How are you doing these days? I realize I don’t ask you how are are very often. This stems from a general lack of interest in your state of existence, but right now, at this moment, I am genuinely interested.

How was your Christmas? Really. Be honest. Did it live up to the two months of hype, songs, shopping and preperation? That’s probably an unfair question. Was it at least pleasant? Stress-free? Spent with loved ones?

I have to confess that I normally hate the Christmas season. The day itself is fine. Good even. I dislike the season for all the typical reasons: disgustingly rampant commercialism, soul-crushing music carols as well as other reasons which are none of your goddamn business.

In any case, this Christmas was better than most. As bizarre as it may sound I actually enjoyed my stay in the hospital – and not just for the morhpine, either. Always exciting to do something different I guess. Certainly nice to be waited on and have people concerned about you. Nice that is, when there’s no real need for the concern. Maybe I’m just starved for attention (as this note seems to confirm)?

I have no real point here. I know I’m hopelessly out of character – don’t worry, I’ll soon be back to the bitter, sarcastic self you all recognize.

Here’s hoping whatever you did over Christmas was, if not fun, at least nice. Memorable.

Crusaders for simplicity (is than an oxymoron? I don’t think so). Jason Fried from 37signals talks up simplicity and I couldn’t agree more:

60 Seconds with Jason Fried of 37signals.com

re: FutureShop: the straw that broke the camels back

On my theory of why capitalism doesn’t work:

User-Unfriendly at LAtimes.com

(via Signal vs. Noise)

I was silly enough to go to the FutureShop today and I got a creepy feeling as though I was in Rome at the peak of Roman excess and gluttony. I was overcome by 5 foot tall TVs (the picture quality of a TV signal will only stretch so far) and stereos that look like totally x-treme moon landers. Egypt, Rome, Maya, and now America. I smell a civilization ripe for collapse!

This got me to thinking about a critical failing of capitalism (NOTE: this not constructive criticism, it’s just plain criticism). Companies exist to make a profit. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with this but it does have dangerous side effects. One of these side effects is that products are designed to make the sale in the showroom rather than actually perform well in day-to-day use. For example the automatic seatbelt in old Saturn cars. It was so cool on the lot, but two days later once you had bought the car it was like fingernails on a chalkboard. I should note that Saturn is the only car company I know of with a 30 money-back guarantee (GM deserves a nobel prize for mass consumer manipulation for the Saturn project).

The FutureShop salesman (or “associates” as they call themselves) may as well have ‘I get paid commission’ written on their foreheads. The company has overlooked the fact that generating more sales in the short-term is less profitable then creating long-term relationships with customers by being helpful rather than pushy. The sad truth is that I may be wrong about this.

My appendix was infected. Did I get it fixed? No. Getting sh*t fixed is weak. My appendix let me down, so I tore it the f*ck out. I rock hard.

I was on an operating table shaped like a cross – with my arms out (cause they was full of tubes and wires and sh*t) like I was being crucified. So, if I were Jesus I would have been crucified on Christmas, not Easter. I’m way ahead of Jesus. I rock hard.

I had a lot of morphine. I had so much morhpine they put a tube in me so they wouldn’t have to find a vein every time. I rock hard.

I have a giant wound in my belly. I have not one or two, not three or four, but five staples keepings my guts in. But not my appendix, they tore that m*th*rf*ck*r out. I rock hard.

Unlike all you weak suckers out there, I have one less crucial organ. I have no appendix. I rock hard.

Merry Cristmas,
Matthew

Note: Swearing has been carefully edited as Christmas is no time for swearing. There will be no exceptions, especially none for me.

Right now, Matt is sitting in the architecturally bewildering Queen Elizabeth Hospital, sans-appendix. With 2/3 of the aov geniuses now in the hospital (don’t panic, everyone is ok), I fell like there is some kind of karmic crosshair on my forehead. Perhaps, due to our cunning wit, God sees us as formidable adversaries and is playfully striking us down. Play fair dude.

Now, a few who do not deserve your pity: one of my co-workers is basking in the glow of the southern-hemisphere summer in New Zealand and two other co-workers are basking in the glow of communism in Cuba (check out the CBC’s interview with Castro) for the holidays.

I’m going to Sherwood for Christmas.

I should clarify. I don’t mind going to Sherwood for Christmas. That’s where Christmas has been for the last 22 years. Actually, that’s kind of what Christmas is as far as I’m concerned.

I hope you appreciate these seasonal dwellings. While they may seem stark and joyless, they are really quite admirably jolly, considering I generally find Christmas to be little more than a promotional gimmick for the wrapping paper industry (I’d make a Grinch reference, but he has been co-opted – God rest your soul, Ted Geisel).

To everyone, Merry Christmas (in the ‘talk to your family for once’ way, not the ‘buy things for people you don’t really like’ way) and to my fellow aov geniuses, get well soon, the world needs you and I need someone to play Tony Hawk Pro Skateboarded 2 with.

One of Today’s featured excite links:

Super-Cute Kitten Photos

If that isn’t confirmation that the average person has all the intelligence of a potted plant, I really don’t know what would be. Super-Cute Kitten Photos? Who the hell are these people who spend their time looking at pictures of other people’s pets on the Internet? There isn’t even anything particularly insulting to say to these people as any insult of appropriate venom would simply be above their intellectual understanding. Kittens, for God’s sake!

And while I’m venting . . . if the bastard who lives above us continues banging on the floor/ceiling like he’s digging for gold, I will be forced to throw him in front of a train, even if it means dragging him all the way to the mainland.

P.S. Go to ExplodingDog.com. It is probably the best thing on the Internet that isn’t Anna Kournikova. Some personal favorites are “that boy ain’t right,” “he was angry,” and “is this love? that i’m feeling?”