About

Me, Personally

I’m a dad, husband, and coffee enthusiast. I’m also a pretty terrible bass player, but who cares? It’s super fun being in a dad band.

I have a passion—or maybe a disorder—for swearing, sarcasm, and hyperbole. If you’re the humorless type that doesn’t care for that sort of thing, no one is making you stick around. I don’t take myself particularly seriously and neither should anyone else.

Oh, I also love the New York Jets, which means I’m a masochist.

Me, Professionally

I am a programmer. I love programming. Seriously. I love it in a way that’s almost certainly unhealthy to my personal, love, and social life. That doesn’t matter. I love it and I won’t stop doing it.

This is probably connected in some way with me being a corporate slave—a pitiful cog in a machine that doesn’t care about me or what I do. I work in finance and crypto—a fact that I am in no way proud of—which means you can always call me a sellout if you’re pissed off at anything I have to say.

As my choice in NFL teams implies, there’s probably something in me that secretly enjoys the struggles of Sisyphus.

This

I like writing too. I also like complaining. That’s pretty much the ideal pairing for a blog, right? (Do we “blog” anymore? I feel like I’m probably dating myself.)

Why should anyone care what I have to say? They shouldn’t. I’m just some fuckin’ guy with a lot of opinions who probably isn’t near as clever as he believes—you know, basically every asshole on the internet.

However, what I’ve gotten more and more from blogs and essays as of late is less some great lesson on the meaning of life or even my field and instead a sort of morbid camaraderie from other people stuck in this insane asylum. A lot of us feel like we’re losing it but knowing other randos also feel that way provides unsettling yet inviting comfort.

Maybe you’ll find that here. I kind of hope so. Although, I also kind of hope I’m actually the crazy one.

The Title

I feel the need to explain the title. In 2008 I was on my one and only trip to Washington DC and discovered that there was real paper version of The Onion. In my attempt to blend in with the locals, I bought a copy to look through while taking the subway from Pentagon City to all the Smithsonian institutions like a proper tourist.

This brilliant piece inspired me to… uhhh… register a domain and get a new email address. Yeah. Unfortunately, I feel that article deep… like… every weekday.