Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Today, I'll take a Ferris Bueller Day. I'm too old for it, but who's keeping track of it, anyway?
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
I inherited a sort of porch-style outdoor swing from my sister a few months ago. It had a heavy metal pipe frame and some big plump cushions. It had some weather stains, which made it a little bit ugly, but it was very comfortable. It sits out in the middle of the back yard, a good place from which to view the world. From the very beginning, though, it was doomed.
I never knew what was ripping open the cushions and still have never caught any animal in the act. But, eventually I could see that there was so many of the bits of white cushion stuffing falling out of the squirrel nests onto the ground below that I had to conclude it was them doing all that damage. The squirrels chew everything else to bits around here--bird feeders, birdhouses. Why not this as well? I kept trying to patch the damage to the cushions, but the violators were having too much fun. They tore away at it as if they very well knew they were tearing my senses to pieces. It just made me furious. I can’t start shooting at them since we’re in the city limits. But, at the same time, we’re such a rural city that there’s no end of replacement squirrels even if I did shoot a few.
There’s a State Park less than a dozen blocks from here with about a million squirrel recruits ready to move in here if any space becomes available. They’re like cockroaches. The two are the best examples I can think of to illustrate the old saying about how Nature Abhors A Vacuum. Each seems devoted to the practice of filling the universe with themselves!
If there were a button I could push that would make all the squirrels everywhere disappear at once, I’d strongly consider doing so. But so far I haven’t found that button! Anyway, Animal Planet would probably take me out and have me shot—or puppy-licked or cat-pawed to death, whatever it is that they do to get even with vicious animal killers. So I gave up on this part of The Squirrel Wars. I jerked the cushions off the frame and burned them in the burning barrel, one by one. Maybe it’s a hazardous act, BUT I DON’T CARE! The cushions didn’t resist the fire any better than they’d resisted the clawing they’d been getting. Screw the environment--maybe the poisonous black stinking smoke will give a squirrel or two emphysema. At first I forgot the insignificant little pieces of armrest padding, but the squirrels didn’t. I waited to see if the fuzzy-tailed demons would decide to start eating that as well. They did.
Post Script: Today the local library was having a book sale to raise money and I bought a large 1982 copy of a National Geographic Atlas for two bucks. What a sweet deal. I wonder if I can find a country in there that doesn’t have squirrels? It’s just a thought.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: The first half of our lives is ruined by our parents, and the second half by our children. -- Clarence Darrow
Monday, March 29, 2004
The hope that the nest being built by the Carolina wrens would last a while is gone now. The birds stopped building. I guess they realized it was a stupid thing to build close to a busy back door. I didn't think they could stand it, I just hoped they could. The storm door I installed six months ago works pretty well, slowing down nicely until it's an inch or two from being closed, but in the last second it Slams with a Wham. I don't mind it, but I don't live in a tiny box right next to it, either. Well, the wrens don't either. I can't say it was stupid of them to quit building; it was stupid of them to ever start. But I wish they'd stayed. They're still in the neighborhood, though, for I can hear them singing their various songs out there. Maybe they'll yet build a nest somewhere close by and I'll be able to spot it. If the motivation is great enough, I'll invade Other People's yards and hope that no one objects. The neighbors know I'm a bird nut. Some eastern bluebirds have been hanging around in our neighbors' yard, and there's a very visible mockingbird nest in the bushes in my front yard, so things go on. Nature never stops.
That was the Thought For The Day!
Sunday, March 28, 2004
MABEL TALKS TO THE WHITE MAN
©2003 Ronald C. Southern
"The thing about a rectangle," the waitress said,
"Is you can get in the corner and hide,
But a circle flows freely and what you fear
Can come at you from any side.
The Indians knew this and liked it," she said,
"But white men have always hated it
And therefore spent centuries killing the Indians
And quelling their culture and pissing on every circle on earth."
