You’re welcome.

“Hey, buck up little camper! There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
“Oh, excellent, I pour out my soul and you shoot back a clichéd platitude.”
“Yes, but just because it’s a cliché doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Let me tell you a little secret about me and ‘the fish.’ I don’t actually enjoy any aspect of fishing. I don’t like having to go to the sporting goods store and pick out a special rod and reel for the occasion. I don’t like getting up at the crack of dawn and trekking down to the sea. I don’t like to bait the hook. I hate waiting forever for a nibble. I hate the excitement of feeling that initial tug on the line, only to feel the crushing disappointment that I’ve merely snagged my line on some piece of garbage from the bottom. Then you have to re-bait the hook and the worms are all dead by then and too much time has passed and it’s hot and uncomfortable out there while I endlessly cast a line into the water and so I realize that since I’m never going to catch anything anyway I may as well stop trying even though I’ve put this huge effort into the process. Add to that the fact that I look and see all these other stupid, moronic and disgusting fishermen who have landed amazing catches off the same pier and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me, I can’t even catch one lousy fish and I just go home dejected, depressed, eternally empty handed and smelling like the stale beer I drank while waiting interminably on the shore for any fish to come by.”
“Um.”
“And! What about the fact that I don’t even live close to the sea? I live in a land-locked version of reality. In truth, I live in the desert on the ruins of a dry lake bed. Sure, millions of years ago, there was an inland sea and it teemed with life and vitality, but those days are long gone. Now it’s a vast wasteland of horror and sterility. There is only dust, a million fossils littering the ground and the past to examine and try and guess what happened. There are no more fish. There was one sea and it held one fish in it. I came along exactly at the right time and she was the one fish willing to…” and I faltered for a moment.
“Go on, say it, she was the one fish who’d consent look at your worm and nibble at it.”
“Well, I didn’t want to be gross, but, yeah, exactly, I hit just the perfect moment to hook her and that moment has passed. Plus, I’m just saying, it’s a terrible cliché and it’s also not based in reality.”
“I think you’re wrong, it is based in reality and I think you’ll find that out eventually, but I also think you may have strained the limits of the ‘fish in the sea’ metaphor to the limits. It’s possible you may have even broken your line.”
“Rim shot.”
“Rim shot, indeed.”

One Thing

One of the reasons I really like this app is that is sets out to do ONE thing and do it well.

Birdhouse is for WRITING and EDITING individual twitter posts before you send them out into the cold, cruel world. It does this with aplomb and with a minimum of muss and fuss. Birdhouse isn’t trying to be all things to all people (i.e, reading other people’s tweets, posting links, photos, etc.), it’s just a nice little app that helps you craft your thoughts into some semblance of order. And it’s got a great interface which is well thought out.

Now, you may quibble with the idea of putting any thought at all into something as fleeting and silly as tweets/toots on twitter, but if you are trying to toss some quality into your twitter stream of consciousness, give this app a whirl. You won’t be sorry.

Full disclosure: I know one of the developers as we had a torrid affair in Hong Kong one steamy night back in ’72. Sure, he *says* he doesn’t remember it and that I’m making it all up in order to blackmail him into footing the bill for my extensive laser skin treatments to cure my chronic and debilitating back acne, but we both know the truth.


Get the app here. And some great info and a bit more about the app here.

I got new glasses last weekend.

They’re growing on me.

Which is actually kind of uncomfortable. You ever had a pair of glasses grow into your face?

Painful.

Front of the “card.”

In case you can’t read it, the text in the upper left hand corner reads, “to: well, Who did you think it’s to? It’s in your shoe!”

Then we get to the meat of the matter:

Guts of the “card.”

“thanks for all you’ve done”

Apparently, it’s possible that I may, on rare occasions, freak my friend Jonah (10) out a wee bit.

Thank you, dear reader for picking up and reading my book. I appreciate it.

But before we get to the heart of the matter and into the yarn I have spun especially for you, I need to clear up a couple things.

