Windows Live Writer Is Just Wrong!

Windows Live sucks, that's all I can say. It took forever to download, then after it was done, I could not actually access a writing page or anything else. It was a gigantic corpse of a program sitting there doing nothing. It hadn't even placed an icon on the desktop so I could get started. Oh, yes, something must be wrong with me or my computer, but there were no warnings or caution signs. I un-installed it and re-installed it again a few times and the fact that it took so long and HAD to have every other program shut down while it worked just made me more and more angry. I haven't been so frustrated with anything computer-related in my life! I'm so mad I don't even want to talk about all the horrible details. I assume the people who've been recommending it to everyone don't know that it can be such a heap of shit. Anyway, I never got into the editing screen in Writer, which was all I wanted. It seemed to force me to take 20 other programs with it, and it's hard to imagine that they helped. And, oh boy, it was FREE! That really helped. What a skunk! What a piece of crap! Nonetheless, after recently having such a negative opinion about Google Chrome, I gueess I just don't like anything new any more. I get tired of figuring out new things. Maybe if it were a nice new car, though, I could figure it out...

No Sign

I don't think there's anybody left whom I can provoke. Maybe that's a good thing, but it doesn't seem good yet. A few new enthusiastic readers would be great, I always think. But no sign of that lately.

Intelligent Post from The Octogenarian

About Rachel Carson

You can find Octogenarian in my Blog List in the sidebar, but I happened across an older post that I'd missed on his site and I enjoyed it very much—interesting that he'd known Rachel Carson, who wrote the book "Silent Spring" and greatly impressed me when I was a teenager. Anyway, I haven't posted about any one's Intelligent Post in a long time, so I guess I have not been doing my job! I therefore recommend that you READ THIS It was great fun for me! Those of you whose blog reading habits are not set in stone ought to give this guy a glance; he's been places and done things and his memoirs beats the hell out of you and me!

Rabbit Love

It's amusing to think I'm loved or that I love, But that may be all it is. There was more commitment between me And a pet rabbit that I had long ago, And I fooled around while the dog down the block ate the rabbit! In the end I was somewhat ashamed At how glad I felt to be rid of it...

Boredom Boredom

Well, the "intelligent blogs" list has changed it's appearance (on THIS blog, I mean), but is mostly the same. What a lot of repetitive work, though! Maybe this'll wake me up and I'll add some new one(s)--haven't done that in a long while. Then again, I haven't felt tempted to do it.

Where'd they all go?!

Erica Jong: "Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn't."

Google Browser

I guess I shouldn't have skimmed it so much, but a fast reading of the Google Chrome Terms of Service sounds like they own everything that's theirs and everything that's yours. If that's what they mean, that's quite a buggering, and I'll live without it. It's not as if there isn't plenty of buggering available from the other soulless browsers!

The Devil Is A Dancer

He was slicker than a game-show host, Dressed better than a gangster or a millionaire on a date. When the girls came out at night, He could come up close and masturbate against their skirts And flick his easy-open knife with skill, As casual as if it were a cigarette, And nobody could say anything about it. He was a handsome devil and a dancer singed with fire, A bright glowing danger to the ladies every night And a hazard to himself and the real estate boys as well. Just pray that your child doesn't bring it home one night Like a frog in his pants pocket or some cute drooling dog-- You just know he'll expect you to pet it and to love it.

Overheard in a Crowded Bungalo

Creative

"Masturbation is never the answer," his girlfriend said. "Sure, it is," he told her. "It's just not the LONG-TERM solution." "Well, there is no long-term solution but one," she said smugly, "and that's not it!" "What is, then?" he inquired. "Death," she replied with a smirk. "How can you be certain of that, though? We haven't been dead yet. We haven't even been married yet!" "I'm not certain," she laughed, "I'm just creative!" "I wish you'd come over here and get Creative on this!" he said, glacing down at his crotch. "No doubt you do!" "I'm not creative enough for you?" he sighed. "Not by a long shot!"

Positively Negative About Twitter

Good Riddance!

When you delete your Twitter account, they make a big deal about warning you that it's permanent as if that will suddenly jar you to your senses! I guess it may apply to some people in this world, but all I could think was, "I HOPE SO!" Corporate Twitter must be like some people I have known who couldn't imagine how glad other people were to see them leave. I guess boors by definition always have a "self-protective coating". (I have mine; do you have yours?)

Is Twitter a Nit-wit?

Who in their right mind (or otherwise) gives a shit about Twitter? It's not only dull, it's nearly non-existent for me so far (and this may be as far as I'm going.) If I've failed to attract strangers or charm the birds off of the trees, I don't think I need to worry. I suppose it's for younger people, and maybe would work well in a colony of ants.

