floorpie

This morning, in his year-end press conference, when asked about the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden and the reasons his trail has gone so cold, “President” Bush answered, “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say he was somwhere in the outskirts of Pakistan or Afghanistan.”

If I had to guess?!
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Time’s Person of the Year, ladies and gentlemen!
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Bride is left at alter via text message

You may remember my comunique with Miss Achan Manute, a Sudanese refugee, daughter of a rich Cattle Farmer, who needed my help in securing her dead father’s $9.5M bovine fortune. She did not, sadly, reply to my offer for assistance.
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Luckily, a co-worker (and compatriot in The Great Army-Man Offensive), forwarded me another opportunity that I’m even more excited about. The devil is in the details:

Dear Friend,

I have some funds which I inherited from my late father, I want to invest this funds in a reputabls business.In view of this I have contacted you to know if you will capable enough to receive the funds for investment for my family.The funds is currently in a security company in Europe, as soon as you have agreed to assist us with the investment you shall have to contact them for them to initiate you as the investor to receive the funds for us.The funds which values USD$20.5 will be released to you directlly from the security company.plaese Send your reply to my family email address (frankzulufamily@atlas.cz)however do understand that your full co-operation is needed for the success of the transaction.

Best regards,
Frank Zulu
>For the family

I will capable enough to invest this funds in a reputabls business! Why, with $2.50, I can get controlling interest in a number of lemonade stands and BetaMax wholesalers.

Oh. My. G… Hasselhoff

I don’t have the words. Watch the video and all will be explained.

From The Washington Post:

The Federal Communications Commission is considering loosening a ban on using cell phones in airplanes.

FCC officials will discuss at a meeting Wednesday changes to rules that bar people from using wireless devices while flying, spokeswoman Lauren Patrich said yesterday. “Relaxing or replacing” the rules are among possible outcomes, and the prohibition may be scrapped altogether, she said.

I can’t tell you how much I dislike this idea.

But I’ll try.

Airplanes are one of the last remaining cell phone-less environments (if not the only one) left on earth. Even Third World countries are starting to get invaded. I’m not complaining, though; I’m decidely naked without mine.

However, when we are already in an enclosed and cramped space for long periods of time, surrounded by literally hundreds of people, contending with screaming babies, turbulence, and either poor or non-existent food, do we really need this additional annoyance? Is there really anything that we, as the unwashed masses, really need to communicate to the outside world as we wing our way across the country? I presume that the people you’re going to see already know you’re coming, and that you were prescient enough to turn off the stove before leaving the house. Chill out and watch the movie.

Business-people maybe need uninterrupted communication. Feel free to expense the $2.00 a minute on the AirPhone.
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I cannot imagine (and frankly don’t want to) sitting in a plane for five hours, surrounded by 300 people screaming into their cell phones to hear themselves over the din, blissfully ignorant of anyone around them. Especially as all of my flights originate from, or return to, LA… if I might perpetuate the stereotype.

Missing Cambodian soldiers from the Vietnam War, emerge from the forest...25 years later
>Fight inconsiderate cell phone use (via kottke)

I’ve never wished I had my camera with me more than last night when Angelyne pulled up beside me on my drive home.

Pink Corvette, “ANGLYNE” license plate.

Perfect.

I am an unpublished writer.
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We all are, here in the blogoshpere. It may be hard to tell from my recent offerings, but I do, from time to time, have little flashes of competence. Not that the following is one of those, of course, I’m just saying. I wrote this originally about 3 years ago. I had recently broken up with (been broken up with?) a girlfriend, been laid off, and was recovering from an injury that left me in crutches. It was not, by all accounts, a good time in life.
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So, I wrote things. Some depressing, some funny, some dramatic, some almost publishable (maybe). Here’s one (slightly edited) sample:

Public Privacy: a diary for the 21st century

Spy through the keyhole

I lead an examined life. In a normal situation, this might make me the envy of my directionless peers; but, in my case, it’s slightly different. This examining and scrutinizing of the life I lead, is actually done largely by strangers. Me, I’m still blissfully ignorant.

Like a growing number of people, my existence is represented as eloquently as I can make it, open for business and signing autographs…on the web. Through a medium colloquially known as “blogging” (as in, “to keep an online web log”), I keep a veritable “Dear Diary” on the internet for anyone to see. And, if my obsessive monitoring of my site’s statistics tells me anything, it’s that “anyone” is, on average, 190 people a day.

