I want to be a Web Log Writer.
I will create an ugly website using warez software and ad-infested free web hosts.
I will write something every other day about my boring and uninteresting life.
I will write in “Hackerese” and forego the use of initial caps, for caps are for the weak and non-l337.
I will become an avid reader, loyal fan and devout worshipper of the most popular ‘A-List’ Web Log Writers.
I will learn how to do what they do, only not as well.
I will purchase gifts for them via PayPal and their Amazon Wish Lists.
I will frequent their CafePress stores.
I will submit my site for review by any Internet critic with a website.
I will not become discouraged when they fail to reply to my emails or notice my website or me.
I will never give up in my quest.
I will become a Web Log Writer.
I will buy my own domain and create a new website of depth and beauty.
I will write something every day about my boring yet somehow compellingly interesting life.
I will reacquaint myself with the ‘shift’ button and stop spelling words in ‘Hackerese”, for that is for the young and immature.
I will create links to ‘A-Listers’ in the hopes of being noticed.
I will do what they do, only better.
I will create my own PayPal account and Amazon Wish List.
I will open a CafePress store.
I will forego sleep and my weekends because I value my small, yet growing, readership.
I will get average reviews from minor website critics.
I will work hard and garner a loyal following whose ranks will grow larger every day.
I will become an ‘A-List’ Web Log Writer.
I will be featured in a book or magazine.
I will write something every few days about my exciting and interesting life, and my words will be as gospel to the unwashed masses.
I will write poetry and buy a webcam.
I will only link to other ‘A-List’ Web Log Writers and ignore wannabe’s who link to me.
Other Web Log Writers will do what I do, only worse.
I will ignore or quit my real job since my loyal readership will support me via PayPal and my Amazon Wish List.
CafePress will make me a ‘Featured Store’.
I will be on every critic’s favorites list.
I will ignore my readership and become involved in an Internet romance or attend live meetings with other ‘A-List’ Web Log Writers.
I will stop caring about my visitors because they’re not worth my time.
I will be a ‘Has-Been’ Web Log Writer.
I will become disillusioned by Web Log Writing and the Internet in general.
I will write a poignant, sarcastic, mean-spirited farewell entry to alienate any visitors I might have left.
I will let my site rot and my links die.
Other Web Log Writers will do what I used to do, only better.
I will find a new job because my Internet romance will die and the other ‘A-List’ Web Log Writers will stop calling me.
I will be forced to close my CafePress store due to inactivity.
I will not be on anyone’s favorites list, not even my own.
I will come to the realization that I miss the life of a Web Log Writer.
I will create a new pseudonym and persona to shield myself from recognition.
I will begin my quest anew.
For I want to be a Web Log Writer.
My brother is a fishtank maintenance guy. What does a fishtank maintenance guy do, you ask? It is his job to go to the homes of trust fund babies and people who fit the ‘I’m so rich I can’t be bothered to even feed my fish’ description and feed their fish. He also cleans the tanks and recommends new and exotic fish to them in the hopes that they’ll buy what amounts to a $2,000 goldfish.
Henceforth, I shall call him Fishman.
Well, Fishman and his girlfriend threw a Halloween party on Saturday that rocked. To be fair, their parties are almost legendary, with lots of inventive touches like last years’ Barbie’s House of Horror. This year they had ‘artwork’ consisting of close-up photographs of roaches, a working slide that lead to a queen sized bed, two dance floors, a Dollhouse of Horror and many store-dummies in various poses of death and decay.
It was a blast!
Since it was a Halloween party, everyone went in costume. Fishman and his girlfriend went as ninja warriors. HoBiscuit went as the most adorable Strawberry Shortcake I’ve ever seen, she even carried around strawberry air-fresheners so she would smell the part. I went as Steve Irwin, complete with giant stuffed crocodile, giant snake and a host of lizards, frogs, snakes and spiders.
Yeah, I did a lot of “Crickey!” this and “Danger!” that.
We danced, laughed and generally had a blast all night. It wasn’t until after 4am when we got home and we were considered losers for leaving so early. Oh, one thing that scared me and my friends more than anyone’s costume was the open clam bar. I don’t know what my brother was thinking when he dreamed up that little gem, but having an open clam bar at a Halloween party with only one working bathroom is never a good idea.
Especially not when it clogs up. Ewwww.
Remember that U2 concert I told you about last week? It rocked!
U2 was great, the stage was really cool and they played more of their old stuff than I thought they would. I got to hear so many of my old favorites that I actually got up and air-drummed a few times.
I really enjoyed the show and I’m glad I went although I do have a problem with the seats. Now, don’t get me wrong, I actually liked where we sat and we had a nice view of the stage. We were in the seats usually designated to the press. We had our own table! And outlets and phone jacks too! Had I known about all that in advance, I would have brought my computer and blogged from the concert. How cool would that have been?
My Geek Quotient just went from ‘mighty’ to ‘complete loser’, didn’t it?
Anywaste, I’m just wondering why our tickets cost more than my friend SleepZ’s when he was so close to the stage that he actually got splattered with Bono-sweat. Wouldn’t you think that the best tickets in the house, meaning that you can reach out and touch the performers on the stage, would sell for the highest price? I don’t get it. To help illustrate my confusion here’s a schematic of the seating plan with some helpful comments on where I sat versus SleepyZ and some other people.
