Moltz's Pickup Lines For Geeks

Q: (All made up by Moltz, of course.The poor fuck.) Maybe you can help me out. I’m wondering if there are any good pickup lines for Mac geeks. A friend of mine works in construction and he’s always got these awesome pickup lines for women.

A: Like what?

Q: Like “Do you work in a lumber yard? Because you’re giving me wood!”

A: Uh, yeah, that is ... awesome.

Q: Oh, yeah.

A: Well, OK. How about this one: “Are you a disk intensive activity? Because you’re spinning up my hard drive!”

Q: Ooh, not bad!

A: Or, “Are you a gaussian blur on a 50 MB file on a Performa? Because you’re really extending my progress bar!”

Q: Yeah! ... Or “Are you online porn? Because “I’m masturbating to you!”

A: Um…

Q: Too much?

A: A bit.

Just shrink that progress bar right back in your pants. For starters. Thanks.

Baby It Is Alright

Scoble 1, Leopard 0

“Well, sorry,” says Scoble, “The shine is wearing off. Screw you Apple.”

Yeah well screw you, Scoble, for making such an immature spectacle of yourself. What a fine example for all the other spoiled babies out there, and I do suggest you return your machine immediately. Obviously, Apple played a cruel joke upon you. Leopard upgrade problems? They have got their nerve.

I mean, this is how it works, isn't it? OS X? Piece a cake. MacBook? Simple as pie. I'm telling you, if it doesn't work without your having to think a single thought, take the fucker back..

Look at what happened to Scoble when he installed Leopard—he must be some kind of smart guy, right?—he hit Restart fifty times, and the piece of crap didn't work.

Scoble. Idiots everywhere: If you had a fine driving machine, a Porsche, say, that developed problems, would you turn the key fifty times?

Or does this behavior indicate a deep fissure in the adult personality.

At what age do normal children learn that beating on a toy doesn't help. At what age are they able to anticipate complexity. Handle the postponement of gratification. Be responsible that there is something more to learn, even eagerly apply themselves.

Scoble's fit had nothing to do with Apple, and everything to do with the way a character-disordered man always and without exception blames the Other; no narcissist has ever been mistaken in the history of mankind.

What's worse though, really, is the way the guy imagines that his tantrums are somehow instructive, even refreshing to the rest of us.

I leave it to you. Child-men—and their numbers are legion—can say anything. Observe instead the meta-language of behavior, of attitude and action. As Gertrude Stein so famously said, if it quacks like a narcissist ...

poste script

“Worse yet, you’ve also scobled it, which is California slang meaning “‘to declare something obvious, and then to announce your own genius in a self-congratulatory tone.’”— FSJ

For Kat H.

Is this pretty or what. It's ... omg, ROBBIE! Scream!

Didion On Mailer

“Inside Bessie Gilmore's trailer south of the Portland city line, down a four-lane avenue of bars and eateries and discount stores and a gas station with a World War II surplus Boeing bomber fixed above the pumps, there is a sense that Bessie can describe only as a ‘suction-type feeling.’ She fears disintegration. She wonders where the houses in which she once lived have gone, she wonders about her husband being gone, her children gone, the 78 cousins she knew in Provo scattered and gone and maybe in the ground. She wonders if, when Gary goes, they would ‘all descend another step into that pit where they gave up searching for one another.’ She has no sense of ‘how much was her fault, and how much was the fault of the ongoing world that ground along like iron-banded wagon wheels up the prairie grass.’ When I read this, I remembered that the tracks made by the wagon wheels are still visible from the air over Utah, like the footprints made on the moon. This is an absolutely astonishing book.”

Heartbreaking.

Where they gave up searching for one another.

Complete review here.

360 Diggs For God

And no, I don't mean Teh Ceiling Cat. Sober up. (Slaps readers upside head.) Concentrate! Noam Speaks:

Power resides in the hands of those that Madison called “the wealth of the nation.” The primary responsibility of government is “to protect the minority of the opulent against the majority,” Madison declared. That has been the guiding principle of the democratic system from its origins until today.

Read it again. Prescient old fart, however inadvertently: (Madison, not The Noam!) the Opulent Minority is going to need protection one day. Man them barricades, you lazy-ass—Oh. Well, whenever and wherever the barricades go up, see you there.