This book you are holding in your hands? I did it all myself. I bought the computer. I bought the software. Fine, Apple made the computer and those UNIX-y goofballs at Macromates wrote the text editor I used, but apparently I’m supposed to acknowledge them here in MY book because they did their jobs and a simple credit card transaction brought their works to me? Shhhee-yeah, right.

Look, I wrote every single word you are set to savor in this book.

Me.

ALL ME, baby.

I crafted the intricate, deft and surprising plot. I invented the detailed, lovable and believable characters. I even acted out some of the dialog just to make sure it was up the exacting standards someone such as yourself would demand.

Who chose the paper this book is printed on? Me, jackhole. Duh! Only the finest in 100% recycled pulp for my book.

Who dripped ink into the printing press fountains? Of course, I did.

Who ran the giant and incredibly complicated bindery machine to sew this masterpiece together? Your damn skippy, I did all that.

And look at the magnificence I have wrought! Feel that heft! Clearly, what you hold in your hands is without a doubt one of the most important works of fiction in the last four and a half months. And let me assure you that every sentence in this tome has been carefully crafted to amaze, delight and ease you into a higher state of being and consciousness. I am quite positive it will meet with your approval, my new reader friend.

That dust jacket photo? Self shot with a timer, like Real Men do. Every single disgusting and horrendous blemish on my face, all my extraneous and wild nose hair, and even a full and luscious set tresses was Photoshopped out or in as necessary by yours truly, since not only am I an accomplished wordsmith, but even pixels quiver and fall before my dominion.

No one helped me do anything. I just need you to understand that.

Did I ever even ask for help?

No, of course not. I didn’t need any help to birth the splendor you currently cradle in your hands.

And did anyone help me during the editing process? Nosiree, Bob. As a matter of fact, I’m sure that my so-called “editor,” Jane Krapowski, is the person responsible for introducing errors into to the utterly pristine copy I handed over to her. Go look on page 275, for example. See that run-on sentence there at the bottom of the page that meanders around for SIX pages? That’s all her, thinking the passage needed some “meat.” I can’t believe she still gets a salary. Must be some kind of sinecure racket they have going over at Knopf. And man could she ever drone on about the Oxford comma! Word to the wise, never get her started talking about “extreme” punctuation.

Seriously, if it weren’t for me this whole enterprise wouldn’t have gotten off the ground.

And my loving family? Were they patient as I toiled in solitude to produce this magnum opus? Were they supportive of my long nights of shouting bits of dialog into the night sky? Did they offer helpful advice as I sweated the details of this publishing circus?

Let’s go with a resounding “no,” and leave it at that, OK?

Anyway.

Thanks for reading.

YOU, dear reader, I hereby thank. I bow to you. I acknowledge your superior taste in literature and salute you.

Carry on.

I’m moving the RNT World Domination HQ to a brand new server. So far things look OK, but knowing my level of skill at this sort of thing and because I’ve given up caffeine (again), things might be screwy for a moment or two.

“Why have you stopped updating your site, Jon?”

Um.

I’ve been really busy?

Yeah, that won’t fly will it?

OK. Here’s the truth.

I’m writing a book.

STOP SNICKERING AT ME.

Really, I am.

Of course, I don’t have a publisher, an agent or any friends who will read any book I wrote even if I were to pay them large sums of money out of my own pocket, but THAT WILL NOT STOP ME. At this point, it’s more about, “Jon, just write the damn book and get it out of your system” than actually getting it published.

Anyway. Practical upshot. I’m cutting back on posting here to about once a week. Possibly once every two weeks. Hit up the RSS/Subscribe thing-y and you can be alerted the instant I shovel something out. Also, I will continue to update twitter on a daily basis. And the occasional photo.

Thanks for reading. And I’ll be back.