Some said that Mabel used to be
An Indian princess from Oklahoma
Or the troubled daughter
Of a Medicine Woman who drank,
But I didn't know anything about things like that
And didn't know anyone who did.
Her name was actually something else,
But I couldn't pronounce it.
"Well, Mabel," I grinned as I paid the bill,
"Being the white man's a goofy job,
A hard-down tireless thankless everlasting job,"
"But somebody's gotta do it."
Saturday, March 27, 2004
I’m sure I wouldn’t know the names for all these colors. You know how men are about colors; we think there’s too many. Too many fine distinctions. We think 6 or 12 would be enough. Completely adequate for everyone except maybe a painter, someone working on the next Sistine Chapel. I found myself in a typically masculine hell recently when I was trying to select some colors for the tables in my Southern Exposure web page. They have more kinds of blue to choose from than I really want or can comprehend. They’re all nice, don’t get me wrong. And that whole long list of reds and greens look nice as well. I just can’t tell all of them apart. How different is dark blue from navy blue or either one from royal blue? Whatever happened to Dark, Medium, and Light? I don’t know about you, but My Crayon box wasn’t that big when I was a kid!
I was game, though, to pick through the color choices for my tables and even as I kept trying each shade of blue, I found that a little of each one went a long way. I won’t attempt to convey the different combinations I tried for fear of tripping over my tongue or over my own bad nerves. I may NEVER change any colors in that web page again, for fear I’ll have to spend endless hours again doodling with test after test of shade after shade, the whole of which just made me feel color-blind, clumsy, and nauseous. Just in passing, let me ask what the deal is on this multiplicity of purples and yellows? What’s a man to do with all THAT?! I don’t like to play Macho Man too much, and it’s not that I need to prove I’m not a woman (I have this beard, you see), but God Almighty, I can’t tell the difference! I LIKE the colors of women’s clothes, but I can’t be trusted to design, select, or describe them! I ask again whatever happened to Dark, Medium, and Light?!
To get back to the start of my simple story, though, if I tell you that the azalea bushes are drop-dead gorgeous right now, just smile and nod. Don’t ask me about the colors, I might have a nervous breakdown. Not a big one. Just a little one.
Chase after truth like hell and you'll free yourself, even though you never touch its coat-tails. -- Clarence Darrow
Friday, March 26, 2004
"God didn't make sex feel so good
Just so you could feel guilty about it," he told her.
"He did it to be sure that you'd do it."
"I don't think you should talk about God like that,"
"Why not, if it's true?"
"Nobody knows if it's true," she insisted.
"Nobody knows that it’s false," he grinned,
“But there’s no question about it at all
That sex with you feels good!”
Dear Lord, that computer program watching over my shoulder that I talked about the day before yesterday must be developing a demented sense of humor. Now the ads up above want me to wipe myself out. Yesterday afternoon in that space it suddenly said:
Rat Zappers $29.99 Incredible Prices Online Kills Rodents, Mice, Rats, Squirrels
Eliminate Rats & Mice We Own A Feed And Seed Store We Know How To Control Rodents
They’re coming after me. I panicked. What could I do? Who could I call? I copied it and pasted it here so that I’d have the proof later. Sure enough, within minutes I returned to my blog, but it had already changed to this innocent poodle:
Award Winning HostingFree Web Design Software, Web Stats Free Setup, 10 GB Data Transfer
iPowerWeb Blog HostingMySQL, CGI , PHP, Tons of Bandwidth Great For MT Weblogs - Affil.
Hell, where’d it go? I felt like I was back in elementary school and some freckled child had turned around and stuck its tongue out at me, then turned back toward the teacher with an angelic expression. What? What was that? What?! I’d like to stick two pencils in his ears from behind, but I’d never get away with it.
