Happy Holo-Days
Sadly, Christmas technology just isn’t there yet.
We’re still celebrating in the old old-fashioned way. The wheel. Analog travel. And at what cost? Jet lag. Transportation risks. Fights over sounds and smells. Great expense.
In the far future we’ll step into the transporter room, say “energize,” and all meet instantly at uncle Joe’s place in the Bavarian alps.
Assuming most of us won’t be around for the 23rd century, what the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?
My idea for a short-term interim solution is the hologram Christmas. Imagine it. You finish the last season of your favorite show on Netflix, have a seat in the imagine chamber and voila, you’re magically in the living room sitting around the hearth with the rest of the fam.
Fa la la la la la la!
No mess. No fuss. No road rage. No dodging other drivers brandishing weapons. No worries about snow in the pass. It’s just a good as being there. Better, even.
The technology is almost there. We just need some holo imagers, holo emitters, contact lenses embedded with Google Glass, and sufficient bandwidth. I’ll bet clever programmers can even come up with realistic holo versions of our current level of tablet and phone technology, so we can all lose our faces in devices just like we already do. That’s authenticity.
Happy holo-days to you and yours and everyone you’re willing to interface with.
Audible Ejaculations #graph
Television commercials used to employ this rather snarky trick. (No doubt they still do, but I eschew commercial-based television so I don’t really know. I’d rather chew off my own leg and/or mate with Miley Cyrus.)
The trick worked like this:
You’d turn on the TV and select a show. You’d adjust the volume to a reasonable and comfortable level for watching the show.
Then, a commercial would come on and the windows would get blown out of your house. Shellshocked, with blood leaking from your ears due to the burst eardrums, you’d scrabble in vain for the remote control and fail. But it didn’t matter because it was already too late.
Like always, advertising is a subtle business with a deft touch.
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Surprise! You are a guest blog!
Today I shot my wife an email and asked, simply, “How did it go?”
I try to be coy in emails that pass through “company-owned email servers.” Fuck ’em! Never include more information than necessary. Ever. I also refer to people by a single letter. It’s up to my wife to grok the meaning.
And that she did just fine.
Somehow she knew that I was asking about her trip to the DMV. I loved her reply so much I decided to make it a guest post. I plan to offer a reading of this at poet’s corner down at the beatnik place one night soon. Enjoy!
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Getting Down With The Meta-Sickness
It’s the start of a new year. Meh! But it seems as good time as any to review and go over some basic rules that should serve you well in the workplace in the year to come.
Cough, cough.
Ugh. I don’t feel well. So far 2013 has been treating me pretty good. For one day. I could get used to this. Yeah, I’m 0 for 1 on days required to work.
But, get this – by this time tomorrow, 2013 has some decidedly vicious nastiness planned. All good things must come to an end.
What to do? What to do?
I’ve got it. An idea is beginning to germinate. I could – somehow – not go to work. But how? Ask the boss to extend my time off* for an extra day?
Don’t be too hasty. This has to be done in just the right way. And, luckily for you, the expert is here to help. You can thank me later.
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Into the Bowels of the Bowl
This is what they mean by “taste the rainbow.”
I was flushed with excitement when I made the team. I almost flipped my lid. Not one to fly off the handle, I was resolute and went about the business of doing my job. This consisted mainly of navigating a dinghy about a very small body of water. I’d sing as I tackled the task. “I sail the ocean blue and my saucy shit’s a beauty. I’m a sober man and true, and attentive to my doody. Ahoy! Ahoy!”
For I had set my sights high. I was the man lucky enough to know his own destiny. One day, if I worked hard enough, my teammates and I, as members of the Pack Ten conference, would play in The Toilet Bowl. Perhaps not the bowl sponsored by Tostitos but at least the one that had Ex-Lax, Preparation H and Beano.
And we made it, too, quite literally by the seat of our pants.
[/end of dream sequence]
Blob “Constas” Pation here, and today we take a look at the storied career of Tom B. Taker, a man so dedicated to his crap craft that he has worked the last 11 years within spitting distance of toilets. It’s a story ripped from the anals of history. We caught up with the man as he set out to maintain this blistering pace and go for the world record of twelve years in a row.
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The $7.19 Blues
If you think about it, what are the topics I blog about? It’s not as varied as you might think. Work, driving, and grocery stores. That’s about it. This post will be about the latter.
I do something weird every single morning. Something that sets me apart from many. And I do so enjoy being apart.
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First! (Political Style)
On YouTube it is common for someone quick enough to be “first” to comment. Thus the “first” internet meme was born.
Proving once again that humans never grow beyond the mental age of kindergarden students, so-called “politicians” in New Hampshire and Iowa are engaged in a pissing match to determine who will vote first in the presidential primary.
Or, as I like to describe it, a contest to see which state’s voters will be marginalized the most.
Get to it, kids!
When asked for comment, the Terminator said, “Fuck you, asshole.”
Shouts from the Abyss 
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