the bell

I’ve talked for years half-heartedly about going back to school, but it’s never been clear what I would study.  I often thought about getting an MBA because of an interest in finance and investing.  But I don’t want to go to business school.  I don’t want to spend my day surround by a bunch of self-important men who have, as their primary life goal, driving a Mercedes SUV and living in Winnetka or New Canaan.  If I go back to school, I want to be there with a variety of people who have diverse backgrounds and interests: men, women, young, and old.  And I don’t think software or electrical engineering is going to meet satisfy that criterion either.

letter

I sat down to write after arriving home on Friday night, and I realized with uncharacteristic suddenness that I have no idea what to say to you. Once upon a time, not more than a few months ago, I considered our relationship one of developing friendship, and I looked forward to your messages and your company. As you must know.

But lately I have great uncertainty. We hardly converse anymore, and there’s stiffness and artifice on the rare occasion we manage to communicate at all. You’ve self-identified as “preoccupied”, but it’s none of my business, so I won’t pry. But though I’m unsophisticated, I’m not stupid, and I’m not completely oblivious. I know something is happening that’s causing you some measure of inconvenience at best and anguish at worst, and I’m sure you’re being mysterious and distant for a reason, but I wish you felt comfortable enough to let me be a friend and be supportive in whatever way you need. Even though it’s exceedingly presumptuous of me, I feel like I’m being lied to, and I don’t like being lied to. I’m concerned about you, because I care about you. As you must know.

But, obviously, I’m either part of the problem or you don’t care to let me be part of the solution. In either case, I’m sorry. I wish I could proffer words of eloquence and poetry. But in the their absence, I offer merely this: I hope that the causes of your troubles are satisfactorily resolved posthaste; I miss you, my friend, and shall wait patiently for your return.

I remain yours,

David

trixie

My new internet chat friend:

That toe cleavage doesn’t create itself.

dot

Sorta makes what I do seem futile…

mortal

Yeah, we’re awesome.

gladys

That it. Matt wins. No one will ever top this.

irony

From the people that brought you the Baby Bells, the IBM consent decree, and Microsoft-as-monopolist.

Seen at the Chicago Marriott.

bacon

I used to enjoy a Canadian television show called “Our Hero“, which featured one “Justin Peroff” as “Ross”, the female protagonist’s ambiguously-gay best friend. “Justin Peroff” is the stage name for Justin Peter Papadimitriou, the drummer for the Canadian indie-band Broken Social Scene. A sometimes lead-singer for Broken Social Scene is one Lisa Lobsinger, lead-singer of the Canadian indie-band Reverie Sound Revue. I got turned onto Reverie Sound Revue by hearing a song used on “Radio Free Roscoe“, a Canadian television show.  From the same production company.

puff

Waiting for the bus this morning I saw a girl walk by wearing an American Cancer Society Relay for Life tee and puffing a cigarette.

aea

Jeremy Keith:

“I think I’m under NDA, so don’t blog.”