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It Happened to Me

"Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?" (or: Lost story from my birthday party, number two)

Have you ever wondered how hard it is to ask “Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?” from inside a limo?

(For our non-North American readers: this is a gag based on a famous series of television ads in which a distinguished man with a vague British accent in a Bentley rolls down his window and asks passers-by by if they have a particular brand of dijon mustard.)

For our pal Chetan, it’s very, very, very hard.

(Chetan’s the creator of the comic character Tic Toc Tom, a character so cool that he’s open to all sorts of interpretations by different writers and artists. Tic Toc Tom is the predecessor of Jenny Everywhere, right down to the goggles.)

Two days before my birthday party, for her friend Kerry-Ann’s birthday, Sam rented a limo into which Paul B., Paul M., Chetan, Kerry-Ann, she and I piled into for a rye-and-coke-soaked city cruise, followed by a nice steak dinner at the Keg Mansion. While driving about the city, we got the goofy (and probably alcohol-induced) idea that one of us should try the “Grey Poupon” gag. Chetan, being near the window facing the sidewalk, was assigned. The following QuickTime video clips document what happened.

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Uncategorized

The Picture of Everything

Okay, it may not contain everything, but it does contain a helluva lot!

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It Happened to Me

First blood (or: Lost story from my birthday party, number one)

It’s happened on each of my three birthday parties, and always in my kitchen: a committed, attached or unavailable-in-some-way-or-another young woman accosts me against the fridge with a passionate kiss in front of a witness.

This is the story of the last one.

Her: You handled those cops so well!

Me: It’s just negotiation, that’s all.

Her: I would’ve been screaming at them, telling them to fuck off and probably get arrested.

Me: The trick is not to do that, see?

Her: Well, you deserve a drink. Shot of Jagermeister?

Me: Please.

She pours two shots. She drinks one, and pours the other down her cleavage.

Her (stage whisper): Drink.

Me: Uh…er…well, okay.

Soon afterwards, Sam walks into the kitchen, sees what’s going on, but can’t resist watching.

Her: You’re so cute.

Me (thinking): You’re damned right.

She leans into to deliver a long lingering kiss, which includes a very sharp bite to my lower lip. She then leaves to catch up with her boyfriend.

Sam: Wow! You’re a machine, man!

Me: Ow.

My lower lip is really smarting, and I place my index finger on the sore spot. There’s a drop of blood.

Me: Ooh. Sort of like my last girlfriend. No, wait — the second last one.

Sam: That’s just freaky!

Me: Strangely enough, I’m really turned on right now.

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Accordion, Instrument of the Gods

Somebody get Aaron Swartz an accordion

If his latest blog entry is any indication, I believe he’s ready.

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Happy Thanksgiving!

To my American readers: Happy Thanksgiving!

Since my house is occupied by 1.125 Americans (Paul makes the 1, I make the 0.125 thanks to my great-grandfather, one James O’Hara from Dayton, Ohio), we will be celebrating Thanksgiving at my house, Big Trouble in Little China. However, since Canadian Thanksgiving came and went over a month ago, we don’t get the day off today or tomorrow, and we will thus have the big turkey dinner of Saturday night.

I wish I could get my hands on Jones Soda’s Turkey and Gravy flavoured soda for our dinner. It’s seasonal and Atkins-friendly! I also think it could be made into a lovely cocktail if combined with cranberry vodka.

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Fifty-five thousand, Fifty-five thousand, Fifty-five thousand, Fifty-five thousand!

Robert “Scobleizer” Scoble is a name with which I have been long acquainted, first through the magazine he worked for, Visual Basic Programmer’s Journal (which has since morphed into Visual Studio Magazine), then meeting him in person at a Doc Searls-led dinner at the first O’Reilly Emerging Technologies Conference in 2002, and finally through The Scobleizer Weblog. He and I are both paid company cheerleaders; I’m the Tucows developer schmoozer, he’s an evangelist for Microsoft.

If there are three things I have learned from his blogs, they are:

1. He really, really, really, really likes his tablet computer.

2. Longhorn is the codename of the next version of Windows, and it’s got lots of new features.

But the point he’s managed to really drive home:

3. There are 55,000 employees at Microsoft.

I’m quite impressed that he’s managed to wedge that fact so deeply into my brain. I can tell you how many people work at Tucows (about 80 in the Toronto office and 20-ish in Flint, Michingan, for a grand total of about 100), but I can’t give you the employee head count at any of the other software vendors whose products I use regularly: the Apache group, Apple, Bare Bones, Borland, IBM, Macormedia, Python Labs, Red Hat, Sun or Zend.

I can for Microsoft: 55,000.

As I write this, there are two mentions of the number of people who work at Microsoft on his current blog page. What number would that be?

Fifty-five thousand.

Fifty-five thousand.

Fifty-five thousand.

It’s even catchier than Steve Ballmer’s famous “DEVELOPERS DEVELOPERS DEVELOPERS DEVELOPERS” chant-cum-near-cardian-arrest in his infamous video.

I remember hearing stories about how deeply engrained the alphabet is in our brains; even severely badly brain-damaged people can recite it. I imagine that if I were in a car accident that sent me through the windshield and turned my brain into grey guacamole, I’d still be able to tell you that there are 55,000 employees at Microsoft.

Now that’s company evangelism!

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Dear Professor…

Weez, a professor at Rochester Institute of Technology, writes about an email she received from one of her students:

Hi,

I was looking over my grades on my courses and was wondering what the final assessment of my performance will be. I am expecting no less than an A in your class but from the current grade distribution, it seems that I am in a low B range. Will you be able to tell me my final grade? I’m anxious to know how everything turns out so that, if necessary, I can come to you to dispute any final decisions before I leave. Thanks.

Please respond to this email.

Weez writes that she “would be happy if y’all would suggest the myriad things I could say to this student – though probably will not. Deciding this is an opportunity for group email composition, rather labor over a retort, I will happily accept potential replies.”

My suggested response: “Eat the corn from my shit.”

Feel free to use the line, Weez!