Tag Archives: James Bond

Why We Shouldn’t Kill Email

WhyWeShouldntKillEmail

Hey Entire World!

I’m writing with an urgent message: Please, please, please don’t stop using email.

I know email is maddening. It’s almost impossible to say the word “email” without literally shaking your fist at the sky, but here are some reasons to feel GOOD about answering emails.

EMAILS ARE MADE OF PEOPLE

Emails are a problem because when you answer them, they’re not done. In fact, if you respond, you’re likely to get another one back. It’s like trying to clean your office, but every time you put one book on a shelf, another book throws itself off. And, just to add insult to injury, it’s probably this book.

IMG_1608

We all want to get to Inbox Zero. It’s one of the most thrilling, exotic feelings in the world. In the next ten years, there will be a James Bond movie called Inbox Zero. That’s how exciting it is.

Inbox Zero Final

But Inbox Zero is a fantasy. Like a healthy cheeseburger or a polite TSA agent. It’s nice to think about, but it’s not reality. There will always be more emails because emails are not THINGS. They are messages from other human beings.

When you say you want to achieve and remain at Inbox Zero what you’re saying is this:

I want to say one last thing to everyone I know and then I want them to shut up forever.

Okay, after I typed that sentence I could really see the appeal, but come on. We have to communicate with one another and at least for business-type stuff, email is the best.

WHY NOT-EMAIL THINGS SUCK

Email is being eroded by all of our other forms of communication including but not limited to Facebook Messenger, Twitter DMs, texts, gchats, sky writing, ravens, and, if you’re a savage, phone calls.

I think Facebook messages, twitter DMs, and other personal social media messaging systems are good for joking around with pals and ASKING FOR PEOPLE’S EMAIL ADDRESSES.

Social media sites are doing a great job cutting into email’s turf. But I don’t think we should let them. Look, Facebook wants to cut in on everyone’s turf. If Facebook thought it could make money off kidney dialysis, you’d be in the hospital trying to get enough “likes” to stave off an attack of the gout.

Phone calls should be used by two people in my opinion: Your mom and 22 year old improv students who are acting out funny, oldie-time scenes set in 1982.

I’m exaggerating slightly, but doing business over the phone is very difficult for me because then I have to remember important things.

I can’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday. And yes, I tried to google it. Luckily, I posted it on social media, so I know it was this:

IMG_6434

I was trying to make a cheese sandwich, but I was stressed by all the email replies I was waiting for so I just gave up. (Please feel free to email me about any food photography job leads.)

Anyway, the point is this:

Phone calls are the uncanny valley of human communication.

They’re not quite efficient, they’re not quite intimate, they just sit in the middle, freaking me out.

Texts are great, but not for business. It’s too easy to make a mistake with texts. I’ve sent texts meant for my wife to my stylist three different times. I have NEVER accidentally sent my stylist an email saying, “I love you. Can we have Chipotle for dinner?”

Which brings me to tone.

THE E IS FOR EXCUSE

I know we’re all in a rush and we no longer have time to write emails with the formality of old Civil War letters. I know we can’t do this:

My dearest co-worker,

I hope this beautiful spring day provides some much needed bliss to balance the moribund mood surrounding our printer’s regretful lack of a cyan ink cartridge.

Speaking of said cartridge, I humbly request you replace it.

My best to your husband, Mortimer, and both of your cats, Theodore and Winky.

With much love from one cubicle over, your devoted co-worker,
Some asshole

Instead, we get to fire off short, direct missives like this:

Steve, please replace the cyan ink cartridge.

And if that feels too direct, we can add a smilie face.

Steve, please replace the cyan ink cartridge. 🙂

Frankly, we can get away with saying almost anything, if we add a bunch of exclamation points and emoticons, you shitbirds!!!!! 😉

Even better, we can send all of our emails from our phones with the signature “Sent from my iPhone. Please excuse any autocorrects.” With that excuse in place, you can get away with purposely sending this email:

Steve, you bag of crap, please replace the cinnabon dick cabbage!!! 😉

Then, you can just blame it on autocorrect and have a good laugh about it at the water cooler, right after Steve, that bag of crap, replaces the motherfucking cyan ink cartridge.

Because the best way to make an email go away is answering it as completely and fully as humanly possible.

