blogiversary 2013

Wow.

Nine years ago, I started this blog.

That’s an incredibly long time in internet years.

I kind of want to load my posting data into a grapher to see how my posting frequency curve goes. From frequent to really really frequent, and then a long slide into almost-never.

I bet you could lay that against blogging trends and the growth a facebook and twitter and see the implosion clearly; as social media finally got a real foothold, blogging crashed and burned.

That probably makes sense. Blogging was a fad, something of an era; every fucking person on the internet seemed to have a blog for a six month period there. And then they didn’t. Abandoned blogs are the ghost town of the decade; people will tour them some day, dodging tumble weeds and spam links and stealing mementos.

Actually they won’t. Because unlike ghost towns, blogs leave nothing behind but empty hearts and minds. No blood no guts no brains at all.

There are exceptions, obviously. Great writing happened, and is still happening, in the context of blogs. No, the issue wasn’t a lack of content, it was the opposite. It was that signal-to-noise problem that chases us around the internet; when something works, really works, it has the life span of a snowflake. Perfect, brilliant, ephemeral, and then gone, lost in the waves of its own success. The sheer mass of irrelevancy and stupidity swamped the goodness and buried it.

But you know that. And anyway you’re not reading; who reads blogs anymore?

I was trying to figure out where to start in this update. Where am I now, and where was I last time I actually used to write about it?

Last time I had double-digit updates in one month was November ’09.

Last time I broke 20 in a month was january ’07.

Stats for 2011: 32 updates.

Stats for 2012: 8 updates.

So you can see where I sort of abandoned the idea of talking about myself on the internet. I’m pretty sure that corresponds to various life events, though I frankly have neither the desire nor the strength to try to correlate it.

Bottom line is, my life’s been complicated, but it the worst, most trivial and tedious way.

Long time readers (I don’t know if that’s plural any more) know I’ve been through some incredibly painful crap the last few years; to the point where I got really self-destructive, made really bad choices, nearly lost my job, and wrote incredibly well.

This current wave isn’t like that. In the last couple years, it’s that shoelace shit; a job that just keeps getting busier, kids having various breakdowns, family schedules of unimaginable complexity, financial troubles, health issues (mine and others). It comes down to the minutiea of the ordinary: too much to do, too little time to do it.

And I’m getting old.

in November of 2011, I turned 50.

Ok, I know, 50 looks good on me. The other day, a sexy MILF in a Peets coffee addressed me as ‘young man’ (there’s no way she’s more than my age). I can still get away with dressing like a teenager – skinny jeans, slouchy beanie, combat boots, tee-shirt over thermal. And it’s not the grey – yeah, the beard is largely gray now, but gray in that steely way that looks weather-beaten from hard riding. And I’m at the lowest weight of my adult life; from a high north of 250, I’m down around 210; for the first time ever, I weigh what it says on my driver’s license.

No, the age is on the inside. I feel it in my fucking joints. My shoulders tend to ache now, and my knees can’t take as much pounding. I can’t drink anymore (it just makes me sleepy and gives me a headache); there’s gin in my liquor cabinet that’s been there wince – well, I was drinking dirty martinis with dark-haired girls when I bought that bottle. I fall asleep too early and sleep like crap these days. And my eyes – I carry three pairs of glasses with me now, far, near, and dark.

Boring, right?

Fuck you. I’m still angry and dangerous, and I absolutely will do the wrong thing to you given half a chance. You still should not trust me with yours wives, your your girlfriends, your sisters or your daughters. The difference is, I’m a little bit smarter and move a little slower.

What I won’t do is get old gracefully. I can’t seem to avoid getting old, but I can avoid acting old. I drive like I always have – get out of my fucking way, you – I ride motorcycles, I scuba dive (deep), I go out of my way to do the more dangerous things. What age tends to bring to this is only that I now think about how long recovery will take before I go do something (sorry, honey, I’m not 25 anymore).

I’m not afraid of being an old guy. I just hate having any limits placed on me, you know?

I remember when I used to be a blogger

I remember when I used to be a blogger, rather than a guy who occasionally updates web pages.

It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

I can’t even find a good way to graph my blogging frequency anymore. I know it used to be daily, and then several weekly, and then once in a while. Lately, it’s more like almost never.

Sometime in 08, I think it was, than the slide started; from there, it just seems like little by little I’ve given up.

I don’t mean on blogging – whatever. I mean on writing.

The last think I wrote that wasn’t just about an experience was two, maybe three years ago, aside from a couple of abortive tries and collaboration on erotica. The last thing I finished was a year or more before that.

I’m so rusty, my fingers don’t even remember how to type anymore (it took me three tries to get the work ‘type’ correct). My hands ache when I try, more from disuse than from anything else. The muscles have forgotten what its’ like to type more than the hundred or so lines I need to update a wiki page or type out a report.