Roger (in his head): Since when does Nancy know how to sew? She doesn’t know how to sew. She’s never known how to sew. Why would she be offering to sew a button back on my shirt? We’ve been married for twenty-five years. She’s never even picked up a needle. I don’t even think we own a needle, much less thread, for crying out loud. And a thimble? Forget about it! Does she even know what a thimble looks like? I seriously doubt it.

What is going on here? Why this sudden offer to pick up a needle and thread and do this for me? What’s her angle? What could she possibly be thinking, standing at the kitchen counter and seemingly innocuously putting together a batch of Chex Mix? She must have something up her sleeve.

Unless.

She’s not really Nancy. I mean, sure, she looks like Nancy and everything, but maybe it’s not really her. That first batch of Chex Mix she made tonight and then threw out? Did that taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix? No, it most certainly did not taste like Nancy’s Special Chex Mix. She said it was because she forgot to put in the worcestershire sauce, but how can that be? She’s been making her Special Chex Mix with that recipe for the last thirty years! Forgot the worcestershire sauce? Come on! Does she think I’m a fool? What’s really happening here?

I’ve got it.

She’s a cyborg. She’s been replaced. Yes. Yes! Look at her eyes. Not quite the same shade of blue as Nancy’s. Those idiots! They think they can fool me? Ridiculous. Though, I must admit, they did do a decent job. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was Nancy herself standing there dumping Wheat Chex into our oversized mixing bowl. They even made the hair fall down into her eyes the same way as Nancy’s. But obviously they didn’t do their homework properly. Idiots. If they’d even done even one ounce of research they’d have known about Nancy’s sewing deficiency. I bet this poor automaton doesn’t even know the first thing about Chex Mix and is panicking right now, believing it’s been caught. Yes, look at it, staring at me uncomprehending. It knows I’m clued into its clever rouse. I almost feel sorry for it, poor pathetic machine.

More important than the feelings this crude similitude of a human, though. What is this hunk of robotic junk doing in my house? Why would they replace Nancy with a cyborg? And, even more importantly, where the hell is Nancy? Those bastards! My poor Nancy! Well, if they think I’ll talk to this collection of faulty logic circuits, they obviously haven’t done any fieldwork on me. But what happens when I don’t talk? What will this bucket of bolts and blood do to me then? What if I can’t keep up the facade that I believe that it is the real Nancy? It’s probably been programmed to eliminate me. And there’s no way I outrun that thing. Not with my hip. Which is probably what happened to Nancy. She probably wouldn’t talk, either; and just like that, they extinguished her. Well, that won’t be my fate. No way. After she’s “asleep,” tonight, I’m out of here. I can play along until we go to bed, I’m sure. Just have to concentrate. But then I’m gone! Outta here, baby! And I’ll torch the place as I leave, too. Just for good measure. Bastards and their blasted robots. They won’t have what’s in my head. No way.

But still, that nagging question will linger, even after this house is a nothing but a smoldering pile of ruins, the stench of “Nancy’s” putrid burned plastic shell loiters and the real Nancy’s Special Chex Mix recipe is lost forever to the ages: What could they possibly have wanted to learn from me?!

Hm.

Learn.

Huh.

Wait, didn’t Nancy say something last week about starting to take a class at the community college? Yeah, she did.

And didn’t she say that class was a beginning sewing class?

Oh.

Roger: Oh, well would you look at that! I have lost a button, haven’t I? Sure, you can fix it for me, that’d be great! Have you started on the advanced button repair part of your class yet? Ha ha!

Why, yes, I do have guilt, thanks for asking.

Anyway, I was re-reading some of our “scripts” and this little bit I wrote from our last broadcast was one of my favs. We generally improvised around using the script as a direction and guide, but this is the bare bones and what we had in front of us.

Oh, and today is one of those wacky Internet holiday things. “De-lurk” day or something. If you regularly read a site/blog, but rarely or never comment, today is the day to overcome your crippling and debilitating shyness and toss of few words into people’s comment boxes. Don’t worry if you start to have a panic attack and go into cardiac arrest, I have a portable defibrillator at the ready over here.

