Filed under Apropos of nothing

And It Arrives Me So Quickly

The stuff that goes through your mind when you’ve finished the work you woke up at 3 a.m. to start because you foolishly took a six-hour “30 minute nap” at 9 p.m.:

I was one of the victims of the Gawker hack. Kids, here’s a suggested best practice: “Don’t use the same user name and password across all the sites you visit, particularly if the user name is your email address. Also, your dentist knows when you’re lying about how often you floss.”

(An aside: is victim too strong a word? I feel like that’s a word that true crime victims sort of own, that I shouldn’t use; in fact, I typically refer to crime or disease victims as “survivors,” out of respect … in this case, “survivor of the Gawker hack, where the living will envy the dead” seemed a little excessive.)

Anyway, on Tuesday, I was apparently kind enough to make a tremendous offer to every one of my friends, colleagues, frenemies, enemies, clients, former clients, potential clients, colleagues, ex-colleagues, neighbors, ex-neighbors, relatives and ex-relatives, related to electronics and laptops:

Hi , what is up ?
Christmas is drawing near , have you got any idea about the gifts ?
What about a good electric product …
the laptop I get is really
high quality and it arrives me so quickly . Hope you can get what you
want on the site , too .

Most people recognized it as a scam and were kind enough to alert me to it, and again, I apologize to — well, pretty much everyone who has ever gotten an email from me before, because you got this too. That said, the number of emails I got back thinking this was legit (“Is this real?” “Yes, I am selling laptops on the side now, but decided not to use any of my marketing savvy, and instead used a writer for whom English is a fifth language. You should totally click through”) just reaffirms my conviction that if spam artists simply invested a few bucks for good copywriters, their hit rate would increase dramatically.

Other items of whimsy:

The other day, Gawker posted its list of “most annoying Christmas songs” (thanks for sharing, @healyjane) … and the author, Brian Moylan, shares my dislike for the shockingly-offensive chestnut “Baby It’s Cold Outside”:

Another entry in the “creepy lyrics” category is this song that is basically about date rape. A man is convincing a woman that she should stay at his house to cuddle and canoodle, but she really wants to leave. He doesn’t think no means no and is basically saying, “I won’t lend you a coat so your choice is to stay here and let me paw at you or try to get home and freeze.” By the time she sings, “Say, what’s in this drink?” we want to scream, “It’s a roofie!” and call the police.

However, I heard a version the other morning — June Carter Cash’s 1949 recording, with Homer and Jethro — that took this troubling song to another level, intimating that if she’d just stick around, they’d have some sort of hillbilly threesome. Then I found this video that took that song to yet another level — a 1969 performance from “The Johnny Cash Show”–  by adding a visual. (Note: the 1949 version has some excellent guitar work; if only they sold an instrumental version, or perhaps put their talents to work on a better song.)

What exactly where Homer and Jethro planning to do should their plan work? Shudder.

  • I think I only have another year or so of being able to pull the “I have Santa on speed dial” threat with my six year-old. I’m amazed it’s worked this long.
  • Parents, one of the most important skills you can teach your young children (other than being kind and thoughtful, and maybe some sort of recession-proof trade, like masonry) is how to wrap gifts. I never learned the correct way to do it, and have been having to either pay people to do it, or apologize as I hand the recipient their gift.
 

 

How about “I am squarely on the side of supporting kids with cancer, and generally do not support cancer itself”

Two things related to the above post I saw today on Facebook:

1. They probably should change the name of the cause to something else, so it doesn’t appear that the supporters are rooting for cancer, or that they enjoy that these kids are afflicted with the Big C.

2. The “Like” button adds a whole layer of complexity. What am I liking? The kids? The cancer? The schadenfreude inherent in liking kids who have it?

Fame Puts You There Where Things Are Hollow

@harrison3: Thought I saw folk legend Pete Seeger in a conference room on our floor. Wasn’t him. Dead giveaway should have been the lack of a banjo.–tweet from the morning of 11/23

In the last three weeks I saw four moderately famous person (and saw a guy who kind of looked like Pete Seeger). This is odd because 1) I never meet famous people; 2)  while my clients are awesome and are thought leaders in their own right, I rarely deal with truly mainstream “famous” people; sure, my clients may have their stock prices inflated by the ramblings of confused tech legends, or have former CEOs whose trophy wives host Celebrity Pets on the CTV Network … but that’s about it.

