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Way before the internet became ubiquitous, it was known just to geeks, and those of us who knew geeks. It was called the "World Wide Web". This is a story of those heady 9600 baud days when AOL was only giving away 50 free hours and when Yahoo was just a white background and blue, underlined words.



Embarrassing Things, Part Four of Good Lord

In 1993, I worked for a marketing company in San Francisco. I was a low level database administrator, and while I knew my way about some software, I knew precious little about anything else.

My friend in the (1-person) IT department had installed a modem on his machine, and showed me around his favorite USENET groups. I requested that he put one on my machine too.

The next day I came in to my cube armed only with a three-and-a-half floppy disk of free AOL hours and crazy dreams of email addresses and friendly chat rooms. I was not disappointed: there on my desk was a mysterious grey box full of wires, LED wires and hope.

I immediately set out to sign up for AOL (because I could pick my own username, not like CompuServe's impersonal numbers. I spent the next several weeks stealing time to read Friends fanboards and the occasional email from similarly connected buddies.

Until, that is, my boss called me into his office to show me the phone bill. Apparently, I had chosen a dial up number in Santa Rosa which, while still in the 415 area code, was long distance.

Uh, whoops.

Lookitme!

Just found out-- albeit a month late-- that I've been published in New York Magazine!

Wait, I should clarify: they quoted my entry on Clinton and linked to me on their commentary page from April 28. I don't think I got too many clickthroughs, to be honest, but if you're reading this and you're here because of that, then Hello, World!

Memories of me falling out of bed

Embarrassing Things, Part Three of So Many

OK, so I work in a law firm as a technical help desk-type person. I spend a lot of time on the phone with attorneys and legal secretaries. In this particular instance, I was working with an attorney on a letter she was writing.

After spending maybe five minutes on the phone with her, chatting as I fixed the problem, I stayed on long enough to make sure the letter was coming up as it should. While we were waiting, I happened to make fun of the name of the person who I thought was the recipient of the letter. I can't divulge the exact name, but it was really kind of silly, like, I don't know, 'Jell Fheem').

After I finished giggling, she said "Yes, well. He's sitting right here."

This is actually recycled from the MedicineBalls 1.0. I apologize for my laziness, but seeing as I still work at this law firm, the embarrassment runs deeper.

Prove me wrong

NASA is run by supermarionators



from Thunderbirds.

Embarrassing Things, Part Two of Too Much

Whilst in Toronto for a business conference, I got so drunk the night before the start of the conference that the next morning I threw up. In front of about 20 of my closest co-workers. In the lobby of the fancy hotel where we were all staying.

Awesome.

Proposition 13

I could totally write this whole entry with reasons for me not writing other whole entries in a timely manner, but I respect you—my readers—far too much to do that. Anymore.

Since I see no end in sight for my current malaise, I’m going instead to try— try—to post something short every day. Ideally, this will rid me of my current habit of scribbling stuff furiously in my little book labeled “What I was going to do” with grandiose plans of penning a lengthy entry to stun and amuse.

And we see how well that’s worked.

Instead, I’m going to try to write up tiny one or two sentence entries on the theme of “Embarrassing things I’ve done”. Believe me, I’ve got entries to last the next century, and that doesn’t even include those mistakes of a sexual nature, which I’m not going to write up because I’ve got family who reads this, and—ew, no.

Embarrassing Things, Part One of Many

Once, whilst under this influence of nitrous oxide, I gave a three minute soliloquy full of Things People Say When They’re High*. To the dentist. In answer to his question about the weather.

* "They call them fingers but I’ve never seen them fing...Oh, there they go."

"Show us your wanger!"

Ever since That Guy hollered the first demand for Freebird!, there have always been assholes who yell out stupid things at shows. I can't pretend to understand what they're thinking when they reach a lull in the performance and decide that they simply must prove to their favorite star that they are, in fact, a fucktard of immense proportions; maybe they think they're special? That they're witty? That the hero on stage will stop the show and invite them onto the stage for a duet? Whatever, dipshit.

I'm sure they have been at every show I've ever been to, but only recently have I felt that an appropriate reaction on the part of security would be to take them outside and have them shot.

OK, so maybe my inner Ceauşescu has been more prominent recently, but how else are all those "that guys" (male and female) going to learn?

Maybe we can just shoot that first inappropriate yeller. Take 'em up on stage, make a big deal out of them and whack. It's win-win: they get the attention they apparently crave and we get someone to serve as an example.

What prompted this was the Kids in the Hall show last night. It was great (as expected-- although no Simon and Hecubus this round). Most of the show was new material. This was my fourth time seeing them live (I don't mean to brag. No, wait. I totally do), and in the past only about 40% was new. And, when the stuff isn't new, some people take that as an invitation to yell out the punch lines ("Hyuck! I'm crushing your head, you! Heh heh heh *fart*"). When the stuff is new, it tends to dazzle the yellers into temporary calm. Then a comedic pause comes up and they start to holler about loving Dave and, in the case of the douchebag in front of us, "Show us your wangaa!"

Does anyone even know what that means? I'm pretty familiar with most of the KITH oeuvre and I've no idea where this came from. Someone please: enlighten me.

This dude, one row up, also threw up the rock 'n roll hand sign every now and then, but fuck if I could find any rhyme or reason to his flailing salute.

You know, nothing makes me want to throw a rockin' signal more than Buddy Cole.

This winner was so obnoxious, the guy sitting next to him actually got up and moved to an empty seat nearby. And then? This loser? Actually turned around and yelled "shut up" at another douche who yelled something about loving Mark McKinney. His poor girlfriend, she ended up showing us her dick.

(See what I did there? Huh? Get it? Oh.)