Quote of the Day
"Pain is not a democracy." --James Richardson
When I came across this quote a few months ago, it made no sense to me. Now it makes perfect sense.
Thursday, March 06, 2003
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
Found Art
The Royal Journal of Found Art is a website that collects odd examples of graphic art and writing that site contributors have discovered in peculiar places, or spied in advertisements and commercial products. An example of the latter is the three-armed woman found on the cover of a romance novel. Weird.
The Royal Journal of Found Art is a website that collects odd examples of graphic art and writing that site contributors have discovered in peculiar places, or spied in advertisements and commercial products. An example of the latter is the three-armed woman found on the cover of a romance novel. Weird.
Tuesday, March 04, 2003
Friday, February 28, 2003
Poetry and the Error Message
According to legend, in Japan, computer error messages are written in haiku. Here's a sampling. Better than "404: Page Not Found" or "This program has performed an illegal activity" or some such, hmm?
The Web site you seek
Cannot be located, but
Countless more exist.
Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
Program aborting:
Close all that you have worked on.
You ask far too much.
Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
Yesterday it worked.
Today it is not working.
Windows is like that.
Your file was so big.
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
Stay the patient course.
Of little worth is your ire.
The network is down.
A crash reduces
Your expensive computer
To a simple stone.
Three things are certain:
Death, taxes and lost data.
Guess which has occurred?
You step in the stream,
But the water has moved on.
This page is not here.
Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared.
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.
(Thanks to Sunny Side Up)
According to legend, in Japan, computer error messages are written in haiku. Here's a sampling. Better than "404: Page Not Found" or "This program has performed an illegal activity" or some such, hmm?
The Web site you seek
Cannot be located, but
Countless more exist.
Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
Program aborting:
Close all that you have worked on.
You ask far too much.
Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
Yesterday it worked.
Today it is not working.
Windows is like that.
Your file was so big.
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
Stay the patient course.
Of little worth is your ire.
The network is down.
A crash reduces
Your expensive computer
To a simple stone.
Three things are certain:
Death, taxes and lost data.
Guess which has occurred?
You step in the stream,
But the water has moved on.
This page is not here.
Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared.
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.
(Thanks to Sunny Side Up)
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
More Shakespearean Insults
[Thou art] wither'd like an old apple-john.
Thou art a very ragged Wart.
[Thine] breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.
Thou surly ill-nurtured nut-hook!
Thou yeasty fen-sucked puttock!
Thou tottering spur-galled minnow!
Thou frothy idle-headed malcontent!
[Thou art] spacious in the possession of dirt.
[Thy] tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
[Thou art] wither'd like an old apple-john.
Thou art a very ragged Wart.
[Thine] breath stinks with eating toasted cheese.
Thou surly ill-nurtured nut-hook!
Thou yeasty fen-sucked puttock!
Thou tottering spur-galled minnow!
Thou frothy idle-headed malcontent!
[Thou art] spacious in the possession of dirt.
[Thy] tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile.
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
Sunday, February 23, 2003
Friday, February 21, 2003
Snow Days
Thoughts on the recent blizzard here in the Northeast:
It’s interesting how the city is transformed into something that feels like a small town by a major snowstorm. People who would never speak to each other under ordinary circumstances feel perfectly at ease exchanging complaints about the weather and other (un)pleasantries. As I was trudging up one street the other day, stepping into other people’s deep footprints and navigating narrow channels through the snow, an Asian (Indian? Pakistani?) man with a shovel in his hand smiled at me and said, “Mother Nature’s fury!” “Yeah!” I said. I couldn’t think of anything witty to say in response, but I appreciated the moment of connection . . . . I often wonder how immigrants from warmer climes—the sub-continent or Puerto Rico or Central America—can stand the winter weather here. They must feel like they’ve moved to the polar ice cap.
