Friday, August 16, 2002


Pounding my head on the desk in an attempt to gain some insight into my current dilemma is apparently not working. These are serious issues I'm confronting -- "What is the future of Piker?" "How the hell am I going to get a car without any money?" "What kind of job can I get that won't make me feel like a drone?" "How am I going to get to work if I actually manage to find a job?" "How can I realistically expect the Dolphins to make it past the first round of the playoffs with Jay Fiedler as the quarterback?"

It's too much. I'm not going to figure it out while sitting in this empty office at a quarter to six on Friday afternoon. To hell with it! I'm closing down the office and going grassroots. Before I get too deep though, I think I'm going to have to take one last summer vacation. I'm off to Cape Cod.

Birthday shout-outs to Babs and Norms!

Thursday, August 15, 2002


So both of you who’ve been reading this fledgling blog are probably asking yourselves the same questions I’m asking myself, “Hey piker, what’s next for Piker?” Obviously, Piker sits at a crossroads. With no staff and no deconstructed post-post-post-modern office space, I once again have the opportunity to seize total control. Finally, I can return to the implementation of my initial vision. It’s a blessing, really. In a sense, I fired the whole company because they were doing shoddy work and displaying a subpar attitude. Accounting – gone. Publicity – gone. Marketing – sayonara. Design – seeyalata. Now it’s just me again. The way it was meant to be.

So I revamped the look of the site and I set out to read that shortlist of blogs that you hear about most often and you see mentioned in any article written about blogging. And you know what? They’re good. These people can write. I found most of them extremely informative, if not overwhelming, mainly because I don’t read the newspaper. In fact, I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to the news in general. Call me ignorant. Color me a coward. I’ve tried for years to get into world news and politics, and now fear that I may be chronically apathetic. The local news either depresses me or creeps me out. When I do get a hold of a newspaper, I go for the Sports section first, then the Entertainment Section, then the crossword, then I’m out. But these warbloggers and others who pay attention to what’s going on in the world and have strong opinions about it may finally be the key to unlocking my political potential. The blogs I gravitate to naturally are the ones that are most original and the ones that make me laugh. My first move as head of marketing was to link to the blogs that I enjoy the most. I only hope that as a tiny one-man outfit I can be as prolific as some of the these blogs that clearly have tremendous writing staffs and large-scale operations.


Sometimes I suspect there’s a Practical Joke Crew on the clock, working their asses off to make sure that a plethora of obstacles prevents me from making any forward progress.

I had writer's block all day long. Late in the afternoon, I finally broke through and went to post what I had written, only to find a roadblock Blogger message: "Sorry, publishing is temporarily unavailable."

Of course, if I wasn't such a piker, I would've paid the twelve bucks to remove the ad and summarily end my association with the lowest form of bloggers.

Tuesday, August 13, 2002


“And then... depression set in.” Bill Murray’s prophetic words from the comedy classic “Stripes” vividly capture my current state of mind. I sit here at my desk, which now has a giant hole burned through the center, in what used to be my office until three of the walls were unceremoniously blown out. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The phones aren’t ringing, the fax machines aren’t beeping. No longer is there a buzz in the office air. No commotion. No palpable sense that we all just might be on the ground floor of something that could be really great someday. In fact, there’s nothing left at all, save for the remnants of what must have been The Party of the New Millennium. I sit amongst the ruins, alone.

I suppose it’s back to the proverbial drawing board for me, even though I can’t draw a lick. Back to square one. Most likely that square will closely resemble a claustrophobic cubicle in some non-descript office at some lame company that I could give two shits about.

I’m sulking. Really I have no one to blame but myself. I was the one who decided to go on vacation, even when I wasn’t absolutely sure I had earned one. I knew it was a risk. But I did it anyway and I don’t regret it. I created this thing in the first place. It was my energy that fed the great Piker machine. I did it once and I can do it again. I alone am responsible for the ultimate fate of Piker.

I know it’s steep, but I’m headed back up that mountain. Climb on. I’ll take you to the top.