Defection

JOHN

OK, so let’s talk about this latest thing between Microsoft and Yahoo.

JON [silence]

JOHN

Hello?

JON [Stoney and dripping with anger and contempt]

What?

JOHN

Are you there?

JON

Yes, I am here.

JOHN

OK, great, so let’s talk about the Microsoft-Yahoo kerfluffle.

JON [sighs]

OK.

JOHN

OK, look, what’s your problem, man? You’ve been pissy all evening.

JON

Me? I don’t have a problem, man.

JOHN

See, right there. That attitude. What’s that about?

JON

Why don’t you tell me?

JOHN

I honestly have no idea what you are over there sulking about.

JON

Oh, I think you do.

JOHN

Is this about the other podcast thing?

JON

You’re damn right it is. You knew I’d find out and what’s more, I think you WANTED me to find out, didn’t you?

JOHN

I think you are over-reacting. As usual.

JON

See, right there! That’s what I’m talking about when I tell Dr. Sanchez that you disregard my feelings.

JOHN

Look, I was asked to be on a guest on a different podcast. It’s no big deal. I’m still here, aren’t I?

JON

It’s just not the same. I thought we were exclusive.

JOHN

OH. MY. GOD. Are you going to bring that up AGAIN? I thought we were past this.

[silence for few moments. Maybe some paper or background noise so it’s not totally dead air, but neither of us are talking]

JON

Well, maybe I over-reacted.

JOHN

And I should have told you about the other podcasts.

JON

And maybe gotten me invited on as a guest, too.

JOHN

Well, let’s not go too far.

JON

See, there you go again! You are ashamed of me. Ashamed to be seen “slumming around the Internet” with a nobody on a “going nowhere podcast.” You are trying to trade up, aren’t you?

JOHN

I NEVER said that. Not exactly, anyway. I just said, that maybe it would be nice if you helped out with with marketing and stuff. And that maybe it would have been good if you had been a little more, you know, “internet famous” before we started this, that’s all.

JON

Whatever. Fine. I’ll get over it. I’m over it.

JOHN

Look, I’m sorry.

JON

Yeah, me, too. And I‘m sorry about the site.

JOHN

What site? The technology whiskey sexy site? Looks fine to me.

JON

Um. No. The john moltz is a big honkin’ loser dot com site I set up a few weeks ago after you were on twit live with Leo.

JOHN

What?

JON

johnmoltzisabighonkinloser.com. A real community has sprung up around it. We are planning a meet up in a couple weeks!

JOHN

What the hell?

JON

Yeah. I guess I should take it down.

JOHN

You’re damn right you should take it down. Why did you even put it up in the first place?

JON

I was upset. And hurt about the other podcasts. I lashed out.

JOHN

By creating a hate site about me? Holy crap, look at this! Says here that I rape puppies.

JON

Yeah, I’ll edit that.

JOHN

Oh my god! I am NOT “hung like an elevator button.”

JON

Yeah, sorry, that was me. I’ll fix it.

JOHN

What fix? TAKE. IT. DOWN. The whole thing. Jeeez.

JON

OK, fine, but you do have to admit that some of it is true. You do have chronic halitosis.

JOHN

IT’S A VALID MEDICAL CONDITION. I’m seeing a doctor about it. She says the pills take time to have a discernible effect.

JON

Sure. And obviously, I’m sorry that we did that pornographic animated GIF of you. That was just plain wrong. But you have to admit that it’s quite well done. You can’t even tell your head has been pasted on. Kid in Oakland did that. He’s got a lot of talent.

JOHN

And it’s the number one hit for my name on google right now! WTF!

JON

Oh, right. I guess that SEO stuff actually works. Who knew?!

JOHN

I don’t think we are done with this, Mister.

JON

Man, you sure do know how to bring the drama.

JOHN

You posted my social security number on there!

JON

Again, with the panties in a bunch! It’s just in the HTML code and it’s commented out. It’s not like it the SS number shows up on page when it loads.

