As much as I genuinely enjoyed my free trial + then some paid time using Glass, I’m just not able/interested in image capture right now to continue paying $6.99 a month for it. I was pretty excited, then, to discover that micro.blog’s macOS app offers support for importing the .zip profile export files Glass creates, and to report that I have imported 18 images from my profile to this blog successfully.

Here’s an example.

The Tangerine Knight

...some men just want a tangerine.

Slick’s 2009 Airventure Comp

Some time in late Summer 2021, I stumbled into another of the handful of nigh-inconceivable conversation opportunities which Twitter Spaces would offer me.

Marquis Trill - someone I’m still not 100% convinced I actually remembered from the ~2012 Twitter Epoch - decided to just fuckin go on Spaces one day for the first time. And - as per the nature of Spaces - I guess I just hopped in the mf too.

Eventually in this recording, you’ll hear me pipe in… and continue to intermittently throughout its duration. I remember being genuinely fascinated with the experience in the moment, but it’s not exactly easy listening (shame) in retrospect lol.

Here’s the metadata from the Space I retained, though I doubt it will ever be actionable again:

• Title: “Financial Freedom and Success! Let’s talk about it. Come ready”
• Original Spaces URL - [https://twitter.com/i/spaces/1OdKrVzWDvlKXAnnouncement](https://twitter.com/i/spaces/1OdKrVzWDvlKXAnnouncement)
• Original Tweet URL - [https://twitter.com/6BillionPeople/status/1422696022220886016](https://twitter.com/6BillionPeople/status/1422696022220886016)
• Original Patreon Post

Below is an excerpt from my just-republished 2019 Volkswagen Atlas Review detailing my singular encounter with capital-r Road Rage in the entirety of my ~year driving for Uber/Lyft.

My only authentic Road Rage experience in some 5000 miles of rideshare driving occurred on All Hallow’s Eve when I stopped - no more illegally than usual - on the opposite corner from a popular downtown Mexican restaurant called The Nap with hazards and all courtesy interior lights shining. The car immediately behind me hesitated no more than necessary, but the Biggest Big Infiniti behind them (a QX80 - the Atlas' competitor) just… stopped. There was honking and frenzied, hoarse screaming of what the fuck are you doing? and such.

I responded with pleasantly amused but relatively-encouraging glances at the impersonal black mass of the Infiniti’s windshield through my mirrors. I rolled down the Atlas' driver’s side window and politely gestured that they go around me, but failed to coax any movement whatsoever from the ugly behemoth through at least two full cycles of the nearby traffic light. There must be some aquatic authority in the bulbous black ass of the QX80, for no one behind it seemed willing to pass either. The driver waited significantly longer than you’d imagine before emerging, huffy. She was wearing a classic poofy black North Face vest some sort of slate gray turtleneck. Nothing below these were stimulating enough to retain any memory of. Uggs?

How positive are you that the truth has absolutely zero consequence: contrasted silver-beige eyeliner and little eye contact, dirty-ish straight blonde hair over a spray-tanned face, exhibiting zero anxious tics or hesitation. She was obviously the New Matriarch, and she was obviously much more of an authority on traffic law than I. As she approached, she scanned the street as one naturally does when they enter a busy one… except it was completely empty, thanks to her blockade. She first informed me that I was “not supposed” to be stopped there. I tried to listen and respond with as much sincerity as possible as I realized all at once that my behavior had genuinely perturbed this woman - that her choice to leave the huge hideous warmth of the guppy wagon to speak as humans to one another required great courage.

I inserted the next logical question which I’d been screaming telepathically: can you not get around me? I began to pity her when I then saw in her face the distinct possibility that going around as a concept had not occurred to her whatsoever. She stuttered a wee bit in retorting “I could go around, but I don’t want to get a ticket.” Here, one of the most fascinating avenues of suburban psychology is explored: Guppy Mom is not being ingenuine with this expression, nor has she had an untoward experience with law enforcement, ever. Guppy Mom did know her excuse was bullshit - nobody has ever been written a traffic citation for carefully circumventing an obstacle in the road. Given the opportunity to interrogate this kernel of entirely uncompromising obedience to utterly delusional traffic law superstitions, I think we’d simply discover a life of unnaturally positive interactions with LEOs. We must conclude, then, that the source of her fear was either myself or the Atlas.

