“If you absolutely must crawl up my ass with a microscope, at least spare me the complaint that it’s not all roses and lavender.” — George Friedman
I still don’t quite know what to think about the Tumblr acquisition. It seems an enormous gamble on both sides. Like a smart, hip young woman who, after a few indelicate stumbles, had finally started making her way in the world only to elope with a desperate, aging serial wife murderer. Maybe they can save each other. Maybe.
But this oddly chaste robo-truncated CEO tumbltweet is a perfect piece of poetry.
fucking perfect
Actually, Ben, there is a list of seven key takeaways on slides 105-111.
Even our head-shots scream “webinar!” I’m going to need an antacid.
Project meeting!
I don’t remember why I thought it needed to go down like this, but I’d figured out a certifiably kickass hiding place for my mother’s running shoes and no way was I going to help her find them now. She was going to have to do it on her own. I feigned inattention as she bumbled from room to room, puzzled and crooning her neck to inspect dark corners, behind couches, under chairs and beds, and beneath piles of laundry. Like the dog, I thought, thorough in her way but not clever enough to solve the puzzle. After a while, my fake disinterest gave way to the real, and I drifted on to other things.
Hours floated by. I was almost to the end of “Pitfall” on my Atari when my success and Mom’s failure finally traded places.
“Geoffrey! Michael! Barnes!” she yelled all staccato and out of time with her clompy footfall racing toward my room. She appeared in the doorway, New Balances held up, Exhibit A in the trial now getting started.
Read the whole thing on Medium
I’m really, like really, enjoying writing on Medium lately. The reasons are a mix of vanity, hatred for Tumblr’s modal compose screen, and the newness of the site. And as much as I’m enjoying writing there, I’m also enjoying discovering and reading there. Check it out, if you haven’t already. It’s maturing in mostly wonderful ways.
If I were a creature from another planet, and I wanted to learn about human men, I wouldn’t read our literature or study our television programs. I would hang out in public restrooms, because that’s where shit is the most real.
Ah, Mom.
Little League baseball can eat my asshole.
Strike one!
I think you mean thanks to my kids, but I’m happy to share the credit.