Doc Martins

Recently, I bought a new pair of work shoes from a discount rack at Ross. After wearing them for a few days, I discovered that they were Doc Martens, you know, the punk shoe by way of the WW2 and tired feet.

I was in the London Youth Hostel in the late sixties when Skinheads (in Dr. Martens) were Paki-bashing around town. A skinhead occupied the bunk below me. He was in fact quite menacing when he returned in the evening after a day of drinking and hating.

Moving forward several decades, I remember watching a punk documentary the Rise and Fall of Western Civilization. One band was based in a tract house in the San Fernando Valley. When they rented the house they'd found a dead house painter in the backyard. He'd collapsed and was simultaneously gross and cool in his deadness. I didn't know him and doubt very much if he was wearing Doc Martens.

Yahoo's New Home Page

Send them some money so they can finish the transition from old to new. They've been introducing the new page for over a year. The old page, the new page, the old page, the new page, like some old whore flashing her ass. Maybe the programmer who knows how to finish the page was laid off. Send money to rehire him/her.

Maybe there's a power struggle going on within the company amounting to a "my page", "no, my page." Programmers sit in factions with their coffee drinks and Ipods, quarrelling and taunting each other.

I say, keep the old page. The cursor makes the new page jump into unwanted preview pages in a visual parody of a web page.

Finish the damn thing!