So it got me thinking.

Let’s talk about fame, and its fleeting nature and the state of today’s celebrity-trash culture …

That actually seems like a lot of work.

Instead, akin to when sportwriters don’t have a cogent thesis for a full column and instead bang out one of those “cleaning out the desk drawers of my mind” bits-and-pieces items, I’m instead just going to crank out a quick, lazy list of some of the famous people whom I have met in my life:

Kathleen Turner, 2010, outside Les Deux Magots Cafe, Paris:
Interesting timing in that the cold I had the week before made me sound like her.

Pete Doherty, 2010, drunkenly stumbling out of a pizza joint in the Maree neighborhood, Paris:
It was 4:30 in the afternoon. I had to call a friend because we could only identify him as “Kate Moss’ f-ed up boyfriend from The Libertines … Pete something, but not Pete Yorn.” In retrospect, probably not worth the $83 cell phone call to find out.

He's ... you know ... that guy from the show I don't watch

 

That guy with the eyebrows from CSI Law and Order, 2010, border control at Charles DeGaulle Airport, Paris:
I couldn’t remember his name either, or whether he was on CSI or NCIS or what have you; luckily, he was wearing a Law and Order baseball cap.


1988 Presidential Runner-Up Michael Dukakis, 2010, Ward Elementary School, Newton, Mass.:
Coincidentally, he kind of looks like Sam Waterston. Just an amazingly nice guy who was way too decent for politics.

On the left, Sox 3B coach Wendell Kim congratulates John Valentin. Since it was a home run, there would be no close play at the plate, a rarity for a game coached by Kim.

So, three weeks, four people. Working back from that, it’s a whole lotta nothin’ So let’s go back to the mid-1990s (if I met anyone famous between 1996-2010 other than the lead singer of C&C Music Factory (corporate event, 2000) or Red Sox 3B coach “Wave ‘Em In” Wendell Kim (before a 1998 regular-season game vs. Texas) I can’t recall):

Ross Perot, 1996, Atlanta Paralympic Games:
He was there in support of Tony Volpentest, the world’s fastest amputee sprinter. I was there as a media attache for the USOC, ostensibly in support of Volpentest and other American athletes. I say “ostensibly” for the following reason: I had to pull quotes from any American medalists; this required me to walk down five flights of stairs from our posh media lounge (a luxury box at the Olympic Stadium, now Turner Field) down to the interview room below the stands.

Let’s just say I considered American fourth-place finishes win-wins for all of us, although years later I felt some shame for complaining about walking down five flights of stairs to get quotes from a guy who just ran 100 meters in 10.73 seconds … on two stumps.

All that said, Perot … he seemed nice enough.

The next two may stretch the boundaries of “famous” — but they were two of the great basketball coaches from the Atlantic 10 in the 1990s, and I met them in my role as color commentator on the 1.2 watt student radio station at GW:

Mike Jarvis, head coach, GW Men’s basketball, numerous times from 1990-1992:
It was my first interview with Coach Jarvis, at a sit-down prior to his first season coaching the team:

Ed: Coach, how will GW compete without a true center?
Coach Jarvis: (responding quickly and more aggressively than I expected) Who says we don’t have a real center?
Ed: (pause) Um … nobody, I guess.
From that point forward, my interviews tended to be more along the lines of “Coach, how did you get to be so awesome?”

John Chaney, the fiery former head coach of Temple University Men’s Basketball, 1990, McGonigle Hall, Philadelphia (at a post-game press conference after which Temple had beaten GW for like the 143rd straight time):
Ed: Coach …
Chaney: (impatiently) What?
Ed: Um … nice win today. Can anyone eat those sandwiches? Can I get you one?

