A friend of mine told me this story. She says she was on the subway and saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that says Bow before me, for I am root.
“Cute shirt”, she says.
“Do you even know what it means”, he sneered.
“Why don’t you call me some time - my number is 127.0.0.1″, she responded.
Dammit. Yesterday I woke up with a bit of a sore throat. By lunch time I had a raging sore throat and a drippy nose. I went home to work, and got some work done, but not as much as I’d hoped. Thanks to some no-name cold medicine, I dried up enough to drag myself into work, but I think I’m going to take another half day at home after lunch. This sucks.
In other news, I listened to my voice mail for the first time in a couple of weeks. I hate voice mail. Fortunately, nearly everybody important knows to send me email instead. But one message said “This is Tim Selene, call me at 1-800-xxx-xxxx”. Yeah, right. I have no idea who you are, you don’t say what the call is about, and you want me to call you? I don’t think so. A google shows that the number is actually for a securities firm in San Diego. Can you say “pump and dump stock seller”?
