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July 20, 2000 Going back to an old place of employment is a lot like running into an old girlfriend on the street with some other guy. Sure, it's good that everyone's moved on and is doing fine, but everyone feels a little uncomfortable and would just as soon forget that the encounter ever happened. Or, um, so I've heard.
Hi! My name is
July 18, 2000 Snappy Dresser needs a couple more days. It's for the best, really. A fun game for those of you with children to play: Sit on a floor, indian-style. Now have your child (best results achieved with toddlers) run at top speed towards you. When he/she reaches you, grab him/her in your arms and tumble to the ground amidst raucous laughter. Once you let the child go, he or she will magically decide to perform the stunt again. Here's the game: try to convince the child to stop before the end of the week. Dina Freedman: the only source of sanity in this crazy, mixed-up world.
July 10, 2000
Snappy Dresser is a week behind. This makes the excitement still more palpable, as you are forced to wait for that which you crave. I tease, I do, but I come through in the end, as all good men do.
Sadly, however, the Daily Instigator will most likely become a casualty of this new enterprise. But this must not make you sad! Think of Snappy Dresser as the young Harry Potter, and the DI as his parents who gave their lives so that he may live! Everyone loves Harry Potter! Thus shall you feel about the newborn Snappy Dresser. Amen.
Dina Freedman: the funk soul brother.
July 5, 2000
The long weekend has drained me. We did a lot of housework, then my folks came up to see a big barge in the Charles River shoot sparks and flames into the air. The entire experience has left me rather drained, thus I have very little to say. But here's a few things to excite you:
1) Snappy Dresser will arrive next Monday. You do not yet know what Snappy Dresser is. This adds to the excitement, does it not? It does!
2) My wife called and asked me to pick up some things from the store on the way home. Ready yourself for a peek into the insanely exciting maelstrom that is my life:
June 27, 2000
Brief update:
I'm now working in a section af Waltham, Massachusetts that has no coffeehouses or bookstores nearby. This is killing me.
I don't think the Sox will stay in this rut.
My new underwear is very comfortable, thank you.
Four words: Snappy Dresser. July 17.
June 14, 2000 I've said this many times before, but I am actually going to change this damned thing in the next few days. Not too drastically, mind you -- I won't be writing in Dutch, for example -- but it'll be different enough for me to feel like I've made some major adjustments to my cluttered life. On the drive back from DC, we got off of I-684 in Westchester County, New York to avoid some nasty thunderstorms that were about to destroy us. We picked the first available exit, marked by a sign of no certain distinction. We followed the signs toward "Food" and "Lodging" blindly, trusting the local government to lead us true. And damned if they didn't do a good job giving me what I really wanted: a road sign that said "<-- CHAPPAQUA 3" Man, did I want to turn and see the Clintons' new home. But something about being driven off the road by a storm to suddenly show up near the President's house reminded me of a bad episode of "Scooby Doo."
June 1, 2000
So I've been gone a while. You've noticed.
The secret can finally be told: I'm switching jobs. Moving on to the exciting world of startups. Enjoying the intensity of options and job insecurity!
I've been switching time between the current job -- which will become the ex-job on June 16 -- and the new job. The resulting 80-hour weeks have been a major factor in the silence you've come to expect from this page. And other pages, of course.
This current burst of activity will be immediately followed by a week-long period of nothingness. The family is hopping into the truckster and enjoying the sunny, hurricane-prone beaches of North Carolina for the next few days. I bought a brand new notebook to keep track of the millions of items which I will describe to you all upon my return. I can tell that you cannot wait for this.
This may be an odd situation for you. You expect infrequent updates to this page, but this may be the first time that you have had prior knowledge of said inactivity. For this, I can only apologize fiercely, but I must ask you to realize the powerful effects that a few days out of the Northeast will have upon my soul and body, which can result in nothing but wonderful words for you to absorb and treasure when we set foot back in the Bay State.
This is not as funny as either of us expected. Again, my apologies. The summer is a tough time to make with the funny.
