Don Draper Pitches Facebook Timeline
UPDATE: BOO!! Unhappy that fair use isn’t fair. No more video.
Via Kottke.
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The Five People That Once Wrote on This Site
Minor Speculum has a long, expansive history stretching beyond the imaginative, often winding through the offensive, and ending in the enlightened..ive. We are often charitable, ground breaking in our reporting, wonderfully piquant in our author’s writing, as well as truly insightful in moments of absolute clarity. Frankly, we are nothing short of Gods.
But, as in all things, Gods do not always remain; we have, for lack of a better description, gone our own way over time. In fits and starts we wrote, lived, laughed, loved, and departed–some never to return to this place. It is in this spirit that I would like to discuss who we once were, and maybe can be again. Also, I’m not ripping off of this or this.
Scott
You once had a different byline, and proceeded to write two or three exceedingly excellent posts (forever after we will seek to know what the conclusion of the blades might bring us). Alas, you quit writing just as quickly as you started, and the site died. Are the two connected?
When Minor Speculum rose from the dead, as was predicted since the beginning of mankind, you contributed many a post with all the excellence that any of us is capable of. You sir are a poet-champion. Your metre is your own, you play by the rules you made, and you fucking broke them.
Larry
Of late you are the most consistent author, but in the beginning you did not want to post. Not because you had nothing to say, but because what you had to say was too awesome to post on some shitty website like this. But then, you realized you could make this site happen, you could make the world a place for peace and prosperity between Muslim and Jew alike, if only you could post one more item. Just one more. For fucksake, just one more!
Your style is unmatched, your posting is timely, and you have continued to post despite this site’s narrow reach. At least it works on the iPhone.
Jared
Where did you go? Your wit and creativity is dearly missed. Lawyering takes up too much time, post here instead. It will lead to prosperity and happiness for you and your family. You, by far, posted…the most. Quantity and quality.
The site was your idea, why aren’t you still here? I don’t know what else to say. Lobby for a national day of mourning in your honor. Please.
Brad
You sir have a talent for writing that needs to be shared. The fact that you won’t do it just shows how selfish you are, sir. Or, the alternative explanation would be that you are too busy writing brilliantly concocted literary epiphanies for us to attempt to contain on this shit hole of a website. Alas, it is the latter. Post, though, please? I miss the words, most of all.
Mike
Mike likes to write about himself. He thinks he’s witty and intelligent. He writes too much about political things, and not very well. He speaks in the third person, and is often given strange looks at functions he wasn’t invited to. His writing is bland, unimaginative, and utterly incomprehensible. Just awful. But he keeps posting anyway. Also, he’s boorish. And did I tell you about the time an Irishman rode a bicycle? No? That’s right, it’s because he was too drunk to ride a bike.
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This Weekend ONLY: Google doodle PACMAN
This weekend’s Google doodle, commemorating the 30th anniversary of Pac-Man, is a fully playable, 256-level Pac-Man game.
Google’s new Pac-Man doodle—one of the custom logos the company posts every few days to celebrate a special occasion—brings back all the elements of the original, including the ghosts, the fruits, the “wakka wakka wakka,” and even the kill screen on level 256 (I have never even got that far). Hitting the “insert coin” button even lets you play 2 player mode with the WASD keys on your keyboard.
It’ll be up all weekend long, starting right now. Very cool, so stop whatever you’re doing and go eat some ghosts at Google.
From Gizmodo.com
Reports say it even works on the iPhone and plays faster in Google’s own Chrome browser. But really, what doesn’t Chrome do faster?
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N.Y.T.
I have never been to New York and in fact I’m a little scared to ever go. But in my mind’s eye it is a sort of place where dreams are made and where art flourishes. Where you can go to a bar and meet like minded people and girls with half a brain instead of those found locally whose only goal is to get into the nursing program at LMC, get married and have kids. Speaking of colleges, all of my favorite people went to school at NYU: Parks and Rec’s Aziz Ansari and Aubrey Plaza (future wife Plan A), Lady Gaga (future wife Plan B) and director Jim Jarmusch, to name a few. It’s like a breeding ground for talented people. Well, at least a spring board for talent. Some of my favorite TV shows are set or filmed in New York: NBC’s 30 Rock, HBO’s Bored to Death, Seinfeld, Late Night with David Letterman, SNL… you get the idea, this is what cool people in New York watch and look for themselves in the background. Conan was better when still in New York too.