To watch the whole (short) lecture, go here. | digg story

Over It

I am sooo over yesterday. You ever had the experience where you wake up the next day, and it's not that you are somebody else ... it's, what makes you think a person is one single point of view. Hell, no. The art is to get bigger than all of it, you little hydra you, and like the membrane of a balloon, contain it. Affectionately. I am an asshole—now and then—and besides, I was dealing with a lawyer all day. A middle-aged white male lawyer.

Someone sent me a cartoon: a couple in a car, the wife is driving, and she says, “Oh, dear, I think I ran over a lawyer!” Husband says: “Well if you're not sure, dear, back up and do it again.”

Nothing personal, if you are a lawyer (and reading this blog? why?) but as far as I can see, these people are paid great sums of money to lie. And after a while, the lies kinda slip into the category of normal, and if that isn't morally compromising. How the hell do you keep track of right and wrong?

So about 3 a.m. I started at the beginning of Mystic Bourgeoisie, and right off, saw that the title means something! All these clever blog monikers. Honey, we are the mystic bourgeoisie and of course I am never going there again. Tomorrow morning, first thing: torch all those self-help books left over from Eighties. Marianne Williamson? Up in smoke. I bought that stuff whilst involved in a romance that should never have happened, which will make you grasp at any manner of crappy straws.

From October 2005:

“Forgive me if I've already told you this, but I have a plan to claim the local Target store for the Queen of Spain. I figure if I can get an outlaw biker gang to back me up with stolen heavy construction equipment, I might be able to hold onto it long enough to make CNN. I'll spend the rest of my life in the slammer, sure, but imagine the cred ... ‘What's he in for?’ ‘Who, that guy? Him and a bunch of berserker biker dudes claimed a Target store for the Queen of Spain.’ ‘Whoa! Far fuckin out.'“

What a pity. Finding the man you want to marry at my age, when I want to marry like I want to cut off my foot with the butter knife. It's a sentiment, but no less sincere. The way to a woman's heart is through her eyes and ears. What? No, never met him. That matters? Through their writing ye shall know them, and it was good.

No, it was Far Fuckin' Out.

You Want Rage, Boy

God damn it, Locke, no sooner do I like you again than you turn around and do something sooo stupid.

Have you not obtained a clue? By now? There are many of us—women—who don't find that sort of thing funny ... just fuckin' lame. It's entertainment for guys—old guys—and truly obnoxious to me.

Why? Because it is, and yes I get to say so! And I'll tell you another thing, any hip chickies who claim to like it or take part in it are co-opted waaay beyond what they can possibly know.

You like women-as-objects? You approve? Believe me, we're still working very hard to just be other people.

So someone I thought of as friend posts a piece of sexist crap (and thinks he's just the cleverest thing, I know you do) but for me, coming across the page, it's shoving a setback right in my face.

Oh and thank you for contributing to the general cheapening of the web. If my daughter were young, I'd love her to come across your site. Not.

Dude, we are not all dudes. 

And even dudes, the younger ones, care.

I think i'll blog this email, as is.

Zo
     _ _ _ _ _ _

Just a spit in the wind against the massive business of internet pornography. But I don't care. I don't care how fuckin' big, how fuckn' hopeless. Who are you, if you do not say what is wrong?

“Entertainment” for men—human rights violation for women.

Only one point of view can possibly prevail.

Oh, here's the fuckin' link, you so dying to see. 

Zucky-Cola

Jeneane reports: “The Coca-Cola Company will feature its Sprite brand on a new Facebook Page ...”

I'm giving this to you one level of revoltingness at a time. Someone respects your stomach.

“... and will invite users to add an application to their account called ‘Sprite Sips.’”

... and for all you hipsters out there, le piece de resistance, wait for it:

“People will be able to create, configure and interact with an animated Sprite Sips character.”

omg! omg!

kthxbye!

Bearer of Bad Tidings

... I hate to be, but Fra-ank, if I think of it this way:

"One way to sort it out is to think of it as the populists versus the corporations"

Honey, we be dead.

Alternate Title: Frank Goes to a Conference.
But that would be too, too informational.