I’m being singled out, I can tell. Either that or I need a psychiatric exam. Is this Internet Paranoia, or one of those cases in whch even paranoids have enemies? Wait, dammit—I just realized they’ve got me doing their advertising now down here IN the blog! I think I’ll have to stop talking about this; I thought I was joking before, but Big Brother IS watching, and very closely. Shhh! A little quieter, please! Don’t tip it off that I’m here…maybe it’ll go away.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. -- William S. Burroughs
Thursday, March 25, 2004
"I guess I don't know what women are for," he said.
"Though I've made some cry
And I've made some mine,
Still nothing comes to pass."
"We are not for your fool's pleasure,
I can tell you that!" I said.
"Nor made to feed mere hunger
Or be your hind in heat."
It would be good to always be in the mood for this. Writing, I mean, writing for this blog. Every day I think “Today I should write the one for tomorrow”, but I never do. I get up each day befuddled and begin to fumble for a subject. I have a computer full of snippets and claptrap and flapdoodles--why can’t I just use one of those things and be lazy today? Some are too long, some just don’t fit. I might as well just do something whiny, wimpy, and second-rate like this as to try to force something to fit.
I find it interesting how my original web page, Southern Exposure, is falling behind this blog in terms of hits it’s getting. It’s inevitable, of course; this blog updates daily or often, the other only infrequently. There’s something to see here. SE is “prettier”, required more study of HTML, and is the first-born child, but it’s this noisy rat-publication that seems like it’s going to get the attention. Originally, I hoped my friends and acquaintances would tell me how “attractive” the Southern Exposure page looked and generally how clever it was. Some did, some didn’t. Some have said nothing more substantial than “I saw your site”. Some, with the protective barrier of distance and email between us, have said nothing at all. I’ve gone through life being noncommittal about a lot of ordinary things about my friends’ stuff, often declining to tell people how nice their new hat is, often saying little about their new car—things like that. I think, on Southern Exposure, I got my payback for that. Some people, who didn’t know how much it meant to me and who meant no harm at all, left me dangling, twisting like a hanged man in the breeze. It’s a good thing I’m not sensitive. I may be hatefully irritable, but I’m not very sensitive.
Meanwhile, here’s this noisy rat-thing. I’m newly out here in the rigors of cyber-space and irritating some people into rude behavior and being rude to others myself. Doing anything out here is a little like dropping a stone in a pool and watching the circles ripple further and further out. Except here, you have no idea how long the ripples last. Maybe 2 seconds, maybe days or weeks. And you don’t often know if your stone hit somebody in the head and left a bruise or had no impact at all. Still, you can tell that some people you don’t know get irritated or MAD at you. One depends a little on the "kindness of strangers" out here--people who might never really like you in person encourage and praise you and tell you to keep on keeping on. I would suppose that everybody’s looking for Love in all that they do, and the Internet’s no exception, but I’ve realized in the last day or two that I should caution myself more often, more firmly: Only part of all this Love and Vexation online is real, and it’s very hard to know which part.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever. -- Napoleon Bonaparte
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
This is weird. Does this mean someone’s written a computer program that spies on each blog and tries to extract “relevant” info that they can use to target us or our audience? I don’t see that it does much harm or that it seems likely to do them much good, either. If they don’t have an advertiser that “applies”, I guess that’s when they just put their ads for more Blogs up there. I’m very good at tuning out ads—it’s my training from Yahoo mail. This IS attention-getting, though I’m not sure it’s the kind of attention they want. It’s not the advertiser that fascinates me, but the computer program and the thinking of the advertising company. If someone writes about Chains and Whips, do they get ads for dog collars and dog leashes and leather face covers, I wonder? Omigod, I used the phrase myself! Now, what will happen? I’ll be advertising doggie diapers and dog biscuits before I know it. But there’s no controlling that little space up there unless I leave. Ah, well, I can tune it out. You’ll have to do the same.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "When I gave food to the poor, they called me a saint. When I asked why the poor were hungry, they called me a communist." Dom Helder Camara, Brazilian Bishop, Nobel Peace Prize nominee
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Now I’m trying to remember when was the last time I tried this? Was it back just before I switched from Win95 to Win98 or was it further back? Maybe I haven’t tried it in years. Is it caused by new Yahoo programmers? Maybe they’re like the head engineers at the major automotive companies. I’ve always been convinced that every time new head engineers take over, they just change some things in car designs to “put their own stamp on it”, to show they’ve taken charge, not because the feature needed changing.
