Friday, August 15, 2008

Easy on the Email, Buddy

The following are the true bits and bytes from an email exchange between myself and Merlin Mann.*

Dear Merlin!

You are awesome! Thanks for your awesome twitter feed. And for your awesome videos with you and your wallet. I laugh so hard at those! Do more!

Man, you are just awesome!

Your fan!
—jon
P.S. You are *really* awesome!

A week or so later, I got this email.

Jon:

How did you get this email address? Never mind. Don’t answer that.

Thanks for your kind words, but please do not email me again.

—MM

Well, I simply had to email him back to tell him that I would never, ever abuse his courtesy or valuable time! Duh! What would you have done? I’m just being polite right back!

Dear Merlin!

Hey, no problemo, man!

I will never email you again.

But I do want to drop you another line and let you know how much I appreciate the rad podcast you do. It always makes me laugh! And the 5ives is great for a quick giggle. Oh! And your tumblog thing is really cool! How do you find all that stuff you post there? I start surfing around wikipedia and no matter what, I always seem to end up stuck on the Lanthanides page. Every. Time. What’s up with that?

And seriously, your 43 Folders site has really helped me get ahold of my life. I really get a lot of things done now! Though it is weird that all my jeans have the outline of a stack of 3"x5" cards on the back pocket. Side effect of the GTD lifestyle, baby! And it seems I owe A LOT of my productivity improvements to my switch to graph paper. Who knew that graph paper was the key to productivity?! Am I right? High five!

Anyway! No more email from me! Promise!

Your fan!
—jon

Two minutes later I got this back.

Jon:
I am now blacklisting not only your email address, your mail server and your IP, but also the entire netblock of your ISP.
If you email me again, I will hunt down you and your family, do unspeakable things to your genitalia with a pitchfork and then sell your progeny into slavery and use the profits to keep me supplied in Taco Bell and mixed nuts until I retire.
—MM

OK, in all seriousness, I want to introduce you to Merlin’s 43 Folders site. The other stuff he does (twitter, YLNT podcast, etc.) is fabulous and highly entertaining and well worth your time, but the 43 Folders stuff is downright useful. I’m not a huge GTD (Getting Things Done, originally from David Allen’s book and now pretty much a minor religion for some people) kind of fellow, but I have learned a lot from Merlin’s “life hacks” on 43F.

I come back to this article on writer’s block quite a bit. Not because I’ve suffered through writer’s block (knock on cement countertops), but because there are some great tips about creativity in there. And lately I’ve been very impressed with this series he did on attention and time management for creative people. Excellent stuff.

Something people like me with undiagnosed adult ADHD rather desperately need.

The thing I enjoy about Merlin’s 43F site is that he offers his “life hacks” as small things you can do that can improve your life. Personally, I don’t see it as some huge Franklin Planner monster, telling you to “change your whole life around to fit into our system” extravaganza. I know it’s mildly goofy to say, but it feels more like a friend saying, “Hey, this worked for me, try this.”

Anyway, in my ongoing quest of late to talk about things on the internet I enjoy, use or consume, I give you Merlin Mann, mostly of 43 Folders, but also of about 18,317 other domains.

Though I need to warn you, he’s got a real thing about email. If you are ever standing next to him, it’s best not to mention anything about email or he’ll start blathering on and on about “Inbox Zero,” how email maimed his first puppy and that a rogue Exchange mailserver will probably end up killing us all when the revolution comes. He starts to foam at the mouth a little and it’s kind of disconcerting to watch, truth be told.

And if you a PR person or trying to pitch him something, caveat emptor. Don’t bother.

OK, back to being serious again. I’m currently not a person drowning in email, but I know people who are and Merlin’s Inbox Zero stuff is very clever and useful. If you find yourself dreading opening your Mail app every morning, take a look!

*Not true in the slightest. There was no exchange of email, ever. I’ve never met Merlin. I make up stuff like this so people will laugh and end up liking and possibly tolerating me. Isn’t that clear by now?

Jon scribbled this mess on 08/15/08 at 12:02 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Meet the Neighbors!

Ever have one of those moments when you have the perfect thing to say; the wittiest, pithiest and most devastating comeback in the history of the world, but it doesn’t come to you until 30 minutes after it would have simply rocked to have said it?

Yeah me, too. All the time.

Except this evening, when I actually spat it out. (Though as usual, I kind of feel bad for having said it. I should be more mature.)

Sit back and let me spin my yarn…

Neighbor, let’s call him “Bob” (please note, his real name is a four letter name and I am studiously avoiding calling him by my preferred name for him, i.e., “Dick,” but “Bob” will do) is out mowing his lawn. I am driving myself and the kids home. He steps into the street to spin his mower around. There is an oncoming car with its blinding high beams on, so I can’t really see him. But I do see Bob in plenty of time, so I don’t smash into him. Not even close.

