Yesterday I was invited to join the "Friends Of Chuck Murcko Exchange", otherwise know as "FoCMe".
I was greeted with a vigorous round of upraised middle fingers. I felt at home. I felt warm sticky fellowship with them all. They immediately changed the name of the list from Friends of Chuck Murdock to Friends of Chuck Murcko, just to entice me into friendship with someone different that I'd only met once 9 years ago.
I've had more feedback on Beating The Brand
than anything since Uncle Bill's Helicopter
. I'm HATING writing the followup to both pieces. I'm Caught between a ®ock and a hardon
. Doc, it hurts when I do this! The paper stickies are still all over my kitchen - and they don't make them in black, the esthetics suck - pink and green and purple don't go with wood tones, black and white....
the Monkey Wrench Gang
. Her advice:
Tamper. Often. Chisel off the nameplates. Scrape off the stickers. Dig into the code and replace ugly splash screens with photos of flowers, pictures of your dog, postcards from Nunavit, anything you like.
It's your stuff, after all, no matter what the labels say. It's in your home, in your hands, it's yours. Don't let the labels tell you any different.
After I got done with Beating the Brand, I wrote Sex in Politics
in a single day. Nobody picked it up. Nobody. I thought it was the funniest thing I'd written in a long time - and I emailed the world on it - I went through the top 50 blogs on technorati - I even emailed Dave Barry - Maybe everyone spam filtered my emails out. What's wrong with a subject line of "Sex in Politics"? The spammers won again.
I had visions of Denis Miller
or Henry Rollins
picking both rants up, I daydreamed of fame and fortune. I dreamed that night of opening for Johnny Carson - (yea, it's been that long since I watched television) I
still laugh at Sex in Politics. Maybe everyone else got burned out on sex in the 90s and are more into fantasizing about driving tanks through the middle east. They're spending too much time in their SUVs to fantasize about anything else. Get out of your cars, people - check out some nice tits
once in a while!
I even emailed Halley
because everything I know about being an alpha male I learned from her
- and I'm looking to test it out on somebody. Anybody. Today, after lunch, if possible.
I thought of doing anything, anything, other than writing Beating the Brand, part II - even going back to my last job
Pericat offered sympathy:
It's a lamentable fact of a writer's life. Just remember that quality and quantity of responses depends much more on events in the reader's life than it does on the worth of whatever you wrote. Some days, readers just suck.
The SCObleizer linked in, calling McPhallicism
- "Wacked". He started blogging 3 years ago, and has 403 inbound links. I started a year ago, have 12 and He wants more
?!! Even the main guy who links to me, who I love like a brother, hasn't bothered to add me to his blogodex, or whatever the heck it's called -
If I had time today, I would write interestingly like SCObleizer or ZeroPointnine
about wacked "standards" like XML, CSS, and HTML
, and web browsers like dillo
, and mozilla
. I'd bitch about the unbelievable profusion of "standards" that make it nearly impossible to fit a usable web interface into an embedded device with less than 64MB of ram -
What the heck do I gotta do to claw my way out of the blogosphere into print? Playboy would be nice. I hear they let the models from the 1970s hang out with the writers. I was in love with Miss 1973. I was 8 - but I'd like to see her again. Clothed.
I'd write about how the letters "SCO" haunt me
- I'd write about the one day that I almost sold out and joined the borg - I found that 1997 employment offer from Microsoft the other day, and used it to light my woodstove...
But I have to go hunt down some lunch. There's a pair of arrogant deer out back - they think they are protected this time of the year. Ha!
They're gnawing at my roses. Little do they know I'm desparate, and pissed, and in the mood to wrestle with something physical, tear off a jugular vein, suck the blood from it, coat my body with it from head to toe and howl at the sun.