tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56641692011-08-28T10:45:59.399-04:00WORDS AND PICTURES BY CHRIS LAMB.chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.comBlogger1231100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1156429923278164022006-08-24T10:29:00.000-04:002006-08-24T10:32:03.290-04:00

A particularly appropriate installment of Scary Go Round today, as Confluence and Ideaspace seem particularly out to get me. Fucking girls. Fucking bears.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1155569106476766482006-08-14T11:23:00.000-04:002006-08-14T11:27:58.016-04:00

So, the game we did for Naruto is up on CN as of today. You can find it here. I really can't tell you how happy I am to see this thing done and dusted. What should have been a very simple project (top-down scrolling shooter, nine levels, three bosses) picked up when CN yanked it from Some Other Company who couldn't get their shit together evolved into an all-consuming monster, a flash-based

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154361468372598192006-07-31T11:57:00.000-04:002006-07-31T12:05:23.056-04:00

Quick diversion before getting into the brain dump of the trip what was by way of some recovered pictures from my first time out in San Francisco. Further evidence that anything you're really looking for is probably in a box under some one's bed.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154322150554671952006-07-31T01:02:00.000-04:002006-07-31T01:02:30.570-04:00

San Francisco is Mars, and Mars is Heaven. After weeks (Two? Three? All of them?) of New York being slow broiled by the Heat Wave That Wouldn't End, after the last couple of of months at work being dominated by ninjas, the Finnish, and marine life in increasingly difficult to explain scenarios, I am on vacation. Actual, real, paid vacation, in San Francisco. Which is Mars. I am in San

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1154322075275589212006-07-31T00:58:00.000-04:002006-07-31T01:01:15.286-04:00

San Francisco is Mars, and Mars is Heaven. After weeks (Two? Three? All of them?) of New York being slow broiled by the Heat Wave That Wouldn't End, after the last couple of of months at work being dominated by ninjas, the Finnish, and marine life in increasingly difficult to explain scenarios, I am on vacation. Actual, real, paid vacation, in San Francisco. Which is Mars. I am in San

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1152724470692058902006-07-12T12:45:00.000-04:002006-07-12T13:15:11.433-04:00

I quit drinking caffeine. Mostly. After a good long while spent going back and forth sinc e a bit of self realization last August, I've cut my consumption per day down to one coffee, one Coke, and the occasional green tea. This down from what roughly rounds out to "whatever I can get my hands on, oh my god give it give it give it", or the number equivelient there of. I don't know math. The (

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1150809707582340122006-06-20T09:20:00.000-04:002006-06-20T09:21:47.593-04:00

I suppose there are worse times than the beginning of Summer to realize the fans in your room are dead. I have three to use in various combinations as needed: two window units that suck air in or pump it back out again and a smaller, more portable fan that was the one good thing to come out of a week of baby-sitting the sort of country mouse house guest Time Out New York writes charming features

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1145630471372971682006-04-21T10:35:00.000-04:002006-04-21T10:41:11.406-04:00

Hi, internet. Sorry things have been so quiet for the last few weeks - loads happening on the game design front and New York deciding it's Spring have kept me away from here. Stuff and things happening soonish, I promise. I'd like to get back in the habit of making regular use of this thing. Of course, every time I say that, my work load doubles. So we'll see. Work music of the day: "

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1142379450578124922006-03-14T18:29:00.000-05:002006-03-23T11:08:09.420-05:00

Talking about the Arctic Monkeys a few days ago leads all-too naturally to listening to Kenickie. A lot. A lot a lot. Not wanting to go on too much more at risk of ending up with something on the long and shambling side of a rant, but songs about things that happen while trying to chat up girls are the best thing ever.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1141929559001130682006-03-09T13:33:00.000-05:002006-03-09T13:39:33.323-05:00

"Right now, I'm sitting here at my whiteboard with my dry-erase marker and I'm trying to figure out how to get this level to work in our new game for the PSP. That's all there is. On one hand, that's nice because all of the bullshit goes away and you ask yourself, do you truly enjoy the work of being a game designer? There are days where I find the answer is a resounding yes. I'm obsessed with it

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1141231112163890422006-03-01T10:57:00.000-05:002006-03-01T11:38:32.233-05:00

So, the Arctic Monkeys. After months and months of seeing "AM: Cure for Cancer?" style headlines from NME online and the other usual suspects, their first album's coming to America at last. I've listening to an advance over headphones while working. Or putting off working, as the case may be. They're very charming, aren't they? After three listens to the record I think I've narrowed down

