Or maybe they’re considered likes? Either way, most of my posts on here, as bland and boring as they may be, have garnered what looks like adequate attention. Curiously, though, when I click on the little heart to see who liked what I’ve posted, instead of the 208 I was told liked it, I find maybe 3 or 4 names listed.
What the hell?
Nice. Thanks, tumblr, for getting my hopes up and then promptly smashing them. Ass.
Programs have become pessimists. I think this is nearly proof positive of artificial sentience. It knew what it wanted, but didn’t expect it. When it was given what it needed, it became sullen and hurt itself in response.
“Why haven’t you touched me in all these months!” Ulysses exclaimed to me the other night. In a sort of fake contemplation, I scratched my chin and closed LaunchPad. I could hear Ulysses’ muffled cries for attention through the thick API layer between it and me. It had been quite a while since I discovered Ulysses sleeping happily in my MacBook Pro’s LaunchPad, and since that time I had yet to use the application for anything at all.
I opened LaunchPad to a great battery of verbal assault. Ulysses was obviously starting to question our relationship. I squinted my eyes through the winds of accusation and glared at the icon. “I’ll fix you,” I thought to myself as I finally opened the application. With a simple mouse gesture, Ulysses’ verbal torment stopped and I beheld the interface once more. For the longest time I had been playing with the idea of writing a book based upon old role playing adventures online friends and I had. I convinced myself it was a worthwhile idea and set about to using Ulysses to detail out a few characters.
Half an hour later, I found myself staring blankly at two characters I had scribbled out. This was going no where. “What’s wrong?” Ulysses asked me. With solemn regret, I told Ulysses, “It’s us. This is not going to work.”
“What do you mean it’s not going to work!?” Ulysses cried out, “you’ve barely put in any effort!”
“Yes, I realize,” I responded, “but I can already tell this relationship is strained and not worth the effort we’ve forced into it.”
Before Ulysses had a moment to respond, I closed the application. Already having sensed the coming storm, AppZapper was excited to help in any way it could. AppZapper removed Ulysses from its previous resting place and I removed it from my laptop altogether.
There was a brief moment of silence. The applications and I briefly mourned the loss of our third wheel before we went about our lives again.
I would tell you to rest in peace, Ulysses, were you not an ass to me.
Vildhjarta. I am obsessed. I discovered the band by accident a few days ago and haven’t listened to much else since. Djent, it’s a good thing.
Is having nothing to say a bad thing? Comfortable silence is a good thing as long as it is between people who share some sort of common bond. Why is it, then, that I am comfortable being silent on a blog of sorts?
And as for blog, I hate the word. Truly. It’s an overused word that has become deprecated, like empowered. I hate when people describe something as empowering. I understand that women fought for equal rights, but they killed the word empower.
A curious thought crossed my mind while speaking with some of my co-workers, one that I am sure many people have had.
What happens with the points one accumulates while driving and day dreaming about hitting this or that? We’ve all done it, no one is innocent. You’ll be driving along and see an elderly person, or maybe a squirrel, and the person riding with you calls out a point value should you hit said object.
After a while of hitting objects, I am sure that any vehicle is going to suffer. So, with all of the points one has racked up over a career of points gathering, what do you do with them? Do you get free mechanic work? A new car? What?
Bandit Dave, a co-worker of mine, has a more logical outlook to it:
David Ortenburg 11:03 AM
I think points = years in prison when caught.
I am going to keep the dream alive, though.
Regardless the weather, the US Postal Service has always arduously pushed forth to get those important letters delivered. However, when it comes to getting your book to you? Forget it.
Maybe I am being impatient. Maybe I am a bit too expecting. Or maybe the postal service is screwing off a bit too much.
Chase needs something to read. And he needs it in analog, unlike Courtney, who reads everything on her iPad. I like the feel of the pages’ textures.
Toilet prose. It genuinely seems a long over due phenomenon that people should take advantage of.
Don’t get me wrong. I am in no way advocating people writing about their unique movements and gastrointestinal overtures. I am, however, saying that we, as a society, have more down time in the bathroom than any other place. There are no distractions in the bathroom - some folks cannot produce with the slightest audience. And, given all of this free time, what is our first reaction?
Thought.
Even if it is something as simple as what one might like to eat later, we stereotypically drift off into thought while disposing. What I am now encouraging is a little deeper mental diving. Can you imagine what more Plato could have put to words if he had simply stayed in the facilities longer?
Well, I am proud to announce that this post was entirely written on the toilet. And while I am sure my Atrix will thank me once I put it down and pick up the can of aerosol fragrance, I will say that I find no shame in composing any sort of work from the reading room.
And neither should you.
I am finding it increasingly difficult to turn from arguments. This is not to say that Courtney and myself are arguing at all. Quite the contrary. It is to say, however, that it takes more will power than I have to turn from arguing with the overly opinionated and ill-informed bastards my brother, Caleb, associates himself with.
I cannot playfully jab at my little brother through various social websites without one of them stepping in as though I were nailing Caleb to a cross. This is my family, and this is how we are. My mother takes jabs at me and I at her. Nothing is ever serious.
Nowadays, there is a wall of jack asses between Caleb and me. Poorly educated bastards that, at 17, 18, and 19, think they have tasted what life has to offer. I am soon to turn 27 and have just begun to get past the icing. The friends that I had in high school are just starting their true tastes as well. A high school diploma does not grant you immediate license to life, and Caleb’s friends who have just acquired theirs are certainly in no position to act as though life has been impossible with them.
I can’t stand seeing an 18 year old whine on about Occupy Wallstreet.
I can’t stand a lot of things, lately.
To say that I have lost faith in humanity is far too much a cliché. Anyone that writes poetry and thinks in his spare time has “lost faith in humanity”. I stereotype horrendously, but it is largely just a favor of simplicity because they always seem to play out themselves.
I digress.
Arguing has become a pastime of sorts. I know this is far from healthy, but I can’t help myself. It is like Hazlitt said, “Only hatred is immortal.”
Dear Bill Watterson,
Please don’t sue me. I cannot help the fact that your strip was so perfect that it fit right in with my tumblr. It was fate.
Sincerely,
Chase
Just like my wife, I seem to have lost large tracts of time. Exploring my Launchpad this morning, I found a new application, Ulysses, greeting me with great expectations.
“Where did you come from?” I asked the application. It stared back at me blankly and would not respond. I had forgotten, again, that I was talking to a compilation of programming code. While Apple’s products are becoming increasingly more responsive, especially along the lines of answering you when you speak to them, the applications in the App Store, however, have not yet reached this pinnacle.
“Fine!” I squealed at the application, “You can sit there quietly as you please.” I moved my mouse to the App Store icon with all intentions of discovering a way that I could retrieve my money. A refund would be nice; however, the App Store had taken time off to join in some larger conspiracy involving the death of Steve Jobs, the details of which I was not made aware of.
Here I sit with an application I do not recall purchasing. With an application that is giving me some sort of awkward silent treatment. Purchased during a time I have no recollection of, Ulysses has become the strange uncle Fred that the family deals with, but secretly despises.
Thanks, App Store. Thank you for giving me another off-putting family member.
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