Take this example. On my old Sable, the windshield wiper is controlled by twisting the turn-signal bar forward for slow or fast continuous wipes and back toward me for the incremental “periodic” settings. This makes sense to me. But does it seem logical only because that’s what I’m used to? Some Ford/Mercury engineer apparently decided so. When I drive my sister’s Ford Explorer or my mother’s Mercury Grand Marquis, each is different, changed by some egotistical engineer who wanted to show how stupid the guy before him had been. It makes NO SENSE to this driver why in a sudden hard rain one would want to have to make the clicks through ALL the periodic settings to get to the required continuous settings of Slow or Fast, but that’s how one reigning Ford Engineer wanted things to be. I think he just wanted it his way, not the right way or the convenient way. I think he failed to consider driver convenience entirely and that scared underlings on his team and indifferent CEO’s above him let him get away with it. What do CEO’s know about windshield wipers, they’re chauffeured! Suddenly this lapse of judgment was embedded permanently in millions of cars and would remain for years to come.
But what about Yahoo? Which was it, I wonder? Did the gremlin that lives in my computer Get Me Confused or was it some mistake that Yahoo made? Maybe Yahoo made a mistake recently and hired somebody fresh out of college who wasn’t a team player and fixed my glitch before anybody could tell him not to mess up their messed-up System. There’s always somebody who resists useful changes at all costs while leaving the really useless changes in place. I really shouldn’t have talked about it out loud, I suppose. If word gets out, either my gremlin or the goblins who write the programming may be unhappy. Nobody likes a complainer. Or a rat. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.
Gremlins and goblins and rats, oh my!
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "As a general rule, people, even the wicked, are much more naive and simple-hearted than we suppose. And we ourselves are, too." -- Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Monday, March 22, 2004
She had no email address and no comments. Maybe she just wanted to vent and now she’ll be all right. One can hope so, because we can’t do a thing for her from here! An email address is so easy to get that I can’t imagine the girl doesn’t know enough to get one, especially if she wanted any advice or support. Of course, what good “Internet advice” might be is extremely arguable. Whether she’s in trouble or not, she obviously wanted to provoke a reaction. Like a child doing something infernally stupid or wrong just to get some attention. For good or bad reasons, we all need attention.
There’s a young woman at a blog called “Growing Up Girl” who (lately at least) writes practical advice about dating and she’s entertaining. I’d tell her so, but she has no place to leave comments and no email address. I don’t understand. I don’t write a blog to be famous, but I certainly hope for and welcome any praise or communication I might get. All news is interesting news, I figure, at least until it’s all the Same Old News. But she either writes for a small group of friends or else just for herself. I can appreciate that attitude if that’s what she’s doing, but I’d still like to tell her, “Good job!”
As long as I’m working so hard to be pleasant, let me mention a pleasant young woman who doesn’t try so hard to be anonymous, Leslie over at My Obsession. She can be commented to or reached--her problem is just that she just doesn’t manage to write often enough to suit me. She has, though, what I consider”a good sensibility” and I enjoy that any time I can find it. She’s not a talkaholic like so many bloggers, and that’s a shame, but maybe it’s reasonable. The rest of us aren’t always saying anything just because we’re talking—writing—filling up screen space.