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140644763196578192006-02-22T16:45:00.000-05:002006-02-22T16:46:03.206-05:00

Doing Capoeira – Brazilian martial arts disguised as dance – last night finds me today sore, stiff, and wanting to be Batman. For all the initial frustration, for all the pent-up intimidation and doesn’t-play-well-with-others bad feelings from spending a decade and change in public school physical fitness programs that marked my first class (and came up again last night, the by-product of

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140533478991113832006-02-21T09:49:00.000-05:002006-02-21T09:51:19.000-05:00

Don’t call it a comeback, I never left. 12:19 counts as tomorrow, doesn’t it? I’m getting back into the twenty lines a day habit but don’t trust myself to wake up early enough to hammer them out before work. That, and after the four or five glasses of wine I’ve had on top of Audrey and Cary in Charade, writing feels like the best thing to do, lacking a dinner cruise down the Seine or a

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1140375474098475082006-02-19T13:56:00.000-05:002006-02-19T13:57:54.110-05:00

Twelve till ten on a Saturday night and there's a lot I should be doing instead of blogging. Like capital-W writing, for instance, or going out into the bitter cold to drink with people for friend's birthday. Yet here I am instead, whiskey chilling in a glass and new pop music coming in over headphones. It happens sometimes. Though "new" is a bit subjective here: I'm listening to the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1138750078957592352006-01-31T18:03:00.000-05:002006-01-31T18:27:59.020-05:00

Bear with me, here: I'm currently at the mercy of a persistent dose of Tylenol Allergy Sinus Day Time which, despite it's up and about-sounding name, has me more doped up than a sorority girl on club night. Thinking about writing, specifically the writing of mine being held in limbo on an Apple store hard drive, patiently waiting to be recovered and dropped into the body of Norrin Radd.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1138232043947461952006-01-25T18:26:00.000-05:002006-01-25T18:34:03.960-05:00

In the end, all it took to get my new laptop was the threat of legal smackdown. Remember that, kids: the trick to dealing with assholes is all in proper use of the words "federal crime" in a sentence. I am now the proud owner of a silvery-shiny 15" Powerbook that I've taken to calling "Norrin Radd." As that's a bit cumbersome, I might end up shortening to one word - because when you're naming

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1137511719727330962006-01-17T10:22:00.000-05:002006-01-17T10:28:39.743-05:00

Forgot to mention this a while ago, then continued forgetting for, um, several weeks: there haven't been any new installments of the twenty lines a day thing I was doing because there hasn't been a computer to write them on. My ibook, lovingly referred to as Doombot when no one was around, had a massive logic board failure and died about a month ago. I'm still working on getting a new machine,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1137395533394719722006-01-16T01:34:00.000-05:002006-01-16T02:12:13.456-05:00

Ben10: Battle Ready is up at cartoonnetwork.com. It's the first game I did for Pop, the project who's hellishly short production schedule also marked my slow shift of accepting all this as What I Do. It's weird, seeing it finally up and running and out of our hands. The first day it was up I'd load it on my screen at work just to look at it, all this dumb shit from my head made real on a

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136569230550187262006-01-06T12:40:00.000-05:002006-01-06T12:40:30.600-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136093264789777392006-01-01T00:26:00.000-05:002006-01-01T00:27:44.790-05:00

Just to say: between the roar of fireworks shaking the window panes and the mass of voices singing and shouting outside and in the surrounding apartments, the mental image of the city declaring war on Dick Clark and his yearly ritual of rejuvenation involving the skinning of years off the ends of the thousands of lives gathered in Times Square to watch his hideous Rite Of The Disco Ball

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1136093052540412722006-01-01T00:23:00.000-05:002006-01-01T00:24:12.553-05:00

How 2005 ends: sitting on the edge of a futon in robot-mode, stabbing at a borrowed keyboard during a break from a marathon push through season five of Angel. This is the good one, apparently, and so far the appearance of Spike has gone a long way to offset the mumbled half-acting of David Borenzahozenhausen, the guy what plays Angel. If part of me must be a seventeen-year-old girl spending

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1134014368247449292005-12-07T22:35:00.000-05:002005-12-07T23:05:30.673-05:00

I threw this in the sidebar but forgot to actually talk about it, for I am dumb. I have a game online. When I came on with Pop, they were in the early stages of a game for Cartoon Network's Hi Hi Puffy Ami Yumi Show. It's a decent cartoon, nothing special: the animated adventures of the two girls of Puffy Ami Yumi and their zany tour manager Kaz. They travel the world in their van, bring the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133966807384188342005-12-07T09:45:00.000-05:002005-12-07T09:46:47.403-05:00