I don’t even remember how I used to do this; I try to remember writing Wanton, and while I remember the feeling, I can’t figure out how I actually did it.

I started this blog – back in the dim, distant past in blog-years – with the express intent of using it to improve my writing. That never worked; or to be more specific, it got me writing something i hadn’t before (introspective essays), but didn’t help me with fiction – because it was a distraction.

Now, though? now, I’m lucky if I manage enough attention span to tweet one thing or to update my facebook status.

I was going to say I don’t know what it is, but that’s not true. I know what it is, I just don’t know what to do about it.

I’ve been in a sate of have to do something for so long now, I can’t quite my brain long enough to put words together with anything like flow.

This was bad enough, just with the ordinary stuff. Work – making the Greatest Smart Phone Ever (and the best tablet you’ve ever seen and didn’t even know you needed) isn’t just a full time job; it’s a lifestyle. We’re a seven day a week shop, and my area is to be the glue that keeps the 24 hrs per day stuff (the compute farm) going. So I’m working even when I’m not working, always aware that nothing holds this together but me. I dream compute farms and CAD tool licenses at night. And then, there’s the part about being the father of two teenager girls, which isn’t ever an easy job, even for very low needs children. Then there’s the rental house, my own house, and all the rest. Life has caught up with me in ways I didn’t quite anticipate; being The Dad to not just two, but four women (including my mother in law) takes it’s toll.

But now – well, that’s a whole ‘nother entry about Mental Health Issues. But that’s another entry, if I ever get to it.

But the bottom line is, finding even half an hour to gather myself and write, these days, is more than I can manage.

I need it. I need to put words to my feelings, to tell stories. And I fucking can’t.

I don’t see an end to this, I truly don’t. I know it has one – I just can’t imagine how or where or when.

And my best tool has deserted me again.

It’s epic. It’s detailed. It’s devastating. And it’s hilarious

There are way too many sites talking about this, really, and I kind of hate to put sex-toy retailer and all-round bullshit artists Eden Fantasies MORE into the spotlight.

But you know, this shit’s just too good.

If you’re not following, Bacchus at ErosBlog gives a great summary.

Even better is the post that stirred all this, over at MayMay’s blog, Maybe Maimed.

To quote Bacchus, “It’s epic. It’s detailed. It’s devastating. And it’s hilarious“.

The shortest summary I can come up with is that Eden Fantasies have been building a vast link farm with a ‘link exchange’ program (“if you link to my blog I’ll link to yours”), but has been using technical slight-of-hand to obscure outgoing links. The upshot is that they appear to be networked from everywhere in the sex-bloging universe, while showing absolutely no links of any kind out. The details are brilliant if you can wrap your head around it (see MayMay’s post, above).

The bottom line – covered here, there and everywhere by the above two gentlemen-and-scholars, as well by AAG and others – is that Eden have proven themselves to be pretty thorough scumbags numerous times, in numerous ways. If you want to take a stand, I suggest you read and forward some of those links. At very least, it’s a good object lesson in how sneaky business practices can’t be hidden for long.

I have to suggest, though, that if you have anything to do with Eden, you get the hell out of there. They’re a slow-motion train wreck, and everyone I know who’s been involved with something there has been burned in one way or another.

blog like no one’s reading

I was helping out a friend of mine the other night – a blogger who’s stopped blogging but wants to start again (i’ll leave the question of exactly who that is open, in case he doesn’t actually get so far as starting).

While working on importing his entries into a current movable type install, I remembered how much a miss doing this; not just the blogging, but the tools and support stuff – the technology itself.

I enjoy problem solving, and for some reason I have a particular gift for it. If I were a medical doctor, I’d be the hack and slash guy doing battlefield surgery, or I’d be doctor house solving the mystery while not really getting all that involved with the people (and gobbling all the vicodin I could get my hands on). This is why I’ve wound up doing what I do at work. I’m not a programmer (though I can program), not a hardware engineer (though I work in hardware engineering). What I do, when I’m at my best, is to delve into why something broke, what made it break, and how to un-break it as quickly as possible. It’s a combination of pattern recognition skills, memory for trivia (I remember why we made some choice eight years ago, and what wraps what where, and why), and the ability to step back and look at the whole system, not just the micro-point that broke.

I’m not, however, your guy for long range planning. I’m an improviser. I’m Ornette Coleman, not Gil Evans. I wouldn’t write symphonies, and I’d never play it the same way twice. I cook the same way; when I write down a recipe of mine, every line contains an implied ‘or whatever’.

That’s why I like this sort of work; I can help solve one specific problem, for one specific person, tuning and customizing to need. A can find the tools to solve something and make them work in ways they’re maybe not intended to work. And that? That’s just fun.

