I can trace this to high school, when a few minutes spent screwing around with a company's voicemail system revealed that most voicemail boxes were not password protected, and I could listen to dozens and dozens of voicemail messages. These messages were mostly nondescript inter-office chit-chat. People calling in sick, calling in late, arranging meetings.

Once in a while I would hear something of apparent substance, but at this time I can't remember any of it.

The façade of corporate impenetrability, the way these people seemed to be honestly conducting business, the arch boredom of it all -- it inspired me.

I have long maintained that a blank wall is more interesting than a wall covered with paintings and photographs, and that a view of a smokestack or a vacant lot is more inspiring than the 3-window view of Central Park I had at my last job.

Beautiful views, beautiful faces and asses, walls covered by art and culture -- these things do the thinking for you. These things fill your mind with delight before you make a move to do it yourself.

Against this terrain of blissfully boring corporate voicemail conversations I decided to intervene.

Having listened to the voicemail messages for several weeks I learned that a certain employee at the company had recently quit. This was a person who I knew (through monitoring his voicemail for several weeks) dealt mostly with people outside the company.

His voicemail box was not deleted, so I assumed control of it. I changed his "Greeting" from the one he left announcing his departure from the company to one asking people to please leave messages. For the love of Christ just leave a Goddam message.

I listened to the stray messages at night in my bed for weeks.

After a few months I started sending out broadcast voicemail messages to the company saying things like "(Gruff, phony voice) This is Chad Davis, and this message is being automatically forwarded to you. My regular voice: PLEASE REMEMBER TO CLOSE COVER BEFORE STRIKING. THE AFTER-DINNER MINTS ARE SOAKED WITH MALE URINE. THERE WILL BE AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT REGARDING THE MICROWAVE OVEN AT 4:15 P.M. EASTERN PACIFIC TIME. HALLELUIAH."

I don't remember for how long I did this. I was 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27 years old. The above message is the only one I clearly remember sending out. I can still hear myself saying it.

There were about a dozen of these "announcements," and eventually the voicemail box was deleted.

These days most voicemail boxes are password-protected, and I have not tried to raid a company's voicemail system for at least 10 years -- so the statute of limitations on these heinous crimes expired. Now we can talk about it.

Last week I spent an afternoon scanning pictures of CEOs and Presidents and Boards of Directors from my 9 year old collection of Annual Reports that I found in the garbage in the basement of the Parc Lincoln Hotel (Why do I keep going back there?), 166 West 75th Street. In so doing I decided to re-visit The Face Server, which has languished for a couple of years now. Now, instead of choosing a random image from somewhere on the internet (and hitting a dead link 1/3rd of the time) all the images are here.

I can't stop clicking.

The faces look a little different to me now than they did in 1990 and 1991. Now some of them look proud, some look bored; some look like presidential material; some look lost, others happy.

But I still have not penetrated what it is that makes big corporations continue, or why they matter. I leave that to the next 10 years. For now all I know is that it is the marketing, and the shareholders, and the revenue models, and the dancing girls. But the faces seem so alone.