It’s Not Me–Really


Everybody knows that most Web-based e-mail providers are susceptible to spam no matter how hard you try to keep your address a secret. (I recall someone on Fark posting a comment along the lines of, “Open a Hotmail account…and the porn will come to you.”)

But starting yesterday, I started to get a plethora of “delivery failure” notices in my Yahoo! mail. And considering I rarely (if ever) use it to send anything, I thought it was strange.

For the most part, it’s reserved for subscriptions and newsletters. But with all the failure notices I’d been receiving, I had to turn off my e-mail alert on Trillian. Since they are failure notices, they get sent to my inbox.

Here’s proof:

I chose to make a folder to place them in just so I can see how many I’d receive. As of this post, that’s what I’ve gotten. And I’m sure by the time I’m done here, there will be even more.

So what happened? From what I can gather, my address has been added to a bulk e-mail list as the return address. You know, those ones you get for “hot stock tips” and Viagra? Yeah, some of them will now say they were from me. Fuck.

All of this weirdness started to happen after I posted an ad on Craig’s List for my missing MTA pass a few months ago. Once I did, within minutes Spamfest 2007 began. Shortly after placing the ad, I also started to get MySpace message notifications to a name that wasn’t mine. Turns out some punk kid was using my Yahoo! address as his login. Go figure.

What sucks is that this account is also linked to my Flickr account and my domain name, so I have to keep the address in order to log-in and renew my domain (which will expire very soon). I’ve had it since the Rocketmail days and now it’s just become completely useless. Not only that, I’ve got tons of sent and saved messages in there that I’ve been forwarding to another address in case I chose to delete it, and I have to change the address on all of my newsletter subscriptions. In short, it’s become a royal pain.

So if you get any spam from “me,” I’m sorry. It’s not–really.

But I do have a hot stock tip for you.

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Happy Fall!


Anthony goes nuts in a pile of leaves!

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Now playing: Avenged Sevenfold – Beast and the Harlot
via FoxyTunes

I Miss Olde Tyme Hockey


A few days ago I overheard our newest employee–she’s filling the void I left when I transferred–talk about her love for the Los Angeles Kings.

She’s already been to all their home games. She has her own Kings blog. In short, she’s nuts for them.

Upon overhearing this, my mind was immediately transported back to the mid-80s, back to the days when I shared the very same sentiments for my local hockey team.

But things were much different back then. I could drive to The Fabulous Forum for any given home game, walk up to the ticket booth, plop down $10 for a nosebleed ticket and have myself a great time with my fellow Kings fans, most of whom you’d see at every home game.

On a good night, there may have been 5,000 people in attendance. But those 5,000 people could boo with the best of them.

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Red Dawn


I took this shot as I was walking to work this morning. This is not the sunset, peeps. Believe it or not, it’s a sunrise.

The sun appears red as the result of all the wildfires going on around here. Those aren’t clouds; it’s mostly smoke and ash from the fires.

And the smell? Like a giant ashtray. It’s nasty, and the temperature was nearly 100 degrees when I left the office yesterday.

I’m nowhere near any of the affected areas, but good luck to those that are. Scary stuff, man.

(Not So) Smooth Criminal


The Kid and I were playing a nice little game of “Cops and Robbers” in the backyard tonight. He was riding around on his little plastic trike while I was pretending to be a helicopter shining the spotlight or, in this case, flashlight on him as he ran. I pulled him over and played my part.

I turned the flashlight on him.

“Um, sir, you were speeding. Please step off of the bike so I can talk to you.”

He playfully resisted.

“No! I don’t want to! You can’t make me get off of the bike!” There was then a long pause. His eyes got as big and round as saucers. This was going to be serious.

He slowly raised his head and looked me straight in the eyes.

“I have to pee-pee,” he calmly said as he hopped off of the bike and sprinted like a marathoner into the house. I dropped the flashlight and began to laugh hysterically.

If there’s anything better than fatherhood, I’ve yet to find it.

And I might just try that excuse the next time I get pulled over.

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Now playing: Depeche Mode – Get Right With Me
via FoxyTunes