Signify

It used to be the unmade bed or unhung clothes signified Something, perhaps that I didn't much care How things looked or how they were, But now it's more that I do not have the strength To keep at it, to keep it up, To clean it out or clear it away. I think I liked it better when I was just lazy or shiftless Than now when I can't raise my arms high Or keep my feet moving for long To defend myself against these greater evils and lesser challenges.

Noteworthy Words: Ferrule and Feral

(More than you needed to know!)

ferrule: Function: noun Etymology: alteration of Middle English virole, from Anglo-French, from Latin viriola, diminutive of viria bracelet, of Celtic origin; akin to Old Irish fiar oblique 1 : a ring or cap usually of metal put around a slender shaft (as a cane or a tool handle) to strengthen it or prevent splitting 2 : a usually metal sleeve used especially for joining or binding one part to another (as pipe sections or the bristles and handle of a brush) - fer·ruled adjective feral: Function: adjective Etymology: Medieval Latin feralis, from Latin fera wild animal, from feminine of ferus wild — more at fierce Date: 1604 1: of, relating to, or suggestive of a wild beast 2 a: not domesticated or cultivated : wild b: having escaped from domestication and become wild "A feral man from the jungle broke into my art studio and beat me to death with my ferruled cane. Then he stabbed me for good measure with several ferruled paint brushes. Ouch."

note to the ultra-rich

Note to people with get-rich-quick schemes: Listen, here's a dime. Just keep begging until you have a quarter, then phone a lawyer and he'll help you steal a million bucks that you don't deserve and then you won't have to worry about trash like us any more. Do that enough times and maybe you can sit around and shoot the breeze about the color of turds with your charming proctologist friend Donald Trump.

dead man roping

Test. No, this is not a rope trick... This test showed that the new style I placed in the template's CSS automatically capitalized all the leading letters of each word in the post title, but did NOT do so where the title is listed in the Archive. Half full, half empty...

Meow!

A Poem About A Celebrity
I always loved Eartha Kitt, Her voice is so other-worldly. And, of course, now she's dead, She's finally in that other world And loving her from Afar Becomes more true than ever! She didn't take all the sex appeal with her, But, boy, she tried...

Twitter Bad Attitude

When I was a child I lived next door to a baseball stadium that was on it's last legs. I was about 12 when the professional team that played there disappeared and the place was shut down. For a long time after, a few other preteens would join me in crawling under the fence and seeing what we could scavenge from inside. I don't recall anything of value like baseballs, gloves, or bats, but mostly junk. Like abandoned tickets that had never gotten sold. We each carried huge heaps of them out of there in the end. Being kids, we had as much fun with it as if it had been "play money", which was yet another form of paper without value. It occurs to me lately as I toy with Twitter that it's pretty much equivalent in value to me, those abandoned tickets to the baseball games and all these Tweety followers. Maybe I'll feel more self-important when I have 40 or 400 instead of 4, but in the back of my mind I'll know that IT'S ALL WORTH NOTHING. If you just LOVE your Twitter experience, my apologies. And I may come to have a different attitude as time passes. But for now, I have a Bad Attitude.

No Escape

I don't remember excitement very much. Not the last time I was excited by some beautiful old friend Grown middle-aged and stoic and more thick-waisted than she liked Or the last time an old buddy showed up And showed that he barely gave a shit that he was here, A base reflection that made it all quite clear That neither of us would shed a tear! It's not that young men or young women Make me feel alive or in any way reflective Or that life is worth even further tribulation, I'm just starting to feel no better Than a Beverly Hills clown in makeup and in transit Or Gollum being very still, reflecting on himself in a mirror, Or some long-lost old boxing bum called Caliban who looks dead, But he's just passed out on diet Coke And somebody's week-old birthday cake. And I can't escape it...

Pandora's Box Was Not A Sex Movie!

I don't think my musical tastes have changed much, though my priorities have. In my heyday I liked all kinds of music, though as I've aged, Rock has taken a little bit more of a back seat. I mostly listen (if at all) to the rock 'n' roll that was popular when I was 15 to 30. Still, Buddy Holly and the Old Rockers are worth listening to still. I liked Progressive Country music when it was hot and I lived in Austin, but I've got less patience with all of these modern "pure country boys", who make me wonder where (other than Hollywood) they could have studied and acquired such backwoods accents. Even so, it's great sometimes to listen to Patsy Cline or Emmylou Harris (or others). I listen to the Pandora online radio where they let you "design" the kind of music you want to hear on that station. I have 14 or more stations, named with such various artists as Bob Dylan, B.B. King, the Beatles, Ellen Foley, Fairport Convention, Frank Zappa, Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell, Julie London, Miles Davis, Nancy Wilson, Paul Simon, Ray Charles, and Tim Buckley. Remember that each of those names only represents the station and multiple other artists. No opera or classical, though mainly because those choices are not usually offered. Speaking of great music, I recently bought one of those "tin boxes" from Wal-Mart, 3 CD's by Tony Bennett, and I like almost every song on them! I quit listening to Frank Sinatra years ago because his pretense of having a negro hipster persona on-stage or between songs gave me the willies. Period. p.s. If I left out your favorites, they are probably contained in the station called "Rock and Roll" or the other categories above. No offense intended to Eric Clapton or Janis Ian or many others!