The Catcher in the Rye, one of my favorite books, was set in New York during Christmas. Salinger's Death was one of the first inspirations for this post.
And so I have this vision of NY, a vision shaped by the music, films and literature I have heard/seen/read. I have been told this is not how New York really is – this vision probably reflects very little of the reality of New York City; and until I go and fantasy NY is killed by real NY, this is all I have to go on.
The single biggest contributor to my imaginary New York is probably the music. The Strokes record “Is This It” put me in mind of what it was like to be cool and 21 in New York. I related: except I was 16/17 and New York was Thomas Deneau’s basement. Not quite on the mark but I got what they were about. After this album came other great bands such as Interpol, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and TV On The Radio were picked up and thus that part of the illusion was formed. I could read about any of these bands every month in SPIN magazine and get an idea of what their life was like. It was my dream to be this way, they wore cool clothes (suits for Interpol, denim and leather jackets for The Strokes), drank Jameson whisky, fucked hot women and played great music all the while being skinny and smelly and it was every kid’s dream.
The Squid and the Whale. I recently re-watched this film and it brought me to tears. This is like an updated version of the NY that was presented in Catcher. Jeff Daniels character could be Holden all grown up: still cynical, belittling “philistines” and despising those not as smart as him (at least that he thinks aren’t), still not understanding women. Except he does go see Blue Velvet and Holden hates movies.
And lastly, This Song pretty much sums it all up:
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Lagoni, Manning & Scheid
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Danny Fingers Is Mourning
Early Friday morning mother Michigan lost one of her favorite sons. Scott Nykamp began his journey to the east coast and toward hopefully a better life feeling the cold steering wheel of his beloved truck.
Many arrangements have been made in honor on the Coyote Kid, including a gathering last Wednesday at the local Lyons Club entitled the Women Who Have Slept With Scott. Among the throngs of overly friendly women with the unofficial titles of single, truth be told all of the women were currently with some one but looking for someone better, was “that one chick with the fake tits”. Tits expressed her sadness for the departure of her “soul mate” saying, “I’d never have thrown that lamp at him if I’d known it would have ended up like this”.
Other Nykamp honors will start early Saturday morning when the local Boy Scout troop will kill twenty-seven stray cats by firing squad in Ely Park. All shooters will be wearing aviator sunglasses in a tribute to Mr. Nykamp’s alleged alias Johnny Drago. It will be attended by several of his friends and family. Among estimated twenty two thousand people expected to attend many are anxious to see two of Drago’s accomplices. Most will be looking, but most likely will not recognize Vincent Blackshadow, who has been in hiding ever since his run in with Grand Rapids police a little over a year ago. Drago’s other longtime friend, Commodore Nedward Leslie is expected to arrive in a stretch limo fashionably late, as is the custom of his homeland.
Many sad faces will be looking for the same look that once gleamed in the eye of the amateur pit fighter sometimes late at night, but that will no longer be an option. With its terrible economy, poor weather, and little to no attractions outside of Michigan Adventure, it is easy to say that Michigan is reeling after Scott’s departure. Many blame Jennifer Granholm, some blame the comfortable obesity of the state of Michigan, but this writer happens to believe that the blame falls on each and every one of us. Mr. Nykamp you will be sorely missed.
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Manning Disappears During Quest for Peace
HARTFORD, MI- There was never any doubt that the one thing Brad Manning wanted to see in his lifetime was peace on our spectacular planet, Earth, the third planet from the sun. What is in doubt is the location of his human remains, and whether they are a whole unit, or if they are in little pieces, like the peanut bits found in Jiff crunchy peanut butter.