JOHN

There’s a box here that says, “View Source to get Moltz’s Social Security number,” followed by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, let’s see, TWELVE exclamation points. And it’s blinking.

JON

Gawd. You can be such a weenie about these things. I’m logging in and taking the site down now.

JOHN

Good.

JON [tapping keys in the background as I speak]

Username: moltz-y_pants

JOHN

Oh, god.

JON [more keys]

password: elevatorbutton Annndd… there. Gone. Though you should know that you’ve now ripped apart a thriving community.

JOHN

Somehow I’m going to muddle through.

JON

OK. You want to talk about the Yahoo/Miscrosoft merger thing now?

JOHN

You know, I think maybe we should skip it tonight.

JON

Are you sure, because I do a killer Jerry Yang impression!

JOHN

I think it’d be best if we didn’t speak for while.

JON

Fine.

JOHN

Fine.

END

Tuesday, 11/11/2008

Adam—

Thanks for considering me as one of your beta testers! Got the email with the link. Filled out the form(s), but I was a little nonplussed about having to fork over a credit card number. I’ve done plenty of beta testing in the past and never had to pay for the privilege. I mean, I know that not everyone can “qualify” to be a beta tester, but I’m a little leery about how much you are charging! $495 is a lot for beta stuff, you know?!

your pal,
—jon

Wednesday, 11/12/2008

Adam—

Oh! I see! The credit card thing is just for “age-verification” purposes. Seems like since we’ve known each other for a few years that you could have waived that requirement for me, but I totally understand how grumpy and sticky about these sorts of things lawyers can be.

Anyway, I re-input the three pages of forms (wow, you guys needed a lot of personal data!) all over again, slapped down my AmEx number and got the “real” download link and the files are downloading now. Weird that I have to use a separate application (this “download_expresser” thing) in order to get the beta files. Why can’t I just use a normal browser or FTP client? And, I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but this “download_expresser” application that you explicitly state I have to funnel my requests through; I must say, have to be brutally honest here, I’m not overly impressed with it. I’m also not exactly sure why all my internet connectivity and TCP/IP traffic have to go through your servers via the “download_expresser” application during the beta period. After all, the app I’m beta testing is a graphics and drawing application, right? On the face of it, the two things don’t seem to be related. Drawing. Internet. Not sure I get the connection, but you’re the expert! Ha! Ha!

Also, near as I can tell, your servers are on the moon or something! Kinda slow!

Oh, I get it. Just did a traceroute and your server seems to be located in Kazakhstan! And the connection is bouncing through routers in Zinjibar, Yemen; Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and Sofia, Bulgaria. Funky. But good to know you are thinking big and going global. :-]

OK, as soon as it’s done downloading (6.72 hours last time I checked), I’ll give you my first impressions!

your bud,
—jon

Wednesday, 11/12/2008 (later)

Adam—

Almost done! (43 minutes left!)

One point. The “download_expresser” doesn’t seem to want to let me use Google. Every time I try point a browser toward Google, I get re-directed to a porn search site. And I can’t close the browser window without two more windows with the same porn search site popping up. And it’s all geriatric midget porn. Ick. I can use Yahoo!, but it’s the Italian version and all my searches come back with listings for pasta makers and espresso machines.

A tad bit frustrated over here.

And now it says 1.5 hours left! Ack!

Any ideas?

your chum,
—jon

Wednesday, 11/12/2008 (later still)

Adam—

Hey, you must have fixed something on your end! The “download_expresser” says it’s almost done downloading the beta files. And though I’m still having trouble getting to Google (LOTS of pop-ups! Ugh!), I can see that a solitary Google page is way in the background behind about forty other windows, Yahoo! is now in English, so I guess I’ll be OK.

