Where In the World is Edward Tufte?

Forget Carmen Sandiego.  She’s great and all, but I need some Edward Tufte in my life right now, because,…. girl …. PowerPoint is like lemon juice, and the work I have to do is like a papercut, and those two things … ouch.

I know this isn’t new, and you’ve heard it here before, but indulge me for a bit and let me get it out again, because this conspiracy theory is starting to make sense:  PowerPoint is trying to kill me.  If my soul were a watermelon, PowerPoint would be the software equivalent of Gallagher!

Can you imagine some little scary ghost kids chanting this on the playground while they skip around and all the birds go silent and you find you’re the only adult in the place with 100 yards or so between you and the door back into the school?  Can you?  Those are the PPTers!  They’re skipping rope and chanting:

“Boxes of pictures and squares full of text;  

We’ve put Jen in our sights, and maybe you’re next;  

She kept  typing and cropping and pasting from Veer;  

And now we will have her, her demise is quite near.”

I mean, seriously?  (Or, srsly, as the young people say).   I’m pretty sure I’m a wit, and I KNOW for a fact I tell a good story, but those skills are of no use with these rectangular constraints!  Someone is trying to gaslight me.

I have a feeling the authorities will use this post to explain my descent into madness when they find me in my PJs (with Russell and Saul and Eli) in the cake-mix aisle at Jewel-Osco, eating all the German Chocolate frosting with my hands.


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