Last night, in rough order: phone call, whiskey, hip-hop; then the long walk home through almost empty streets to dream about running through the city with a huge chorus just offstage roaring through Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecelia." There. There is some sentence structure for you. I see your crude diagrams of proper form and I laugh at them. It was the sort of night that reminds me why I'm

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133882429310334642005-12-06T10:18:00.000-05:002005-12-06T10:20:29.323-05:00

Woke up to the first snow of the season Sunday, and now we're living in the days of the Weathermen, where every storm is a potential blizzard and the streets become more dangerous with stray Snow-Melt than they ever were covered in ice. Still, it's better than it was growing up in the South where every heavy grey cloud riding a cold front in is a cause for alarm, emptying the grocery stores and

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133789503674731862005-12-05T08:31:00.000-05:002005-12-05T08:31:43.686-05:00

It isn't work without these days; without ever sitting in front of a blank screen, just staring when you could be sleeping, there would be nothing to make you appreciate when the words do come. If there was never any frustration, if dodging cliche was as easy as setting your fingers to the the keys, every one would do it. If it was as easy as all that, you'd never bother trying to do it at all.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133449714146429352005-12-01T10:07:00.000-05:002005-12-01T10:08:34.160-05:00

"You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops." That's it, that's what the rest of Waits' "Hold On" is built around. It's the line that wedges in my head the most, dwarfing the rest of the song to the point that it's all just window dressing. What's the Hemingway quote? "'The cat sat on the mat' is not a story, but 'The cat sat on the dog's mat' is?" Google says John Le Carre, so there you go.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133361590848329152005-11-30T09:39:00.000-05:002005-11-30T09:40:37.356-05:00

There's a familiar pause before answering the question "What do you do?" - it's about the shape and size of the amount of time it takes to gather my thoughts when not I don't plan on responding entirely truthfully. It's not that I'm going to lie - "Games Designer" is how I'm introduced at parties and meetings, so that has to count for something - so much as I don't quite believe it myself. This

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133298585502378462005-11-29T16:09:00.000-05:002005-11-29T16:11:46.780-05:00

I guess at some point I should talk about making video games, as that's what I spend all day doing. Hm. It's not playing games all day. To be honest, I rarely play anything at work until a project reaches the testing phase, and then I play the same game over and over again, eight hours a day for up to a week or more to find new and exciting ways of breaking it. It's not playing God, either,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133275903422558542005-11-29T09:51:00.000-05:002005-11-29T09:51:43.433-05:00

Sitting in front of this blank screen at just past a little too early in the morning and wondering what to write. And then immediately after that wondering how that is even a question, how some part of my brain can keep reigning in my hands by cautioning "But we don't even know where we're going yet!" at the start of every day. I came to the conclusion the other day that writing about writing

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133209254957162522005-11-28T15:18:00.000-05:002005-11-28T15:20:54.956-05:00

New layout, similar to how it was when the murder hurricane prettified it. What's the verdict? Soooo grood or nooooo grood?

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133182700668271482005-11-28T07:57:00.000-05:002005-11-28T15:18:36.490-05:00

Four days off in a row for the holiday is the longest bit of time off I've had since... I'm not really sure. Sometime in the early Summer, definitely, but I'm pretty sure the last time I went this long without working was when I wasn't working at all. This sort of sudden stop, particularly after the long slog that began in August and never really ended, can't help but provide time to reflect on

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133158210836380202005-11-28T01:10:00.000-05:002005-11-28T01:11:48.866-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133154651031712542005-11-28T00:10:00.000-05:002005-11-28T00:10:51.043-05:00

The first lesson on starting the fifth of these is that it's not easy, but I wonder how much of that is my fault. I can't help but thinking I would have an easier time of things if I wasn't posting them here. there's the nothing I can write about while putting off starting a a project, and then there's the nothing I write about when I know people are going to be reading it. So far, these sets

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1133074775283900112005-11-27T01:59:00.000-05:002005-11-27T21:22:23.953-05:00

No lines for yesterday, as yesterday was spent incubating. Which is a roundabout way of saying "playing Sly3 for the better part of the day and not eating enough before downing a brandy tumbler full of Jim Beam and Coke and watching Star Trek IV and going out, though not necessarily all in that order." It's all in the phrasing, see. But in between and around the edges of all that, I thought

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1132892414996319252005-11-24T23:19:00.000-05:002005-11-24T23:20:15.010-05:00