Think about that figure for a moment if you will. At first glance, it’s not so impressive, but think again on a more reality-based scale. These are not people that simply pass me on the virtual sidewalk, averting their eyes to examine a line of newsstands that suddenly catch their attention; or, even more likely, individuals passing that did not avert their eyes…they weren’t looking at me in the first place. Instead, these visitors to my world are intimately involved. They know what I did today, and how I felt about it. They’ve heard my Silicon Valley Story of Woe and Resurrection (well, the resurrection part is still forthcoming, but the woe!). They’ve been along with me for trips to Hawaii, New Years parties, Christmas with the fam, and pedantic ramblings about work, or lack thereof. These strangers are not merely strangers. These strangers are spectators, and they all have the same dossier entitled, “David Kleeman: A Life?”.

And there’s the rub.

Consider: If 190 flesh and bone people were physically near me enough to know the kinds of details about me that the online community is privy to, the craft-services costs alone would quickly bankrupt me. And as for getting around town, how many clowns can really fit into a VW?

Why then, you ask, subject myself to such investigation? I would posit, why not?

To take a more scientific approach, we should examine the internet community itself. Unfortunately, looking at a cross-section of this still somewhat underground club, reveals no easy answers. To re-coin an oft-used phrase. Bloggers come from all walks of life. Tech-savvy web-heads, unemployed programmers, bored housewives (and househusbands!), college students, high school students, elementary school students…almost every niche of society is represented on blogging’s roster. What, then, binds these people together with a common colored thread? Well, to be honest, I don’t know. I do, however, know my own story.

Like many tech-tinkerers, I had had web pages before. There was the awful one-page monstrosity of my early collegiate years. Purple marbled background, long scroll all the way down the page to find various links to interesting airplane pictures and news sites that I never actually went to. A few years later, I supplanted this experience with a better-developed monstrosity. This one had content that was, if not valuable, at least palatable. There were sections about me, about aquariums, about drawings and paintings I’d done, and an ill-planned never-finished section on circus freaks. After that, though, where else was there to go? More circus freaks?

Fast forward a few more years and introduce a new way to update a web page consistently and often with interesting (to me) content, “blogging”; and, like most, I started blogging because I knew someone else who did.

“So, you just put whatever you want up there, then?” I said.
“Yes,” she replied, “whatever I want.”
“And you do this everyday?”
“Almost everyday. Personally, I don’t do weekends, but some peop…”
“And it’s like a diary? I never was able to keep a dia…”
“I never could, either! For some reason, though, this is so much easier…”
“I don’t know, I don’t think I’d have anything to say.”

Now, nearly four years later, I may have not had anything of quality to say, but I certainly gabbed it up. It is easier than a diary, somehow; and, unlike its predecessors that hid behind cheap locks or under pillows, a blog is something you find yourself wanting to share. You want visitors to your site, and wear their increasing numbers like a clichéd badge of honor. Uncensored thoughts, feelings, and ideas splayed out for the possible readership of millions (though “thousands” is a more realistic number for even the most popular of weblogs), and nary a care in the world. Having a blog is a hobby for me, but one that is very dear to me. Although the enjoyment is hard to describe, the reality of the voyeurism remains. Having a popular site is like having emissaries of society look at you with the eyes of the masses, and nod their approval. Either that, or it’s an easy way to look like I’m working.

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It’s not so much the distance, or even the traffic. It’s the parking. Or at least today it is. Tomorrow it will be back to the distance again, and then the day after that, the traffic.
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I got to the neighborhood at 9:00AM, but the church we pay for parking for is having some kind of special service today, and the lot is absolutely stacked. This is also L.A., which means there is street cleaning roughly whenever you need to find a parking space. So, a literal 25 minutes later, I was able to find a spot four blocks away in the lovely ghetto of Hollywood (the word “ghetto” is actually redundant in this case).

This is why we need teleporters.
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Or a plague.

It was made clear to me today that there are 19 shopping days left before Christmas. I have not verified this statistic, but it seems reasonably reasonable to me. This means, of course, that I am in a state of mild panic having ‘bought/made/stolen’ nothing for anyone, as of yet. This also means that my ‘credit card bill/hot glue gun/rap sheet’ will be ‘huge/worn out/long and impressive’ this month.
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I pity myself this January when the AMEX bill comes. Perhaps I will soften the blow by checking my flight miles balance (which is tied to said AMEX) immediately before checking my bill. “My my,” I will say to myself because I speak like a proper English bloke in my head, “but look at the 2,500 miles I added last month. Smashing!” This may be enough to delay the heart seizure I would experience until I can earn it the right way through serial and unhealthy eating and drinking at the age of 45.

And I still, still get hits for Japan see-thru panties nearly a year after the fact. Impressive, I should think… though I am not clear on which bit is the impressive one: the staying power of floorpie.net, or the staying power of male (presumably) perversity.

Who has time for blogging when you’re preparing for a co-worker’s return?

Big Brother is watching…ME

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Note to self: never write the phrase, “My dog Chuck, and his bitch Cecilia, had 4 beautiful puppies this afternoon. I’m so happy!”