And Here I Thought My Spring Cleaning Was All Done

A few minor changes have been or will be made to the Dept. site, and I wanted to let you know what was happening. Some of it is basic Housecleaning, some is accommodating my Sloth, and some is merely practicality.

A. Commenting: A few of you miss the Comments section being called "Brainstorms." Well, me too! One morning, I devoted hours to my template, trying to troubleshoot it, googling like crazy and trying to learn some HTML coding on the fly to fix it. Ever since Google bought Blogger, they aren't too interested in servicing the platform at all, so we are left to our own devices. Anyway, after noodling about forever, I happened upon a notice that this is what GoogleBlogger calls "An Outstanding Issue." In other words, it's still broken, they don't know why, and they aren't fixing it thus far.

Next, I had changed my Comments policy to accept Anonymous commenters. A few people had contacted me to let me know that they wanted to ring in, but for some reason, they had been unable and did not want to bother setting up a shadow GoogleBlogger account. I am so sorry to say that I Will No Longer Be Allowing Anonymous Commenters. Every day since the exact moment I switched (and, no, I am not kidding), my blog has been flooded with junk comments which are simply commerce bots hawking their crap. The built-in spam filter has been doing a great job, but all the comments come to my private email inbox, and it's a pain. So, since the larger concern is outweighing the few people who claimed they wanted to join in, I've scotched Anonymous comments.

B. Sidebar Elements: I usually change my sidebar elements every time I do a new post. It's very time-consuming, and I wonder if anyone really pays attention. Could you let me know if you do, and if you actively engage with any of the elements? Then I'd know which to keep and which I can let go or keep static.

C. Email Subscriptions: Google also now owns Feedburner, my subscription service facilitator. It's--in a word--erratic. As with Blogger, Google isn't really interested in maintaining or servicing Feedburner, and it shows. I will be switching email service providers soon. Those of you who experienced the glitches in March with my daily postings know how badly the email service screwed up. It's all very frustrating, and it takes a lot of time and effort. I have time, but I detest mucking around with this sort of thing because I fear that everything I do could have fatal repercussions, to what I've already done, to my blog, to my subscribers/readers, to my computer, to the world. Each keystroke is fraught with peril. So. Fraught.

D. Feedback: In Comments, please offer any suggestions you have for anything regarding the Dept., whether it be color scheme, content, or layout. Sometimes, I can't get a fresh view on it because I'm consumed by the work of it. What do you like, dislike, want more of, want less of? I can't promise I'll act upon it because, after all, I have to love it, whatever it is that I put here.

As always, Dearest Readers, thank you.

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In Which I Present A New Poet, Envy My Hair Products, And Write Such A Lot Of Stuff

Did you ever have the sensation that nothing was happening in your life, yet you were very, very busy?  I'm feeling that way lately, and I have to tell you, it's all very odd.  Of course, these days, if I have anything to do, it seems like a big deal.

While I have a moment in my Big Honking Schedule, I thought I'd share a few Cranial Crumbs and tidy the space up a bit.

---|Google Is So Deep.  Sometimes, when I'm doing a little research, Google likes to wax poetic in order to give me some perspective and some spontaneous poetry.  For example, I was searching for something which began with the word "white." I got as far as wh, and Google began a poetry slam (punctuation is mine; line break is all Google):

white pages,
where's my refund?
what's the word,
white pages Ohio?

Wow.  This really identifies the urban angst that is Out There, in The Mean Streets.  Google really gets it.

I admit it.  I like to nudge Google and make my research queries in the form of a question.  I got this far in my most recent query and Google took it away:  "Why are m-":

why are manhole covers round?
why are my boobs sore?
why are my hands always cold?
why are my cookies always flat?

Why, indeed.

---|Kickoff!  I don't give a damn about football of any kind, but I got very excited about the Cleveland Browns first draft pick this year.  Why?  Only because he has the Best Name Ever.  BARKEVIOUS MINGO.  Oh, yes, say it over and over again.  How fantastic of a name is that?  I heard that name over a year ago and made a Solemn Vow to someday name something BarkeviousMingo, all together like that, because it is a kickass name.  He goes by a wimp-out nickname, KeKe, but not in this house.  He will always be BARKEVIOUS MINGO at the Dept.  The Browns did a great job in the Name Department.  They also drafted a Leon, a Jamoris, and an Armonty.  Nice work.

---|I'm Organic, At Least.  It occurred to me the other day that I would love to be my shampoo.  You probably would, too.  Just read the label.  I really want to be a "sensual and alluring blend."  Don't you want to "have great body and sparkle"?  Wouldn't you like to hear someone tell you that being with you is "rejuvenating"?  I sure would. 