May 24, 2000 Thank the maker: Greg Knauss is back. My new web experiment: Stammtisch. Why Not To Read The New Yorker Before Your Morning Coffee Dept.: I was sitting on the can this morning, paging through the new issue. I quickly flipped through the "Goings On About Town" section, which are mostly useless for those of us backward folk who don't live in Manhattan. Now, The New Yorker uses a funny font for its section headings and titles. The font is so amusingly odd that it is possible to not see the letter 'I' within the word 'Recitals' when one quickly scans a page. For a moment, I thought they were really trying to expand their subscriber base. Ever see a bird inside a building with no clue how to get out, even though there are open doors and windows all around? More importantly: do you ever feel like that yourself? Now it can be told! Kathleen reads this. So does Brad. We're pretty sure Greg does, too. And everyone knows about Dina. What about rest of you?
May 16, 2000
Thanks to Jim Romenesko,
I found a great article
by Mat Honan, an ex-editor at the now defunct
GettingIt, describing the webzine's
exciting startup and its gradual descent into, well, crappy pseudo-porn.
Mat bought a few of my articles during the early days of GettingIt, marking
my first "professional" (i.e. paid) bit of writing. GettingIt initially aimed
to be an eclectic, subversive publication but devolved into a bastard child of
Penthouse and Soldier of Fortune. I was embarrassed by the editorial
turn, but as it turns out so was Mat. Enough of my yapping,
read the article.
My friend Dave asks, "Who else reads your personal web page besides me?" It's a good question. Who does? Tell me, dammit!
May 5, 2000 My plan was to not write anything else here until I received one fax with the word "hullabaloo" somewhere upon it, but I fear that such a facsimile transmission may never occur. So return we must, with vengeance! On Earth! On Wind! On Fire! Andrew Sullivan + testosterone = laffs a' plenty. Dina Freedman demands your worship. If you're anything like me, you may have initially confused Andrew Sullivan, the New Republic senior editor, with Andrew Cunanan, the serial killer. Bow howdy, you'd have had fun if you did.
April 19, 2000
Only one fax received so far, but it was a scintillating piece of art
recreating a scene from Barry Manilow's Copacabana, referenced
a few days ago. God bless you two, you princesses of Massachusetts and
queens of New England.
It's certainly not too late for the rest of you to send in your faxes.
Remember: your fax is tax-deductible this year.
April 18, 2000
Hey! You! Of course I'm talking to you, you bozo. Got nothing
better to do today? Good.
Make a funny drawing or a poem, preferably haiku. Don't listen to
your self-doubt; of course you are a wonderful artist and/or writer.
It's true!
Now fax your loving creation to (520) 752-4074. Don't worry, I'm not
tricking you -- that fax number is mine. I am in need of seeing the
creative output of others, as I have not been able to watch cable for
a week.
Oh Lucky Boy!
I've got a new piece in the works for a new magazine. It will simply
be glorious.
I Went To Washington D.C. To Get Tear Gassed And All
I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt.
Sadly, my DC experience (I was down to see my folks, not to participate
in that silly little show) involved no riot control chemicals. Most of
my Alone Time (TM) was spent in
Olsson's in
Alexandria, which I shall highly recommend to you upon your next visit
to the Northern Virginia suburbs.
I've never been sure if I have ever really "grown up," but I do know that I've never been as busy in my life as I am right now. Is that a sign of maturation? Someone please tell me.
April 11, 2000 Musical works pass into the Public Domain 70 years after the death of the copyright holder. This means that sometime in the late 21st century, "Copacabana" will finally be free for cover bands to perform without fear of legal action. God Bless America!
Red Sox home opener at Fenway today! Weather forecast: snow!
April 10, 2000
Where have all the updates gone?
Am I the first person to look at a bottle of Evian water and immediately think of some little Cuban boy?
March 31, 2000
My Zippy moment. Click on image below to view full-size:
March 30, 2000 Finally: validation. I tossed Bill Griffith an idea some weeks ago, and it turned up in today's Zippy. Make sure to buy a thousand copies of today's newspaper so you'll never lose my contribution to American comics society.
