B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

Stray saxophone through Washington Square Park, drifting along the edge of the West Village bubble. Slate-gray sky and spring weather with just a hint of cold; I could walk all day through the curvy half-roads and conversations of strangers. This is what I missed during winter weather you could drift through and being outside because really, why would you be any where else? Ambling jazz, chess hustlers who can't stand up for all the five dollar hooch burning up their system but will take you in four moves, city boy... I came here at the end of Spring, and those first few weeks were like courting. Sappy music and sweet nothings and two dozen roses for eight dollars. All the glass and steel constructions along the island's coast can't bury what was here. The fiction city of Woody Allen movies and Pouges songs bleeds through the post-mod make-up like a first draft through white out.

Confession: I haven't written a thing since getting fired from Gizmodo.

It's the writer's block I knew was coming but swore I wouldn't let take hold. Prose, words put in a way they haven't before become a phantom limb and for a while I can't function. I spent days sitting in a chair and staring at new text documents I'd close with no changes to save. Physical therapy teaches you to function without after trauma; I'd rather grow my hands back. I didn't come to New York to make mixed tapes, which is about all I've produced. I didn't come to watch it turn dark outside my window, killing time before I can sulk back to bed.

Things are bad. I'm in the vaguely shaded space between mostly and completely fucked, and every day without a job is another one closer to not having a place to live. My food comes mostly from amazing friends I haven't done much recently to deserve. I'd like to say I'm fighting back but I'm not, not really; I'm doing the bare minimum and it's catching up fast. Too much time feeling sorry for myself and listening to slow music - pop can be worse than smoking drunk driving combined. I need fire. I need hunger. Give me the Pixies, give me Joe Strummer and his mates busking outside of concert halls for gas money. I need my teeth back, need to feel the version of me I want to become as something just ahead I'm running to catch up with. There will be no waking up one morning, fully realized and owning the world. Gandhi was a lucky sap in the right place with the right ear to plead with. New York responds to conquest and hostile take over, waiting to be won in spite of rather than anything being owed.

I will come through the mountain pass, riding elephants. Time to survive rather assume, to do instead of hope.

posted by chris  # 4:44 PM 0 comments

posted by chris  # 5:24 PM 0 comments

iTunes confluence, Billy Bragg's New England before midnight. I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song; I'm twenty-two now but I won't be for long.

Twenty-three. Christ.

posted by chris  # 12:13 AM 1 comments

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posted by chris  # 11:48 AM 0 comments

My time as a career writer ended when I made a joke and no one at the controls was in the mood. There's something to be said for getting fired for being clever, but at the moment the last part still comes out sort of whispered. I got fired.

This is something that happens.

Talking about the thing itself is something I'm not entirely capable of at the moment, so I won't. The bits of it I'm not over have been pushed to the back to make room for the shaky hands scramble of getting a new job, getting rent, and putting food in me when I can. I need the rush. It's only when I sit still that it comes crashing home, settling around my ears and eyes and hands with the dull metallic roar of wind between buildings.

But it happens, and it did, and it's done. Other things are in the works, I'm sitting on the eighth floor of a glass and stone high rise looking out over the water at distant New Jersey, talking to a nice woman about working in her swank coffee shop or tightening up Resume, The Destroyer of Worlds, for work in a publishing house. If 2005 is in fact the year that forces us all to grow up a little, then this was my kiddie bullshit getting slapped down. There are no short cuts, no third act ex machina surprise to get us what we want. There is work and nervous energy and ramen for the tenth time this week, and the city I don't dare leave for all that I would miss the moment I stepped on the plane.

posted by chris  # 12:52 PM 0 comments

I got the Gizmodo job, so you can find me Monday through Friday here being rude about cellphones and making sure every damn robot that comes down the pipe gets his fifteen minutes in the sun. Obligatory Freaking Out and What Does It All Mean babble coming soon for all three of you regular readers, once I get properly adjusted to my new schedule of being a goddamn goldmine of snark and wisdom from 7 A.M. on.

In the meantime, because I like them, and fear for their safety under the spectre of my mass file trashings in the pursuit of more disc space, I present the writing samples the craigslist posting asked for. Joel wanted three sample posts in the gizmodo writing style, and this is what I came up with after a night of hamburgers and whiskey.

Mesopotamia To World: Walking is for Suckers

file under Press

Proving they won't be upstaged by Africa's Running Fast innovation of last season, the clever folks that brought you Walking Upright and Swimming Underwater are set to take the world by storm yet again with a project insiders are referring to in hushed tones as: The Wheel.

While details remain sketchy, early word from the cradle of civilization suggests the wheel will be circular, thus allowing it to roll over nearly any surface. A number of styles - ranging from "stone" to "wood" or the more advanced "bundle of logs" - and sizes ensure the right wheel for any job, be it transporting freshly carved marble to the new temple grounds or just taking the family out to see the harvest time sacrifice. So a few less reasons to curse great Baal-Shamen for making your pathetic human body so frail and weak, sounds like.

But Mesopotamia's going to have to hoof it if they want to stay ahead of the pack; look for similar models cropping up in China and the mighty Incan empire as early 2800 BC, just in time for the mighty Meso's rumored add-on Axel to hit the market. Me, I just can't wait to zip back and forth from home to the salt mines like that guy in the B.C. comic strip.

Wheel History - Invention of the Wheel [The Great Idea Finder]

Gutenberg Makes Printing Easy, Monkhood Loses One and Only Perk

file under peripherals

Last Saturday kicked off the Mainz Techfest here in Germany with the launch of Johann Gutenberg's printing press, and I have to admit the demonstration left me a little cold. For all the buzz of "revolutionizing the way information moves," what I saw was little more than a retooling of the Chinese models we've seen for years with a few bugs worked out and a lot left desired. Never mind the lack of papal approval, the speed-to-quality ratio is so dismal you may be better off hanging on to your candle lit basement full of transcribing holy men for a few more years. And plug-ins? Forget it. No ports, no fire wire, no anything. I couldn't even mention the idea of syncing up a digital camera without getting a tirade about "demon-meddling" and "soul-sucking boxes."

There's potential in the Gutenberg model in terms of sheer numbers; nothing else shown over the weekend was nearly as capable when it came to ripping copies of panel discussion schedules or the hugely popular Protestant Reformations of Martin "L33T" Luther. Shame the best demonstration of it's reproducing power was young Johann making sure every got copies of his bad poetry and "Which Apostle R U?" quiz.

The Printing Press [Wikipedia]

Official: Human Language, Vocal Chords Obsolete

file under cellphones

Tired of voices coming from your pocket-sized, QWERTY enabled camera? So far past the point of recognizable speech you're forced to carve OMG ROFL in the dirt to get your point across? Wish your phone had a little more rhythm than that shitty Lil' Flip ring tone you pulled off T-Zones? Then why not ditch the handset entirely and go straight-texting, hardcore style?

The Telegraph, from Morse Industries, is here to keep you in near-instant communication with friends and family all over the country who's actual voices you just can't tolerate any more. Text is transmitted over wire by dot-dash-dot code and translated by a qualified operator, ensuring you'll always know where the hottest barn raising or spring socials are going down. And hey! Secret code! You'll be just like spies!

Look for telegraphy to go wireless in the coming years, enabling you to shoot radio signals all the way across the ocean. Be the first on your block to start that never-gets-old SOS HAVE STRUCK ICEBERG meme.

A Short History of Telegraphy [Sam's Telecomms Index]

posted by chris  # 11:47 PM 0 comments