Showing posts with label out of office notification. Show all posts
Showing posts with label out of office notification. Show all posts
8/18/2010
Off the Grid
It wasn't our intention to leave you in suspense for so long; we know readers are clamoring for the thrilling climax to our previous post, "The Great Screech-in". But the bestowing of honorary Newfoundlandership is not something that can be dealt with casually or briefly, especially when Walter Penton is the master of ceremonies, and the literary schedule is further complicated by our imminent but temporary exit from the grid. No cellphones, no 3G, no wifi, no teevee. Bliss. More on where we're headed later, but here's a clue:
3/24/2009
I've stepped away from my desk
Do not attempt to adjust your set. There is nothing wrong. We regret this temporary suspension in our regularly scheduled programming and apologize in advance for any discomfort or dissatisfaction that might result from your frustration at returning time after time to this page, only to find a lack of updates or new ideas. We will soon return, to continue our usual onslaught of missives outlining all that is important and wacky.
There are corners of the world where technology's reach is still weak, and for the next blissful two weeks, I will be in one of them. I look forward to bobbing in the sea, enjoying a momentary respite from the tyranny of the blog. For legal reasons I must abstain from revealing the specifics of my upcoming activities; suffice to inform that I will be on board a ship, somewhere in the western Indian Ocean, near the equator, where bandwidth is scarce and blogging a luxury I shall likely be unable to permit myself.
For those few of you who haven't done so already, might I respectfully suggest that this would be an excellent time to purchase and read my book. Walking to Guantánamo is far less pedantic and much more restrained in its exploitation of adverbs than this post, and altogether a better read. I know that there are still those of you who look quickly in the other direction when you see me on the subway car, or jam your ipod earbuds further into your ear canals, fearful that a moment's casual conversation will reveal your lack of patronage: think how much more comfortably you will ride to work in the mornings, safe from the threat of this sort of mortification, hoping, in fact, that we might find ourselves side by side, riding together, enjoying a mutual chuckle over the vicissitudes of life of in Cuba.
There are corners of the world where technology's reach is still weak, and for the next blissful two weeks, I will be in one of them. I look forward to bobbing in the sea, enjoying a momentary respite from the tyranny of the blog. For legal reasons I must abstain from revealing the specifics of my upcoming activities; suffice to inform that I will be on board a ship, somewhere in the western Indian Ocean, near the equator, where bandwidth is scarce and blogging a luxury I shall likely be unable to permit myself.
For those few of you who haven't done so already, might I respectfully suggest that this would be an excellent time to purchase and read my book. Walking to Guantánamo is far less pedantic and much more restrained in its exploitation of adverbs than this post, and altogether a better read. I know that there are still those of you who look quickly in the other direction when you see me on the subway car, or jam your ipod earbuds further into your ear canals, fearful that a moment's casual conversation will reveal your lack of patronage: think how much more comfortably you will ride to work in the mornings, safe from the threat of this sort of mortification, hoping, in fact, that we might find ourselves side by side, riding together, enjoying a mutual chuckle over the vicissitudes of life of in Cuba.
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