noun: hypocrisy; plural noun: hypocrisies
1. the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one’s own behavior does not conform; pretense.
Bob Hoffman calls out those steeped in the practice:
The Silicon Valley aristocracy, who have made billions and billions of dollars by collecting ungodly amounts of personal information about us, came out in force yesterday to denounce governments for collecting ungodly amounts of personal information about us.
They’re shocked — shocked I tell you! — at the intrusion into our privacy.
I have two words for these greedy, lying, hypocrites: screw you.
It’s one of the finer rants I’ve have seen on the interwebspheres, and is worth a full read.
Privacy invasion aside, I think big data marketing is not the panacea it is believed to be. Further, as the data set continues to grow, the return on mining investment will head the opposite direction.
MG signing off (to reset Safari, much as he does after almost every web page he visits)
Fast-food workers were ‘striking’ yesterday …
Fast-food workers and labor organizers are marching, waving signs and chanting in cities across the country Thursday amid a push for higher wages.
Organizers say walkouts are planned in 100 cities, with rallies set for another 100 cities. But it’s not clear what the actual turnout will be, how many of the participants are workers and what impact they’ll have on restaurant operations.
Unless you are a McDonald’s Corp. shareholder you should be applauding this move.
Because America faces an obesity epidemic. The prevalence of affordable fast-food in the populace’s diet has likely contributed to it.
If fast-food workers unionize, prices will go up. People will then eat less fast-food, and subsequently lose weight. The fat problem dissipates, and along with it health issues and related costs of treating type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, coronary artery disease, and even sleep apnea.
Fast-food workers unite! Please unionize, fast. Demand a defined-benefit plan while you are at it.
If we are really lucky, the entire industry will wind up like Detroit.
MG signing off (because there is a silver lining in every unsold Big Mac)
There are websites that express grace and charm; exemplify the beauty that is what they represent, whether people or products. Often both. The designer laid out the floorplan, laboriously crafted graphical elements galore and then assembled them into a proposal which awed (unbelievably gorgeous!) and shocked (the sticker price!). Retainer secured, they then proceeded to construct.
It took months to insert those graphics into the closed-source content management system the designer chose for the task. And many more months getting the server to boot thereafter.
“What about iPads and iPhones?” the customer sheepishly inquires.
“We’ll get to that, and it’ll only take an extra seventy hours. Meanwhile, it kinda-sorta renders on the Blackberry Curve right now.”
Two years and six million dollars later a website is launched. And the designer never even stepped foot into the client’s place of business to do it. Why not? Because they are designers. They don’t need to understand requirements such as internal user skills and/or information resources, target audiences, future business plans, and other such nonsense. Their work products are always stunning to the eye, and that is all that matters.
There are websites. Like the one just implemented above, which crashed weekly, resulting in perpetual additional billings to repair and eventually forcing the owner into involuntary bankruptcy. And then there are websites.
This is the latter.
MG signing off (because Paul “Bear” Bryant said small and fast beats big and slow any day, and the internet hadn’t even been invented yet)
If fish didn’t have gills, they would probably inherit the Earth. Not to say they are meek. If you ever hook a marlin on a fly rod you get to watch your backing disappear faster that a Pronghorn, and hopefully before the reel spool seizes against the drag from the residual heat. Timid they are not.
Pulp Fly Volume Three is kind of like a marlin. More than unabashed. Borderline unchaste. But never profligate.
Three cheers to Erin Block, Alex Landeen, Pete McDonald, Miles Nolte, Tom Sadler, Bruce Smithhammer, Tom Reed, April Vokey, Bob White, Steve Zakur, and Jay Zimmerman. Because without them you’d need a gaff, and a happy
marlin reader is one that gets to swim freely in the water words post-hookup.
You can catch Pulp Fly: Volume Three by checking the Pulp Fly Purchase page. And you don’t even have to release it.
