Edward Tufte hates the MS Office app that’s taken over nearly every meeting I’ve ever been to where lots of information is being conveyed. What are his points?

• Dumbing down data is bad
• Conveying ideas in bullet format is bad
• PP is making our children dumber
• Simplifying data presentation actually makes it messier to present

I might actually even agree with him. I’m sick of PowerPoint presentations. And I like that he used the word “smarmy.”

Of course we’re still waiting for our thoroughly freakish sellers to get over themselves on the minor things we want done with the house. My fingers are cramped from excessive crossing.

The good news is I’m feeling slightly less panicked about home décor. David picked up Country Living at Home Depot last weekend, and I was much reassured that the phrase “modern country” is not an oxymoron. The magazine also helped me arrive at a design concept. And as you know, once I have a concept, everything else falls into place quickly.

It’s simple, really. David and I both grew up on the edges of cities feel more like big country towns. David, in fact, grew up in a home not unlike the one we are buying. My farmhouse-of-record is, of course, Memommie and Skelley’s big old place outside Lawton.

Somewhere in the country between Adelaide and Oklahoma City, there is a place with cattle ranches, wheat fields, and pioneer settlements parked on the dry plain. There is red earth, and from at least one side of the river, beautiful vineyards. So all of that is going to be our inspiration, and when we’re home in both places over the holidays we’ll be doing some scouting for specifics. We’re going to need lots of help, so if anyone has any brilliant ideas, let me know!

As many of you know, numbers and I don’t always get on so well. Thankfully, Google knows this and has come up with a solution. It almost makes math fun.

Google is adding functionality faster than I keep keep up with, despite the fact that like 45% of my job involves using Google to dig out facts, trends, and support for my occasionally far-fetched strategic assertions. An interesting still-in-Beta service: Google Catalogs. That’s right, if you lost that Ikea catalog, just go here and type in “Poang” and the page with your favorite chair will pop right up. It’s almost spooky.

And apparently this guy even managed to get a book deal out of his site Things My Girlfriend and I Have Argued About.

To be honest, I’m not sure if this is entertaining, or very, very unnerving. Like, I could almost see me writing a blog like this some day, though probably not about things my girlfriend and I have argued about. I’m guessing it will be more like things my mother and I have argued about. Or things my mother and grandmother have argued about. Or things my brother and mother have argued about. Or things my mom and my aunt have…

Hang on. I’m going to register a domain name. I think I smell a book deal.

Yes, we’ve started thinking about home decor. In particular, I’m starting to take a real interest in lighting, as there are a few fixtures that just have to go. (There shall be no exposed lightbulbs in the hallway!)

So imagine my joy when I looked up the Rejuvenation website. It’s amazing, and surprisingly affordable.

But the façade of affordability crumbles when you start looking at the whole thing. A fixture here, some paint there, and–oh, a new sofabed!–and suddenly Jay has no lunch money for two weeks.

I am way too much of a control freak to do a Trading Spaces-type thing, but as it gets closer to closing we may have to invite a few folks over to give us your thoughts on paint colors and things like that. I have probably indulged the decorative urge a bit more than David, but I feel like I lack the Interior Design Gene that we gays are all assumed to have. I know what I like, but trying to explain how I think wall color and trim and fabrics should work together is exasperating.

The other weird thing is that although I love the farmhouse style of Casa Nonfamous, I’ve never really had much interest in anything country (with the exception of my “Okie kitsch” fascination of 1997-1998). So my personal style (if one whose entire furniture collection comes from Ikea can reasonably claim to have a personal style) is in abeyance when it comes to this house. I’m definitely a minimalist, and that will work, but my love of sleek, modern shapes doesn’t necessarily fit the spirit of the place. Currently, the Venn diagram of “what I’ve thought I liked all these years” and “what will look good” really only intersects at “black and white photography.”

My big concept is that David and I will find ourselves in some small-town antique shop in Oklahoma over Christmas and find a house full of amazing furniture for like $500. That’s probably not going to happen, but if anyone there wants to do some snooping around, it sure would make me feel better.

It would appear that Kansas is, as a matter of fact, flatter than a pancake. This proof, however, gives no indication whether Kansas goes better with jam or syrup.

If there is one thing that pisses me off, it’s being stood up. Well, ok, who are we kidding? There are probably a lot of things that piss me off. Because, as has recently been pointed out to me, I’m no longer irritable but in a “constant state of maximum irritation, and therefore incapable of becoming more irritated.” It would appear, ladies and gentlemen (and pooch, should you be reading this, Dozer), that I have a disposition.

