Tuesday, February 02, 2010Good Lord...the walls are coming down around here. A scant 24 hours after upgrading my comment system, I received an email from Blogger stating that they are "no longer going to support publishing via FTP." Which, of course, is the way I've been publishing since I bought the www.meatyefreeti.com domain forever ago... It seems that less than 1% of active blogs are published the way that I do it, which I find to be both interesting and a little disheartening. Interesting because FTP used to be the ONLY way you could host a blog on your own site and still use Blogger's software. This would be back in the days of yore, when having a web presence meant you had to know at least a little HTML. (Read as: before MySpace began hosting the most horrific webpages ever created.) I learned a lot about directory pathing, file naming, and lots of other technical gobbledygook, simply from tweaking the template in this very blog. And while we're zooming along in the Wayback Machine, I was one of the few who actually paid Blogger a long time ago for the privilege of using their "Blogger Pro" service. Just so no one who came to my site would have to suffer the hideous ad banner that used to reside at the top of the screen. Yes, I was Blogger before Blogger was Google. It's disheartening because I certainly don't want to allow Google to pepper my site with AdSense banners. And I'm quite happy hosting my own files on my own site. Alas, February 22nd will be the final day they'll allow this to happen. So I'm a little torn here. They claim that there will be a way to convert things over to their new publishing system...but I'm not so sure I want to give them that ability. (Perhaps I'm being a control freak, but it's my blog, on my site, that I pay for. I don't think it's unreasonable to want it set up MY way.) So...I'm faced with another dilemma. The last time this happened, I migrated from www.meatyefreeti.com over to www.frqnc.com. Perhaps it's time for another move. A whole new design. All new stuff. (Although to be honest, I still like the simplicity of black text on a white background, so I doubt a lot will change in that regard.) I already own jeremiahshaw.com, as well as smokinggnu.com. (I set up my annual Christmas Hell, I even own jeremiahandSobriquet.com. But I was in the midst of putting a simple wedding site together there...the last thing I want to do is migrate my blog to a new site and to new blogging software. *sigh* Guess I'll figure something out... j.s. |
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Monday, February 01, 2010So, while I busied myself with posting pictures of puppies, random videos, and backpedaling about my lack of posting like Mr. Armstrong on Htrae, Haloscan has gone belly up and sold all of your comments to "Echo." Apparently it has something to do with the "physical failing" of their hardware and software. Now I'm not the brightest technological mind out there, but I'm not sure how software can "physically fail." My only guesses are: 1. They turned all the comments into .bmp image files. 2. It was stored in Keanu Reeves's head. 3. It Double Dared when it shouldn't have, and lost its "Physical Challenge." Anyway, they've left me with two options; either upgrade to Echo's comment system, or export all my comments into an XML file and hope that someday, someone figures out how to upload them into a different commenting system. So, in reality, they left me with just one option. Which is why the commenting below now looks different. (Honestly, I haven't even seen it yet. It will show up for the first time when I finish this post.) Here goes... j.s. [[[POST-POSTING EDIT: Meh. I guess they new comments are okay. Although my posts no longer have stars upon thars. =[ And, to be honest, I kinda liked the old school, text-driven charm of the original Haloscan script. No logins, no pictures, no ridiculous Twitter links...just open commenting. From anyone. Now they've gone all Web 2.5 on me. And they're charging me $12 a year for the privilege of being hornswaggled into using their >non-physically failing software. *sigh*]]] |
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Tuesday, January 12, 2010I realize I've yet to update you all here in Year of the Tiger. But I have some pretty decent excuses for not doing so. First, after only minor hilarity*, we've solidified a venue for our wedding ceremony. And that venue would be the Mandola's Estate Winery in Driftwood, TX. (Or Len Tukwilla, Texas.) Here's a quick pan around the event space: I'd be lying if I said the idea of donning an ape mask, grabbing Sobriquet, and climbing onto the roof where I'd roll those barrels down upon our guests and perhaps into a flaming barrel of oil hadn't occurred to me. However, it seems there are no Italian plumbers on our invitation list. C'est Luigi. So that's one reason I've been absent. *The rental fee at one of the venues we visited included a complimentary Photoshopping of our heads onto a "Titanic" movie poster (in lieu of Leo and Kate), or onto "The Notebook" movie poster. (In lieu of...whoever the hell is in that movie.) It seems the owner of that establishment did not find my request for "The Shining" instead to be as nearly as clever or funny as I did. The second reason is this:  See that house? We live there now. Well, not now now, but soon. February 12th to be exact. We signed the lease on it yesterday. And yes, I'm aware it looks a bit like the Cleaver residence, thank you very much. So there you go. And here I go. Talk to you soon. j.s. |