Anyway, listen, Closet Girl, if you can hear me, there are no monsters in the closets. All the monsters are in us. Avoid those, too, when you can. Otherwise, sleep with a flashlight, they’re cheap, provide good light, and make a good defensive weapon.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say "I want to see the manager." William S. Burroughs
Sunday, March 21, 2004
"It's MY money, I'll spend it!" Elton John
petulant little snot, isn't he? Oh, well, I like his songs, and I can't help it if he sucks you know what. Maybe it's good for him. It's rather worse that he's such a conspicuous consumer and incautious spender. Donating his glad rags to charity auctions later is just the usual rich man's ploy for making the rest of us feel grateful. First, they steal the money, robbing men, women, and children on the way to the top if they have to, then they want museums and athletic stadiums named after them and unlimited credit for giving some of it back when they realize they can't spend it all in one lifetime. Hardly anyone would turn down being rich, but we also make far too much out of it. People like Bill Gates, now as rich as a small country, may sometimes be admired, but they should also be admonished. Bill never cut a price in his life, though he cut a few throats in the process of doing business. His Gates Foundation isn't "sharing" the wealth, he's doling it out. Who elected him (or them), we should all wonder.
Corrupt systems support themselves, while The People stand around and admire the predatory bastards. Whatever happened to the Revolution? I guess we all got too busy with the stock market and stuffing our faces with Starbuck's coffee and delicious Krispy Kreme donuts. Maybe we deserve Elton John and Bill Gates, come to think of it.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: "I was a vegetarian until I started leaning toward the sunlight." Rita Rudner
Saturday, March 20, 2004
Well, I spent what seemed like a lot of time talking online to CoffeeCup to see if they could direct me to the Right way of using the FTP part of their HTML editor. I talked to them a couple of times; they were friendly, but not helpful. I realize it’s probably something “wrong” on my part that’s creating this glitch, but they didn’t seem to know much about how it works. They said they couldn’t find my files at all. No doubt--but the files ARE there. I connected to them (using the Other FTP program) while I was online with CoffeeCup. I gave up and asked them to email me if they thought of anything useful.
Later I emailed them and told them they wouldn’t have to bother because their Free Trial Download, downloaded only 2 or 3 days before, now Thought the trial period was Expired and had Frozen Up 42 days early! I uninstalled that piece of self-congratulatory crap in a heartbeat. One odd part of it all is that the goofy program was supposedly the replacement for the Graf HTML Editor (CoffeeCup bought it and immediately changed it apparently, for it’s barely recognizable.) The old one was a program far simpler and more useable. You could view your results in one step, not two, among other things.
Pardon my rave, but:
I know we can’t always get what we want, but what I hate is that we often can’t get anything Even Remotely Resembling what we want! Some moneyed corporate jackass buys it, makes it bigger, fatter, slower, and less sensible, and then raises the price too. I guess I’m just not enough of a confirmed American Consumer these days, because I still get pissed off at the notion of American goods being junk and American service being so pathetic. If I’d shop more and buy more, I’d become inured, I’d be indifferent, to all this incompetent stuff.
I’ve been in business, I’ve provided services and I’ve made products. Quality does sometimes fail in the production of almost anything or the delivery of most any service, but that’s when quality customer service is supposed to Cover Your Ass. If you quickly apologize and express horror that things aren’t right and if you clearly get to work to correct things, most people can be won back to your side. But there’s increasingly less and less of even that. It’s hard to find anyone who gives a damn and everybody’s as proud of that as they are of their children and grandchildren. I once worked with a fellow named Joe who was always saying, “They don’t pay me enough to do that job.” He was a likeable guy, but I was always disgusted with his attitude. Now everywhere I look, the place is full of Joes, and I HATE to buy anything for fear of being forced down that long road to disgust.
Friday, March 19, 2004
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Ignore my improper terminology, if any, for I know not what I do.
I’ve been using a free download of WS_FTP, but now it’s going to expire. If I’m going to have to spend any money for such a thing, I would have liked to pay instead for an HTML editor that also performed the file transfer protocol. But now I’ve tried 3 different editors and I can’t get any of them to actually complete a transfer. I assume I’ve told it wrong directory names or something, although I tried repeating exactly how I entered it in WS_FTP. I also tried all the variations I could think of, but apparently one can’t “guess”.
