Monday, October 24, 2005
Phraseology
Ruggedized. Hostile feedback. Pre-filter (as applied to social dynamics). And my favourite: active termination.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Phil
Riad wanted to know the story of Phil, and I admit, I promised to tell. There's not much more to it than my penchant for striking up conversations with random strangers. In this instance, Phil was getting some stuff out of his Fiero (I said, "Nice car. What's the make?") around 2am some work-night. We chatted for about 15-20 minutes before I headed home.
Anyhow, I think this (sanitized) email speaks volumes. I'd analyse it for you, but 1) that might be a bit unfair to the dude, 2) my Voo Doo would be showing (as many a SIPB member is wont to say). Which is to say, it wouldn't be a nice sort of analysis. Despite the fact that, at the time, I thought we had a very pleasant conversation. But... the email is just too creepy to ever warrant calling him up. I'm similarly disappointed that the completely crazy guy I ran into over by Tosci's a few weeks ago hasn't emailed me yet. He was hilarious. He had a geode where the crystal inside looked exactly like Australia, and he had it copywrited and was going to sell it to the Australian government for fat wads of cash. He'd made these really nice prints of photos of it and everything. I was looking forward to his art gallery/halloween party announcement. Sad me. Anyhow, for your reading pleasure.
From: CREEPY DUDE
Date: Fri, 7 Oct 2005 10:48:42 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: Nice Meeting You
To: stupidwoz@wtfwereyouthinking.com
Hi ----, It was fun meeting you last night/early this morning. You have an interesting e-mail ID. As an Architect, "you" are an icon in classic form! I also have a Master's with concentration in Anthropology and Archaeology, have climbed Mount Olympus in Athens and stood as close to the Erechtheion's porch of the "Caryatides" (Archaeological alternate spelling) as I was to you when chatting from the ladder. Your personal character affiliation with this kind of statuary is telling of your inner sense of how you caption your role in life ...
Would really like to continue the "download" - seems we have much in common, and with a little exploring, will likely discover dissimilarities with good fits for exchange. Call me any time at the number I gave you - It's a satellite voicemail/pager toll free 1-222-333-4444. Gives about 20 seconds of voicemail, or you can tap in a reply phone number - gets to me either way in a few minutes after sending. If you want me to call you instead, you can e-mail me here with your phone or cell phone number.
Kindest regards, Phil
Anyhow, I think this (sanitized) email speaks volumes. I'd analyse it for you, but 1) that might be a bit unfair to the dude, 2) my Voo Doo would be showing (as many a SIPB member is wont to say). Which is to say, it wouldn't be a nice sort of analysis. Despite the fact that, at the time, I thought we had a very pleasant conversation. But... the email is just too creepy to ever warrant calling him up. I'm similarly disappointed that the completely crazy guy I ran into over by Tosci's a few weeks ago hasn't emailed me yet. He was hilarious. He had a geode where the crystal inside looked exactly like Australia, and he had it copywrited and was going to sell it to the Australian government for fat wads of cash. He'd made these really nice prints of photos of it and everything. I was looking forward to his art gallery/halloween party announcement. Sad me. Anyhow, for your reading pleasure.
From: CREEPY DUDE
Date: Fri, 7 Oct 2005 10:48:42 -0400 (EDT)
Subject: Nice Meeting You
To: stupidwoz@wtfwereyouthinking.com
Hi ----, It was fun meeting you last night/early this morning. You have an interesting e-mail ID. As an Architect, "you" are an icon in classic form! I also have a Master's with concentration in Anthropology and Archaeology, have climbed Mount Olympus in Athens and stood as close to the Erechtheion's porch of the "Caryatides" (Archaeological alternate spelling) as I was to you when chatting from the ladder. Your personal character affiliation with this kind of statuary is telling of your inner sense of how you caption your role in life ...
Would really like to continue the "download" - seems we have much in common, and with a little exploring, will likely discover dissimilarities with good fits for exchange. Call me any time at the number I gave you - It's a satellite voicemail/pager toll free 1-222-333-4444. Gives about 20 seconds of voicemail, or you can tap in a reply phone number - gets to me either way in a few minutes after sending. If you want me to call you instead, you can e-mail me here with your phone or cell phone number.
Kindest regards, Phil
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Dangerhouse
I finally caught the first T back from a party. Here are some aggregated links for your enjoyment:
Crazy Japanese Artist Courtesy of Grace
Sculpted Leather Corsetry (the art pieces have some wicked detailing)
Wooden Sculptures
Surrealist Photography Courtesy of Sherv
Crazy Japanese Artist Courtesy of Grace
Sculpted Leather Corsetry (the art pieces have some wicked detailing)
Wooden Sculptures
Surrealist Photography Courtesy of Sherv
Friday, October 07, 2005
Mislaid but not Lost
I'm up in my whining, and behind in recounting my adventures in being a Midwestern Girl. I got a bit dizzy just now (I'm home sick from work and am finally putting my stuff to rights) so I'll type a bit and then get back to it.
Swapfest Coffee
The story of my Swapfest coffee dates from the last surreal week I spent working on my thesis. If I hadn't made a note of it here, I probably would have forgotten it entirely. I had been working in SIPB, and it was cold and early in the morning. I decided nothing in the world would be better than Ritazza French Vanilla Creme vending machine coffee. I gathered up my money and went down to the CoffeeHouse (now home to nothing save SaveTFP and some depressed vending machines), but the CoffeeHouse was locked. I continued down to Verdes, only to discover it was 20 minutes before Verdes would open. A man -- and I can't describe what he looked like anymore except that he was short with dark hair and a Boston accent, and he reminded me a bit of Bonk, which is to say of Tommy Lee Jones -- was similarly disappointed by the failure of Verdes to be open. You can spot a coffee addict who's jonesing for a fix; well, if you've ever been a kindred soul. There's a certain hunch to the shoulders, a twist to the brow. This man had the look, as I'm sure I did. We exchanged pleasantries (mostly swearing) about how nice it would be if Verdes would open so that we could get coffee. He asked me where else might be open, and I told him about the only other source of sweet, hot and nourishing caffeine that I could think of -- Munchies.
