Monday, November 26, 2018


I had an uneventful day at work. I put lights together. I go up the ladder, I put a light in the ceiling, I come down the ladder, move it, and do the same with another light. I repeat the process until I get to the last one. Then I go up the ladder, tie them all in to the electricity, come down again, and turn the circuit on. Hopefully nothing bursts into flames, and the lights come on.

After almost 21 years of this, why I don't have buns of steel is beyond me.

I've been playing around with a lot of abandonware from the late 80s and early 90s, getting them to work with DOSbox. Even though they're technically and visually inferior to today's games, they seem much more creative and interesting. Multimedia games were a new frontier then, and the studios were trying to push the limits and give the consumer the best they could for their money. In contrast, so many games today are literally Skinner Boxes designed to drain as much cash from players as possible. In the words of South Park's Canadian Devil, "No no, the game can only be BARELY fun!"
My little sister got engaged, so that made the week happy for everyone. Her boyfriend did it on the Brooklyn Bridge as they walked across to meet me. He and his kids are good people, so here's hoping for a lifetime of happiness.

That's all for tonight as I'm slipping into a coma. I hope you're well and happy.

TTFN -Tony

Sunday, November 18, 2018

Poor little shoes with no one inside them

Took this picture while waiting for the F at Broadway - Lafayette Street during the slush-storm. Maybe they were ugly, or soaked, or just didn't fit. Maybe they were evil shoes, patiently waiting for some unsuspecting soul to put them on, Then the wearer would find they could never take them off - not in the shower, or in bed, or in the swimming pool - never. Their toenails would grow painfully longer and longer, causing unbearable pain, until finally the person had no choice but to cut their own feet off. Then the shoes would make their way back to the Lafayette Street station, where they would hungrily wait for the next victim.

Alternatively, maybe a very pious nudist who only wore them to protect the soles of her feet got raptured, leaving her footwear behind?

Maybe a demonic train ate the wearer, and spat them out?

We'll never know.