“I don’t know man, I’m just so fucking nervous right now,” says long-time friend Scott Nykamp, adding, “I just hope he’s fucking alive man, because, man, it would suck so bad if he wasn’t, ya know?” Yes, Mr. Nykamp, we know.
It’s hardly an understatement saying that Brad Manning was the most beloved sunuvabitch in Hartford. A first-year middle school English teacher, Manning has always vowed to give back to the community. However, he’s been so charitable recently that his friends were wondering what was next.
Lawrence Larsen II was also a close friend of Brad’s. Recently they had conjured up the blue prints to form the Hartford Literary Society, a movement set forth in motion by none other than Brad Manning. Larsen agrees in regards to the recent philanthropic antics of Manning:
“That fucking guy, Jesus Christ, he’s just been too fucking good lately, too fucking good. When he told me about QUEER (Quest to Unite and Evaluate Equality Relations), I could tell he was serious. The dude was so hot for QUEER, and how can you really blame him.”
No one knows precisely where Brad started his venture, where he planned to go on his second or third stops, or even his eighth stop. However, his close friends have identified the following as potential stops: Little Rock, Arkansas; Ciudad Juarez, Mexico; Baltimore, Maryland; and Spain.
Director/writer/actor Quentin Tarantino was a long-time friend of Manning’s, and they frequently vacationed together, quietly, at a top-secret location on the Pacific Northwest coast. Tarantino’s take:
“I can recall one of the last true conversations I had with Bradley. We were discussing some of the characters of my films, because he truly loved many of the characters of my films, and we discussed 16 of his favorite characters. He thought that Jules was just such a profound man, the way he decided to walk the earth. That really resonated with him; he just thought that (etc.).”
Brad Manning’s only fault as a man was that he cared too much. It is an utter, disgusting, pig-fucking shame that he can’t remain with us all, for the entirety of this miraculous nation, preserved for all to cherish, like a precious metal displayed at the Smithsonian.
NOTE: If anyone has any information in regards to Brad Manning’s whereabouts, please contact the Hartford Police Department, who will transfer you directly to the Van Buren County Sheriff’s Department, who will then immediately patch you into the nearest Michigan State Police Post. If that post is still staffed, they will contact the Federal Bureau of Investigation, who has been working relentlessly on this case since January first.
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A Tuesday After Intense Cardio
A recent email I sent to my Friend, verbatim. Tried to mold it into a short story; it wasn’t worth the effort. Enjoy.
So, shit, went 0 for 2 on the day. Took the job hit. Then Erica got on my nerves so fucking bad that I’m staying the night at Bert’s, even though she wanted me to stay. Here are some examples:
- We decided to go see Brothers. I was at her place 2 hours before going. For about 1.5 hours of that, she was sending texts, and various other messages. Then she did that shit where she would tell me everybody else’s comments on something she said on facebook. “I was like, ‘you were wearing a helmet because you ride the short bus,’ then jason was like, ‘what the hell man?’ and then bruce was like, ‘yeah, short bus, lmao……” I didn’t find any of it funny. She laughed her ass off.
- I turned the tv to Jeopardy. She repeatedly told me how the show was stupid. Before the final question, she asked if I would mind if she changed it. I say be my guest. She changes it to MTV, and fuckin Jersey shores. The worst part is, she wasn’t even watching it, she was texting her balls off. She asks me if I’ve ever watched the show. I say, “I haven’t watched MTV since I was in elementary school.” Afterwards, we watched some goddamn dance show Fox. I watched that is. She texted.
- She only wanted to go if I warmed up my truck and pulled it up to the door, stating, “that’s the gentleman thing to do.”
- We went to Walmart. She had to piss because she was slamming cocktails before we left. She was doing the “pee-pee dance” as she called it. Same shit as a fucking child would do, dancing and squirming around because she had to piss. She needed to pick up TWO things REAL QUICK. Mind you when we pulled into walmart, there was 12 minutes before the movie started. She ended up getting about 17 things. And we were late to the goddamn movie.