Then he left the student center. And I left as well, deciding that hot coffee was going to be far superior to flat Coke. On a lark, I ran to catch up with him, and we chatted on the walk north up Mass Ave. I didn't know his name and he didn't know me from Eve. Eventually I remembered that Sam's Luncheonette might be open (I mean, Sunny's Diner) and we made our way there (conveniently next to Munchies). But Sam's was closed. I was fine with bad gas station coffee, but this guy wanted a proper cup of the black stuff. We chatted for a bit about where other places to find coffee might be, when he metaphorically slapped his head and said, "Of course!" And said that there would be coffee at the parking garage.
Parking garage? I started weighing my options -- like how he probably had 20-30 lbs on me. My father gave me a healthy paranoid streak and, in return, I regularly give him heart palpitations by purposefully overturning caution for faith in basic human goodness. But there's still that moment of decision...
This man, he seemed honest and nice and we were having a good conversation (about Rush, Cambridge, Boston and MIT and, of course, the different kinds of engineering we did) so I took him at his word. There would be a man selling coffee and donuts at one of the MIT parking garages. And so we walked back, South along Mass Ave, then East on Vassar, then across the railroad tracks to where a table had been set up outside of the parking garage and a man was selling coffee and Dunkin' Donuts. The parking garage! Now it was my turn to slap my head -- which I really did. This was SwapFest.
This guy was a vendor at SwapFest -- otherwise known as the MIT Flea, and also something I'd never been to before. Despite the fact that I love crufting hardware; I hadn't had the money as an undergrad. But there we were. He'd come full-circle (when he'd made his way to Verdes, he'd completely forgotten about the Swapfest coffee guy) and I'd gone on a pleasant detour. We chatted a bit more, bought coffee, exchanged names, made our goodbyes, and I took my coffee back to SIPB and resumed work on my thesis. By that time, Verdes was open, but my coffee was better on account of how I got it.
And that is the story of my SwapFest coffee. Maybe it's time for a small snack and setting up my stereo. Nice, light labor.
Swapfest Coffee
The story of my Swapfest coffee dates from the last surreal week I spent working on my thesis. If I hadn't made a note of it here, I probably would have forgotten it entirely. I had been working in SIPB, and it was cold and early in the morning. I decided nothing in the world would be better than Ritazza French Vanilla Creme vending machine coffee. I gathered up my money and went down to the CoffeeHouse (now home to nothing save SaveTFP and some depressed vending machines), but the CoffeeHouse was locked. I continued down to Verdes, only to discover it was 20 minutes before Verdes would open. A man -- and I can't describe what he looked like anymore except that he was short with dark hair and a Boston accent, and he reminded me a bit of Bonk, which is to say of Tommy Lee Jones -- was similarly disappointed by the failure of Verdes to be open. You can spot a coffee addict who's jonesing for a fix; well, if you've ever been a kindred soul. There's a certain hunch to the shoulders, a twist to the brow. This man had the look, as I'm sure I did. We exchanged pleasantries (mostly swearing) about how nice it would be if Verdes would open so that we could get coffee. He asked me where else might be open, and I told him about the only other source of sweet, hot and nourishing caffeine that I could think of -- Munchies.
Then he left the student center. And I left as well, deciding that hot coffee was going to be far superior to flat Coke. On a lark, I ran to catch up with him, and we chatted on the walk north up Mass Ave. I didn't know his name and he didn't know me from Eve. Eventually I remembered that Sam's Luncheonette might be open (I mean, Sunny's Diner) and we made our way there (conveniently next to Munchies). But Sam's was closed. I was fine with bad gas station coffee, but this guy wanted a proper cup of the black stuff. We chatted for a bit about where other places to find coffee might be, when he metaphorically slapped his head and said, "Of course!" And said that there would be coffee at the parking garage.
Parking garage? I started weighing my options -- like how he probably had 20-30 lbs on me. My father gave me a healthy paranoid streak and, in return, I regularly give him heart palpitations by purposefully overturning caution for faith in basic human goodness. But there's still that moment of decision...
This man, he seemed honest and nice and we were having a good conversation (about Rush, Cambridge, Boston and MIT and, of course, the different kinds of engineering we did) so I took him at his word. There would be a man selling coffee and donuts at one of the MIT parking garages. And so we walked back, South along Mass Ave, then East on Vassar, then across the railroad tracks to where a table had been set up outside of the parking garage and a man was selling coffee and Dunkin' Donuts. The parking garage! Now it was my turn to slap my head -- which I really did. This was SwapFest.
This guy was a vendor at SwapFest -- otherwise known as the MIT Flea, and also something I'd never been to before. Despite the fact that I love crufting hardware; I hadn't had the money as an undergrad. But there we were. He'd come full-circle (when he'd made his way to Verdes, he'd completely forgotten about the Swapfest coffee guy) and I'd gone on a pleasant detour. We chatted a bit more, bought coffee, exchanged names, made our goodbyes, and I took my coffee back to SIPB and resumed work on my thesis. By that time, Verdes was open, but my coffee was better on account of how I got it.
And that is the story of my SwapFest coffee. Maybe it's time for a small snack and setting up my stereo. Nice, light labor.
