But the only reason I am making this post is because I don’t want to forget the following jokes.

How many indie hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
*sigh* I have this joke on vinyl.

How many indie hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?
What? You don’t KNOW???

Hey, did you hear the new one about indie hipsters?
Why no…
It SUCKS.

I have a joke about indie hipsters that none of you have heard…

Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown,
Of thee, from the hill-top looking down;
And the heifer, that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton tolling the bell at noon,
Dreams not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent:
All are needed by each one,
Nothing is fair or good alone.

I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home in his nest at even;—
He sings the song, but it pleases not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky;
He sang to my ear; they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel gave;
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me;
I wiped away the weeds and foam,
And fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, unsightly, noisome things
Had left their beauty on the shore
With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid
As ‘mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty’s best attire
Was woven still by the snow-white quire;
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage,—
The gay enchantment was undone,
A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, “I covet Truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat,—
I leave it behind with the games of youth.”
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet’s breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Above me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;—
Beauty through my senses stole,
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

-Ralph Waldo Emmerson

I somehow navigated myself to this: Free to Choose, from this blog. I had to go back through my history to figure out how I arrived there. Once there, I spent several hours watching the Free Market PBS programs produced by the economist Milton Friedman.

Spore–> Spore Video Game–> Panspermia–> Circumstantial Evidence–> Mens Rea–> Tort–> Lawrence Lessig–> The Future of Ideas–> Legal Affairs.com–> Lessig.org–> Just because I’m not working doesn’t mean you can’t–> Lessig Wiki–> and finally Free to Choose

I read the first half of the book “The Future of Ideas” a few years back when working at eBay. I remember it painting a bleak and frightening future. I think the second half of the book probably included Lessig’s optimistic views of how to curb the tide of corporate power. I am usually reading so many books at a time that with my short attention span I only finish about half the books I start.

I made this plugin a few years ago when I first installed Wordpress. It gives you a line from Radiohead’s “Fitter Happier” underneath the ‘user info’ area in your Wordpress admin pages. It is basically the ‘Hello Dolly’ plugin without any of it’s annoying optimism.

I am sure I put off posting interesting content to personalize my admin area. I even made a theme for the admin section but I never updated it for new releases of Wordpress. Since Matt did all the work for the plugin, it was easy to keep updated. If it ever stopped working I knew he would fix it.

Here now, is the first, most useless, Wordpress plug-in I ever made.

Consume/Enjoy:

plugins.zip

Here is my beautiful mp3 blog.

Happy listening.

radiohead.pdf

Your total ignorance of what you profess to teach merits the death penalty. I doubt whether you know that St. Casian of Imola was stabbed to death by his students with their styli. His death, a martyr’s honorable one made him patron saint of teachers.

Pray to him, you deluded fool, you “anyone for tennis?” golf-playing, cocktail-quaffing psuedo-pedant, for you do indeed need a heavenly patron.

Although your days are numbered, you will not die a martyr-for you further no holy cause-but as the total ass which you really are.

It has come to my attention that you are all blathering morons who couldn’t run a company if that company was selling ways not to run a company. I have seen ineptitude but not on a scale as gratuitous as is the ineptness that oozes from the cracks of your corporate headquarters. The recommendation that I do so generously pass down to you is this: “Give up.” You can quote me on that and even use it as a corporate motto for the brief season before the universe urinates on your lingering embers.

The corporate world has been gracious enough not to kill you yet, but they will. Believe me they will. If they don’t it is truly the major failure of capitalism. Marx really should have included a chapter in his Communist Manifesto about your company. If the world knew capitalism would produce a company such as yours, the cold war never would have happened. The human race would collectively dismiss the capitalist philosophy and would have happily plunged into anarchy.

Apparently the corporate world has grown soft since the eighties. Where are the ’sharks’ I used to hear about who would buyout their mothers knitting business just to burn it to the ground? Because of this glaring lack of initiative, I would now like to recommend a suicide-murder. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of getting that order right. It is first suicide then murder. Try not to forget that. Perhaps that should be your corporate motto and perhaps you should hold a management meeting to ingrain that into your minds. This is one of those things that we just can’t have you screwing up; unlike every other endeavor you have put your hand to up until this point.

In conclusion, please cancel my subscription to Disney Insider, which is truly the dregs of the earth. Tell Ask Dave to burn slowly and painfully on a spit in the lowest depths of hell. Also, could you amputate everyone who has contributed to that newsletter so that they never again will write unabashed propaganda aimed at my impressionable children? At the very least force them to wear mittens, so that they can only mash a keyboard in disgust. Oh, and uncomfortable pants. Thanks in advance.

I would also appreciate it if you could liquidate your assets and donate them to underprivileged children, children’s hospitals and shelters and anywhere else there resides a young mind that you would otherwise degrade into a gelatinous substance unable to think for itself. You can also go ahead and pay reparations to every child who has purchased your princess lip-gloss and nail polish set, said product having been devised by satan himself. That should do it.

I know, and the universe as a whole agrees, that if you are able to follow the simple instructions included in this letter, you will be a credit to the human race.

Yours truly,

Ninjoe