MORE ANSWERS; FEWER EMAILS

Another great way to make email go away is to answer all the questions in the email as opposed to just the first or the last. I used to think I was the only one who had this struggle, but the response to this tweet showed me the light:

I know, I know, I am a monster for sending emails that contain multiple questions and I’m actively working to not do that. But, personally, I would rather send one email with three related questions than THREE SEPARATE EMAILS.

And, yes, I know most people reading this post want to reply with this meme:

Abe-Simpson-yells-at-cloud

And I understand. I just emailed it to myself.

GET OFF MY LAWN AND INTO MY INBOX

In closing, let me say, I know I sound ancient and cranky.

It’s natural that new technology and new forms of communication will erode old ones. Perhaps in a few years, our preferred form of communication will be blinking morse code messages to one another over Periscope. Maybe we’ll all have clunky cellphones glued to our heads like a bunch of sad Lobots.

Sad Lobot

Who knows?

I know email is probably going the way of the dodo or the fax machine or movies that aren’t based on existing intellectual property.

Soon our email inboxes will be totally devoid of real communication. They will be nothing but festering piles of Hot Topic coupons and racist memes from your Aunt Debbie.

But I hope whatever comes to take email’s place is just as fast, searchable, organizable, and efficient.

Because it’s not email’s fault. We will always need to communicate. We will always need Steve to replace the goddamn ink cartridge.

And being able to ask him–without actually speaking to him AND having a record of the conversation–well, dammit, I think that’s worth fighting for.

Anyway, hope you’re well, entire world, and thanks for reading.

All the best,
Joseph

Sent from my Error Justification Device, you ass-bastards.;)

Thanks for reading. You can make comedy blog posts like this possible by supporting me on Patreon. Also, if you want to hear me say comedy words out loud, I’ve got a new album available here. Thanks again.

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JAMES BOND PREPARES A TURKEY

As you know, James Bond is good at everything.

That includes preparing a turkey for Thanksgiving. Here’s how to prepare the turkey exactly how James Bond would do it.

ONE: Wait until a turkey is about to commit an act of international espionage and/or terrorism.

TWO: Confront the turkey and do battle with it. This must take place somewhere exotic that is also a high place. A skyscraper, moving train, or the Golden Gate bridge are all good options.

THREE: Murder the turkey in self-defense. Don’t make a quip about it. Show the turkey some fucking respect.

FOUR: Put the murdered terrorist turkey in your freezer until right before Thanksgiving.

FIVE: Have passionate, but emotionally distant sex. Not with the turkey, though. With a beautiful, exotic human person.

SIX: Take the turkey out of the freezer. Sit in a chair staring at it while it thaws. Sip vodka and keep one hand on your silenced Walther PPK in case the turkey comes back to life and attacks you. Stare it down with your cold blue-grey eyes.

SEVEN: Stuff the turkey with breading, exotic herbs, spices, and a lemon peel. Put some caviar in there. And a bottle of champagne. And a wrist watch for product placement purposes. Stick a radio in there to track the turkey just in case. Glaze the turkey with eight bottles of vodka to silence the screams of all the men you’ve killed.

EIGHT: Shake the turkey. Do not stir the turkey.

NINE: Put the turkey in the oven. While it cooks, wonder why the fuck you’re doing this since you’re British.

TEN: Pace back and forth like a caged animal while admiring your abs and waiting for the little button thing to pop out so you know the turkey is done.

ELEVEN: Remove the turkey. Set it on your table. Do not carve it. Put on a tuxedo, walk a few steps, then turn suddenly and shoot one of the drumsticks off.

TWELVE: Eat the turkey with an intriguing mixture of brute force and cold ironic humor.

THIRTEEN: When you are finished eating the turkey say out loud to no one, “THIS IS THE END OF EATING A TURKEY, BUT JAMES BOND WILL RETURN.”

FOURTEEN: Undo the top button of your tailored pants, sit down, and hum your theme song to yourself until you fall asleep on your couch.

THE END

This story is now available in audio format as part of my comedy album A VERY HOLIDAY THING. The album and the blog post were made possible by funding from Patreon. Thanks, patrons!

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Here come the FLAWS

We all have flaws. And I wanted to share mine. So, of course, I did the healthy rational thing and put together a comedy show, a Kickstarter campaign, and a double album of comedy and music.

The whole thing is called Flaw Fest. Here’s all the information about it in one place.

I first did the show in February of 2013 on Jonathan Coulton’s JoCoCruiseCrazy. It’s a stand-up comedy show about all my horrible flaws: a sloth driven obsession to play bad James Bond video games, a stubborn need to fight with large animals, the idiocy to drink something called a Watermelon Shooter, the hubris to write a rock n’ roll song about a helium balloon, and much more.