- When we get there, she was being really fucking rude, and a total fucking bitch, because some guy was trying to buy a couple of gift cards. Embaressed the shit out of me. The employee pointed to the machine where you can swipe and buy your ticket. She’s too dumb to work the thing. She talks shit to it. Further embaressment. The guy leaves the line, I go there to buy my ticket. I apologize profusely under my breath. The employee says he’s sorry. I say, no man, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Jesus christ.
- She decides after 15 minutes that the movie sucks. Commence texting. She says out loud, and to the “people” next to us, “this movie is sooooo slow. this movie sucks.” Once again, I’m embaressed.
- I can hardly enjoy movie, due to her and the “people”. The best part was when she didn’t say or do a fucking thing and curled up and snuggled up to my arm. I thought, this shit could work out after all. It didn’t. With about 20 minutes left in the film, she said loud enough so the entire goddamn theater could hear, “I can’t believe how much this movie sucks.”
- I’m going 35 mph in a 30 on the way back in St Joe. She says fairly snide- I’d slow down, the St Joe cops are assholes. I say back (she has 2 dui’s in st joe) “I’ll be fine. I’m not drunk.” I didn’t get pulled over.
- She tells me that prostate and colon cancer are the same thing. I disagree. (my grandfather has a slew of cancer) She says that she’s going into nursing, she knows. I say – that’s not what the doctors at the hospital told me. She says that, no, your grandfather only has one type of cancer. She tried convincing me that he has melanoma. He doesn’t.
- By the time of arrival at her place, I’d had enough. I helped carry groceries in. Told her that I had to go, have a lot on my mind with the job thing and all. Needed a long, country drive home to clear my mind. She looked disappointed that I wasn’t staying. She starts with some religious bullshit. Tells me that god is just trying to help me learn. That I should embrace my situation and learn from it. I tell her that I’m tired of learning, I’ve had bad luck for the majority of the past ten years. She says again that I need to embrace it, and she keeps pushing god on me. I almost throw up on her cats. She pushed that far. I hugged her. Then I left.
It was a rotten fucking experience. But maybe god put me through it so I would learn not to hang out with stupid bitches.
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The Five People You Meet at LMC
The Jocks
These assholes think they’re really fucking special. Guess what? You play baseball (or basketball if you’re black) for a COMMUNITY FUCKING COLLEGE! That means (drum roll) FUCKALL! Stop fucking staring at me and calling me gay or “white boy” (the latter if you’re black) because I’m fit, well dressed and handsome, and the non-lesbian softball chicks stare at me and not you. You lounge around watching Sports Center on the wall-mounted flat screen TV in the lobby by the gym (close to the main entrance, for maximum exposure). I can out drink and out fuck you. Big deal, get over it and yourself. You have no problem being obscenely loud about your “bidness”. FYI: No one wants to hear about how Andy left his iPod or cell phone at WaZoo’s crib and how said device was most definitely not going to be there now.
The Wall Huggers
I’ll go easy on these guys because they don’t cause me too much trouble, though one out of every three accidentally spill into the wrong classroom on an hourly basis, such is their attachment to the wall. These people literally can not not walk alongside the wall. There is a twenty-foot wide hallway and enrollment isn’t high here (for good reason) so feel free to move around, but stay out of my way. I was once one of you; I know what you are going through. Yes the world is a scary place, and people here suck (see: The Jocks) but fucking grow a pair! High School is over, and last I checked Ryan Fleming doesn’t attend this school. You are safe. Trust me.
The Hot Girl
Yes you are hot. Yes you are rich. Yes you are only here because you maintained a C+ average and Daddy thought that it would be best for his little girl to build some character before heading off to university. Mostly he did it because he knew you’d end up a druggie alcoholic cunt, pregnant or post-abortion before the first semester, a drop-out like the hot girl you sit next to, the one you were friends with in high school, whom you gossip about on Facebook, and you think you’re better than because you haven’t gotten pregnant… yet. You drive a Pontiac Sunfire, or Grand Am. You are so tan that some of the colors in your trampstamp are no longer visible. Your name may or may not be Traci.