If Thanksgiving must happen, there is no where I'd rather spend it than in Manhattan and on my own. Where else can a parade the size and scope of Macy's happen without bumping into my day? Where else is there enough room to accommodate such extremes of celebration and indifference without missing a beat in between? Spongebob lumbers along closed and crowded streets into Times Square like a

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1132752203651199592005-11-23T08:22:00.000-05:002005-11-23T08:23:23.663-05:00

At the beginning of November and caught up in the slow fear that comes with starting a thing like NaNo with a story I'm not actually interested in, I bought a book on writing. It's a bad habit of mine, and about as detrimental (I'd imagine) as casual alcoholism or a mild Prozac habit. I find myself wanting to write and almost managing to do so, and start thinking that if I can just find the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1132672596452949752005-11-22T10:16:00.000-05:002005-11-22T10:16:36.453-05:00

"Twenty lines, genius or not" - a throat-clearing exercise, so to speak. Harry Mathews deliberately misunderstood the line from Stendhal to create a means of getting the little fears of writing out of the way so that the actual work may come through. Done early enough, it deals with the anxieties of the act - the agoraphobia of an empty page, the numbness that overtakes ideas somewhere between

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1132672550174320872005-11-22T10:12:00.000-05:002005-11-22T10:15:50.186-05:00

I was going to post my novel as it happened, really. It's just that I sort of didn't. The first week of Nano was spent staring at an empty screen, or staring at a wall, or figuring to hell with it and going to a bar instead. The thing that I was going to write - typical blend of truth and not-as-truthfully shot through the wanderlust serendipity of the derivé - just wasn't cutting it. I'm by

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1130792607813477822005-10-31T15:54:00.000-05:002005-10-31T16:04:25.120-05:00

Things that are best, #2,615: the video for "Helena," by My Chemical Romance. Funeral procession dance numbers, complete with umbrellas. Post-mortem ballet. The band that Hot Topic built, complete with a lead singer who's been shot through all of Johnny Depp's best Tim Burton filters. Predictable to perfection, right up to dead and lovely opening her eyes on the last beat before the refrain.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1130513238274582262005-10-28T11:15:00.000-04:002005-10-28T11:27:18.326-04:00

November is nearly here, meaning National Novel Writing Month will soon be upon us. Or rather, upon me. And to celebrate the excitement of an entire month's worth of free time spent crouched over a keyboard while desperately counting every last word, I've decided to let you, the humble Bondphone reader, in on the action with a rare chance to see how much worse my writing is before it meets the

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1130366503616555342005-10-26T18:41:00.000-04:002005-10-26T18:43:15.023-04:00

So, I got this job. I design video games now. No, for reals. I work for a company called Pop&Co. based out of the Meat Packing District of Manhattan's West Side. We're on the fifth floor of an old warehouse-turned-office space with a view of the Hudson and lovely-from-a-distance New Jersey. I ride a freight elevator (that is also our lobby) every morning that's operated by a guy named Berman

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1130017653501844132005-10-22T17:47:00.000-04:002005-10-22T20:38:47.810-04:00

I appreciate the offers and suggestions of spambot-blocking software for the comments section, but really, I don't think it's yet bad enough to worry about. And besides, there's something nice about thusfar only getting high brow spambots with interests in classical music rather than trying to make anything on me grow. But still, thanks.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1129904299109531662005-10-21T10:18:00.000-04:002005-10-21T10:57:53.216-04:00

New job, new phone. Bondphone the third is is a Treo 650. The picutres it takes come out a little...limey? But they're better quality, which is all I really wanted. And the phone itself beats the old Motorola number by being designed for actual human use. Lots I've been meaning to talk about, but September smashed all of my free time into little bits and distributed them evenly between three

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1125430368251324952005-08-30T14:33:00.000-04:002005-08-30T15:34:45.173-04:00

Courtesy of The Wayback Machine, I present Me, circa 2002-03. Off Camera was the result of two fairly major events happening within a few months of each other: namely, getting properly broken up with for the first time and getting over it, and being introduced to the work of Warren Ellis. The first pushed me further in to music, and then into wanting to write about it, and then wanting to

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1125198257589003552005-08-27T23:04:00.000-04:002005-08-27T23:12:57.176-04:00

Finally got around to pulling the pictures of Bondphone 2.0. See also the handy sidebar to your right, linking to everything online that I've written and can think of. Mostly everything.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1124911253854624852005-08-24T15:17:00.000-04:002005-08-24T15:22:48.686-04:00