Hey! It’s done downloading! Wow, it’s HUGE! 2.7 GB. I expect a TON of features for all that data! Ha! Ha! I’m sure you’ll be pruning and optimizing all that bloat as you get closer to Release.

your homie,
—jon

Thursday, 11/13/2008 (Morning)

Adam—

Well, that was an exciting night!

I uncompressed the installer package and started the install process like I normally would with any application.

The installer immediately said I needed a newer version of the “download_expresser” and that started me on a fairly epic journey if I do say so myself.

The “download_expresser_updater” server (in China of all places!) appeared to have been overloaded or something. I was “in the queue!” but the connection kept timing out. I must have tried to get that “download_expresser_updater” a hundred times! Maybe those budget “computing cloud” services in Ciudad Juarez weren’t such a bargain after all. :-/

A bit flustered with my lack of success and unable to log into my IM account to talk to you (guess the “download_expresser” software that was routing all my internet traffic really did need to be updated!), I decided to re-boot the machine in case that might help. A window came up and said I had to give my admin password in order to do that. That’s never happened before. All I wanted to to do was re-boot the machine! I input my admin password as requested and the hard drive started making all kinds of scary noises, the DVD tray popped out and back in (twice! scared me half to death!) and then the screen went black for at least a minute or two. The computer re-booted, but instead of my normal desktop I had to log in using my beta account name and password. Very odd.

I fired up the installer again and this time I guess I got to the head of the line! “download_expresser_updater” worked like a charm I was able to get the beta install going.

Finally!

Anyway, a bunch of tiny windows kept flashing on the screen, but so fast I could barely read them. But I’m sure there was something about a time share in Bogota, Colombia. Does that sound familiar to you?

And then!

American Express called me! They said there was a bunch of very strange activity on my account. Was I indeed making numerous (60K+ according to Sheila at AmEx) tiny purchases in Yuan? I told them there must be an itty-bitty glitch in your master accounting system. Though I had given you my account number, I was sure it was only for verification purposes and not authorizing tens of thousands of micro-payments in Yuan for individual roofing shingles and custom colorized metallic Beanie Babies.

So that’s bug report numero uno right there! :-] (Well, bug #2 if you count the weird Google/Yahoo! Italy thing) (or #3 with the weirdness/slowness with “download_expresser” in general.)

Anyway. By this time I was beat, as you can imagine. The installer said it was finished, but again I had some difficulty getting the main install window closed. New “Installation Complete!” windows would spring up each time I hit the “X” to close one. I decided to shut down the computer, hit the hay and start fresh in the A.M., but the “Shut Down…” menu was grayed out. Odd, huh? I tried a couple different things to invoke the “Shut Down…” procedure, but had no luck. Finally, I just reached over to smack the “power” button, but I got a nasty shock when my finger came near it! Seriously, my little pinky finger is singed! Ouch!

A window popped up and though it was quite difficult to decipher, given all the flashing ads surrounding the main text, the window read, “Diagnostics in progress. DO NOT TURN OFF THE COMPUTER. Thank you for your patience. —The Developers.” I dismissed the window, watched another ad-filled warning window re-birth in its place and thought about the situation for a few minutes, though I was becoming increasingly alarmed by the high pitched whine the hard drive was making. There was a a lot of “disk thrashing” going on. I grew even more concerned when I started to smell the unmistakeable fetor of melting plastic. Plus, the lights on my cable modem were going crazy! Like a miniature strobe light disco display underneath my desk. Pretty and kind of soothingly mesmerizing, but more than a little alarming.

I was a touch panicky by now so I did what anyone would reasonably do. I yanked the plug from the wall and the computer made a noise I’d have to describe as a “groan” and then went dark. I’m loathe to anthropomorphize this kind of thing, but I could’ve sworn the faint glow from the CRT after I pulled the plug was almost accusatory. Creepy!

