The animation is cool. I’m certain this was a technological feat. Hats off on the visualization. But.

I watched about a hundred or so changes hoping something musical would appear. Dear God help me if this is representative of the music taste of the western world. I mean, yeah, go ahead, fuck me, I’m 40 years old, but putting this in literary terms, it’s like the world started reading the Mr. Men books and decided, hell yes, this is as good as literature gets. Let’s stop here. I want Roger Hargreaves and only Roger Hargreaves for the rest of time. Seriously, it’s like shitty music is being spoon-fed by the Koch brothers or something and nobody cares.

Other Manly Months

Movember is just around the corner. But what can I do this month? What about the month after Movember? Here are some suggestions, starting next month:

  • Beertember
  • CandyCornober
  • Movember
  • FatHairySlothember
  • JeezINeedToGetOnATreadmilluary
  • Hemorroidruary
  • Colonoscoparch
  • Prostatepril
  • Shayve
  • Prune(s)
  • Bar-B-Quly
  • Beergust (one more beer month wouldn’t hurt)

Dear Designers of Household Appliances

Dear Designers of Things that Go in the Home,

Please think about families when you design. There is always at least one child or parent trying to rest at exactly the moment someone needs to use the appliances that make the most noise.

For example, I don’t need to hear the microwave beep 5 times to know it’s done. Why not once? I don’t need to hear a beep when I press buttons. And that’s a loud beep. I could go outside and hear the beep. Why? It’s not your job to ensure I know my food is ready. It’s your job to heat my food.

But if you must make a beep, make it a soft, muffled square wave. Or find some nice natural percussive noise, like bamboo. But there’s probably some OPEC-like conglomerate that meets once a year to decide what the beep is going to sound like for all microwaves, right?

And then there’s the microwave door. It sounds like I’m opening and closing the door on a 1940 pickup truck. This noise works great on a 1940 pickup truck, but inside the house, when I’m trying to warm up my coffee and the baby is sleeping, I have to perform all kinds of hand judo to keep the door from crashing shut. Or clanking open, for that matter. Why does the door have to clank open?

I saw this movie a long time ago called Spaceballs where the doors shushed. Can we have appliances that shush? If not shushing, I’d like to request that we invent microwaves, toasters, blenders, hair dryers, dishwashers, clothing washers, and other forms of household machinery that don’t seek and destroy the tympanic membrane.

At least, just don’t wake the baby.

"Sometimes I walk away when all I really want to do is love and hold you right."

Blade Runner is almost the perfect cinematic for this song.

I don’t want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed, you know, as a career I don’t want to do that.

An Open Apology to the Owner of That Website

To Whom it May Concern:

Hello, and I hope you are having a very, very good day, because it’s about to go downhill and I’m afraid I will be the cause of it. You see, I have an account on your website.

No, no, no, nothing’s wrong with the site. You’re doing everything right, let me tell you. I’ve tried other websites that have attempted to do what you do, if it even could be called that, and they couldn’t hold a candle. I don’t know what their problem was, you know?

I mean, everyone’s human, right? You make mistakes just like the rest of us. We all make mistakes. Other websites make mistakes. I make mistakes. In fact, that’s the reason I’m writing to you today. I made a huge mistake and I’m afraid that the harm I’ve done may not be able to be undone.

Well, so, I’ve thought about it in my head for a while, what I’d say, how you’d respond, what my counter-proposal might be. Amicable terms for a settlement, and so on.

Oh, no, no, no, really, I don’t think it’s that bad, but my mind went there. That’s all I was trying to say. Again, mea culpa. In fact, I hesitated even to mention it to you, like, hours of hesitation because I feel so stupid. But, there you go. Alright. So, the thing is:

I forgot my password.

I’m so, so, so, very sorry. See, I told you this was going to bring you to the edge. And now I feel like such an idiot. You gave me a password, or at least, you had me create one, I wrote it down and had every intention of storing it away in my desk drawer with all the others. It was a pretty good one, too. None of that “password1234″ business that I used to use all the time. Because really, where do people get these ideas for passwords? It takes me all day. I would go so far as to call it deliberation, for my part.

But that’s not the point. The point is, you trusted me with that password. I submitted it to you, you kept it hidden, secret, and safe, like the keys to my heart, and what did I do? I threw it away like yesterday’s newspaper. What pure rubbish I am! Definitely not worthy to use your website.

I know you probably have some way to restore my password or send me a new one. I’m pretty sure I saw a link somewhere but I feel like such utter filth that I could not bring myself to click it. Such a worm. First class worm.

I would rather we go our separate ways–let me finish–and you forget about me. No. You deserve better. You’ll find a better, more suitable user, I’m sure. Someone who just gets it. The internet, I mean. You’ve always been the smart one.

Please, no, I beg you. If this were to go on, I would be haunted by the memory of this indecency forever, and your leniency and mercy would be like daggers through my soul. Our union was kindled once in that fiery embrace when I submitted fully to you with my username, password, and zip code (with 4-digit extension) that cold, cold, February day. Let us remember that day.

Do not weep. Just remember.


Harry Love