This was started weeks ago - it's actually beautiful outside - but I finally got around to finishing it today. There's a clear break before the end, between where I didn't know how to finish it and put it down and where I decided that didn't matter and wrapped it up any way, but I like it for the most part. The end trips over its own feet a bit, reaching further and further out for images, but

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1124246803563429202005-08-16T20:15:00.000-04:002005-08-17T00:33:29.406-04:00

I'm at Alt, propping up the counter when the I notice my phone's ringing. It stops as I pick it up, and the missed call carries Dad's name and cellphone. Some one's dead, obviously. I'm all ready to launch in to my speech about how yes, he's my grandfather, but he's also a disgusting wreck of an alcoholic who's stabbed our family in the neck any time we needed him and no, no, I'm not coming to

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1124081703667700872005-08-15T00:51:00.000-04:002005-08-24T12:19:31.986-04:00

Boredom with the blog's look has at last turned into sickness, and the resulting hospital stay sees the old oh-so-simple layout replaced with the slightly more complicated (this one has a table!) design I whipped up for Anodyne. As for the comics site that never was, Anodyne has gone quitely into that dark night, a victim of reasoning that anything I have to say there is just as easily said here

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1122863135586174882005-07-31T22:24:00.000-04:002005-08-24T12:23:04.813-04:00

It's hot, hotter than outside and twice as humid, as if all the spilt beer and mixers and sweat vaporized on contact. Steam blends with cigarette smoke and other things, forcing people to spill out into and down the stairwell outside. I meet a thirty-ish woman in black who introduces herself as the Consenting Neighbor. We live, we wretched souls, among saints. There are too many people

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1118912683048766702005-06-16T04:08:00.000-04:002005-06-16T05:04:43.086-04:00

I am growing bored with my country, as of late; the Etch-A-Sketch border lines and landmark eateries that make up territory are becoming too worn, too well-loved. I don't mean America, by any means - there's still too much too see, too many places to go. I haven't lived on San Francsico's Valencia, preferably over that diner with the library of used books and perfect avocado sandwiches. I've

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1118909229390808292005-06-16T03:58:00.000-04:002005-06-16T04:07:48.523-04:00

My Sidekick 2 decided to stop reading my SIM card last week. Rather than using my warranty for the umpteenth time to get yet another refurbished replacement, I did the sensible thing and dumped all my spare cash into the Motorola A630. The smaller body and interior screen means I can dial like normal people, and the camera is a few dozen times better than the old one. Now that email's set up

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1118823420000503152005-06-15T04:17:00.000-04:002005-06-15T04:42:51.006-04:00

Bondphone is dead. Long live Bondphone. More on the stupid things I spend money on later.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1117880152473883002005-06-04T06:15:00.000-04:002005-06-16T05:06:22.660-04:00

I have lived in New York for a year, as of last weekend. Sitting at work, bored and reading. Stood slanted with poor posture over a book and waiting, just waiting for the cash register clock to tick over to one so oi can chase everyone out. A girl comes in, short with strawberry blonde hair pushed back and freckles, dear God so many freckles. Dressed the sort of casual cool that comes

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1116149889487945092005-05-15T05:38:00.000-04:002005-05-15T09:48:18.273-04:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1116149676240057892005-05-15T05:34:00.000-04:002005-05-15T09:47:58.346-04:00

There is no sunrise, only the light coming on and up like a dimmer switch flicked against grey walls. It's five thirty in the morning and all I want is my hamburger and maybe a large glass of milk. I closed Cheap Shots with Katie an hour ago; three and half hours from now I have to open Alt. All I want is my hamburger. Nina says I don't update my blog, and that's true, I haven't for

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1113366255431092212005-04-13T00:21:00.000-04:002005-04-14T03:30:09.613-04:00

This site's address - www.anodyne.blogspot.com - is a bit misleading; this isn't a magazine at all. You can blame the lazy persistence of abandoned blogs for the misnomer, as if it weren't for this woman I would have gone with the slightly less awkward anodyne.blogspot.com. But no, for future generations will need an account of a month in the life of some anonymous soul carrying on an ill-advised

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1113201515165108862005-04-11T02:38:00.000-04:002005-04-11T02:54:14.163-04:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1113193839296140732005-04-11T00:30:00.000-04:002005-04-11T02:41:10.736-04:00

[Sitting outside of Will's apartment building, drinking beer] ME: So I met this g- PATRICK: I heard.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1112856228253396042005-04-07T02:04:00.000-04:002005-04-07T02:43:48.253-04:00