The trouble I have, of course, is that I suffer from a lack of attention span. That I’m significantly ADHD should not come as a surprise to anyone who’s ever had lunch or dinner with me; I’m visibly thinking three different things most of the time, and I can’t really sit still without fidgeting for more than 15 minutes unless I have something useful to do with my hands. I have both the classic short attention span and lack of attention to detail, and the occasional hyper-focus state that lets me drill into something intensively to the exclusion of everything else.

The trouble, obviously, is that there’s no known on switch for hyper-focus. We can’t shout ‘engage!’ and have it come on like jump. It comes, unfortunately, when it comes; and task switching on a constant basis seems to make it all the harder.

Working with Movable Type more the last few days has reminded me of how much I miss the days when we were all blogging with a frenzy; when we’d all sit at some social function and think this would be great in my blog. I knew that my words would be read and commented on my people all over the globe, and in some cases, I’d inspire my friends to write on similar themes (or they’d inspire me, in those classic ‘started as a comment in someone’s blog’ posts). There was a wild energy in the loose community of bloggers; like a party where people came and went but the music didn’t stop.

What I miss isn’t just my own easy productivity; what I miss is that community dialog.

Read more “blog like no one’s reading”

big five – the wood anniversary

Five years.

1,175 entries.

6,000 comments.

Three ISP’s, a half dozen servers, several crashes.

It’s been a bit of a ride, huh?

Five years ago yesterday I started blogging. You can read about that here or here or here or here.

And each yeah it seems like I have less to say about it.

This last year has been a fucked up ride. If you’re reading you know a bit about it. If you haven’t been, feel free to. It’s been a terrible year for me creatively; I’ve written fuck-all, and I’m not seeing that get better yet. Blogging has fallen victim to all this, but so has every other form of self-expression I have.

Here’s to a change in all that.

To all you bloggers out there, write something. Come up for air now and then. Facebook and twitter and myspace ain’t enough.

For me – I have more to say; I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble saying it.

Meanwhile, tonight I go look at a sketch for my backpiece, and tomorrow I pick up my thruxton. Speed and pain, baby.

crested wave

Does it ever seem like somehow, without anyone planning it, blogging just sort of ended?

I look over the list of blogs I generally follow (almost to a one they’re friends blogs, though some only after I began to follow as a reader), and on by one, they’re quitting, going on extended hiatus, moving, or just sort or dying of attrition.

Is it just my circle? Have we just sort of all spent our wad, as it were, all at the same time? Or is it everywhere?

Maybe a wave just crested; to mis-quote Hunter S Thompson, maybe we’re at that place where the wave finally brakes and rolls back.

Or maybe we’re just all too busy; we’ve built a debt of wasted time and now we need to pay, working harder for all the time we spent blogging about the work were were not getting done.

I’m not sure what it is; but it seems to be going on everywhere.

Maybe it’s that we’re so over-saturated with outlet. Facebook, myspace, meebo, bebo, flickr, fetlife; twitter and jaiku and plurk and pownce, orkut and friendster, okcupid, adult-freind-finder, livejournal, and a hundred more college boys are hacking up now.

We have so many places to talk about ourselves, that no one can ever find each other; and when we do, who can read it all?

Or maybe it’s me; maybe I’m just tired of reading and not writing. Because, egotist that I am, I cannot read a blog when comments are off, cannot browse a forum unless I’m signed on to post. Maybe my own failure of output deadens my desire for input.

Yet, still, I see blogs ending all around me, writers closing doors vocally or silently. It means something, even if I’m not sure what.

What’s interesting, though, is that I suddenly feel motivated to create. And I know, this time, exactly why. Several friends from other sites have, lately, happened upon my fiction; and their interest, their feedback, sparks my desire, sparks my writer’s voice. I remember why i did this.

I’ve never been that kind of artist who creates for the act of creation, then destroys of gives away. I’ve never been the un-signed artist who leaves beauty scattered behind. I create, simply, because it feels so very good to give that gift to someone. It is, almost exactly, like the engendering orgasm; that moment of power, control. I am, completely and utterly, in control of your pleasure and pain, and I see/feel/hear it.

It isn’t simply the joy of creation; it’s the joy on control, the joy on causing joy.

I like to think, given the tools, and the solitude, I would create. Mountain top, or dungeon cell, or lonely island, I would create to create. But in truth I wouldn’t. I’d do what I’ve been doing the last two years; I’d start, and then I’d start again, and then I’d start again, and never finish. Creating for no one is masturbation with no orgasm, it’s cooking food no one will eat.

Art should be for arts sake, we like to say, but I cannot find my creativity there. I find it in my audience.

My hope – and it may be in vain, because time is never on my side these days – is that an audience of only one, may be enough.

Who knows, though. Maybe flood-gates will open, not just for me but for all of us. Maybe we just need something to write about.

