August 2009
18 posts
Hey, kids: writing drunk makes you thinkz up mroe stuffs
It’s six o’clock. Do you know where this voice is coming from?
This is like the opposite of a committed relationship: I reveal all my craziness right away, and it doesn’t matter.
Thought I was meeting with an orthopedist, turned out to be an orthoepist. Am articulate now, but my foot still hurts.
Networking by search term is like eating by dry weight. Not exactly the whole story.
Behold the “pro blogger”: half blogger, half pro’.
Does anyone know a desktop widget that lets you count down from a number? Not a timed countdown, a manual one. (?)
Middle ages, middle passage, middle earth, middle man, midfielder, midnight.
Oh, don’t worry. That was only the most important moment if your life. Seriously, don’t sweat it.
Barack Obamalamabobama. Sorry, couldn’t resist.
Oh, stop. Don’t give me those retweet eyes.
Twitter search & derivatives thereof have become my first stop for breaking news.
Twitter is the counterinsurgency.
Paid $10.66 again at the supermarket. Expecting eye-gouging any day now.
Conclusion: #_sycophants is in all cases inversely proportional to #_thoughtful_opinions.
Tools are boring. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them awl.
Twitter is Eliot’s “unreal city.”
Thanks for all the fish! And by fish, I mean #ff. And by thanks, I mean this tweet not legally binding in Kazakhstan.