Fortunately, outside of work, I think I do an admirable job of hiding this well. I mingle. I giggle. I tell funny stories. (At least, I think they’re funny.) And, you know, I can seem downright effusive at times. Like when Jay called to tell me about David’s acceptance of the proposal, and I managed to scare at least half a dozen folks hanging out in front of the Coffee Messiah with my screamsqueal of delight. So, you know, I’m not all grousing and cursing. I have my perky moments too.

Except, when you push one of those buttons that just really irks me. Like standing me up. Because here’s the thing. If you don’t want to meet me, DON’T SUGGEST IT. Don’t say, oh, hey, how’s about we do X, and then just not do X. If you can’t make it, change your mind, whatever, just call or email and say, “Hey, I don’t think I’m going to be able to do X afterall.” Because really, that’s just low.

Right. And it might not take a huge stretch of logic to get that I had a bit of an experience with that sort of…ahem…behavior recently. And so, being the neurotic little freak that I am, thought I might turn to trusty old Google to find out what an appropriate next course of action might be, mostly because the no-show in question has a copy of a particularly favored book of mine, as well as a CD that I’d really like back.

Yeah, and it should probably come as no surprise that there is a fair amount of advice out there on just what to do in said situations, most of it fairly consistent, as in this tip sheet on www.getgirls.com which I chose as my link because, well, I am amused by the URL. So, apparently, I could call today to find out what’s up, thus giving me an opportunity to suggest various methods of returning the above mentioned literature and music, and perhaps I shall. Although I admit that I am quite partial to Jay’s much more pointed suggestion of sending a FedEx package with a prefilled-in shipping label to effect the desired recovery of these items.

Jay will note, however, that nowhere on this tip sheet does it mention as an appropriate step, “Have your best friend call the offending stander upper from your cell phone during the appointed event in order to threaten him with bodily harm.” Nor does it give any indication that graduates from any particular institute of higher education are more likely to engage in such behaviors than are, say, Yalies (who, we know would never have so little consideration for a fellow human being), thus disproving Jay’s theory that this sort of behavior is well-documented among, as he so charmingly dubbed them, “Harvard fucks.”

At least I had a lovely evening with my dear Jay, who was, as always, enormously satisfying company in any context, and we did have the opportunity to feel quite old while chatting with some fellow Elis whose existence on this planet never overlapped with that of John Lennon. So I’m not actually in a state of maximum irritation at the moment. Just close to it. Which is to say, in warning to those I might encounter today, I’m feeling irritable.

Bubb Rubb is the newest Certified Internet Celebrity, and the kind of character you could not invent. And if you did, you would instantly be branded a racist. But truth is the perfect defense against libel, and this site is all about the truth at 24 fps. Really, you can’t make this shit up… though in the interest of equal offense, someone has made a “Red Neck Woo Video.” Not as funny, but a nice effort.

To make a long story short, Bubb Rubb came to fame after a San Francisco TV newscaster interviewed him (and his little sister, ‘Lil Sis) as he was having a “whistle tip” put in the exhaust pipe of his car. For the uninitiated, a whistle tip is just a little punched-metal tab that turns any exhaust pipe into an organ of screeching agony for all those nearby. As this trend reached the Bay Area, the citizens of Oakland were, for the most part, not amused; the tips have since been banned. Which is sad, because they are “just fa’ deccarayshun.”

The great thing is– if you watch the full video, not the edited version– is that the white KRON newscaster speaks at least as strangely as Bubb Rubb. You would swear it’s a fake, but no FANSters, it’s the real thing.

If you really want to laugh, make sure you also listen to the Woo2 remix.

So Jay and I have taken the plunge and bought a house. We made the offer this morning. The seller was about to drop the price on the listing, but we managed to get in early and offer the new price before anyone else got a chance to. So, barring any problems with the inspection/neighbourhood review or financing, it’s as good as ours!

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I know it’s completely inappropriate to think that anything about the Liberian situation is funny, but has anyone else noticed that the Liberian former vice-president, now president, is called Mr. Blah? It makes it difficult for me to read the news articles without picturing him as a cartoon character who suffers from ennui and is drawn with indistinct borders, kind of like Pig Pen, only more existential.

Consider this statement: “If Blah takes over, we will fight back.” This was spoken by a senior member of Liberians United for Reconciliation and Democracy, a group otherwise known as LURD. Really, LURD. I think Liberians need better branding. Jay, do you want to get on this? At least they are already snappy dressers.