And finally …

Chicken magnate Frank Perdue, 1983, outside the Rob Roy Hair Salon, Westborough, Mass.
Part of me thinks that this may not have actually happened. But it actually did. I was getting my usual awesome part-down-the-middle number when someone came running into the Rob Roy, saying Purdue was outside; I excused myself mid-haircut, removed my protective hair-smock and walked outside to see the man coming out of a phone booth. He was standing next to a Rolls Royce with the license plate PERDUE. Here’s a transcript of our conversation:

Despite his vanity license plate and his immense Rolls, he was unable to elude my keen detective skills

 

Ed: Are you Frank Perdue?
Perdue: Yes
Ed: (awkward silence) Huge fan of your chicken.

Famous people whom I did not see, but thought I saw … and may eventually tell people I actually saw, even though I just saw people that kind of looked like them:

  • Pete Seeger (see above Twitter entry), 2010, Cambridge Innovation Center, Cambridge, Mass.
  • Ed Begley Jr., 2008, Liberty Science Center, Newark, N.J. (author’s note: I swear it was him)
  • Justice David Souter, 1996, Blue Line, Washington (D.C.) Metro

Same as the Old Boss

It’s morning in America, or something, as I’ve moved Harrison3 over to the free WordPress platform. I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to do with this blog — Twitter has pretty much sucked out what limited creativity I have in little 140-character bytes, and I’d like to try something that’s more focused on little stories and half-baked ideas rather than narratives about me. Who knows, it will probably just pick up where this one left off.

So I’ll probably post occasional items here but consider this primarily a historic site — I’ll be posting things to a new site, More Items of Limited Interest, starting shortly. For those of you who read this blog, thank you very much. For those of you who mocked me for embracing social media and blogging, well, screw it, you were probably right.

I hereby acknowledge …

… that I have a huge stain on my shirt. Colin sneezed on me as I was getting him out of the car today.

… that I made the stain much, much worse by trying to use a Shout Wipe to sort of dab it into oblivion (or, as Mike Tyson would say, Bolivia).

… that I skipped the goatee-region of my face when shaving today in order to save 15 seconds.

Duke, Librarians, Pork

  • My buddy/client Daniel has more on our visit to Duke earlier this week.
  • Saw His Wonderful Life, the one-man version of the Capra classic film, at the Lyric Stage Company. Really enjoyed Neil A. Casey’s exhausting work — you trying reciting every line from a somewhat-complex movie in 90 minutes. I particularly enjoyed some of his commentary on the film — for example, why does Mr. Gower actually have a huge jar marked "poison"? Do all pharmacists keep poison next to the medicine? How does a meager town of 1,000 afford an Olympic-sized pool underneath a gym floor? One he didn’t point out (but thankfully, RealFake did earlier this year), oh, no, life-without-George-Mary’s a librarian!
  • We had a delicious pork roast tonight.

Stay Classy, San Diego

3130074pIt’s our first significant snowfall of the season, thus beginning the long, bleak time between now and spring thaw in May. It also is the right around the first time each season when I ask myself, why the f*** do I live in the northeast rather than, say, San Diego?

And don’t give me the "well, then you’d have to live in San Diego" northeast elitist crap. I could deal with that if it were 80 and sunny every day. Easy access to fish tacos, the Pacific, a beautiful ballpark, and, well, Tijuana.

1 Broadway: Celebrating 003 Days Without a Major Accident

Our offices are a mess. It was a mad rush this morning though as our landlord neglected to have alternate space set up for us. Six people don’t have workspaces; luckily, there are enough folks out sick and traveling that we’ve been able to squeeze everyone in. Beyond the fires and floods, today half the parking lot is inexplicably blocked off with police tape (perhaps they are expecting some other disaster and want to make certain no one’s car gets crushed?).

Apropos of Nothing:

  • Lately, I find myself misusing the word "ironic" when I should be using "coincidentally," as in, "It was quite a coincidence that we met with our realtors the day that our office flooded." Ironic, as we all know, means something that is the opposite of what is expected; unless you’re Alanis Morisette, in which case it means things that suck, like a black fly in your chardonnay.
  • The Boss was pretty damn boss last night.
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