Nothing to report on this exceptionally hot Sonoma Friday. I am on-call. Each passing minute impales me, waiting for the alarm to alert my phone which in turn alerts me. I enter a virtual conference with a roomful of panicked, confused, and sometimes screaming engineers. It is my job to translate that cryptographic panic into discernible sentences for electronic public distribution. Sort of.
Soon, my weekend starts, and all else will recede into the darkness of some other future time.
I was browsing the internet and clicked across this Czech artist whose work I've seen here and there. What a great thing to be able to do, to create these images.
If I had the financial resources then I would have these framed posters hanging somewhere in a basement, a dank chamber with a poorly lit pool table and a chilled beer keg built into a countertop, a righteous sound system, maybe some Bose speakers in the corner, posters of a a German chick serving ice cold beers with her tits busting out of her wench's apron.
Are we still allowed to talk about actual existing beer brands that way?
You get the idea. I'd have a secret underground place that would embarrass my family and all visitors that were unlucky enough to wander down the stairs, looking for a private bathroom somewhere far away from the fray.
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