The show went well so I decided to use Kickstarter to raise funds to record the show for a comedy album. The show deals with themes of music and I have a lot of amazing musician friends. So I asked a bunch of them to write an album of songs inspired by the show. So basically, it will be a comedy album with its own soundtrack. To my knowledge, no one has ever done that before.

The Kickstarter was also a success due to what I metaphorically described on this blog as Unicorns and Cocaine. You can read up on the actual project here! Now that the Kickstarter is funded, everything else is rolling along.

THE LIVE COMEDY SHOW

This coming weekend, we’re recording the show live at the Bryant Lake Bowl in Minneapolis. It will feature an opening act by Bill Corbett and Kevin Murphy of Mystery Science Theater 3000 and RiffTrax. I’ll be doing the comedy show as well as recording a bonus track where I read the name of every person who contributed to the Kickstarter. We’ll also be selling pre-orders of the comedy and music album at the shows!

There are four performances:
Friday, September 27 at 7 pm
Friday, September 28 at 10 pm
Saturday, September 29 at 7 pm
Saturday, September 29 at 10 pm.

The 7 pm shows are almost SOLD OUT, but right now there are still tickets for the 10 pm shows. You can get tickets here. We, of course, want to pack the room for recording the comedy album, so tell your friends. Tell them, “Go pack a room, friends!” You should probably add some context to that sentence, but you know what I mean.

The comedy and music album will be completed and sent out to Kickstarter backers in late October. The album will be officially released to the rest of the world in November. Here are updates on the progress!

SONGS!

Songs are pouring in from all the musicians for the music album half of Flaw Fest. You’ll be hearing a ballad called “Bond’s Bad Day” by Bill Corbett, a kick-ass rock song called “Wife Head” by John Munson, an ode to how f’ing awesome eggs are by The Doubleclicks, and many more.

Here’s a photo of me working on some high-end music stuff in Kevin Murphy’s studio.

photo (13)

PRESS!

Here’s a nice article from l’etoile magazine about the whole Flaw Fest project.

And here’s another in-depth interview about the whole project from The City Pages.

And a nice discussion of the show on The Current’s Weekend Arts Round-Up.

More press coming out this week!

PHOTOS!

My pal and awesome photographer Craig Van Der Schaegen took a whole slew of new photos for the Flaw Fest album artwork.

Here’s a sneak peek.

_MG_1236

More flawed updates as they come in!

Many thanks for all your interest and support!

Your flawed friend,
Joseph

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JAMES BOND: Obsessed Ep 27

A sexy, deadly, martini-fueled James Bond episode! Joseph and guests screenwriter/playwright Jeffrey Hatcher, writer/performer Bill Corbett, and actor Emily Gunyou Halaas battle over such questions as what should the Bond films be like in the 21st Century? Which Bond actor has the best abs? Would Bond ever eat at Arby’s? Who would win the disturbing challenge of James Bond Actor Island? What would be a good name for a hyper-sexualized male companion to James Bond? PLUS Joseph does a dramatic reading of the lyrics to Thunderball. Enjoy!

AWOOGA! Obsessed is now a part of Feral Audio! Go to Feral now to listen to this episode and subscribe for new ones!

Listen, rate, review, and subscribe to OBSESSED on iTunes.

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KATE BUSH and GODZILLA: Obsessed Ep 10

Recorded live at CONvergence 2012, Paul Cornell (writer for DC Comics, Doctor Who, and much more) sings the praises of Kate Bush! Bonnie Burton (Author, host of Geek DIY, Googly Eye fan, and much more) smashes everything with her love of Godzilla! Random audience volunteer, Amanda Nerud aka MsDemeanorMaven, body checks the mic on the topic of Roller Derby! Plus, a brand new OBSESSED theme by Molly Lewis!

AWOOGA! Obsessed is now a part of Feral Audio! Go to Feral now to listen to this episode and subscribe for new ones!

Listen, rate, review, and subscribe to OBSESSED on iTunes.

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Bullshit Time

There’s a theater event in the Twin Cities called THIRST. It’s an evening of four short one-act plays performed in a bar. The only writing guideline is this: the scene has to be set in a bar. Audience members eat and drink and every ten minutes or so a little bit of theater suddenly starts happening at a nearby table. It’s not nearly as frightening as it sounds. This is a monologue I wrote for THIRST a few years back. Have a drink, enjoy, and try not to be frightened by BULLSHIT TIME.