MG signing off (as I already know the marlin analogy was a bit over the top)
A Myers-Briggs test was foisted on me early in my career – I figured my employer was looking for an excuse to get rid of me. Unfortunately for them, I wound up categorized as an introverted feeling type – precisely what was wanted in a big accounting firm, mindless contentiousness. Of course I gamed my answers, and the circus continues to this day. That organization, however, went spiraling down the rabbit hole after its most conservative division, the one that employed all the supposed financial geeks who marched to the company drummer, threw an orgy with some sketchy client files and an industrial paper shredder. And they called us bankruptcy and reorganization folks the cowboys.
Moral of this story? Avoid the self-deceit by figuring out your Jungian functional preference ordering via a simple online test. In the comfort of your own home, with no risk of establishment backlash. Or visa versa.
Meanwhile, the body cannot live without the mind, and visa versa. So in the course of contemplating the interrelation between your cognitive functions, you might also determine out how old you are. Or at least how old your body is in dog years. Use the Norwegian University of Science and Technology’s Fitness Calculator to find out.
MG signing off (as it may not be “really” but it’s still better than palmistry and an overzealous fitness instructor)
Editor’s note: The author is still occasionally referred to as a “cowboy”, much to his amusement.
UPDATE 12/3: Once you’ve received M-B’s “four letters”, Colin Nissan provides the path for being truly self-aware (possibly NSFW, but fun).
Some say it’s all about the bird. Not one for modesty, I declare I’ve perfected the turkey, and have a mashed potato concoction that blows socks off too. Never been much for dressing, and sadly never got a handle on the drink, thinking wine and beer somewhat passé for such a special occasion and a leading cause of naptime before the pumpkin pie is served…travesty! Thankfully someone is covering the problem.
Check out Deadspin’s list of cheap bourbons. All under $15.
That is all.
MG signing off (to wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving)
8 years, 10 months, 4 days. 3,000 posts. At an estimated average of 15 minutes per post, that’s 45,000 minutes…750 hours…31.25 days spent blogging. 31.25 / 3,228 days = 0.97% of that period producing what lies within.
What a goddamn waste of time.
It took nearly four and a half years to reach 2,500, and roughly the same length of time to get here. Could be slowing down, but going to use the excuse that the extra time is now being spent on fancy writing.
MG signing off (to work on what’s next)
She assembles thoughts so intricately rooted in experience and emotion that eyes alone are sometimes not adequate for taking it all in.
So Pulp Fly delivers Erin Block’s upcoming “Could Be Good” for additional senses. Her words, now in her voice. Available in advance of the release of Pulp Fly: Volume Three, on mp3.
Click here to get it.
MG signing off (because it was extremely difficult to edit the audio, being enthralled by the story itself)
Somewhere between the Kanektok and the Snake, I lost my fishing jacket. Eventually, I discovered it’s locale, and it was returned to me. During a recent excursion, I decided to shed the pack, stacking a pile of streamers, a few tips, and a pair of gloves in said jacket.
Standing middle river, I reached for the box. Tied a new color on, then noticed the chest pocket was cramped when returning the fly box to its rightful destination. This beast was the culprit…
Where did this crab come from? What did it mean? Who put it there?
It was just a simple test…
YOURS TRULY: Check this link and see if you can download the file: http://xx.xxxxx.com/xxxxx/xxxxx.txt. It is in an Amazon S3 Bucket.
[five minutes later]
THE LITERAL: I can open the txt file online, but can’t seem to download it.
YOURS TRULY: It won’t actually “download” because it is a text file. But as long as you can see it that means the bucket is working.
THE LITERAL: Right, but you asked me to see if I could download it. Friggin’ techies…
YOURS TRULY: You did download it, into your browser. Friggin’ luddites…
THE LITERAL: That’s crazy talk.
YOURS TRULY: I am blogging this.
THE LITERAL: F***er
MG signing off (to be productive now that I’m amused)