Search Word Poetry

It’s funny, I’m suddenly seeing a resurgence it hits in my logs, on “survivor am naked“, which I think we can all agree is a worthy sight.

Now, these never really went away; they’d turn up monthly or so, proving that america loves a naked,fake-breasted lesbian, no matter how long she’s been gone from reality teevee. But when it was announced that she’d be in the currently-running Survivor: Fans vs Faves, the hit count went up, and is still going up.

Which is ok by me, even though I never actually posted the above-mentioned titty shots of Miss Survivor Ami.

But this brings us to the topic of Search Word Poetry (or as originally coined, Googl-oetry, though I don’t like that term, being that it can be from any search engine, not only google).

The idea’s simple; dig out the search-strings that brought readers to your blog from whatever logs and meters you may choose (urchin, sitemeter, whatever).

Use those phrases to create your own poetry.

Vis:

tell me more about the devil, who is he?
catholic ron paul?
polish guy and catholic in a boat joke?
phone numbers to recorded preachers?
bitch phone number?
pastor melissa scott sex life?

     —Exterminator

Aphrodite’s Greatest Failure:
How sexuality is viewed across religions,
Catholic churches view on premarital
Religions who allow sexuality.
Most men are by nature perverted –
The result of secret sin.
     —the chaplain

weird photos of naked girls
let’s see some women with nice asses that like sex
girls fuck with fruits
     —greta christina

gay crack head
morphine
subbing for algebra with kids that won’t be quiet
i hate texas
     —circe

Now, I wish to hell I was more a poet and could do what these lovely citizens have done. Because god knows I get some good search terms:

tentacle rape
soccerboy rape
butch daddy erotica
daddy fuck me harder
my neighbor sucked my balls her mouth
girls doing a snowball blowjob
best busty chocolate blow jobs
extrem big woman trampling
shoes kiss trample video
awk machine gun
how to roast a pig cinder block
chicken and pig, breakfast
roasting pig in virginia
i have a crush on adam duritz
question cross ring womens indian larry
perfect, lamar thought. just incest and old men with young girls fucking porn perfect
ass fucken sex
fuck me hard art
squid fuck
fucking tarzan
air stewardess fucked
spicy labia fucking images
tuna skroodle
sex skunked
naked taiko drummers
local loop call bugging beeping noise
virgin digital exercise your music muscle
titanic engine size
licked the scotch off her tits
she moaned car tits thrust show
jessi combs belly tattoo
jessi combs thong picture
pussy tattoos
moomin tattoo
what movies do maggie gyllenhaal get naked in
bars over eyes
starch and iodine leaks threw the bag results
my hand slid under her dress
hand in her panties
drenched panties
silky panties photos women pubic hairs
picked up her panties and stuffed them in her mouth as a gag

But you know, I just can’t seem to make it all turn into poetry.

So two things:

1) go do your own and post it
2) if you get inspired by any of the above, post your result in my comments

Because someone has to make art out of all this, even if it isn’t me.

Sad Songs of Server Troubles

You may have noticed we’re having some server instability around here; comments disabled for various moronosphere-hosted blogs, server not responding, etc.

For those of you I host, you’ll have seen it as well when you try to post.

We’re working on it. We have several small problems that are adding up to a systemic pain-in-the-ass, and solving these issues has more to do with bandwidth (ours, ie, time to work on it) than with any seriousness of the problems.

Fixes should be in place soon, though we may have some downtime somewhere in the next week or two while we update things. I’ll post warnings before that happens.

Nerd Handbook

Rands In Repose has written a frighteningly, hysterically accurate piece called The Nerd Handbook.

“Understand your nerd’s relation to the computer. It’s clichéd, but a nerd is defined by his computer, and you need to understand why.

First, a majority of the folks on the planet either have no idea how a computer works or they look at it and think “it’s magic”. Nerds know how a computer works. They intimately know how a computer works. When you ask a nerd, “When I click this, it takes awhile for the thing to show up. Do you know what’s wrong?” they know what’s wrong. A nerd has a mental model of the hardware and the software in his head. While the rest of the world sees magic, your nerd knows how the magic works, he knows the magic is a long series of ones and zeros moving across your screen with impressive speed, and he knows how to make those bits move faster.

The nerd has based his career, maybe his life, on the computer, and as we’ll see, this intimate relationship has altered his view of the world. He sees the world as a system which, given enough time and effort, is completely knowable. This is a fragile illusion that your nerd has adopted, but it’s a pleasant one that gets your nerd through the day.”

Read the whole thing. If you’re reading this blog, you almost certainly are that nerd, or live with that nerd, or have at least dated that nerd. You know exactly what Rand is talking about.

(Thanks to my dear, sweet Merrick for sending that to me!)