After-midnight topics, in order of conversation drift: the Girl in LA, cleaning the apartment, nails without a hammer, hammering piglets, and finally, "Flood," from They Might Be Giants. "Flood" is fifteen years old. I was thirteen? Fourteen? Stupid-young and awkward, the kid always at the church recreation center where his mom taught aerobics because there was nothing better to do and nobody

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1112828422404219542005-04-06T19:00:00.000-04:002005-04-06T19:22:30.536-04:00

Springtime in Manhattan, day two. I'm working at Alt Coffee on Avenue A and trawling Bowery for something full-time and during the week. It's hard to focus in a lamp store. It's hard to trust grandfatherly old Italian men when they remind you of your grandfather. More later, once I sift through my headful of noise for bits that might actually lead somewhere. Pictured above: Roommate

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1112219096295245392005-03-30T16:44:00.000-05:002005-03-30T18:07:35.600-05:00

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

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1112135050648800192005-03-29T17:24:00.000-05:002005-03-29T18:06:48.893-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1111727623587487372005-03-25T00:13:00.000-05:002005-03-25T00:29:08.920-05:00

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.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1111687826257324672005-03-24T13:10:00.000-05:002005-03-24T13:17:57.816-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1111682904550164522005-03-24T11:48:00.000-05:002005-03-24T11:50:29.626-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1110753446983483472005-03-13T12:52:00.000-05:002005-03-13T17:37:26.986-05:00

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

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1109912836946158112005-03-03T23:47:00.000-05:002005-03-04T00:13:53.233-05:00

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

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1109035909535525382005-02-21T20:12:00.000-05:002005-02-21T20:31:49.536-05:00

I forgot something, another little bit of weird confluence that seemed perfectly reasonable on the same night the Doctor put a hole through his head. Patrick and I became friends over both quoting REM's 'Crush With Eyeliner,' one of the only traces of sweetness on the band's ode to bad sex and reptile brain thinking "Monster." The song came up while in email about This Girl and her Rock Star

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1109032260362219892005-02-21T19:29:00.000-05:002005-02-21T19:31:00.366-05:00

I was in the last few pages of GENERATION OF SWINE and waiting for Patrick to give my back my computer. I wanted to climb in to bed and fall over with a stack of movies. It had been a long day of cold wind and bad art in Central Park, walking under giant horseshoes colored like parking cones with last week's laundry hanging off them and making snide comments about my friend's new boy parts with

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1108693502250244492005-02-17T21:25:00.000-05:002005-02-18T01:20:47.520-05:00

It's starting to snow. I don't have a day job. My trial period at the site ends tomorrow and after that there's nothing, no more chance to prove myself. Some other folks get the chance to prove themselves - a much shorter chance than me, and I should feel good about that - and then I find out if I get to write or not. I'm trying not to think about it, to make it some one else's

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1108607598033078972005-02-16T20:50:00.000-05:002005-02-16T21:33:18.036-05:00

Three days into my trial period at Gizmodo and learning, learning, learning. The more overwhelming bits of it are dropping off, finally, and all that's left is the work. The biggest hurdle is writing fast and sloppy, nailing down the important bits and fitting a joke in when I can. If the idea is to do twenty posts a day then there's no room for polishing, just make sure it's all spelled right

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1108434732525116422005-02-14T21:29:00.000-05:002005-02-14T21:33:49.836-05:00

Obligitory nattering on What It All Means later, once I'm settled into my new schedule. In the mean time, you can find me posting at Gizmodo. I'm the one talking about about baby Jesus.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1108179151273079672005-02-11T22:32:00.000-05:002005-02-11T22:47:12.286-05:00

Clowns in Love vs. Max "Murder Hurricane" Fenton. Nobody learns, nobody hugs.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1108102161679799592005-02-11T00:56:00.000-05:002005-02-11T01:20:13.846-05:00

Let's you and me talk about the weather, huh? Li Ruqing sits by a missile launcher loaded down with chemical-tipped warheads, just watching the sky. He commands three such batteries in the North Western corner of Beijing, keeping an eye on the weather report and a cool hand on the trigger. The weather's a bitch in this part of China, holding back rain the crops desperately need in favor of hail

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107846873814552432005-02-08T02:14:00.000-05:002005-02-08T02:27:01.903-05:00

The problem with Saturday night is 1. You kiss with your teeth. 2. The artist is dressed like Avril Lavigne, or that guy from Unwritten Law. 3. You aren't terribly cute. 4. The art isn't very good, and when it is, it's hung the wrong way. 5. Most of us have seen these homestarrruner.com cartoons. 6. Kissing you, or trying to, I'm going to get a crick in my back. 7. Abby left,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107485442716230442005-02-03T21:50:00.000-05:002005-02-03T21:55:10.926-05:00

