mojo's blog

Find My iPhone!

Find my iPhoneSo I forget my phone this morning. Mojo feels naked and afraid. I must have left it at home.

And then I start thinking: what if I DIDN'T leave it at home? What if I left it at the GAS STATION? What if it's in my car? What if it's forgotten and abandoned in the lawn in the rain on the way into where I am now?

Finally I decided to calm down and check up on it via the Find My iPhone website.

And there it is--just to the right of the mighty Connecticut River, which is where I am right this second.

Which means, it must be HERE somewhere.

So I check all my pocketses. No dice. I look around the desk. Nope.

Mojo's Waste of Time is YOUR Amusement

Okay, so I was totally bored this morning, which happened to correspond with my finding the Drought Monitor's drought information graphics for the entire country going back for the past sixteen years or so. Yes, in addition to her many other charms Mojo is something of a weather weenie, and in particular for the past year since we're just now climbing out of a fairly horrific drought by New England standards.

A Nation Holds Its Breath

Omnimchannel!...while two TITANS fight for supremacy in this Brave New World of Digital Content.

WHO will win out in the quest for being the go-to phrase to describe what's going on (which is the ability to spread your content over several different platforms, including mobile, desktop, etc.)? Shall the phrase people throw around in an effort to sound like they know precisely what they are talking about be "TRANSMEDIA"? Or the spunky newcomer, which my brain can only say in a booming, drawn out, echo-ey announcer voice: "OMNICHANNEL"?

...And, perhaps even MORE IMPORTANT: WHO shall win the clip art battle to depict such a thing?

A Cautionary Tale Regarding the Power of Positive Thinking


Idly window-shopping for a desktop computer. Not 'cuz I need one; just 'cuz. Idly lusting after a $4,000 setup.

Then my brain sez, "OOH! OOH! You should totally check out that discount computer website you sometimes go to--maybe they will have the EXACT SAME THING for, oh, say, fifty bucks!"

So I went to their site.

ATLAS SHRUGGED, Part 3: The Return of the Shrug

If you are TRULY a glutton for punishment--more so even than myself--then I suggest you refresh your memory by re-reading my blogging of ATLAS SHRUGGED PART ONE.

And then follow up with my blogging ATLAS SHRUGGED PART TWO.

And now, for your reading horror, I present my sitting though ATLAS SHRUGGED PART THREE! In all of its blood-stained glory.

AtlasI suppose I am suffering through the third ATLAS SHRUGGED movie for the same reason they made it--because certain anal-retentive morons such as myself do not get closure until things are drawn out to their conclusion. So just as I shall never forgive the people behind the marketing of THE SIMPSONS for abandoning the distribution of the series on DVD--thereby I shall NEVER, in my lifetime, have the FULL SET, thankyouverymuch--I am grateful to the producers of ATLAS SHRUGGED, as much as I poke fun at their terrible, M.-Night-Shyamalan-bad movies (have I finally gone too far with my criticism? Really, Mojo, was THAT sort of cruelty warranted? I apologize)--for flying in the face of common sense and public opinion to see through their awful, awful project to the bitter end. I’m not sure exactly what they were trying to prove, but I appreciate the effort all the same.

A few years ago my parents took the Favorite Husband and I to Yellowstone, and like all good tourists we sat on those nasty wooden benches and waited for Old Faithful to erupt. It was the off season; we had great seats. And the guy sitting next to my mother started talking to her in friendly generalities about just how precise predicting Old Faithful is, blah blah blah. The sort of thing you would indeed talk about while waiting for a geyser to erupt. And then he somehow managed to twist that discussion into Who Are You Voting For In The Upcoming Election, because if my mother failed to vote for So-and-So, well, she might as well stand up on the bench right that minute and scream I HATE AMERICA. And poor Mom, who is way more polite than I ever shall be, just calmly says something like “I’ll vote for whomever I WANT to vote for, and I don’t think it’s anyone’s business but my own” instead of “I’m on VACATION, you stupid mouth-breathing PUTZ, now get the HELL away from me and let me watch a VASTLY MORE INTERESTING GUSH OF HOT AIR than YOU.” Forget enjoying the natural beauty of our national parks, this guy must be CHOCK FULL OF FUN AT PARTIES. It’s okay to defend or decry Ayn Rand or whatever political party or whathaveyou you so desire, but after five or ten minutes of you ranting and not taking a breath I will forewarn you that while I am nodding politely my brain will be shrieking SHUT THE HELL UP. NOBODY EVER CHANGED ANYONE ELSE’S MIND BY RANTING AT THEM. Thus ends my rant. Or, as Famous Movie Guy one said (was it Mayer?) "If you want to send a message, use Western Union."


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