To blog, or not to blog: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the blogosphere to suffer
The flames and scrapings of outrageous trolls,
Or to take arms against a web of aggro
And by contacting their ISPs, end it? To ban: to delete;
No more; and by deletion to say we end
The meme-pests and the thousand spam comments
That blogs are heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To ban: to delete;
To delete: perchance to start a forum: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that Technorati void what YouTubes may rest unblogged
When we have shuffled off this blogging platform,
Must give us pause: there’s the dynamic ranking
That makes calamity of a dead URL;
For who would bear the Monty Python quotes and casino links of trolls,
The support staff’s delay, the corporate parent’s avarice,
The pangs of despised fandom, the copyright infringement enforcement,
The insolence of office workers and the spurns
That regular updating of the dilettantish LiveJournallers takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a critical keystroke? who would Farkers bear,
To grunt and sweat under flourescent lights,
But that the dread of missing a new meme,
The undiscover’d bit bucket from whose bourn
No blogmeister returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those glitches we have
Than fly to platforms that we know not of?
Thus WordPress does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of e-cool-hunting
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of doubt,
And blogs of great pith and merriment
With this regard their RSS feeds turn awry,
And lose the name of action.–Soft you now!
The fair Bloggie Awards! Nymph, in thy nominations
Be all my Top Posts remember’d.
Show me the luv at the Bloggie Awards, people!
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Technorati me!
Okay people. Let’s not beat around the bush. You know what I want: I know you know what I want.
In any case, here’s what my little internet graduation plaque with honors or honours or cum or laudanum or whatever it is would look like, if it were in fact the result I got and not the one engtech (who can make screencaps and all that tech shit, yo) did, and it said 35 instead of 27, yo. And if it also said that the big VCs were hangin’ on the telephone, waiting for their life-affirming contact from moi.
Here is the code for the social bookmarking I’ve been putting at the bottom of my newer posts. If any tech-savvy persons out there would care to improve it with images, I’d be very grateful and promise to host the images myself.
raincoaster 