The Hot (but doesn’t know it) Girl
You are from a small town. You have had the same boyfriend since the sixth grade. You were the in the top ten of your class and go here for free on academic scholarship. You’re flower has finally blossomed. You had an older brother who got all of the attention, and your mom never told you what to do with your hair or make-up or clothes. You are insecure and hold on to your long-term loser boyfriend, because you don’t think that you can do any better. By the way, he has fucked around on you since the day you met, sorry. You are really tired of having unsatisfying sex in the bed of his truck, but have no one to talk to about it since your best and only girlfriend moved away and all of your guy friends (all of whom secretly have a crush on you) never want to talk about that for some reason. Guys here look at you and you’re not sure why, your instincts tell you they like you but you are conditioned to think you are ugly because you only got attention from one guy your whole life, and all of your guy friends are pussies or gay.
The Nerds
This is a classic archetype and for good reason. You congregate near Munchie’s Café. One of you sports a tail, he is known as a “furry”. Even in the outsider world of weird in which you thrive, he is considered “a little strange”. He may have sex with animals or with children, while dressed like an animal. His name may or may not be Travis. One of you has a fiancé. He is your God. There is one single and kind of cute girl in your group but your balls dropped off a long time ago or you wised up and no longer seek validation from the opposite sex. All of you have terrible facial hair that you refuse to shave. All of you have a bad hair cut, but don’t care. You smell bad, again you don’t care. You are either over or under weight. You still have that black trench coat in your closet that you wore in High School. You love Japanese shit. You have accepted your nerd-dom, and are proud of it, going so far as to make a scene and draw attention to yourself. This bothers those around you and you love it. Deep down, you are not a bad guy, but you will die alone anyway. Games you like: D&D, M:tG, Yu-Gi-Oh, Morrowind/ Oblivion, WoW, and any RPG ever made.
And to be fair:
Me
I’m the quiet/LOUD guy in class. You think I’m good looking with a decent body, a little too pale and wear nice clothes (gay?). You think I’m funny but vulgar and my humor, like the coffee I constantly drink, is black. You don’t always understand why I laugh inappropriately at things people around the room say. You’re convinced I come in hung-over every Wednesday, noting all period that I never remove my wayfarers. I seem smart but a little snobby and very judgmental based on the comments I make (in my defense once you get to know me I’m pretty friendly). I’m stuck up, maybe shy but to be safe you’re going to assume the former, and you’d be half right, because both are true. If it helps us get along just remember: I’m more scared of you than you are of me.
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He Lives
I was traveling down Interstate 94 last Saturday, on my way to Kalamazoo, primarily minding my own business, rocking out to my favorite Strokes album—singing under my breath and without moving my mouth so as not to illicit a response from my fellow drivers—when I saw him.
At first I did not suspect that the driver of this mid to late nineties Ford Escort LX was of any unusual repute; he was a slow driver behind a semi; I decided to make my move and pass by as quickly as possible, so as not to infuriate anyone who may be speeding up behind me—I try to observe speed limits as much as I can. I caught a brief glimpse of the driver as I was going by, and I quickly thought to myself “that looks like Dallas Watson. And seated next to him ever so comfortably must be his wife.”
I ignored the thought, and in fact deplored the fact that I might be forced into an awkward highway greeting—you know when you see somebody you didn’t want see to begin with and they drive by you and suddenly you notice the car next to you is trying to keep the same pace as you, then you look over and see somebody you slightly recognize waving wildly: that is what I was hoping to avoid.
In any case, I move past this driver and the ever resilient tractor trailer and move into the slow lane. A minute later I notice this red Escort in my peripheral vision; realizing that this could be Mr. Watson, I maintain a tunnel vision like nothing seen before or since. Well, not one to be deterred, this Escort begins to honk wildly; I obviously cannot ignore it at this point, so I look over, which is when I see a grinning Mr. Watson extending a hand displaying index and pinky fingers, palm in, in my direction. I quickly wave and continue to look ahead and drive.
But, that was all the proof I needed: he is alive and well.
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