IWWFZWHT?

I wonder what Frank Zappa would have thought? Maybe that we are all blubbering? Or that the music now is all idiotic?

Jar of What?

I wish it would quit being appreciably colder at nights than in the day. I don't insist that the season should hurry or slow down, I just wish the temperature range wasn't so jarring to me when the night comes every day as it has been lately. When I was younger, of course, this didn't matter. I doubt that I even used to know when there was a difference. Nowadays, though, if the day has been perfectly pleasant and easy to take, maybe even warm, WHY does the goddamn night temperature have to jar my eyeballs out of my head?!

Neoteny: First of the Noteworthy Words

This is the first of a new category (or Label) for me called Noteworthy Words. It may or may not last very long, though it's seldom been said I was short of words!!! I used to think that I knew what neoteny referred to from when I took an entomology course in the college where I worked many years ago (how often does the word come up in my life?), but I was mistaken slightly about the meaning. It seems that it does not refer to the Newness (or babyish appearance) of young animals, but is instead a word used to refer to the survival of some aspects or appearances of the young in a mature animal. The word's still interesting and still comes up damn seldom, but it sticks in my craw that I DID NOT (as I egotistically presumed) know what it meant! Shitfire! (Not to put too fine a point on it!)

p.s. There are also evidently some specialized kinds of neoteny (medical, psychological) that I ignored because I don't want my brain to explode, thank you very much!

Internet Romance

Got The Hots For A Curly-haired Girl

Look, you don't have to do A thing about it in response, But I miss you Goddammit And thought that if I had to suffer it, You ought to have to share That tender sentiment with me. Don't ask me why I'd miss someone I never met And haven't heard from in so long, Though I suppose we sometimes miss Famous authors we never met, too, Like foxy Emily Dickinson or delicious Jane Austen— You know, those babes! We fall in love or infatuation With whom we happen to fall— It was always unexpected! I never had a plan—did you? I won't come crawling through your window now, I promise, Or stalking you in your present state of undress or madness, But I'll be around, far off, and I'll be convinced That you're a peach, a rose, A glorious glint of light in a calm but murky sea, A jewel and glimmer of gold in my dullard's crown!

Bite It

Dorothy Parker: "I'm never going to be famous. My name will never be writ large on the roster of Those Who Do Things. I don't do any thing. Not one single thing. I used to bite my nails, but I don't even do that any more."

What For?

I cannot say that I've never treated other people Just as badly as you treat me, But at least in our case I used to love you And you loved me, however briefly, but all these others—Oh! Well, God knows what were they even here for, Much less moving so slowly that I could soil them Or boil them over?!

I've Got The Twitters?

It Don't Seem Like Much
Is twitters anything like having shingles? Or like a neurotic itch, eczema, or allergies in the Spring? Those are all more impressive than Twitter has been so far, but I guess I'll have to wait more patiently. I hope this STUPID THING IS IT. If not, la di dah...

Well, Dammit!

I have nothing further to say today--or not this minute, anyway.

Patsy Poem

Others have loved you, too, of course, But I loved you so much that it was a pain, I find it hurts ever now, long after... I sometimes recall how near I was, And yet I never did quite attain... I could see it from near and far, Even though it missed me, All that beautiful and healing passion— Just like some old-time movie Full of kisses without fornication, Flushed like some virgin starlet with fascination and embraces And a love of dramatic entrances and exits, And lots of hurried cutaways and knowing looks... Or, much the same, it seemed Like some old time country song with a story, Made back when gals like Patsy Cline proved how a song Could reach out and break your heart, Your cold cold heart. Just because the singer's own heart sounded so true! But how could we ever resist? I could never! You were not exactly a country girl, But you weren't a cheap shiny toaster, either! Still, how you seemed a Prize to me! A Princess I could not afford. And what did it matter if we could see ourselves, No matter what else, just for a moment Reflected gloriously through someone else's song of salvation Or of salvation's loss Or someone else's Technicolor pictures of bravura, No matter how bold or false, in this or any other century?