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CVEs and Laziness
You know something has gone wrong when DependaBot becomes the most active recent contributor to your hobby project.
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Staying Safe in 2020
Just pretend the air is lava and you’ll be fine.
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You're in Good Hands
He is walking down the steps to the sidewalk. On his back is a pack containing
- three diapers,
- a changing mat,
- hand sanitizer,
- a tube of diaper rash ointment,
- a bottle with six ounces of formula,
- two rice crackers,
- a bib,
- a hat,
- sunscreen,
- a rubber ball, and
- a small rubber giraffe.
On his chest is an 11-month-old boy. In his head is, to the tune of a popular insurance company jingle: “we are parents, bum bah dum bah bum bum bum.”
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A Street Scene in Blue
Deciding to be conservative for a change, he grabs the brakes and stops his bike just as the traffic light turns red. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a second biker pull up beside him.
His attention, having been drawn in that direction, catches on the construction project behind the other biker. The skeletal frame and towering crane beside it. And the crane is hoisting something, but not steel beams or a pallet of planks. It’s a blue portable toilet.
“There’s something surreal about that,” he says without much thought.
“Imagine what it’s like for guy inside taking a whiz,” replies the other biker before peddling off with the now green light.
He is about to push off with his right foot to get the bike going, but he hesitates and listens for a second. There’s a sound that could be the distant protests of a badly put-upon construction worker, but maybe it’s just the wind.
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Quest Oculus Non Vide, Cor Non Delet
“What the eye doesn’t see,
the heart doesn’t grieve over”
seems as much an explanation of advertising, or the basis of social-media-induced envy, as it does a call for subterfuge. -
9 Months After Sex Bomb
Awww baby.
Swaddle you tight.
Sleep sack, sleep sack (yeah)
You’re in a sleep sack
I can put it on you
Any time because your mineSleep sack, sleep sack (uh-huh)
You’re in a sleep sack
And baby you can take a napBaby you can take a nap (take a nap)
Baby you can take a nap (take a nap)
Baby you can take a nap (take a nap)
Baby you can take a nap (take a nap) -
Vote
You know, for democracy.
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Big Yellow Taxi: 2018 Edition
They repaved paradise
to fix up the parking lot.
It was filled with potholes
from all the wild weather
we’ve been having lately. -
Cleaning is an Act of Destruction
There’s a fine line between scouring your grater and grating your sponge.
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Missed Opportunities: '90s Edition
Spin Doctors would have made a great name for a DJ collective.
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Nutritional Masculinity
Over the last few years, I’ve noticed an arms race amongst San Francisco restaurants: their steak knives. A few minutes before the arrival of your chop, the server, decked out in tattoos and a leather apron, will come by to replace your everyday knife with an implement Jim Bowie might have brought with him to a duel. It promises a meal of accomplishment and adventure.
What a boon it could be, then, for vegetarian eating if your roast cauliflower were accompanied with a bolo or your tortilla española with a yataghan. If the carnivorous were no longer endowed with better cutlery, might not more attempt a meat-free meal?
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They Were Pretty Good, Too
The eighth best thing about the ‘90s band Morphine was the look of horror and concern when you told your friends that you’ve really been getting into Morphine lately. At least you had the common sense not to try that line on your parents.
The third best thing, by the way, is wah-wah petal on baritone sax.
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Transmigration of Soul Mates
Do those who believe in reincarnation consider marriage a one-life stand?
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Simple, Modern Joys: Part 2
As he’s transferring the laundry into the washing machine, his eyes happen to catch the tag in a pair of slacks. Dry clean only. He pauses for a moment before tossing them in. “I’m calling your bluff.”
Two hours later, as he pulls the same pants out of the dryer, he gives them a once over. The color looks the same. There are no noticeable holes or signs of pilling. Seeing a pen on the shelf, he grabs it, crosses out “only” on the tag, and writes “optional” above it.
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Signal Analysis
Dr. Richard and Carmen Akli welcome you to the marriage of their daughter Susan to Douglas Marlin, son of the Honorable Arnold and Amanda Marlin. The dinner, underseasoned but substantial, is over and everyone is around the laminate dance floor. DJ Armstrong is manning the decks.
Over the past three years, he has developed a remarkable reputation by word of mouth. Grooms, parents of bat-mitzva-ed girls, and socialites across central Maryland and northern Virginia share his business card and speak in reverential tones about his prowess in getting their guests to boogie.
Please be aware: this is not his day job.