Random basement of a building on 7th Street, a block or so away from my apartment. The basements here stomp on every Sneak button I have. All boiler rooms and naked lights hung from pipes, steam and old garbage shoved where ever; just standing still long enough to take the picture feels like waiting to get caught. Sooner or later I'll get tired of trying bondphone's camera out on every

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107484453438388872005-02-03T21:34:00.000-05:002005-02-03T21:46:36.920-05:00

She can't help herself, leaning over halfway through the act of sitting to kiss him, legs shaking from holding weight in all the wrong ways. Finally she sits and they stare at each other, open menues ignored in front of them as they study the other's face. There will be a test later. Close your books and take out a No. 2 pencil. This is early. This is new. This is fun.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107398423487698342005-02-02T21:40:00.000-05:002005-02-02T21:42:09.916-05:00

I might do a bigger thing on the current state of my unread pile (christmas money means books, which now Tower of Babel off the edge of my desk. If I pick up the new McSweeny's and it's Iceland porn, I might just reach Heaven.), but for now, this: I picked up two books of poetry at East Village Books on Monday: LIVE FROM THE HONG KONG NILE CLUB, by August Kleinzahler, and

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107395465500237082005-02-02T20:51:00.000-05:002005-02-02T20:52:42.260-05:00

Last night, walking home from work. Today, couriering for TROMA. Night setting on bondphone all around.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1107246678874824802005-02-01T03:31:00.000-05:002005-02-01T11:04:09.726-05:00

Delays due to details. I meant to post while on vacation, and completely failed to. The writerly bits shut down upon arrival, like switches flipped while waiting for the carosel to deliver my luggage. Instead I hung out, I watched BRAZIL three times and plyaed video games, I saw new babies and old bars and found I don't ride in cars very well any more. I slept in and spooned,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1105988190514459842005-01-17T13:56:00.000-05:002005-01-17T14:11:49.566-05:00

From one of the public gardens on Avenue B, down the street from my apartment. It looms over the street like some Mad Max-ian monument to lost childhood. There's today, and then tomorrow, and then I'm back in Huntsville for a week of delayed christmas with the family and playing catch up with friends. Lots to do before catching a plane Wednesday morning. Got to secure a new job, finish

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1103567458439365362004-12-20T13:30:00.000-05:002004-12-20T13:37:34.343-05:00

It snowed last night, starting on the way to Jigsaw and sticking by the time we stumbled back into the street again hours later. Patrick and assorted passer-bys can attest to me turning into a complete twelve-year-old boy over this. Regular posting resumes soon. Y'know, probably.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1101004658039710072004-11-20T21:37:00.000-05:002004-11-20T22:02:52.276-05:00

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1099210072115700632004-10-31T04:07:00.000-05:002004-10-31T04:52:15.546-05:00

Bits of tonight, taken with the built-in camera of the Sidekick 2 on the walk home from work. Clicking makes bigger.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1092606204809734212004-08-15T17:43:00.000-04:002004-10-14T22:59:53.176-04:00

"I'm a sucker for a short-haired girl with a pretty smile, She gots to have ideas, yeah, and she gots to have style."

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-109237056104509162004-08-13T00:16:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:01:55.743-04:00

Notes on Rouge Wave @ Bowery Ballroom. All grammar and song title mistakes entirely the fault of the Rock and Roll music. BIRD "Geriatric at twenty." Slow and calculated for proper impact, like the slow reveal of the third act. Stop start refrain like waves meet shore. Stop when it should, stops when you want it to go on for hours. SEASICK Rockabilly riffs

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1091908472773441752004-08-07T15:54:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:02:48.296-04:00

Sitting in a scrap of park in the West Village, just breathing. trying to will my arms and legs to stop feeling like vapor trails look. The trouble with momentum is slowing down and starting back again. Cigarettes help, lending focus and rhythm to the rest of it. Or so I tell myself. There's a comics site interested in the column idea mentioned a few posts down;

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1091681167203338972004-08-05T00:46:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:03:48.010-04:00

It's spitting outside, it's trying; the storm was outside the studio today when filming finally wrapped and followed me and the F train back to the island. Now it's just waiting for rush of humidity being sucked up before the storm breaks, giving us all a break from the last few days of pushing through air to walk and the best showers rendered null and void just by stepping

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1091575445869870402004-08-03T19:24:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:04:29.406-04:00

