5.11.2009
there goes the neighborhood
last night I was sitting in bed and realized that in the past 24 hours I had signed two things: an offer representing hundreds of thousands of dollars and a bottle of jameson.
then I smiled, thought "success," and fell asleep.
4.30.2009
a conversation of two luddites
me: just got the matt and kim. baller.
Tegan: what?? the new one?
me: yeeeeea
Tegan: i neeeeeeeeeeds
me: what. no. you have it. what? is there a newer one?
Tegan: i dont have it digital though
me: ooh.
Tegan: which means i cant listen on the bike. you are talking about grand right?
me: yeah. we did it this super cool way. i'll email you instructions.
Tegan: ok
me: this is sort of going to be like a scavenger hunt. but it's worth it
Tegan: ok
--email sent--
me: alright. see if you can do it. i probably explained it incorrectly but hopefully not
me: alright. see if you can do it. i probably explained it incorrectly but hopefully not
Tegan: i love the stuffer
me: oh me too
Tegan: smash smash smash
Tegan: ok so its got a little folder that says the unarchiver on my desktop. do i just go and click click on steves thingy
me: well is the unarchiver an icon yet on your desktop?Tegan: which link there are two?
me: okay, so the stuffit thing has run?
Tegan: yeah its like a manila envelop or some shit
me: cool. okay yeah now click on steve's link
Tegan: which one there is a short one and longer one that says indubitably
me: the longer one
me: how's that working?
Tegan: good good
my compy just slow as hell
4.23.2009
4.22.2009
snail mail
there's something about getting real, enveloped, post-marked mail that makes my day. (the "real" qualifying it as something from a person not a company.) in a time when almost anything can be emailed, texted, phoned, or faxed--to think that someone took the time to figure out your address, to obtain the right size envelope, and to discover what the hell a postage stamp is now worth, well...people typically don't take that time anymore.
today i got real mail delivered to my home, through our mail slot by our postwoman, and it made my day. who cares what was inside. and to thank the sender, i'm going to send them something in return.
because heaven knows it takes about 1000 times as long to get something sent out through the chicago postal service than it does to post on someone's facebook wall.
ps. if you also find receiving mail a thrill then leave your address in the comments. i can't promise what you when you'll get something via usps, but i can promise.
today i got real mail delivered to my home, through our mail slot by our postwoman, and it made my day. who cares what was inside. and to thank the sender, i'm going to send them something in return.
because heaven knows it takes about 1000 times as long to get something sent out through the chicago postal service than it does to post on someone's facebook wall.
ps. if you also find receiving mail a thrill then leave your address in the comments. i can't promise what you when you'll get something via usps, but i can promise.
4.19.2009
here comes monday
at work, i endure the joy of being the recipient of 3 generic email addresses, in addition to my personal work email. below is a particularly great email i received. after reading it, i sat for a moment, truly dumbfounded. all i can say is, fail. on so many levels. fail.
Email Sent 4/3/2009 12:30:57 PM
A visitor to the ALA Online Store filled out your feedback form. Below you will find their contact information and inquiry.
------------------------------
Email Sent 4/3/2009 12:30:57 PM
A visitor to the ALA Online Store filled out your feedback form. Below you will find their contact information and inquiry.
------------------------------
Subject: Failed Book Purchase
Name: MW
Email Address: (omitted to protect the idiot)
Visitor Comment:
I received in the mail a book I had tried to order through the ALA store. The ordering online process failed and I am returning the book.Storytime Magic. I would like to have my credit card purchase for the book corrected.
4.16.2009
waiting, watching, wondering
my absolute, all-time, favorite seat on the train is the single seat positioned perpendicular to the window in the middle of the car. this seat allows for maximum city-seeing with minimal interference.
in the morning, however, i'm happy to take any seat i can get. today i was in one of the two seats that faces two more seats directly across the aisle. to my left was a man in a suit and probably his early 30s. across from me was a girl about my age who had gotten on at southport.
at north & clybourn, our forced quartet was completed as a man sat down in the last remaining spot. at first glance i assumed this man to be some bad-ass bike messenger. he had a small frame and not an ounce of fat. i'm pretty sure he had more muscle in his skinny right calf than i do in my whole body. he had a shaved head and donned thick, leather workboots, a bulky brown vest, and sunglasses. the train sped towards clark & division, and i watched him. i was staring, but i couldn't help it. and the more i observed the more i wondered if my initial impression was incorrect.
was that chipped, red fingernail polish on his pinky or dried blood? through his lightly tinted sunglasses i could see his eyes darting around the train car--not settling on anyone or anything, refusing to rest.
was that toothbrush in his sleeve pocket a means to keep his bike free of mud and rust? or was it used every morning with toothpaste? as the girl next to him readjusted, he quickly moved the arm closest to her in a manner suggesting he wanted nothing to do with personal contact.
was that leather belt and piece of coated wire tied around the loop in his vest a bike messenger's talisman or a homeless man's morning find? i had my earphones in, but his lips formed sentenced- length shapes. whether a silent voicing of internal thoughts or casual conversation to his seatmate, however, i couldn't tell.
was that deep dent in the upper part of his forehead a part of the natural, uneven topography every skull displays? or was it the reason he was now repeatedly banging his right elbow into the partition separating the exit and the aisle? was he pumping himself up for a long day of riding, or preparing to jump off the train and beat someone down?
as the train pulled into chicago & state, i stood to exit the train. he remained seated but raised his arms straight up in front of him and held them there. was this gesture a silent request for me to take his bony hands and help him to his feet?
or was he pretending to be a zombie?
in the morning, however, i'm happy to take any seat i can get. today i was in one of the two seats that faces two more seats directly across the aisle. to my left was a man in a suit and probably his early 30s. across from me was a girl about my age who had gotten on at southport.
at north & clybourn, our forced quartet was completed as a man sat down in the last remaining spot. at first glance i assumed this man to be some bad-ass bike messenger. he had a small frame and not an ounce of fat. i'm pretty sure he had more muscle in his skinny right calf than i do in my whole body. he had a shaved head and donned thick, leather workboots, a bulky brown vest, and sunglasses. the train sped towards clark & division, and i watched him. i was staring, but i couldn't help it. and the more i observed the more i wondered if my initial impression was incorrect.
was that chipped, red fingernail polish on his pinky or dried blood? through his lightly tinted sunglasses i could see his eyes darting around the train car--not settling on anyone or anything, refusing to rest.
was that toothbrush in his sleeve pocket a means to keep his bike free of mud and rust? or was it used every morning with toothpaste? as the girl next to him readjusted, he quickly moved the arm closest to her in a manner suggesting he wanted nothing to do with personal contact.
was that leather belt and piece of coated wire tied around the loop in his vest a bike messenger's talisman or a homeless man's morning find? i had my earphones in, but his lips formed sentenced- length shapes. whether a silent voicing of internal thoughts or casual conversation to his seatmate, however, i couldn't tell.
was that deep dent in the upper part of his forehead a part of the natural, uneven topography every skull displays? or was it the reason he was now repeatedly banging his right elbow into the partition separating the exit and the aisle? was he pumping himself up for a long day of riding, or preparing to jump off the train and beat someone down?
as the train pulled into chicago & state, i stood to exit the train. he remained seated but raised his arms straight up in front of him and held them there. was this gesture a silent request for me to take his bony hands and help him to his feet?
or was he pretending to be a zombie?
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