Tourists in Times Square
Blocking the sidewalk to gape
At an ambulance
Just received another instance of one of my favorite emails. It goes something like this:
Hi! You've been such a help and inspiration, I'd like to send you a copy of my new self-published book. I'd really like to read some of your books too. Which one do you suggest I start with?
Flattering, right? But you have to know how to read an email like this. Here's what it means:
I know I'm imposing on you so I'll salve my conscience by pretending to want to read your stuff. Only I'm too lazy to do my homework, so I'll let you tell me what books you've written instead.
I was reading a major novel from a major genre publisher last night (okay, it was Half the Blood of Brooklyn by Charlie Huston, from Del Rey), when a character suddenly "knocked" an arrow into his bowstring.
Not to knock the book's copy editor, but the nock is the notch at the end of the arrow into which the bowstring fits. When you slide the arrow into place against the string, you have nocked it.
But this was also a book where "puss" leaks from one character's eyes, so maybe I shouldn't snatch at hopes that the copy-editing will improve.
Remember how collective action killed the
I'm sorry, but I've deliberately chosen browser dimensions that fit the way I work with my computer. If I surf to your site and suddenly my multiply-tabbed Firefox browser resizes itself to 800x600 pixels, I'm going to get so annoyed at having to fix this that I'm going to leave your site and never come back.
Come on, it's the Web. If you can't build a site that people can comfortably view no matter their browser dimensions, you should either 1) go back to design school, 2) put your content in a popup instead, or 3) just fucking live with it, chump.
If there's one thing you can rely on pedestrians to do, it's to not walk a straight line. Just try to pass one from behind and see.
Look, people, I know the elevators in this building are godawful slow, but pressing the down button when it's already lit does not help! I understand that you're frustrated at the long wait in the second floor lobby, but how do you think your obvious contempt for my button-pushing skills makes me feel? What, do you think the elevator's not coming because I don't know how to push the button properly? I've been pushing buttons since I was three, and even then I knew that when the button is lit you don't have to push it again! Of course, there might be something magic about your touch that I don't understand, never having experienced it myself. If so, let's talk about it over red wine at my apartment. In the elevator lobby, though, all bets are off. Stop pushing my buttons!
The way pedestrians traveling in a group always spread out laterally to block the greatest possible width of sidewalk.