---|'Tis The Season.  Friday was my birthday, and one of my best gifts was the weather.  I actually wore flipflops out in my yard and was able to garden.  Naturally, that is the only time I wear flipflops.  Sadly, I know that A) most teens have been wearing flipflops for months now, and B) most people wear flipflops to weddings, restaurants, funerals, and other public places.  I think my Original Point was, however, that the weather was warm enough that I could both garden and wear summer shoes.  Sigh.

---|Animal House.  Finally, just some general silliness.  Since Rick and I got rid of cable, we're forced to talk to one another more often.

Nance:  Where are you going?
Rick:  I'm gonna go change before dinner and before I jump in the shower.  I just feel gross.
Nance:  Into what?
Rick:  Huh?
Nance:  What are you going to change into?
Rick:  An elephant.
Nance:  What kind of elephant?
Rick:  A baby one.
Nance:  Oh, good.  How cute.
(Later, after dinner, Rick gets up.)
Rick:  Okay.  I'm gonna go grab that shower.
Nance:  Why not just use your trunk?

Go ahead.  Google that.

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Put On Your Flak Jackets And Take Cover! My Head Is Exploding, And Nutella, Cows, And Student Errors Are Everywhere!

Can you possibly handle a Barrage of Hodgepodge? A Pelting of Pastiche? Because my brain is firing random shots of mental rubbish right now, and it looks like you're the hapless target. Gotta get rid of this stuff somehow...

Item. This from a student essay about the character of John Proctor from the play The Crucible: He has changed jurassically from the beginning of Act II until the end. What am I to make of this metamorphosis by a simple Puritan farmer? Does this mean he has become, oh, I don't know...a stegosaurus? Perhaps the student means JP has undergone an era's worth of change? Rather, this kid has phonetically--in his mind--written "drastically." Sigh. And yes, this was in HONORS.

Item. Here's a thing. Now, longtime Dept. readers know of my unabashed love affair with Nutella. It is no secret. But even I never tried to pass the stuff off as a Health Food to try and ameliorate my addiction occasional snacking. What Mom/adult in her right mind would actually believe that a chocolate spread is part of a healthy breakfast? Oh sure it is, if the rest of said breakfast includes eleventy pieces of fruit, half a loaf of tofu bread, and oh, I don't know, maybe a chicken. Come on, Nutella People! Let's take a Reality Pill and Get On A Program.

Item. My Google News Reader has an alert for stories about cows, (Of course. Doesn't yours?) and I keep getting terribly disturbing ones about cow suicides. And no, I am not kidding. My first thought is, naturally, how horrifying. Those poor cows! My second thought is, What the hell is so damned depressing in the life of a cow that it would cause it to kill itself? Seriously. Can you just imagine the thought process of that poor thing? Or, what if it decides to confide in its cowfriend?

Penny: (thoughtfully munching on cud) I don't know, Hortense. I'm just so...down lately.
Hortense: (ruminates, then surreptitiously farts) Let's walk over by that edge there. Then you can tell me.
Penny: I mean, every day it's the same thing. It's okay and all, but I just feel so...so penned in all the time. Don't you ever just want to do something else?
Hortense: Sure. Sometimes, I don't go right up there to the barn. I sorta just wander first. And sometimes, I pee right on his hand when he straps me up.
Penny: (peers down the edge of the cliff) Look down there. I'm just gonna go. You with me?
Hortense: (brings up her cud, then glances over the edge of the cliff) Yeah, okay. Let's make a little noise first. (stretches neck, moos, farts)
Penny: (does same, jumps)
Hortense: (jumps)
(Other cows follow blindly in a stampede of bovine destruction. End)

Google News has about two weeks to get its manure together on the whole Cow Info Situation before I delete that section. At least today I learned that California has outlawed Cow Tail Docking. (What a relief! For the cows, too.)

Item. Oh, this stuff is killing me in student work, too. How hard is it to spell "beginning?" You cannot believe the variations I get. The most common are: beggining, begging (hey, Genius! already A WORD!), beggeng. WHAT? And, has the word "woman" completely disappeared from the English language? Has it? Because my students do not know that it exists. They just use the word "women" for the singular. Or worse, the term "female." Erg. Moreover, they pronounce the word "women" identical to the word "woman." WHAT IS GOING ON? Again, let us remember that this is from my "honors" classes. Heavy sigh.