He has stacks of records organized into mixes sitting under the table. Each mix has printed label affixed: JAUNTYSPROKET, FLEXIBLECRICKET, ROGUELEFTY, and so on. He asks that he be allowed at least an hour and half to properly set up his rig. He is more comfortable if he can do a sound check before the guests arrive. Now, he’s on edge since he only had an hour ten because once again his phone underestimated the traffic; it never gets right the wait making that left in Tyson’s Corner.
He is 12m05s into the STRAINEDPROBATE mix and has yet to look up from his equipment.
“Can you play Return of the Mack?” He hears through the ear uncovered by his headphones.
He considers its tempo. “I can play it in three songs.” He digs up the record from his bag and shuffles upcoming songs around to get a good transition.
In his pants pocket, his other phone vibrates. He grimaces. He puts the stack of remaining records back in his bag and loads up a playlist of three hours worth of music to play from his laptop. Again, that phone vibrates.
He scans the margins of the room. There’s a young man fixated on his phone. DJ Armstrong walks over to him. There’s a Wikipedia article about psychedelic mushrooms on the phone’s screen.
“Can you do me a favor? Stand behind the DJ booth with my headphones on and look busy for …” he glances at the message on the phone, “two hours. I’ll give you $300.”
“OK.”
“If I’m not back by then, play Livin’ on a Prayer and Don’t Stop Believing, kill the power, and walk away. I’ll pack up.”
“Sure, thing.” The young man takes a step towards the gear and stops. “Can I get the money now?”
Armstrong takes out his wallet, withdraws three $100 bills, and hands them over. He waits until the young man puts the headphones around his neck and starts bobbing his head before walking towards the back exit by the kitchen. He’s halfway down the corridor when he’s brought to a stop.
“Leaving so soon?” Amanda Marlin is standing behind him, one arm akimbo and the other holding a cocktail.
He puts on a bashful smile. “Oh, sorry, something urgent came up and have to step a away for a little bit. Don’t worry, the music will keep playing.”
“Doug was so exited to have you play his wedding.”
“Look, I know this timing is unfortunate. I’d be happy to refund all your money.”
“No. Get back to our party and do your job.”
“Ms. Marlin… I’m not sure what to tell you but it’s an emergency.” His phone vibrates, so he takes it out, glances at the message, and taps out a reply.
“I don’t know if you’re involved in some kind of foul business, but don’t you bring it back here. We’re respectable people.”
That’s enough. He steps towards her until there is only a foot between them. She leans away. He leans in and whispers in her ear. “I’ve listened to your husband’s calls. The ones to Cyprus, Panama, Oman, and Venezuela. I’ve transcribed them so I remember every word.” He smiles. “Sometimes his aide Kristen is on those calls too. They seem to be very close. I know my superiors have been told not take this any further, but if any of this got into the press, it would make his reelection a lot trickier.”
“You’re scum,” she whispers.
“Enjoy the rest of your party. And congratulations, Ms. Marlin.”
He walks as quickly as he can to his 2003 Corolla. Once he’s inside, he rests his head on the steering wheel. One deep breath and another. He starts the car, puts on Dr. Dre’s 2001, and begins the drive Langely.
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Language Tranforms Under Pressure
Of the new phrases to have reached the popular consciousness in 2017, “yogurt button” leaves me the most optimistic.
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Simple, Modern Joys: Part 1
When she walk into a bakery and see a batch of bright green cookies, confections, or muffins, she does her best Jan Brady impression: “Matcha, Matcha, Matcha!”
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Gerrymandias
I met a blogger from a bygone land
Who spoke of a section of metal wall,
Half buried beside a dry riverbed
Topped with barbed wire that’s started to fall.
Every few hundred yards stands another slab
With patches of gold paint amid dull rust.
From one side of this vast landscape made drab
A hand had ruled uprooting any trust.For there is text that peeks above the earth
“Behold the wall of GERRYMANDIAS:
Look on my works, bad hombre, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
(With all due respect to Shelley) -
Spell Check on Aisle Five
She twirls her fork in a plate of priest-stranglers, making a vortex with the noodles. He lifts his fingers off the keyboard and re-reads the last sentence he wrote. Is noodle spelled right? His eyes scan back and forth.
noodle
How else would it be spelled?
noodle
noodle
noodle
noodle
Something just seems off.
noodle
noodle
noodle
noodle
noodle
noodle
Definitely wrong. -
Also, Gold on Pierce
A free bit of branding advice: if you’re opening a cutlery store in the Mission District, call it Fierro on Guerrero.
You can thank me later.
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