------- Forwarded Message
From: Thomas Reardon <email@example.com>
To: "'firstname.lastname@example.org'" <email@example.com>
Subject: I relent
Date: Thu, 15 Jan 1998 18:57:44 -0800
Ok, I give up. I am going to willingly disregard my email diet (you know,
don't overeat, avoid in-between-meal snacks, and try to moderate the intake
of synapse-clogging drivel) and ask to join FoRK. Let me into that there
Who *I* am is none of your damn business, jerky.
ps: hope the grad-school transition is going well... anytime you want an
implant to get "well connected", we are willing to provide one.
------- End of Forwarded Message
Now, this makes me a wee bit leery of letting it all hang out. It's as if Barb
Fox asked in -- it's one thing to say your every utterance ends up on the
publically archived Web, but another to shove it directly up the nostril of
someone you respect (as opposed to my friends, naturally :-)
Well, actually, it was a little more dramatic than that. I think I ran
screaming into Jim Whitehead's office. "Fuck me!" It's like having my mother
join FoRK, for example. In fact, Prof. Hal Abelson once relayed a request, and
it's the only one I've ever rejected outright...
I just went over FoRK Filosofy, and I explained how important it is to me that
FoRK remain a clueless, bitless slum 97% of the time, so we can sneak in the
occasional meaningful hint.
On the other hand, I preen, too, for our collective sake. I can just imagine
adding this ol' W3C buddy of mine, and whamo, here comes a string of inquiries
for the Orgasm Pill
or the Wood-Pecker Club
or The Compleat Idiot's Guide to Microsoft Interview Questions
But instead, I calmly proceed to walk, not run, to the nearest exit and head
for the Anthill Pub and down some India Pale Ale, fried chicken, fries with
cheese, and pizza -- because, dammit, Thomas, if you won't use your ration of
the daily planetary fat allowance, I will. Even if it means retreating from my
hard-won 253lbs -- down 55 -- and more hours in the gym at 3AM.
And, lo and behold, I am redeemed: FoRK has shone through in the past hour
with discussions of the essential, implacable evil of Microsoft, its products,
As well as truly critical bits like how to arrange marriage to a buxom wife:
And why PhDs are unutterably useless pieces of paper worth only their exchange
weight in drugs:
Leading to jobs in an unspeakably ghoulish and celibate circle of hell, IT:
So the bottom line is, that implant's looking better and better. Why, since
Jim got implanted, he suddenly aquired a host of technical gadgets proving his
innate superiority to analog life-forms, a smashing fiancee, and lost that
annoying natural-sunlight tan. Maybe I'll take you up on it, too. I know Adam
is: he's crankin on his Microsoft Fellowship application, since no one else
seems to interested in funding my coauthor's ninth year of graduate education.
And, besides, all these radiated bits were bound to loop back and bite my
miniscule reputation on the ass, anyway. Only six hops from anyone to anyone
else, but I feel particularly mocked to be one hop from Miss World '98 AND
Tommy Lee. Why, last year alone, I found out my ex-boss was one hop from the
woman who broke my heart last summer, my housemate, my previous boss' wife,
even my own mother.
It may not matter who *you* are, Jerky Boy, but with friends like these, it
doesn't matter who I am, either.
Welcome to the place where bits go to die,
PS. Bonus round: I also involuntarily added Yaron Goland,
firstname.lastname@example.org, acolyte of JimW's from DAV. Yaron, in addition to
regular appearances as the Bad Cop, once played an Israeli Jew, but though his
location shoot wrapped long ago, feels compelled to bring that hair-trigger
edginess and overassurance to all that he does. Besides, he shares my taste in
Israeli women -- there's something about fieldstripping an M-16 blindfolded...
PPS. Am I really supposed to believe Tim when he says Kamal Whithead is the
Indian Jerky Boy?