Hours of Fun!

Debate Noam Chomsky

And hours, and hours, and hours. Don’t tell ME about attention deficit disorder; I could play that forever!

If only. Oh, if only. This little baby is my dream machine. And they could have a right-wing version with an AI simulation of William F. Buckley for the playoffs. Gore Vidal, William Kristol and Naomi Klein modules! I can see it all now! I could sell a million of them!

Want to take a shot at it yourself? Here you go: the collected assault works of Noam Chomsky!

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What time is it? Not Peanut Butter Jelly Time!

That’s for goddam sure.

So. It’s that time again.

Yay, periods are fun!

What do I want? These:

Meat. Mmmmmm, meat!

Meat is murder

Bochox

Coffee, the OTHER Vitamin C

Viiiiiiiiggooooooo

Prada Sandals

What do I got?

  • dried pasta
  • a bag of chop suey vegetables
  • a half a container of 2% yogurt
  • a small tub of baby greens that was going off
  • a lemon and a half
  • one head of garlic
  • a jar of Ragu tomato sauce
  • coffee
  • twenty-five packets of artificial sweetener
  • a VHS tape of Walk on the Moon
  • a pair of seven year old Hi Tec trail runners.

It’s going to be a loooooong weekend.

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what time is it?

What a week! And it’s only Wednesday!

Bonus: Guess What Time It Is!

 

Hacked and hacking, plus super bonus rotten weather meaning I have nothing better to do than sit inside and fret about my poor, dead blogs, the WP.com bug that is replacing all my P tags with DIV tags, and the 1400 people who came to this blog so far today looking for the sex tape of a drug-addled, quite possibly insane woman who is, besides, bloated and criss-crossed with track marks, methface, and surgical scars. Way to go, porn surfers. Your karma must be even more toxic than Britney right about now.

 

Plus, I’m really, really cranky. If only I could AFFORD some nice brandy, I might calm down. Well, anything’s possible, right?

Married To The Sea

marriedtothesea.com

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Technical Difficulties Surmounted by Primitive, Profane PR

Steve Jobs, yo

Story of my life, really.

I don’t know nuthin, but it seems I know everybody. That’s all I need.

Well, that and Gawker Media commenting privileges.

See, if you look at this site and you’re like most people around WordPress or even like most civilians, you’ll see a bit gaping empty space where my lovely and tentacular/Goth header used to be. And on the sides, where that awesome gloomy wallpaper pattern that’s a takeoff of the really kinda Fifties Motel Hallway one on Matt‘s blog, but Gothified, used to be, you’ll see an equal amount of nussink.

There’s a whole lotta nussink around where my beautiful template images used to be.

And for five days I’ve been reporting it via the Support button on the dashboard, emailing complaints directly to Support staff, stomping my feets in the forum, and generally wailing in 360 degrees. Sometimes they’re here, but then sometimes Amelia Earhart has them, or they’re sleeping with the squids, or Elvis is using them on his Tumblr, or they’ve been eaten by Cthulhu. Or sumpin.

And all I heard from staff was “I see it fine. Clear your cache, delete your cookies and refresh?” which is, of course, 150% extra super galling because I tell newbies to do that cookie dance bit eighteen or twenty times a day in the forums, and DON’T THESE PEOPLE KNOW WHO I AM DAMMIT!!!

So when I was cruising through Valleywag recently, which I’ve developed quite a habit of doing since all the Macworld stuff hit, for lo, I have your basic enormous crush on Steve Jobs and have even invented a verb, “Steveing” which is the word you use for that time you spend reading about someone named Steve.

And it’s not at all stalkerish. For realz.

So when I was cruising through Valleywag recently one midnight, I came across an 11:23pm post on Automattic (WP’s corporate parent) and felt the urge to add a discreet reference to some of the recent technical problems at WP.com, my own in particular.

Well WordPress.com has been fucking borked for four days, so I don’t care who it is, I just want my goddam header back!

Classy, eh?

And the next thing I knew, I had an email from Matt Himself (of AutoMATTic, gedit?) offering to sort it out and, yes, saying he could see it all just fine. And then I got another one a few hours later saying that the reason my blog alone was having this issue was that the blog on which the images were hosted had been set to private.

Of course.

That’s part of the fallout from the whole firestorm in which Timethief, far and away the most prolific volunteer in the forums, got inelegantly axed. It’s happened before. It’ll happen again. This is what happens on the internet.

Several people left WP.com, several more have withdrawn to a large extent, and wank continues to exist simply because she’s just too tough to be killed off. I think I’m still kicking only because of the 3k hits I bring in every day, OR my relentless self-promotion. Then again, JFK was famous, too.

Devblog, the fellow who adapted this theme specially for me (what did I say about knowing smart, useful people?) is one of those who’s pulled back, and he set his blog to private. The reason staff could always see the images was, of course, they can see into private blogs and private files when they’re logged in as staff. Now he’s emailed me the files, so I’ve got some CSSing to do and then all should be back to normal. No idea how Matt figured it out, but he’s a smart boy for someone who looks about twelve.

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Happiness versus Fun: the American Nightmare

It’s called the American Dream because you have to be unconscious to believe it.
George Carlin

Married To The Sea

For most of the world, America is the great entertainment factory. The New Jerusalem envisionsed by the Puritans has turned out to be the world’s leading manufacturer of amusement and cheap thrills. The colonists and their descendants did indeed build them a shining city on a hill — but they called it Disneyland. In the Declaration of Independence they enshrined, along with life and liberty, the inalienable right to pursue happiness. But happiness is hard. Happiness takes work. Even worse, happiness is a long shot. So America settled for fun, perfected it, and sold it to an eager world. Pop music, Hollywood movies, the seductive sound of ice chattering in a silver cocktail shaker — they are the tangible, consumable expressions of the lofty principles in the Declaration of Independence,
the free culture of a free people.

William Grimes, in
Straight Up or On the Rocks, The History of the American Cocktail

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