ACrushOnYou.com has a shrewd spam pony tricking unsuspectable suckers. Beware! The deal goes like this: first you recieve a taunting email, saying "someone has a crush on you". Ever vain, and given my real email address used in the mail, I fell for it. Flat on my face.
So I go to the website where they make you guess on the "person" who has a crush on you. Person being in quotation marks, as I likely suspect that someone to be a robot scraping my address from somewhere. Probably this site.
Anyway, guessing the "person" requires entering email addresses on who you think has a crush on you. You can see this coming, can't you? Spam alarm bells going DING-DING-DING. Yet I walk straight into the trap, entering the first five female email addresses I can think of.
Then the alarm bells get my attention. My first thought: Fuck. Of course the ring of spams will ripple on to those five new email addresses. And yes, point seven in their FAQ: "Why are the people Im guessing receiving emails?". Because people are vain, ever curios, and too trusting.
Because I'm vain, ever curios, and too trusting.
Getting a basic understanding of any academic subject matter is a dangerous step for me. It's a straight path into the arms of an ambush of frustrations. The limited set of powers and reasoning to bring down poor applications of said subject matter is what kills me. It's knowing just enough to known how not to solve a problem.
These deconstructive abilities arrive and increase in potens well ahead of their constructive counterparts. Resulting in period of time where every solution I can think of is being shot down by myself. While stuck with this uneven distribution of deconstructive and constructive abilities, I easily spend an entire hour refining a single sentence — constantly coming up with reasons for why the current wording isn't satisfactory.
Being in a state of "one sentence per hour" for even a short duration of time is exhausting. Staying in that state for three, four, five hours brings on an army of frustating thoughts, all armed with extensionalistic questions, such as "is this line of education even right for me?". Fighting back can consume an entire day's worth of mental energy. Leaving everything else to lag behind.
I'd much rather be left blissfully ignorant and able to commit sub-standard bodies of work than this. The thought of emerging victoriously on the other side, as a wiser man, isn't large enough a carrot to warrant wilfully subjecting myself to these painful emotions of inadequacy. (It should seem.)
But of course, as soon as the examination has passed, my rewriting brain will adopt a glorified pictorial of the affair. And in time, it'll get so bad that I'm probably even going to look back with a smile and post-rational feelings of how educational it was.
So I feel an urge to engrave my present state of mind: I Hate Organizational Theory.
Mygdahl points to Scient as an example of good design and communication style. Although he does note the buzzword mongering, I don't think he really thought it over. What good is pretty colors and nice graphics if it does nothing to make me understand their message?
Opening paragraph from the What We Do page:
Your shareholders demand results. Your clients demand results. Your employees demand results. Real results are not created by your business strategy or technology alone, rather they are based upon the experience those channels yield to your customers, partners, and employees.
Pleeeeeease. What a bunch of hoey. And that nice Experience Factor graphic that goes along with it says exactly as little.
Rule: Don't lie to me. Clicking "What We Do" means I want to know what you do. Not being fed some "You demand results" crap from the all words, no meaning machine.
I want to be rewarded with information for every single line I read. If it's not pulling its own weight in delivering insight, it has to go. Copy editing 101.
Taking the UK-Denmark postal express can be tough love for an Amazon package. My most recent acquisition had to be taped back together during the ordeal before reaching its destination. The contents was fine. But that wasn't my concern, when I opened the package. My concern was that extra package inside mine.
Obviously, some postal worker had accidently included that second Amazon delivery when he tapped mine back together. The intended recipient was some Jesper guy living in the same postal code as me.
His package was much smaller than mine. Just a single book. That didn't stop my curriosity, though. Even with five brand new books, I was still immensely tempted by that another book. That unknown book.
I'd like to tell you that I did the honorable thing, and threw the book back in the mail box unopenened, because it was the right thing to do. But I can't. Well, it was a distant second, at least. The real reason is the annoying wrapping Amazon uses for single book deliveries, which doesn't lend itself well to be opened without leaving signs of the intrusion.
Fellow blogger Ralph have decided to "...quit while [he's] ahead", and have terminated the delightful near-daily story telling that was Rules'n'Randomness. I sincerely hope he does in fact "...change [he's] mind next week", as I for one will indeed miss the daily dose of like-minded thinking.
That's probably why I'll miss R'n'R the most (what a nice abbreviation :)). It reminded me of me. I shared, or at least understood, most of Ralph's thinking. He continuously stroke a cord — in a well-played way — about life, software, and other subjects I enjoy.
As for unused potential, the motivation behind Ralph's decision to take a step back for a moment, I say: There will always be unused potential. Let's all work together on gaining more ground, improving the present one step at the time.
I too have a ton of thoughts on how to push forward blogging. Maybe we could ping-pong some thoughts and take a few steps together? I'd like that.
A new set of mutant loud speakers rising from the ashes of four different component brands, custom-assembled by my dad, has transcended the audio atmosphere in my living room out of mediocrity.
I'm revelling in acoustic precision, reliving all of my favorite songs scouting for notible differences. The guitar strings of Jewel, the voice of Tracy Chapman, the bass of Sade, the details of Nelly Furtado. They have all of them been reborn.
Productivity suffers, though. I'm much more easily lost in the music. Surrounded by impressions. Imagining worlds. Discovering.
I hope my neighbors share my taste in music. The audio illusion is most complete loud. Really Loud.
Want more loud thinking? Check the archives
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