Goodfellas painting. (by FJPizzy)
On a recent Back to Work Dan explained their new Skype setup, in which they each have two connections to the other: One dedicated to outgoing voice and the other dedicated to incoming voice.
I wanted Merlin to say “One goes one way; the other goes the other way. So what?” so much I could taste it.
Alas, he did not.
At the big party Saturday night, I met Merlin Mann and I was able to tell him things I’ve always wanted to tell him (all good stuff, in case you were wondering). He was gracious and kind. Additionally, he signed his toot* in Twitter Wit. Yes, I wrote it in there so he could sign it.
(People throw around the word “irony” a lot. But I believe this qualifies.)
It’s ironic that this makes me inordinately happy.
* I would like to get everyone’s autograph on their toots in the book. I was fortunate enough to get many this weekend. And sad about the people I missed.
While we’re on the subject, I’m still happy about this.
Yeah, so something came in the mail today.
Sometimes the world is so goddamn beautiful.
Sorry if I got you in trouble, Don.
It starts with confusion, which gives way to exasperation. Eventually, you end up with enlightenment.
Just stay on-board long enough.
Is this ping-pong?
That's a big rooster.
- Merlin: You know I used to weigh thirty pounds more.
- Dan: Uhhh... How?
- Merlin: All cock.
PET PEEVE: This text is way too small. I can barely read it on the computer. When I see these comic book posts on my phone, they are completely illegible.
In the old days (When you could buy a house for a NICKEL! Get off my lawn!), the speech and thought bubbles were proportionate to the artwork. In this particular frame, there is plenty of room to expand the text. All it would cover up is grass.
What is the goddamn point of making it so fucking tiny? To co-opt the comic book culture’s own idiom: AAAGH!
Hot on the heels of Merlin and John’s excellent discussion of how dangerous bears are (Roderick on the Line #69 “Campfire Spaghetti Party”), I get this message on my answering machine today from the local police about a bear that’s been seen in my neighborhood. He even names my street.
A bear. In my neighborhood. ON MY STREET. GAH!
He goes on to say you should supervise children
that you like during outdoor activities, and if you encounter the bear, clap your hands or sing. What the hell? So, if the bear likes your singing, he won’t rip you to pieces? Is he the reincarnated Roger Ebert?
Well, to be fair, my singing would repel any fish, fur, or fowl.
Maybe the police should have suggested throwing a sneaker at him.