A Random Image

Archive for January, 2003

|| January 28, 2003 || 4:28 pm || Comments (4) ||

I’ve had the sensation all day that things are crawling on me, eensy things, on various random spots of my body. When I go to investigate, there is nothing at all there (of course) and the feeling goes away for a couple minutes until it happens again and I am investigating again.

This is a matter of some concern for me, because the way I understand it this is the type of thing that happens just before they (ooooh….the mythical they) come to cart your ass away and throw it into the nuthatch.

In other news of nuttiness, the Second Annual Feral Living Romantic Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest is on over at Feral Living. Alas, I got no word of the First Annual Feral Living Romantic Valentine’s Day Limerick Contest, so I could not and did not participate.

BUT, as I am born to the rhyme and part Irish and have, indeed, heard of it this very year, how could I not give it a go?? My submissions thus far:

Hickory dickory dee,

Valentine’s Day, ’tis not for me!

Chocolate induces sighs,

But enlarges my thighs,

And I don’t fancy legs like trees.

Traipsing about on a lark,

I met a young man in a park.

Seemed to be a nice kind of fellow;

Perfect gentleman while the sun shone yellow

But felt me up like a pro after dark.

I have wicked talent. Don’t tell me, motherfucker, I’ll tell you.

And here I go with the crawlies again, this time at the curve of my neck. Lord help, don’t let it be neurological. I’d rather brave the nuthatch and all the free soup I could manage.

|| January 27, 2003 || 11:06 am || Comments (3) ||


SweetMaryatthefootofthesplinterycross, I get to take a NAP today!

And I believe, if memory serves me, there are cookies in the pantry and milk in the frig.

This is the liiiiiiife, buddy.

|| January 27, 2003 || 12:49 am || Comments (18) ||

When I started this whole Blogger-powered journal-with-a-smattering-of-links thing, it was a matter of convenience that led me to do it. I had started a journal thingy over on my old site, the crappy Geocities (no link, as a) you all more than likely know how to get there, and b) those shitbirds pulled the plug on me a month early) one that was full on Flashy-Trashy-Browser-Go-Crashy. Ahhh, the lovely days of WYSIWYG slow-loads and timeouts and drag-and-drop them thar poorly-cropped, bad-resolution images.

I started the journal on that site, and despite my lack of discipline with any other form of journal, I was doing quite well keeping up with the interweb one.

I quite literally stumbled onto Blogger’s splash page, and I was immediately intrigued. There were something in the neighborhood of 15,000 registered users with them at the time, which seemed like a lot; in retrospect and given the current number of users, that little number seems paltry now. It gives me a smidgen of lame satisfaction, however, to know that while I wasn’t one of the first, I was in on the whole shebang somewhere in the neighborhood of the ground floor, before the advent of blogspot, before articles claiming that having a blog was ‘NEWHOTFUN!’ were seen in mainstream publications, before the original Blogger team hiccuped and went the way of the dinosaur.

Intrigued, I tell you, and though I knew nothing of code and basic geek lingo and such (“What is this Eff Tee Pee you speak of?? Whaaaaa?”), I managed to sign up and get that sucker running and make my first post to a plain white page devoid of fancy font footwork and any formatting whatsoever. Boop! Post, publish, here it comes, there it is! So much magic….

Within three days the blog page had evolved to become a plain cadet-blue background and an ivory-ish, near-eensy arial font. I was uptown, baybee.

Needless to say, when I figured out italics and bold and links I was near-orgasmic. It took me six fucking months to realize that there was a nifty toolbar in my Blogger window that would allow me to do such things without the bother and tedium of doing such a strenuous task like opening and closing a couple little HTML tags. It took a month more for me to further discover that all I had to do to use them effectively was to highlight a bit of text and mash a little button. Slow on the uptake, fellas, but when I get something, that something sticks. <--SEE? Highlight. Click. Maaaaagic.

I plodded along, doing my own little thing for some time, reading some other blogs, interacting with the people behind them. I didn’t have a hit counter (that I knew of, anyway), so to the best of my knowledge I was about a five-hit-a-day gal and three of those hits were mine. Viewing the words after you hang an entry on a page has an appeal all its own. Lordy, I am published….even if it is me doing the publishing. I mean, I’ve been published before, random poetry here and there and a short story or two, but nothing that paid a great deal of cash and besides, there’s nothing like seeing your plain ole everyday words hanging on a page (digitized or otherwise) for all the world to see. Even if all the world isn’t in fact seeing, there’s that potential.

But I had the grand luxury of writing for self and that was oh-so-delicious.

A few months in, I opened my e-mail one day to find a note from some dude in Belgium (motherfucking BELGIUM, oooooh!) that was very nice and very basic: Been reading you for several months now and I like what you have to say, the way you say it. Well, okay! Alright then! That threw me for a big ole loop, because here all along I thought that the only people reading were Eric and chum, and boy didn’t that mean that there might be other people out there that I didn’t know about who were peeking in on my daily existence, my paltry scribblings?

Still, I slapped the words down and didn’t think on the matter too very much.

Then there was this little project that Brad put together, called ‘A Day With(out) Weblogs’ (which has since mutated into ‘Link and Think’). The idea spun off of ‘A Day With(out) Art’. The basic premise was to leave your weblog blank for the day, posting only AIDS-related links, or to share your own story regarding the disease. I chose to do the latter, writing about a cousin with whom I was close. This entry sparked thirteen e-mails from readers about their feelings having read it, about their sorrow for my loss, about the raw way in which I wrote about Dan.