~~~
The city decided it had to clear the inundated street outside, block by block, using bulldozer scoops and dump trucks. Well and good, but what to do about all the parked cars on the street (including mine) still covered with the snow that the city’s plows had piled around and on top of them? “They” decided to tow the cars out of the way while the scoops did their work, then return them to their previous parking spaces. According to the local newspaper, they photographed the cars first to ensure that they were returned to the proper places. If so, they didn’t pay much attention to their Polaroids. My car was left in a bus stop up the street. The kicker: I got a $29 ticket for parking there.
“Silver-white winters that melt into spring, these are a few of my favorite things.” Not.
Thoughts on the recent blizzard here in the Northeast:
It’s interesting how the city is transformed into something that feels like a small town by a major snowstorm. People who would never speak to each other under ordinary circumstances feel perfectly at ease exchanging complaints about the weather and other (un)pleasantries. As I was trudging up one street the other day, stepping into other people’s deep footprints and navigating narrow channels through the snow, an Asian (Indian? Pakistani?) man with a shovel in his hand smiled at me and said, “Mother Nature’s fury!” “Yeah!” I said. I couldn’t think of anything witty to say in response, but I appreciated the moment of connection . . . . I often wonder how immigrants from warmer climes—the sub-continent or Puerto Rico or Central America—can stand the winter weather here. They must feel like they’ve moved to the polar ice cap.
~~~
The city decided it had to clear the inundated street outside, block by block, using bulldozer scoops and dump trucks. Well and good, but what to do about all the parked cars on the street (including mine) still covered with the snow that the city’s plows had piled around and on top of them? “They” decided to tow the cars out of the way while the scoops did their work, then return them to their previous parking spaces. According to the local newspaper, they photographed the cars first to ensure that they were returned to the proper places. If so, they didn’t pay much attention to their Polaroids. My car was left in a bus stop up the street. The kicker: I got a $29 ticket for parking there.
“Silver-white winters that melt into spring, these are a few of my favorite things.” Not.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Quote of the Day
"[Michael Jackson] is like Saddam Hussein. He hasn't done anything in 10 years, and suddenly we're attacking him again."
--Bill Maher, on The Tonight Show
(Thanks to Words Mean Things)
"[Michael Jackson] is like Saddam Hussein. He hasn't done anything in 10 years, and suddenly we're attacking him again."
--Bill Maher, on The Tonight Show
(Thanks to Words Mean Things)
Proud to be an introvert!
Us quiet, contemplative types don't get any respect. Read all about our "misunderstood and aggrieved" group in Caring for Your Introvert.
Us quiet, contemplative types don't get any respect. Read all about our "misunderstood and aggrieved" group in Caring for Your Introvert.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
Quote of the Day
"The letters and journals we leave behind and the impressions we have made on our contemporaries are the mere husk of the kernel of our essential life. When we die, the kernel is buried with us. This is the horror and pity of death and the reason for the inescapable triviality of biography."
--Janet Malcolm
"The letters and journals we leave behind and the impressions we have made on our contemporaries are the mere husk of the kernel of our essential life. When we die, the kernel is buried with us. This is the horror and pity of death and the reason for the inescapable triviality of biography."
--Janet Malcolm
Monday, February 17, 2003
A Dish of Dirt
Rather than wasting your precious time reading Liz Smith's column or The National Enquirer (not that you would, of course), you can click on the random celebrity rumor generator. It's probably at least as truthful as the tabloids. Sample juicy tidbits: "Elton John made a pass at Barbara Bush much to everyone's excitement." "Prince ran a meth lab with Mister Rogers and still brags about it constantly." You heard it here first, folks!
(Thanks to in my diatribe.)
Rather than wasting your precious time reading Liz Smith's column or The National Enquirer (not that you would, of course), you can click on the random celebrity rumor generator. It's probably at least as truthful as the tabloids. Sample juicy tidbits: "Elton John made a pass at Barbara Bush much to everyone's excitement." "Prince ran a meth lab with Mister Rogers and still brags about it constantly." You heard it here first, folks!
(Thanks to in my diatribe.)
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