He stops his mower and turns and screams a few choice obscenities at me, telling me to slow down. (It’s the F-bomb, kids! And I don’t drop that, but take my word for it.) I have all my windows down, so I and my kids can hear every lovely syllable of his oath filled rant.

I stop the car and get out to tell Bob that “Hey, I’m sorry, but I didn’t see you because of the oncoming car. I’m sorry if it looked like I was going to hit you for a second there.”

I don’t have a chance to get that out my mouth, because Bob is yelling at me as I walk toward him.

“You need to slow the f. down. You are f-ing going to kill my dog.”

“I’m sorry, but your dog was nowhere near the street and I was pretty blinded by that car. And I wasn’t driving that fast.”

“You need to f-ing slow down on this street.”

This is my street, too, by the way.

“Well, I don’t think I drive too fast. I’ve never hit a dog, cat or child with my car in my whole life, but people can have different opinions about this kind of stuff and heck, everyone thinks they are excellent and safe drivers, so sure, I’ll try and slow down. No problem.”

Really. I was that reasonable. You’ll just have to believe me on that score.

But he’s still yelling at me about how I am the f-ing fastest driver on the street and that someday I’m going to f-ing kill his dog.

“Well, I disagree with your over generalization that I’m the fastest driver on the street, but fine, people can disagree about that kind of thing. I’m sorry.”

Apparently, my people skills worked their magic, because he admonished me a little more and then seemingly mollified, he introduced himself to me, “Anyway, my name is Bob.”

“My name is Jon. I live right up there.”

“I know where you live. You also need to do something about your backyard.”

I need to interrupt and explain something right here.
Our backyard? Until a couple weeks ago, it was a total mess. I hadn’t mowed all summer, weeds were everywhere and it was a disaster. Of epic proportions.
Really. A whole commune of hippies could have been back there practicing free love and burning a giant peace sign on the veritable forest the lawn had become and we would not have known. Our front yard is fine, by the way. The way our property is, we don’t have a front lawn, it’s all flower beds and walkways. But you can’t see into our backyard AT ALL from the road, so it’s not like it’s an eyesore or depreciating precious property values.
My only excuse is that I have a busy life and I kind of loathe yard work, so making the backyard acceptable is low on my priority list.
But it is on Reha’s list, so a couple weeks ago, I finally started working in the back and it’s in “OK” shape. It’s nowhere near great, but we’d at least know to evict any hippies.
And though technically the current condition of our backyard isn’t germane to the rest of this rant, I thought you should know that it’s WAY better now. Bob’s info about the state of our backyard is out of date.
Carry on.

Let me repeat him again and please note, the yelling about me and my awful driving was over.

“I know where you live. You also need to do something about your backyard.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I had thought once he formally introduced himself to me that we were moving into the congenial “I’ve said my piece, now we can be friendly” stage. He was pretty calm by this point and I’d apologized for the mere possibility that I could have killed his freely roaming dog in the street. (I also hadn’t brought up that his dog was A) sniffing my crotch constantly while all this went on, B) his dog is much more likely to get hit by any car if he lets it scoot around unleashed, but that’s because I didn’t want to argue with him. For I am Jon. The generally laid back and non-confrontational Peace-maker.)

He then goes on to tell me that he has dinner ALL THE TIME at our immediate neighbor’s house and they can see into our “ratty” backyard from the deck and that I should fix that. He’s detailing not only how bad it is and questioning not only my gardening skills (such as they are), but also my fitness as a human. And repeating that I obviously want to kill his unleashed dog with my car.

At this point? I got a wee bit annoyed. I hadn’t argued with him about his perception of my driving, I had apologized and said I would be more careful in the future. But holy mushrooms on a frozen banana, I could not let that pass.

So I popped off. To wit:

“OK, Bob. So we’ve established that you think I’m a Formula One driver out to kill or maim all domesticated animals on this street and possibly a few children, never mind that I live here, too. Fine. I disagree, but I can accept that. In your eyes, I’m a horrible driver. Check. But now, completely out of the blue, you’ve pointed out that I’m a terrible homeowner and a slovenly gardner. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE? Is there anything else you feel the need to say about my person or character, now that we are meeting here on the street FOR THE FIRST TIME? Let me help you, I’m a little overweight. Maybe you could say something about that. You don’t like my beard? Let’s hear what you think of it! You don’t like my shirt, maybe? My kids are in the car, I could go get them and you could say crappy things about them, too. But I’ll tell you what, Bob, here is what I have learned about you in the past five minutes of your screaming and swearing at me. You never learned a fundamental lesson which I can only assume your parents either failed to teach you or you simply passed over as unimportant drivel: ‘You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.’ Just exactly what did you think was going to happen by your dropping that crack about my backyard into the discussion?”