I've emailed Coffee Cup, who makes one HTML editor with FTP, but they haven't answered and may only send an automated answer telling me to "check online help". I've already done that. Nothing penetrates my brain, I'm lost in a dark hole! I have however figured out one thing, one last defense. I changed the day on my computer just now and it seems like that's all they know about the expiration date--now they think I have additional days left on the program. This would be a good solution, except that I'd have to switch it back and forth, back and forth. My emails would get lost in everyone's boxes, they'd bury themselves instead of appearing at the top of the list with other New emails!
This is just an infernal and never-ceasing problem. If, God Forbid, I paid $50 for the WS_FTP program, I have no guarantee I wouldn't have to reinstall it at some point and then find out I don't know how I ever filled out their set-up screen right in the first place! That would be so Me! I cannot stand much more of this shit of spending hours and hours just trying to sign-up or set-up for a program. Why, God why, don't I know some smart son of a bitch who can just tell me? Be glad to hear from one, male or female. (Women can be sons of, too, I’ve seen it.)
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
About a week after the event, I stumbled across a news story on the Internet about the discovery of Spalding Gray’s body in the river. He’d apparently jumped from the Staten Island Ferry. He’d been missing for 58 days. I felt bad about him being dead, but he wasn’t a personal friend of mine and I think I almost felt worse that I apparently live in a world that takes so little note of his passing. I'm a news junkie and the fact that I didn't hear about it for a week means it wasn't The Top News Story. Maybe if I lived in New York, I'd have heard more.
Spalding Gray was a sometimes-movie-actor and a very talented sort of “talking man” who put on one-man performances—he could just stand on stage and tell a story live and mesmerize his audience. Though I didn’t see him often, I thought he was amazing. He did what some would call confessional autobiographical monologues. “Swimming To Cambodia” was one. Some of them were taped and shown on cable TV, which is the only way that I ever saw him. But live or on tape, he was clearly a major talent, even while never being a Big Star. They don’t know yet or haven’t said, but it’s probable he took his own life. He was talented and likeable (well, it seems so from here), but I guess it wasn’t enough. He’d had health problems and had attempted suicide more than once, so no one who knew him could be very surprised.
In an interview once he was asked, “If someone who didn't know you asked you what you do, how would you answer?”
Spalding answered: “Well, the best definition I ever heard was way back when I was performing Sex and Death at Age Fourteen. There was a little girl, 10 years old, hanging around and I asked her, "What are you doing here?" She said her dad told her to come and see the talking man. This, in our culture, is rare — the fact that I'm reflective is an odd thing.”
That’s the sad truth.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Before the day was done, though, I visited someone who invited me to eat again. It turned out they were having turkey spaghetti--a third kind, but more importantly a freshly-cooked batch and it was so much better than that cardboard I'd eaten a couple of hours earlier! Boy, it was good!
Well, it was close, but I got something in here before the day ended. But who's up but me to read it? You can read two tomorrow, it won't kill you.
Monday, March 15, 2004
There’s an ornamental birdhouse under my patio roof and near the back door that I would have thought too busy and too noisy an area to attract any nesting birds. Yet there’s a pair of Carolina wrens, one of my favorite birds, building a nest out there while I watch through the glass storm door. I guess they’re not too smart (what birds are?) or else just wildly determined. Sometimes they pause at other spots on the patio and look around like they think they’re being careful, then move to a second and maybe a third spot before flying into the birdhouse. Maybe they get in there and they’re breathing hard and thinking, “Boy, did I fool them, nobody saw me, pant-pant!” Lord, they’re lovely birds, but they’re stupid as rocks about some things. I hope they don’t give up (a pair started, but quit after only 2 days last year). I hope they increase the number of wrens. I hope they sing their hearts out and I get to hear it all for weeks to come. My pocket notebook says the young birds take 14 days to incubate, 14 days to fledge (get wings enough to fly away). Since the nest isn’t finished, yet I should have a month of them hanging around if they don’t turn chickenshit and leave. I saw the bluebirds do that last year—build an excellent nest, then desert it. And who knows why. But this is a good thing so far.