As you can see I was pretty high up in the clouds. In fact, once or twice I had to ask god to sit down because he was blocking my view of the stage. He was cool about it though, even offered me a bite of his $7 hotdog.
That’s right. Not even god gets a discount at the Garden.
As a side note, for some reason my archives stopped working sometime yesterday afternoon. After long minutes of cursing like a sailor with genital warts on shore leave, I rebuilt the archives and everything appears to be back to normal. If anyone trying to look through my archives runs into a problem, please write me a note explaining what’s wrong and I’ll get right on it. I’m not saying I’ll do anything about it, but it’s always nice to hear from people other than my family.
And yes grandma, I’m wearing warm socks.
When I was a young boy growing up in Brooklyn I had a dog named Samantha. We called her Sam though, because that had fewer syllables and Sam, like a young child, knew almost instinctively that hearing her full name meant she was in some sort of trouble. Whenever she heard “sa-MAN-tha!” she would look up at whoever was calling her with big, sad, brown eyes and duck her head as if to say, “I don’t know what I did, but I’m so very sorry. Please don’t be angry with me, I love you.”
Damn, she was good.
Of course, calling her Sam meant that most visitors to the house would get her gender confused and think she was a he. This would upset me to no end and I would spend the better part of an hour explaining, with all the knowledgeable, grave authority that a boy of 8 could muster, that Sam was a girl-dog, not a boy-dog and only poopy-heads would think otherwise.
If necessary, I would draw pictures.
Sam was, and to my mind still is, the best dog ever. She would sit with quiet dignity, as I would dress her in a hat, scarf and sunglasses. She would never, ever bite anyone, no matter how hard her tail was pulled or how long you blew on her face. She was smart, too. She knew that when the family was eating she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, but she also knew that if my brother and I didn’t like the food she had a very good chance of getting some. What was a dog to do?
A true doggy conundrum.
Well, she figured out that the refrigerator was next to the kitchen entrance and that it was inevitable that someone would need something from it during the meal. When that someone got what they needed and headed back to the table she would try to tiptoe in behind that person!
I can just imagine what was going through her genius doggy-mind.
Food in kitchen.
Go inside? Not allowed. Get yelled at. Bad dog.
How get food?
Humans go to fridge-thing.
Fridge-thing near me.
Humans not see. No yell. Good dog.
If it weren’t for her nails going clickity-clack on the linoleum floor she would have made it, too. Every night it was always the same, someone would get a soda from the fridge and ‘click-clack, click-clack’ Sam would try to sneak in behind him or her. It was very funny to watch her face as she got caught in the act. Each and every time, without fail, she would stop dead in her tracks with this look of complete surprise on her face. It was as if she couldn’t quite understand how we had caught her when she was being so careful and stealthy. Sometimes she would sit down right where she was, tilt her head and stare at us for a moment as if she was going over her plan in her head to find out where she went wrong.
I don’t think she ever figured it out.
We had lots of good times, Sam and I. Long walks around the block. Games of “catch me if you can” in the apartment. Days of playing with friends in the park or the street and nights in front of the TV. She didn’t care because to her, as long as my brother or me was around, it was all good.
Except the time I tried to hog-tie her like the cowboys on TV. Sorry about that Sam.
As she got older, her health deteriorated and she found it harder and harder to move around. She would spend most of the day and night trying to sleep at the foot of the front door where I think she liked the light breeze from the gap between it and floor. Sometimes, when she was deep in the throes of a nightmare and crying in her sleep, I would get up from my bed and join her on the floor.
My mother would find me there in the morning, my arm around Sam and a Flintstones pillow under my head.
Sam passed away a very long time ago. I look back on the times we had together as some of the best times of my life. I don’t believe that Sam was better than anyone else’s pet, but I can say with absolute certainty that Sam was greatest dog I’ve ever known. I’m sure a lot of you would argue that your dog/cat/bird or other animal is or was the greatest pet anyone could ever want and how dare I compare my raggedy mutt to [insert pet name here] who’s obviously superior in every way, and you’d all be right.
You just wouldn’t be right for me.
While there have been other dogs in my life since Sam, none have ever been as… well, Samantha-ish. And none have ever measured up to the impossibly high dog-standards she set in my mind. I don’t think any dog ever will.
Here’s to you Sam, the best friend a boy could have.
It is late or very early and I’m very, very tired. For some reason I got it into my head that I would redesign my site while simultaneously watching football on TV. Of course I decided that it would be really cool to have a skinnable site, so I had to recreate my entire site from scratch. Aren't I just the big ol' schmuck?
If it doesn’t look different to you, then I did a good job.
The main difference is the skins. If you look over to your right you’ll see a new menu called amazingly enough, Geek Skins. If you click on one of the links the entire look and feel of the site will change. And let me apologize in advance for there being only two. I had bigger plans but I’m just too tired to make more right now.
Also, look at the new and improved site navigation. It took me a long time to figure out how to make the navigation work the way it does while still being skinnable, so I’m rather proud of it.
I’m l337, yo.
Anywaste, my arm is starting to spasm and I really need to get some sleep so I’m sorry for the lack of actual humor. Right now I’m so deliriously happy that I managed to make this work, I actually think I’m all that and a bag of extra-crispy chips. If you find a problem, bug or anything else wrong with the site, please let me know by writing a comment or emailing me and I’ll make a note about it for the next “What Up With Dat, Yo?” meeting.
I sleep now.