Then AmEx called back and a now frantic Sheila and a conferenced-in V.P. of Corporate Security said my account was being suspended until further notice. It seems my account was so active buying “antique knock-off Pez dispensers in Shanghai” during a 35 minute period that five of AmEx’s data centers collapsed into “emergency shelter mode,” went dark and completely offline. Then, for reasons the AmEx people can’t adequately explain but firmly believe is related to my account activity, trading on the London Stock Exchange ground to a halt and the Footsie 100 plunged 27.3%, setting off wave after wave of panic selling in other foreign markets. The AmEx people made it sound like I and my account would ultimately be the cause of massive crop failures across the Iowa plains as a shipment of critical fertilizer ran aground in the Azores when its navigation system spontaneously sputtered and died.

Crazy, huh?!

More later… must get some rest, this has all been a little stressful, you know?

your bro,
—jon

Monday, 11/17/2008

Adam—

I don’t want to alarm you, but the FBI, the Secret Service and a seriously pissed off German guy named Dieter from Interpol all want to have a few words with you. Seems your beta software has caused something of a global panic of stunningly cataclysmic proportions. It’s all very complicated and most of it went over my head, but it seems a small number of people made some astonishingly improbable trades during the time when, though I hesitate to cast blame your way, it appears pretty clear and for all intents and purposes that your software was spreading havoc on the global financial and capital markets.

The fact that no one can find you is also cause for concern.

Also, don’t believe any news reports telling you that I’m now a fugitive from the authorities. Trust me, the Feds know exactly where I am at all times now, seeing as how I’m writing this under the watchful eyes of Agents Rodriguez and Swenson in exchange for a promised small reduction in jail time. To hear them talk, I’ll probably be wearing this monitoring anklet for the rest of my life. That is, if I ever breathe “free” air again, given the multitude of felony charges being tossed at me. Not to mention the seventeen railroad freight car loads of Pez dispensers and purple and nickel anodized Beanie Babies delivered to my house day before yesterday. Do you have any idea how much those things can cost? Plenty, let me tell you! You should hear my neighbors whine about the mess in my front yard these days! It rained yesterday and the nickel run-off from the Beanie Babies has poisoned the groundwater in my neighborhood for at least 60 years. Basically, my street is now home to both a comprehensive monetary catastrophe and a new EPA Superfund Site.

Oh! Though I don’t want to be a total downer, I have to bear you even more bad news. It’s about the beta drawing software itself. I actually did get a chance to play with the app before the Secret Service burst into my living room while I was in my underwear. Here are my initial thoughts, though they may be clouded by the multiple cans of pepper spray the Feds used on me: as a drawing program, I’m afraid it’s pretty much a total bust and your dream of making the folks at Adobe quiver with fear is a pipe dream at best. Obviously, I’m not an expert, but it looks to me like you just got ahold of the source code to MS Paint and spent a few hours in Interface Builder to put a few coats of lipstick on that pig. I couldn’t even change the paint color from bright red! And the pen tool was only one size! 13 pixels. Basically useless. Dude, I don’t want to be overly critical, but I don’t think it represents your best efforts.

Anyway, it would be swell if you could drop me a line and perhaps even swear an affidavit (notarized please!) that I wasn’t involved in a vast conspiracy to defraud billions and billions of dollars from countless innocent victims all over the globe, destroy free markets as we know them and send the world into a calamitous and possibly endlessly spiraling cycle of economic Depression and chaos.

If you have a spare moment, that is.

your unwilling co-conspirator,
—jon


OK, really, the Birdhouse app is going to be awesome. If you use twitter as a “writing” platform (like me!) and have an iPhone, you’ll love it. Not sure on the true “release date,” but hopefully it’ll be soon. It’s getting better with every iteration, too. I’ve been using it for about a month and really, nothing bad has happened. (So far, knock on Steve’s black mock turtleneck! :-]) As a matter of fact, I think my teeth are whiter since I started using it.

But, if one of those guys (@lonelysandwich or @camh or even possibly here or here) ever asks you for a credit card number during the beta period, just walk away as quickly as possible and see if you can’t get Dieter on the horn. I understand the reward for their capture and conviction is substantial.