Granted, to her I am still a Young Man, and am therefore instinctively programmed to believe myself more informed than literally everyone - even the very foundational architects of modern civilization. Her Stucco Highness may have felt a representative of these builders (edgy take: she is in fact their servant.) Her own folks surely complain regularly about their distaste for disrespect, and my gig-economy, Austin Powers-looking ass was somehow disrespecting the order laid down by her would be (entirely fantastical) forefathers. Though her expression of her quaint fear of such “ugliness” (if you will) is hard-headed, an ugliest decision of hers (or her kin) idled behind me, its giant seafood-looking mouth gaping, unhinged.

I’ve been trying GameTrack's premium tier for the past month and thought I should at least have one go at the review function… This isn’t actually substantial or useful in any way. You’re welcome.

SO you want me to review Champion’s Online, virtually unprompted, in 2024, eh?

Well, I loved and was very invested in Cryptic Studios at the time (see: Star Trek Online and Champions was already regarded - in a very misty-eyed, not very practical sense - reverently as very much their baby by the time I arrived in 2009.

I think it was 2011 or so that I decided to commit to Champions - despite how thoroughly uninteresting and unintelligible I found the whole idea of comic book superheroes. In contemporary language, yes it was absolutely super cringe, but I remember admiring how well-established (in a very practical sense) the identity of this title was compared to the product they were building on the same platform with identical tooling that was Star Trek Online at the time.

Last known capture of the Drywall Media/Extratone whiteboard, December 14 (Titanic Day,) 2016.

He Carries His
His - KOPN
rimes Ninh Him
DIE
ANTWOORD
-Paper Shredder
ORSTERENCE
ADSENSE
BoxeR Children
Ding
RiOw
what cao s
NELLY -GRILLZ=arl.
1,ong9
Brave Litte
Tuaste i
Pimp my Ride
- Весоте
cultured
MONSANTO
Auplicitous

• Outline * Preface * Not necessarily directed at young men of color. (Or definitely not directed at them, but at white, CIS, straight young men.) * Describing the “real” scope of my authority. * While I have not traveled outside of America whatsoever, I have traveled within it fairly extensively. * My authority is especially strong when it comes to protestant Christianity. * Function of the book. * Chapter 1: “I Don’t Care What You/They Think”

      "Apathy's Misconceptions"
  

“Apathy Misconceived”

		* <b>You do not <i>actually</i> want to attain a state of true apathy</b>, trust me.
		* Chris Cuomo exists.
		* Z-Ro
		* Apathy is even argued for in the Christian Bible. (The opinion of other people does not matter, only God's.)
			* <a href="https://blog.bible/bible-blog/entry/3-bible-verses-for-when-you-feel-judged-by-others">3 Bible Verses for When You Feel Judged By Others</a> | <i>Bible Blog</i>

			  Galatians 1:10: "Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ."


	* Chapter 2: "Music Taste Through Generations"

	  "Boomers' Destructive Generational Tastemaking Disaster"