Lots to talk about, like the insane run around Manhattan that left me with a handful of jobs to pick from and has me sitting on a sound stage opposite a fourteen foot tall Absolut Vodka bottle at present. I'll go into it more when I can get the events in order and on paper in a way I'm happy with. Fuck it, let's do this now: Thursday was saying yes to everything,

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090995243576864562004-07-28T02:14:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:05:42.456-04:00

This city is pretty in the rain, reacting like water from the sky is a new idea. Cute indie girls with their faces turned up to meet the weather as their boyfriends try to kiss them; herds of nice suits under black umbrellas cramming into taxis, mutering about morning meetings with Johnson and whether they're fit enough for the marathon. Steam comes off the flooding streets

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090901149278922252004-07-27T00:05:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:06:16.640-04:00

Tomorrow I stitch up the neccessary-for-survival second job at Whole Foods, a grocery store in Chelsea whose produce section has a sharper design sense than most shoe ad campaigns. At some point I'm supposed to get a poetry book from Lisa to review for THE STRANGER NYC and spit keywords and numbers at her about the ad kit I'm cobbling together for the magazine. I

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090820669676601502004-07-26T02:44:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:07:05.843-04:00

Just to get this out of my head: The street wars are coming to an end in shattered ruins of Manhattan Remains. The future leaders of both sides want an end to four generations of fighting that have left their island city a burned out husk, cut off from the rest of the country by government mandate and a river-turned-Berlin Wall. Getting it means turning on their families

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090730440398226652004-07-25T00:40:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:07:38.193-04:00

Run on chemicals today, trying to work over the articial push of more caffiene than probably healthy. The zombie feeling of heavy liquid pushing through veins keeps my hands moving over keys and not much else. Exhausted and reeling with a dozen or so new things banging around my head- I think the plan to come to New York to New York and work is actually happening, rude

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090608856444930432004-07-23T14:09:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:08:31.013-04:00

Pulp's "Different Class" could have saved me a lot of trouble. I never got into Pulp during their golden age. At the time, they were that English band that wasn't the Stone Roses, or Blur, or Radiohead, or any of the anthem rock imports making up the bulk of Britian's contribution to American Alt-rock radio. They were that group Catherine Moon loved and wrote stories like; the reason she

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090560349755716292004-07-23T02:25:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:10:05.556-04:00

Because I can't go long without new things, becuase I can't afford proper albums, a mix: Starlight Mints - 'The Twilight Showdown' Beck's "Odelay!" gave us cool without care, the aloof smooth of lounge in surf rock's clothes playing off to the side at the great parties you'll never be invited to. Starlight Mints take the same tools but with a smile, teaching the art

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1090289753547566142004-07-19T22:15:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:11:22.446-04:00

Worry #1 is covered, mostly: as of today I'm afternoon supervisor of New World Coffee. I've never even looked at a coffee shop from the other side of the counter, but I like telling people what to do. This will work fine. The pay is kind of...not...good, but it's money, and it's a start. And now I can focus on getting a foot in the door with publishers for freelance

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1089703417699160892004-07-13T03:23:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:12:47.786-04:00

Summer's going tp do my head in. May's soundtrack was NEW ADVENTURES IN HI-FI on repeat through headphones till my ears crackled and rang in my sleep. Lots of nights driving home from Finnegan's or somewhere else with the windows down, letting the wind eat up the last cigarette of the day and shouting along to 'Bittersweet Me.' Laying on the floor with 'Electrolite'

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1089689613298015022004-07-12T23:33:00.000-04:002004-10-14T23:13:48.740-04:00

little triggers. Benjones' lent me David Ives' ALL IN THE TIMING. Between that and a lackluster performance of Matt Freeman's THE GREAT ESCAPE (which I'm glad of for totally selfish reasons, since it let me focus on the dialouge by thinking of it as a good reading of an amazing script), I think I know what I'm doing with this play thing. I'm four pages in, with another six

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1089150926740536702004-07-06T17:55:00.000-04:002004-07-06T18:09:50.250-04:00

THE LIGHTS OF THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING. These pictures don't get bigger with clicking. Go here for some that do.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5664169.post-1088911153101340902004-07-03T23:19:00.000-04:002004-07-03T23:19:13.100-04:00

TELEPHONE CALL FROM ISTANBUL. This is something that happens: silence on the telephone for minutes disguised as hours, broken only by the crackle hiss of so-so connection stretched over a thousand miles. And yeah, it sucks; there are a dozen things you feel like saying but even the ones you mean don't fit, so you um uh around the obvious until one of you comes up with an excuse to hang up.

chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03023802756353551241noreply@blogger.com0