The microblogging service plans to link keyword searches with advertising and show users relevant promoted posts.

Even better was the nytimes.com headline linking to the article:  “Twitter Has a Plan to Make Money With Ads.”  Because after years of the revenue-deficient service shouting its impending online dominance into the public square, they’ve finally decided they intend to raise funds on teh internets from teh advertisers.  Breaking news, I tell you, breaking news.

But then, dear fiction author with literary pretensions, your problem is not that you don’t know how to use the quotation mark, is it?

From the Talking Mirror comes this Word on Internet Commenters:

Turns out, the overwhelming majority of people with internet access are inarticulate, misanthropic pricks with a surplus of time but a deficit of brain activity.

And The New Yorker was born:

The Igon Value Problem: when a writer’s education on a topic consists in interviewing an expert, he is apt to offer generalizations that are banal, obtuse or flat wrong.

I am of course being unfair here to the New Yorker, which is a fine magazine to which I subscribe.  However, I do feel that they sometimes stray into this territory, especially when it comes to writing about current events that are outside their normal purview; good examples are the financial crisis or in a recent article about UAVs when they attempted to provide context on the laws of war.

I recently received a speeding ticket while heading southbound on I-5 to go to Disneyland in Anaheim.  As I get time I’ll post status information on my case as well as copies of the documents I use in fighting this.

I still haven’t figured out which one I want to buy.

So it’s not the alcohol I miss. It’s the immaturity. The selfishness. The wasted days frittered away recuperating from the wasted nights. It all turned around so quickly. I wasn’t prepared to be this person. A person who can clearly recall all the events of the night before. Who can be the designated driver. Who can go to a work party without apologizing the next day. This must be parenthood. I would toast this milestone, but I have pears to puree.

Fun With Driving

I’m only half white but I grew up in Northern California, which is the gooey center for the type of urban, liberal, economically comfortable, and “progressive” white person this site derives so much humor from.  One of my favorite entries is on the joy of being offended.