A plea for help: My vocabulary is pretty good, but occasionally
I find myself grasping for a certain word that's just out of my mental
reach. Help me out here: what's the word for "debilitating sense of
impending doom which creates hallucinations, dry mouth, and poor posture?"
I'm, uh, asking for a friend. Yeah, my friend.
Uh oh! Someone's gonna get a punch in the head! Who here's gonna get a punch in the head? Dina Freedman!
March 29, 2000 Baseball season started today! Here's to another year of high expectations for the Red Sox, coupled with the usual heartbreaking failure in the fall. We're counting on you, boys! Dina Freedman is buying a stairway to Heaven.
March 24, 2000 Hey, would you like to hear about my moles? Looks like none of them are malignant! Remember, kids, melanoma is no laughing matter. Unless, of course, it's a really funny kind of melanoma, with funny outfits and great impressions of political leaders. It's okay to laugh in that case.
March 20, 2000
And last week morphs into this week, with nary a change to be seen. Yet I have not
forgotten all about this, and those that visit upon it. How could I? We have shared
so much together: the tears, the laughter, the common household cleansers. I could
never betray those memories.
But I have learned the folly of firm deadlines. So I'll clean house around here when
I feel like it. Not that you'd expect anything different, of course.
4 out of 5 dentists recommend Dina Freedman for their patients who chew gum.
March 9, 2000
I'm changing the look and feel of this thing next week. This faux-logging thing is uneven and
silly. And I'm real bad at daily updating, if you haven't figured it out yet.
What's in store, oh boy won't you be thrilled to find out. A sample:
Dina Freedman: The Only Choice in 2000.
March 7, 2000 Um, hi! I, uh, got lost on the way to the Internet. It's real big, you know. Have you paid tribute to Dina Freedman today?
February 18, 2000
Goddammit, I am an idiot.
Two days ago, I found that all the snow in my backyard had melted. "Joy,"
I said, "the snow is gone! There is no snow in my backyard!"
Idiot.
There's no better way to guarantee a winter storm than to start thinking
about spring. Dope.
Dave Eggers seems to be handling his sudden, immense success exceptionally well. His new book is being critically acclaimed, and McSweeney's , a lumbering beast of literary effluvia, chugs along unimpeded. That bastard. You can't say no to Dina Freedman!
February 16, 2000 Lack of updates = work handing me the high and mighty shaft. I'm not just burning the candle at both ends, I've tossed the entire freaking thing into the furnace.
February 14, 2000 Happy Valentine's Day, kiddies! Love, exciting and new. Come aboard -- we're expecting you!
February 10, 2000
Damn you, Steve Forbes.
Damn you indeed. Why did you drop out? There's
no one left to make fun of.
Oh my God, I almost forgot about Alan Keyes. God bless you, dear Alan.
Are you all keeping your pimp hands strong? Let's hope so.
February 7, 2000 Listening to Don Imus on the way into work today, I heard an ad for Nicorette, the nicotine gum that supposedly helps ease your cravings for cigarettes. The female announcer, however, wasn't enunciating quite as well as she should have been, leading me to hear her talking about an entirely different product. To approximate my experience, take the word "Nicorette" and pronounce the 'c' as a lazy 'g' sound.
Big-time recommendation for the new Foo Fighters disc, "There Is Nothing Left To Lose." Not a bad song on this one.
I know I'm a softy for poppy crap, this has all been previously discussed. When I was a kid, I thought Journey was pretty cool too. Not to mention Eddie Van Halen's guitar solo on Michael Jackson's "Beat It." Sure, I know, you'll claim you were listening to Echo and the Bunnymen and/or Metallica way before it was cool to, but you and I both know the truth: you're still holding on to an old Toni Basil 45 somewhere in your closet (no pun intended).
To the precious few of you who read: I'm sorry. I'll never leave again. We both need each other more than either of us will ever know. Let's promise to never hurt each other again.
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Every damn thing here is ©1997-2000 Michael Genrich. mikeg@serf.com