		* Quote From <a href="https://bilge.world/bandcamp-streaming-music">the Bandcamp Essay</a> 
			* It's bewildering how content we are to abruptly abandon the substance music had to our teenage selves out of misconstrued justifications for our classic fainéance – actively choosing to subject our public ambiance to thousands of replays of “the best” records in favor of dipping even the most cowardly toe into unfamiliar waters, even when the opportunity cost is inherently halved – only to then have the audacity to evangelize our dilapidated conceptions of “good music” to our children as we demonize the music of their generation, depriving them of a very essential rite of their cognitive development.<b><u> I can think of little more reductive, repugnant, reckless, or racist crusades as a model figure than indoctrinating your child with an inherent distaste for their own culture</u></b>, and nothing more deeply alarming to hear from the mouth of someone born in the 21st century than shit like “Queen was better than any rapper will ever be,” or “real musicianship will die forever with Eric Clapton.” It’s unfair and unnatural: imagine if your high school classmates had consistently turned up their scrunched nose at the living whole of rock & roll, declaring Scott Joplin to be the last musician they could stand.
			* Consider if the industry-wide customer experience standard for the musical ambiance in 1970s American eating and drinking establishments was entirely comprised of works by John Phillip Souza, and the most prevalent cultural revolution manifested itself something like the following: In countless popular films set in the time (and the stories told today by your parents of their youths that informs them,) a group of popular high school boys – generally three longtime childhood friends and a single addition from the previous summer with an Army Dad and a moderate bad boy aura that’s made him one of the school’s notoriously attractive students and the somewhat-abusive leader in the pack. After spending some time trying to convince the other three (the crucial moment for his case being the bad kid’s rare moment of sincerity trope) of its guaranteed social, sexual and financial ROI, they seal their agreement to start a band with a four-way saliva slap. Imagine if in the progression of this exhausted old tale, it remained entirely classic (and boring) when it faded to a “THREE MONTHS LATER...” ceiling shot of the four the in full, gleaming, performance-spec get-up of the presidential marching band in their garage, and it was revealed that they’d they practiced “The Star Spangled Banner” every night just to make the girls swoon in the film’s resolution with an encore of “America the Beautiful” at an unsanctioned (and very patriotic!) house party. Would you have made out on your first date with someone in your 80s high school Chemistry class after they’d was about but suffice it to say that it’s absolutely fucking bonkers how often I encounter “Sweet Home Alabama” (and other tunes I’ve already heard hundreds of times throughout the first third of my existence, conservatively) dripping down from the overhead speakers in all manner of big retail stores, where it’s inappropriate and unwelcome. Even from the generous assumption that every single one of them is an objective masterwork of composition, the amount of affection the American music listening audience has for the same 500 singles is on par with our rampant gun violence in terms of our unanimous tolerance for ridiculously illogical habits. I’ve been sitting in a cute, moderately trendy coffee shop on the corner of the major avenue of access to my cute, moderately trendy Portland neighborhood for an hour now, and I’ve recognized every single one of the tracks played just a bit too loudly on the stereo. I’ve been sick of them all since Middle School. That one Bow Bow Chicka Chicka thing… How very charming. <i>“The 70s, the 80s… the one-hit wonder channel!”</i>
			* Contrary to the popular hipster narrative we’ve just defeated, it’s not the popularity of the lineup that makes these experiences so distasteful, but their <b><i>regularity</i></b>. It doesn’t take a doctor of psychology to observe that tireless exposure to any given work of art inevitably erodes its value, yet we continue to expend resources saturating most mundane spaces in our society with an unyielding regurgitation of the same brackish pop culture symbols as if we’re trying to either induce a canonical vomit, intentionally obliterate the Yelp! reviews for a distant future museum’s “North America Enters the 21st Century” exhibit, or <i>both</i>.
		* This issue is not unique to American society nor to men, really, but is entirely the sickness of white boomers and gen Xers. It is an anomaly that has genuinely and profoundly perturbed me for virtually the entirety of my existence as a culturally literate entity - certainly longer than any of the other disturbances addressed in this volume.
		* The process of jazz becoming mainstream (which I think it had definitely by the 1940s.)
		* "<a href="https://medium.com/extratone/boomers-tastemaking-disaster-bb66330d2f29">Boomers' Destructive Generational Tastemaking Disaster</a>"
	* Catcalling
	* Clothes
	* Stuff we should <b>keep to ourselves</b>
* Credits
	* "I'm laughing at you and the best part is you won't truly understand why, in any deep and meaningful way, for another 20 years." - <a href="https://mastodon.online/@JustSomeGuy/104689299479520224">JustSomeGuy on Mastodon</a>