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Tuesday, December 29, 2009 j.s. |
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Thursday, December 17, 2009    Given how busy and frantic we all become during the holidays, it's easy to forget about these guys. So this would be my gentle, dulcet reminder. Because each one of them wants nothing more than for someone to love them this Christmas... And maybe a scratch or two around the ears, if you don't mind. j.s. |
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Thursday, December 10, 2009  j.s. |
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What in the hell? j.s. |
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Wednesday, December 09, 2009So, if you're one of the people who aren't privy to this kind of information, I've been going to the gym regularly for the past 6 months. (Well, on Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings anyway.) During this time, I haven't seen a whole lot of change in my overall build. Although it seems I'm the only one. My bicep apparently frightened Sobriquet's grandmother over Thanksgiving so much that I had to assure her, (repeatedly), that no, I was not going to choke her granddaughter...ever. But my lean muscle mass isn't the point of this post. The point here is to discuss the people at the gym. Specifically, the people at the gym who drive me monkeyshit insane. Now this has been roiling in me for a good long while, so if I come off obsessive or overly snarky, I apologize. Please know that I've been upset about these things for months. First, the Mother Hens. Ladies. Particularly you ladies aged 35-55. Why exactly is it necessary to create workout "nests" before you start exercising? There is absolutely no reason on Earth that you should require three different gym bags, a gallon of Vitamin Water, several floor pads, a Bosu Ball, kettle bells of varying weights, and two foam rollers, just to exercise. The machine E.T. used to phone home had fewer parts than the amount of shit you "need" in order to work out. And unless you're planning on constructing a summer home next to the sit-up benches, I see no reason why you can't just lift your Pringles-plumped asses up off the floor, walk over to the rack of workout accoutrement, and pick up whatever equipment you need, as you need it. Such laziness is what sent all those empty calories to your ass in the first place. Now, on to Mr. Grunty. Yes, weights are indeed heavy. And yes, when lifting a lot of said heavy weights, involuntary exhalations can, and often do, occur. But when it becomes so repetitive that people refuse to be anywhere near you while you're preening around the free weight area, we have achieved problematic status. Not because it's irritating (although it most certainly is), but because I happen to find it fucking hilarious. I can't help but imagine you doing everyday things while making that noise and flexing like a moron. Picking up the phone... "HUUUUUUUGGGGH!" Pushing the button for your floor in a crowded elevator. "GRRRAHHHHH!" Putting your napkin in your lap... "KHEEEEESHHH! Retrieving peppers from the bin at the grocery store... "HOOO...HOOO...HNNGAAHHHHH!" You get the idea. And Mr. Grunty? I'm going to kill myself with that barbell if you don't stop making me laugh while I'm bench pressing. And what about "The Natural"? There seems to be an inverse correlation between girth/body hair and the amount of clothing men choose wear in a locker room. And unfortunately, not in the right direction. Meaning the more jiggly and hirsute the man, the more likely he is to be standing in front of the mirrors naked...shaving his sideburns. Gentlemen, no one is interested in viewing your inner-thigh-to-navel man thatch. Please, wear a goddamn towel. *Aside: There is a moribly obese man at my gym who puts towels down on the sink counter, then rests his bulbous, furry gut on them before using the sink. (Presumably the marble is cold on his man-udder.) And finally, the Slipshod Showerer. This morning, I had to open FOUR shower doors before I found one that didn't have: A.) Towels/Facecloths left behind B.) Used razors on the floor C.) Gum in the soapdish D.) Band-Aids stuck to the glass door Guys, it's not that hard. Taking your towel with you and throwing it into the laundry bin is easy. It's not like you actually have to wash the damn thing. (That's part of our monthly dues.) And if you absolutely have to shave, er, something...in a public shower, I don't think disposing of your used razors afterward is a lot to ask. Now, I grok how we're dealing with a sort of "Tragedy of the Commons" scenario, but seriously...Band-Aids? I'm at a loss as to how someone can do something like that and NOT be haunted for the rest of the day by the knowledge that they left a nasty, pus-caked Band-Aid stuck to the door of a public shower that morning. Whoever you are sir, you fucking disgust me. [[To Be Continued...]] j.s. |
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