A short while later...
Having wandered off to eat my lunch and reflect upon the third eye of Shiva, I find myself retuning to my little corner of hell feeling somewhat refreshed. Certainly not motivated to produce anything I'm paid to, but refreshed nonetheless.
It's been pouring rain all day and the afternoon shows little sign of clearing so I guess I should grind away for the benefit of my employer. I keep scanning the newspapers for that $60k a year job where I get to lay on the sofa, eat bar-b-que potato chips and channel surf but I never see it posted.
I like to blame my meaningless existance on my highschool guidance counselor, who never told me that I had the option of a career in the lucrative field of pornography. Back to work I go.
More time passes....
Who am I? Bill friggin' Gates? What do I know about adding code or modifying text on the internet? I'm like Homer Simpson: if I learn something new, some older knowledge falls out. All I want is a place to pop this big mental pimple so I can get on with life rather than spend my time navel-gazing at the ineffectiveness of my existence. I certainly don't want to spend my valuable angst-time "formatting data" in an "effective and visually-pleasing manner".
Feh.