Sunday, March 14, 2004
Saturday, March 13, 2004
I've been staring at it so intensely and so repeatedly that I can't tell how it looks any more. It used to look good before I got sick of it. Let fresh eyes see it now. Or I hope they do. Counter, do your stuff--take their names and fingerprints, write down where they live. In this instance, I don't care about privacy rights! They can have their civil rights back later after I've calmed down. John Ashcroft's in the hospital just now, so if I violate a few souls' dainty feelings, I'm really just taking up the slack. When he gets out, I'll jump back on your side, and we'll march and carry placards. If he doesn't come out, well... I'm sure Bush can find another one just like him. There's never been a shortage of oppressive men who want to "clean things up". Oops, I was talking about web pages. Can't resist a tirade, no matter how incidental or passing.
Obla da, obla di...la la how the life goes on...
Friday, March 12, 2004
Thursday, March 11, 2004
I don't know if this counter is a good idea or not. Now I KNOW when there's no one there. I think even my friends are thinking, How can they miss me when I won't go away? Site Meter--the true paranoid's friend. Well, a companion. I thought The Doors said that "music is your only friend"--but as it ends up, it's the Counter. C'mon, buddy, let's go have a drink. We'll burn some leaves and scratch our behinds (you got one?) and talk about the weather. We'll say, "Have another hit," and we won't mean pot. Nothing like that. Just junkies for another counter infusion.
Well, you folks go on now...we'll just be hanging around the fire barrel here, waiting for another hit... There's only 9 billion web pages, somebody will get back around to us soon. It's bound to happen. Don't you think, buddy? Buddy? BUDDY! Goddamn it, even the counter's slipped away!
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
SOUTHERN EXPOSURE - Diatribes And Dreams, Alarms And Beauty
SOUTHERN EXPOSURE. Diatribes and Dreams, Alarms And Beauty. Rush Like Mad To Bottom. Last Update To Site: 03/03/04. Additional Links - Things You've Missed. Southern Exposure #007-February 11, 2004. Diatribe 02/11/04. EMMONS: Equilibrium of Lily Pads
users4.ev1.net/~ratsouthern - 13k - Cached
Somebody's search engine is working. I mean, their index is. I understand Yahoo's index is run by Google, but Google itself still can't find it! That's the left brain not connected to the right brain, if you ask me! I don't know what's going on. At the same time, though this blog was findable yesterday on Google, now it seems not to be, and seems to be findable on Yahoo only as some words in the Southern Exposure homepage.
But the fact that the blog has disappeared from Google makes me wonder if these things are stable. It makes me wonder if I am. I wonder if both will keep dropping in and out of the index? Maybe they're just not "stable" yet. I'll hope for that. Well, still, it was exciting to see the Homepage show up after waiting a month. But it may disappear tomorrow.
"This may all be a dream," someone said.
"Oh, yeah?" God said. "Try this for a dream, you silly twit," and gave the twit a toothache.
Excuse me, I have to go Search for my Rat.
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
I mowed and I weeded and there’s STILL leaves to get out of the ditch. There’s no end to this stupid stuff. I can't stand it. Change horses.
If I ever again want to be a card-carrying member of respectable book-reading society, I have GOT to finish this damn book. I checked out “Last of the Mohicans” for three weeks, then renewed it for another three and now I’m on the last 3 days of that. Surely, I can finish it now. I’ve read bigger books from start to finish in 2 or 3 days in the past. So what’s the holdup? Is the book no good? It’s the best book I ever took forever to read, that’s all I can say. (I LOVE Hawkeye, and I don't mean the one on MASH.) In the same approximate time since starting the book, I started learning HTML and writing a homepage and now I’ve started this blog, so it’s not that I’ve utterly misspent my leisure time. I’m just over-extended for a lazy man, that’s all. So, all dreck aside, my clever thought for the day (below) is somebody else’s:
"Democracy is two wolves and a sheep voting on lunch." Anonymous
Monday, March 08, 2004
Sunday, March 07, 2004
Mini-Drama About the Charlie Chaplin Movie, “Monsieur Verdoux”
He wandered through the living room where his girlfriend was watching TV, got a Coke in the kitchen, and paused as he passed again. He listens to the actors on the screen.