Item. It is becoming increasingly difficult to do creative image searches on Google. I pride myself on having interesting graphics to go with my posts, and heretofore (*love that word!*) I have been able to plug interesting phrases into the query box and come up with wonderful pictures. Now, for some reason, Google merely isolates any word it feels like and generates completely boring and unrelated things. For example, I wanted to find some sort of interesting art for this post that showed perhaps a head with random imagery swirling out of it or around it. I plugged in "head open", "stuff coming out of my head", "exploding head", "spilling my head"...oh, any number of things like that. Idiotic Literal Google generated things that merely had the words "head", "open", "spill", or anything like that. Ergo, I had pictures of a glass of spilt milk, a hummingbird, a candle, a gay couple kissing, etc. Even the word "my" was in bold, indicating that Dorky Old Google had oh-so-helpfully searched all the pictures that included that word in their captions. Note to Google: You're effing up my Project.

All righty then. As usual, I feel better now that we've had a little chat-up. Thank goodness I have all of You. If it weren't for the Brilliant Readers/Commenters here at the Dept., I'd probably follow Penny and Hortense right off The Deep End.

Epiphany

Some things just sort of creep up on you. You know how it is: you look at the calendar and suddenly, it's almost Christmas. Or you realize you forgot about your nephew's birthday. Worse, you pull out those navy pants now that it's fall and the waistband is a leetle bit tight. Where did those pounds come from? You didn't think you ate quite that many Lay's Classic potato chips right from the bag, but it looks like you did. This morning, a new grey hair is glinting at you from your bangs. And the habit that your husband has of leaving the room and leaving the remote for the TV in his chair across the room is now grounds for divorce. It's this kind of stuff that can lurk in the dusky margins of your life quite innocuously for oh, so very long, until one day, any one of them can be The One Thing that it takes to make you stop and Re-evaluate Your Life.

Readers, I've had That Moment. And I am going to share it with you. It was when I realized that Google had replaced my mother.

Oh, I can hear your anguished cries. Your ragged gasps. Your wailing and gnashing of teeth.

All that crap.

Er, lamentation.

Imagine my own dismay. But we all know that the first step on the Road to Recovery is knowing that you have a problem, and once I identified the problem, I knew I was on the way to solving it.

For years now, my mother has been crabbing at me about how I never call her and that she always has to be the one to call if we are ever going to talk at all. This is true. I won't deny that. My aversion to the telephone is well-known. I am not a Social Telephone Talker. To me, a telephone is a Necessary Communication Device, such as: "Hello? Yes, this is Nance. I will be there to meet you at 11:00 A.M. What should I wear, heels or flats? Thank you. Goodbye."

But my mother, who loves to chat on the telephone, cares not for my excuse. "I am your mother," she reminds me. "Don't you think I'd like to hear from you?"

Honestly, my reply in my head is, "Not really. Jared is away at college, and Hell be damned sure he doesn't really want to hear a whole lot from me. Sam is at the junior college and then goes to work and has his cell phone and he never ever checks in, even under penalty of death or vacuuming, so he doesn't want to hear from me. So, no, Mom. I can't imagine why you'd want to hear from me." But, do I say that aloud? Oh, heavens no. She's 78 and she can't really take it, I don't think. (Although...she is pretty tough, and she did raise me, after all. But, I'm more like my father was. But I digress.)

What I really say is, "Oh, Mom, I'm sorry. You know how I hate the phone. It's easier if you just call me. It's not like I'll hang up on you for heaven's sake."

And then she aims really low and pushes the classic Guilt Button: "You used to call me a lot more often."

And I realize that this is true. It really is. I used to call her tons more often. Tons. I'd be doing my crossword puzzle and call her and say, "Hey, Mom! What was the name of the guy who...?" and she'd know it if it was, say, from the 1920s through the 1960s, or in American history at all. Or, I'd call her from the lounge at school if we were trying like crazy to think of the name of some actor who was in an old movie that we were talking about or the words to an old song from the forties. Or let's say I was teaching an American novel that had a reference to an old product, like Ipana in it. I'd call her up and say, "Mom, what in the heck is I-P-A-N-A and how do you pronounce it, even?" And she'd get all excited and tell some bigass story about it from her childhood and even sing a jingle from the radio for it.

Sigh.

Not anymore.

Now...I have Google.

Let's face it: Google has made my mother obsolete. Who needs Patsy June when I have Google? It's faster and it's more complete. AND--I ask Google one question and get one answer. I don't have to also hear about grandchildren, my brother and sisters, my uncles and aunts, or any aches and pains. It's strictly business and one-way. Google is less involved.

Google replaced my mother.

Now that I've identified my problem, I think I've actually embraced it. I'm not even sure it's a problem anymore. Thanks for all your help! You guys are the best!