Thirteen mails, eleven of them virtual strangers. It scared the holy motherfuck outta me. My words evoke a response in people I’d no idea ever existed before they mailed me? Thus, it was several days before I wrote anything of real substance.

Time passed, I changed some backgrounds, learned to do strikeout, shit like that. I finally unveiled a new template my first real design, the Mark Ryden one that I thought was pretty spiffy (lo and behold I found out a year and a handful of months later that Seth HATED it. The rest of you traitors can step up and admit the shameful truth now, too…I am here to absolve you). I still say ‘not bad for a first effort’ but since I am a technotard apparently, by default, what I say doesn’t count in the realm of interweb design and code and such. I added comments and got some sort of tracking going and such. Great. Now the smartasses I socialized with via e-mail could drip their pith all over my entries directly and I could keep up with where my twenty-some-odd hits were coming from.

An odd thing began to happen. I started getting linked on sites I’d never heard of. I started reading them, too, and some of them went on my sidebar. To tell you the God’s honest, I couldn’t tell you where I got half the people I correspond with now. I don’t know whether they found me or I found them. They may have come from the random odd link, a post I made in someone else’s comments, the strange-silly referral, Blogger’s recently updated list, a message board somewhere or my participation in the Blogathon. We found one another, however, and that’s what counts. The visits per day began slowly climbing. Eventually Seth asked me if I wanted to participate in a little project he was putting together, The Decablog. He was gonna round up ten bloggers and design sites for them. The project isn’t fully implemented yet, there are still spots to be filled and revisions to be made, but the idea is to eventually have a little community of bloggers whose words hold their own on the page (two of my favorite Decabloggers, trouble and Barber, do just that and they do it in a madly funny way…though Barber can’t speel spall spell for shit. A third is the olive, who is just so damned sweet in a genuine manner that I cannot help but to love her.). So here I was, and I finally had a little bit of ‘interweb cred’ due to the spanky design and the links kept coming, hits kept climbing. I say I get about fifty hits a day, but in truth it ranges from fifty to eighty. It’s largely dependent on the weather and the day of the week.

Here’s where I let you in on a little secret. I know of, for sure, about fifteen people who read my site on a daily basis. That’s give or take a handful. Those other thirty-five to sixty-five people? They make me nuts. I wonder who they are, how they got here originally, why they read me. I wonder if they have a quiet little corner of interweb all their very own. I wonder why they continually choose to lurk, not adding their names and opinions to the fray. In some sad, silly way, I hope they’re okay with who they are, if life is handing them good stuff, if they have happiness and health. It. Makes. Me. Nuttier. Than I. Alreadyam.

Then there are those times when someone refers to me in a post. Someone that I think, like me, is just plinking away on keyboard in the wee hours, someone who I think, like me, commands fiftysome hits per day and is okay with the whole shebang if it never climbs beyond that. That link shows up on the scene, and you suddenly find out that the ones who are linking you in posts are not so benign and innocuous in readership as you thought. The hits triple, quadruple in count and you are left shaking your head in disbelief at your naivete.

And you, because you are A Crazyperson Of The Highest Ordertm, wonder at and about all the people who are coming around: “There are twenty-five thousand hits on that sitemeter thingy, how did that happen? These people should tell me their names. They should give me some inkling of what they’re about.” Because I’m one of those weirdos that gives a shit about that kind of thing. Not every single day, I’m sure, because I have a life and all that nonsense, but most of the time….

|| January 26, 2003 || 2:04 pm || Comments (1) ||

Some two weeks ago I, in my technotard fashion, set up a weblog/journal thang for Miss April Love. It took seven hours ( ! ) to tweak a blogspot template and add nifty little things like a blogroll and comments. She yawned for the last three hours of it, and was damned near comatose by the time we finished.

I waited patiently for two weeks because I know the girl, and she is a flamboyant sort, but unsure of herself in so many ways. I love this girl, and I want to be gentle with those I love, but I finally told her point-blank: “You write down somma what’s in there,” jabbing a finger in the general direction of her gut, then her heart, “or I’m pulling the fucking plug, ole girl.”

A recent sample: “Those moments are some of life’s best, ya know. When you care so deeply for another human being that their sleep is art to your insomnia.”

You make my breath catch in my throat, Apey. You’re loosening the gears and I can’t wait to see what comes outta you when the cogs are all whirring.

|| January 26, 2003 || 1:45 pm || Comments (4) ||

Maxim and Jett are relaxing on the couch, eating salad and drinking wine and watching television. A commercial for the newest Drew Barrymore flick comes on the telly, the one that ends with the lovely Drew laughing deliciously out loud.

JETT: That Drew is just the cutest. Isn’t she just the cutest??

MAXIM: You’re cute.

JETT: Not like that. Not anywhere that cute.

MAXIM: We’d have to have a Jett-Drew sandwich with a Maxim middle in order for me to assess that properly.

|| January 24, 2003 || 7:16 pm || Comments (7) ||

I am eating cherry berry tomatoes in a warm house.

Today is a good day. I am happy.

|| January 24, 2003 || 5:06 pm || Comments (0) ||

I am a baaaad girl. I am a diiiiiirty girl. Proof:

unxmaal: oh btw

unxmaal: my work’s firewall web-monitor so we don’t
see dirty stuff thingy

unxmaal: blocked your site because it was “adult

unxmaal: i bitched and they fixed it but i thought you’d
get a kick out of it =]

JettSuperior: WHEEE! I’m BIGTIME!

unxmaal: yeah!