Excuse me! Excuse me! May I have everyone’s attention for just a moment?

Hi. My name is Evelyn and I am a single woman. I’ve been coming to this bar every night for the last week trying to meet that special someone.  I’ve had dozens of blow-my-brains-out-boring conversations with individual men. And I just don’t have time for it tonight. I still have to go to the gym, grab a burrito at Chipotle, and watch at least four hours of television so I’ll have something interesting to dream about when I get my four hours of actual REM sleep before I get up and go back to work.

So basically, I need to save time by hitting on every man in this bar at once. And the ladies who are open to experimenting. I just want a life partner—I’m not picky. As far as I’m concerned a spouse is like a library card or a liberal arts degree–probably wouldn’t actually use one much but I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t have one.

Sooo, about me. I’m adventurous. Obviously. I am an excellent multi-tasker. I can do almost anything I set my mind to and bitch about it at the exact same time. I don’t cook. I’d throw my refrigerator out but that would just be another part of the kitchen floor I’d have to clean. I like to laugh. Sometimes I feed my cat a saucer full of milk and Jameson and then film her trying to play bat the string. I’m not a bitch about it. I don’t post it on YouTube or anything.

What else? I work for an office furniture company. I’m in charge of designing office clocks. I like to think that’s my contribution to bringing the different demographics of the USA together: no matter who you are, how you vote, or where you live—chances are you’ve stared at a clock I’ve made and cursed it for not moving faster.

It’s fair to say I have some issues with the concept of time. I call bullshit on time. Not even time itself, really, but all our bullshit rationalizations.

Time isn’t a friend that accompanies us on our journey. Time is an annoying little jerk poking you in the back. Time is that cliché where you’re driving a car and there’s an obnoxious kid in the back going, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” That’s what time feels like until you turn thirty or forty and suddenly that little shit in the back seat isn’t saying, “Are we there yet?”  She’s saying, “You passed it! You passed it! You passed it!”

And there’s no turning around. You can’t whip a shitty on the highway of life. You miss the exit and you’re screwed. You will never use the bathroom at that particular McDonald’s. You just have to wait for the next one. Even though all the McDonald’s kind of look the same, you’ll never know if that was THE ONE.

Not that I’m comparing men to McDonald’s. Sure, men can make you happy and fat and take years off your life, but they are inferior to McDonald’s in one significant way: they do not change their menu or policies based on social or economic pressures. I’m not sure if that made sense.

I don’t mean to be maudlin. I don’t care about getting old. Crow’s feet, love handles, cankles, turkey neck, the golden arches–you name the insulting term for the natural progression of the female body–and I couldn’t care less if it’s happening to me. I just don’t want to get old without having all the stuff I want.

Which leads to the obvious question of what I want.

I want companionship. I want to have sex with a man, then wake up and be happy he’s there instead of wishing I had an ejector button for the right side of my mattress. I want someone who won’t be offended if I accidentally drop the f-bomb during our wedding vows. I want someone to come with me to the emergency vet when my cat’s liver inevitably fails. I want someone who will lie to me and tell me it had nothing to do with the Jameson. And then laugh at his own bullshit.

I want a man who will give me a baby. Literally. Like he’d step out for a pack of smokes and he’d come back and say, “Honey, I decided to pick up some pizza rolls for dinner and I adopted this baby so you don’t have to deal with all that pregnancy crap.”

I want a man who understands that I want the destination without all the damn travel.

Sooo, that’s me. I guess if you could make it through my little presentation and you still want to date me, I’d probably say yes. I’d take you back to my place to meet the cat. I’d tell you to pick out the best of the James Bond films to watch on Blu-Ray and see if you get it right. We’d make sure we can order a pizza without debating the toppings like it was a nuclear disarmament treaty.

There would be no sex that first night. At least not with you.

If everything went really well, I’d pick a fight with you over money just to make sure that’s not going to be a problem. And after that, a hug. A nice warm make-up hug. Because no one ever got gonorrhea from a hug.

So, in closing, thanks for your time. Best of luck with your journeys and if you think I might be the right destination for you, just do what the television tells you to when you’re drunk at 3 AM. Don’t wait! Call now! Supplies are limited and time is running out.

A version of this story is also available in my book COMEDY OF DOOM.
Thanks for reading.

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