"I was in love," the woman said."
"You were physically attracted?"
"It was more than that," she said.
"It's funny," he told his girlfriend, "how people sometimes say 'more' when what they really mean is that it was less than physical."
His girlfriend grinned and said, "Get the hell out of here and let me watch my movie."
Saturday, March 06, 2004
Friday, March 05, 2004
I LOVE the Carolina wren, I don't know why. I can't even tell the male from the female, but it's small and spritely and seems like an attractive, constantly interested puppy dog. It's always investigating, always being perky. And the songs and sounds it makes are amazing. Nice bird songs--there's one fast one that I characterize as "she's pretty-and-pretty-and-pretty In Pink!" But also variations on that. Also, some repeated grating, nearly-mechanical, vocal sounds that I used to think were insects or frogs until I began to see the birds make the sound. Also, the Internet bird sites play recordings of that weird song trill, just in case I doubted my senses. It's amazing how often bird songs and bird sounds in the back yard have been that energetic little wren.
A GREAT Carolina Wren Site
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
I was amused earlier today by a trio at the Wal-Mart—apparently a young woman had both her husband and father (or father in law) in tow with her to buy some plastic glasses and plates for some kid’s party. They were talking about inane things in loud voices and I avoided them. Later, when I came back to look again, they were still in the same aisle, apparently unable to reach any decision about their purchases and move on. The Daddy of the group had been grumpy when I made my first pass and was now more so. This time I hung around and did my browsing regardless of their presence. This time I could tell that Daddy reeked of alcohol—and plenty of it—though it was only 11 in the morning. He’d gotten an early start. Since Daughter couldn’t make up her mind about the color of the plastic cups, he got sharp with her.
“Well, just get both!” he blurted. “Garbly bargly, this is takin’ all fruffin’ day!”
“Well, I can’t afford to get both colors of everything!” Daughter whined while simultaneously getting the second color of plastic glasses off the shelf.
“Yeah, that’s what I say!” says Husband, coming up from behind, having apparently conducted his own business in a masculine timely manner and smiling like he just had a joint. “Let’s blow this place, dammit!” He was ill tempered at the same time that he was high and good-natured—it’s a redneck thing, I guess. One could begin to see that he was indeed Daddy’s nascent son, just less gruff at present.
They shuffled off at a pretty good pace and were soon gone. With them out of the way, I could tell at a glance that what I was searching for wasn’t anywhere on that aisle. In fact, it turned out that it wasn’t anywhere in the store. It wasn’t anywhere in the next store, either. Of course, at present I can't even remember what I was searching for. Guess it wasn't important.
EYE CARE CENTER
A week or so back, I drove my mother to the eye doctor because she was going to get her eyes dilated while there and wouldn’t be able to drive home. There was a blonde girl at the eye center check-in counter—I don’t know how old she was, but less than 25, I think. I made a mild joke about the biography I brought with me and she didn’t get it. I turned the book cover so she could see it better and she just stared at it and me like we were bugs. Or like SHE was blind. Then I realized that she just didn’t know who Helen Keller was. I told her who Keller was, but apparently, to her, there was nothing amusing about me reading a book about a bind woman in the eye care clinic. She didn’t even politely smile at the client’s dumb joke, as used to be the proper form for an Employee in an American business. Are all young people such morons—or, if not that, are they just utterly and yet unspeakably uninformed like they went to school and did nothing but fart and breathe deep all day?! I guess they were all daydreaming about being rock and rap stars. Jeez.