The Jellybeans Community Project

There’s an old joke that goes “For every time you have sex before you get married, put a jellybean in a jar. For every time you have sex after the wedding, take out a jellybean.” The punch line is that the jar will never be empty. That joke is so old that originally, you were supposed to put the jellybeans in the jar during your first year of marriage. But (as usual) I digress.

You could make the same “joke” with developers and how much they post before and after launch.

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Eight Tips To Save Your Marriage To A Gamer

Hell, I could do better typing one handed than this stupidity. Hey, that’s an idea for a blog post! (Please note – I think… okay, I hope… the writer was trying to be funny. The intro to the piece gave the impression that he was trying to offer serious advice, and certainly that’s the way it was taken by a few people who should have known better.)

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Hanging My Ass Out Online

I am, sadly, not part of the Facebook revolution, the MySpace weltanschauung, or even the blogging mindset. I know, this is a weird thing to hear coming from someone who has been running some kind of website splattered with overflowing id since 1999, but there it is. Read the rest of this entry »


Q: Why do you hate my class?

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Oh, Bugger.

Who gives a shit about Ike Turner, Terry Pratchett’s still with us. But that sound you heard this morning was me going Aaaa-OOOOOOOH!!! Oh yes. Multiple exclamation points. I believe that in this case, multiples are called for.

True story:  After I read Monstrous Regiment, I realized I could occupy myself at game conferences, interminable meetings, and podcasts by imagining the sort of socks the speaker had. Tennis anklets with little pom pom balls on them came up a really disturbing amount of the time. (Do they still make those?) One person, who thinks he is The Man but I generally question whether or not he is even *a* man, given his propensity for whining, totally has gold toe space age fiber wicking action socks with padded heels and reinforced arches. And when I’m feeling generous, I kind of want to say, listen, they’re just socks. You don’t have to prove anything. You could probably just have cotton crew socks. They’d be just as comfortable and you’d worry less about losing them, or having people laugh as soon as you walk away.

Unfortunately, these days I’m usually feeling a touch petty (not knowing where I’m going to live in sixty-eight days will do that), and I snicker a bit at what a small little package these supposed socks of the future are when they’re rolled up.

For the record, I have black cotton socks with little red Scottie dogs knitted in. No idea what that MEANS, really.

I Know How This Ends!

In 1991, I worked for a temp agency along with my best friend. He and I both got assigned to work at AOL. Customers had the choice of either renewing their credit cards online or calling a human. My buddy and I were two of the humans. There was a giant LED “scoreboard” on the wall letting us know how long an average call was and how long an average caller had to wait. One person busting ass really could make a difference in the daily score. It was kind of… fun. I know, a CS pit, fun, crazy talk.

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I Don’t Hate Marketing

“Oh, you’re the one who hates marketing.”

Clearly, I have failed to communicate. I don’t hate marketing. I hate poorly thought out, knee jerk, disco-era marketing perpetuated by people who don’t understand massively multiplayer games. Or the internet. Oh, and I hate hype-based marketing done without consulting anyone actually implementing the features. I suppose it’s fair to say I hate marketing that is actually porn. Hrm, now that I think about it, I hate it when people confuse “booth whore” with “marketing.” Okay, and I admit, it does seem like some people get into marketing out of a persistent inability to do anything else.

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