“Um. I don’t know?”

“Did you think you were telling me something I didn’t know? That I’d be surprised about it? Or that I would suddenly drop everything else in my life and start cleaning up my backyard right this second, because, ‘Oh, there is a person named Bob down the street who disapproves of how I take care of my backyard?! Screw everything else I have on my plate, BOB IS UPSET about my unholy disaster of a backyard that can’t even be seen from the road. I better get cracking!’ Probably not going to happen, I have to be honest with you, Bob. But mostly, I just wonder why, once this thing about my driving seemed resolved that you felt it necessary to pile on like that and bring up the dilapidated state of my backyard?”

“I don’t know. I just said it.”

“Delightful.”


Anyway. I met Bob tonight.

Jon scribbled this mess on 08/12/08 at 11:27 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post Rants. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Monday, August 11, 2008

Who’s Got Olympics Fever, Baby?!

Not me, really. Promise.

But once the following events are added as Official Olympics sports, I WILL BE THE CHAMPION OF THE WHOLE WORLD.

I’m beginning my letter writing campaign to the International Olympic Committee soon.

Just gonna take a quick nap and then I’ll get right on that.

Jon scribbled this mess on 08/11/08 at 12:06 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

We Should Never Have Taught Her to Talk

This is a 110% accurate transcription of a conversation with Ellis in the van the other night.

E: Daddy, you can either be a whiney-pants or a cup of sugar. Choose which you want to be.

Me: Um. The sugar?

E: Great.

Then, apparently not satisfied with the choice I made, she went on to offer me the following choices.

E: Daddy, you can be one of these things now. The sky. The ground. A dead tree. A 7-11. Which do you want to be now?

Me: I can’t be the sugar anymore?

E: Nope. Sky. Ground. Dead tree. 7-11. Choose!

Me: The 7-11, I guess. So we can have Slurpees anytime we want!

E: Good choice, Daddy.

Given the range of choices, I think I chose pretty well.

Though I kind of regret it now. Being open 24 hours a day is really cutting into my personal life.

Jon scribbled this mess on 08/05/08 at 10:05 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

Thursday, July 31, 2008

This Is Why People Never Email Me Back

First off, if you’ve been reading here for a while (hi, Mom!), you know that I don’t venture too far out of my cave and point out things on the Internet that I enjoy. Links, videos, photos, etc. I am not a “link” blogger, culling the interesting from the mundane on the ’Net, a là Kottke or Rex. Folks like that do the “Here’s a cool link!” thing much better than I could hope to. I have a long neglected tumblr site and del.icio.us thing-y I ruthlessly ignore for that sort of thing. Occasionally, sure, but mostly I just do my thing here and leave being a “taste-maker” to people better suited to it.

Second, yes, I sent the following an email and yes, it was really late when I wrote it, thanks for asking. And yeah, I’m one of those people that scribbles entirely over-long emails. Shoot me dead and leave me in a ditch if you want, but that’s how I roll.

Third, just go read her.

Kyran—

I just feel compelled to tell you that I’ve taken to stopping people on the street and saying, “Hello, good stranger! How are you today? That is a lovely hat you are sporting! It goes really well with those khaki Dockers. I’ve seen you before in front of the Deli, since we both work here on the same street. Now, I may be way off the mark and forgive me for being so bold, but have you lost a little weight? You look more svelte than usual.”

“Thank you, please let go of my hand.”

“I’m merely shaking your hand.”

“True, but the time for shaking has long past and you still have ahold of my hand. To a casual observer it might seem like we are just standing here in front of the Deli, holding hands.”

“Good point. Anyway, I have stopped you here on the street because I simply MUST tell you about this web site I happened upon the other day.”

“Um. OK. What is it?”

“It’s called Notes to Self and it’s written by a delightful writer named Kyran and her prose is sublime. You MUST drop everything and get yourself to a web browser and begin paging through her archives in search of gems and assorted shiny baubles of writing. She also writes poetry, but you know me, I’m not that into poetry and what’s even more odd is that I like her stuff in the first place, since I usually don’t go for so-called ‘serious’ writing and generally stick to people on the web who are ‘funny’ writers, given my proclivity for keeping things completely superficial and light and airy like a good chocolate mousse. But she’s that good. Why are you still standing here? Let’s get you to some WiFi! You can borrow my iPhone!”

“You must be right about this site, though; the foam at the corners of your mouth as you babble about it speaks volumes about your enthusiasm for it. And I haven’t left because you still have ahold of my hand.”

And then I get arrested because the person was clandestinely dialing 911 on his cell phone in his pocket with his other hand.

But I always make bail and once the person actually goes and reads your stuff they agree it’s wonderful and drop all charges against me.

Usually that’s what happens.

—jon

Jon scribbled this mess on 07/31/08 at 01:22 PM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link
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