Tags: blogs, computers, life and death, religion, spirituality
When you come across a website or a blog, or something on the internet–and you can just *tell*. It has that look. It could be an obvious sign, like a comment that says “Last updated April 17, 2006.” Or it could be really old HTML. Or references to President Bush in the present tense.
But whatever it is, it just makes me sad. Sometimes it’s eerie and a little creepy. What if…what if the blog you are looking at is no longer being updated because that person has died? It’s happened, you know. I have a few friends online–or had–and they disappeared. One came back after over a year, just to say she wouldn’t be back…
And another, my favorite, this sweet, young, but sophisticated and artistic Lithuanian girl named Aurora has disappeared forever. If I had a last name, or something–anything to go by, perhaps I could find her. I just want to know that she’s okay.
When you stumble upon a website that the owner is obviously deceased…it’s strange. Morbid. It’s almost like sneaking into the funeral home at night, popping open their casket before the funeral, and rummaging through their pockets. What are you going to do, leave a comment? What can you do? What are you supposed to do?
For some people–people that are afraid to die, or want to live forever or be remembered, or are just so egotistical that they want their memory to be enshrined (and, by the way, all of those statements do apply to me) forever–maybe the internet is a good thing. In virtual space, everyone lives forever. Of course, there are always the sites that are just abandoned because they are no longer hip and trendy. One of my favorites was a Buffy the Vampire Slayer site. Well, the show has been off the air for some years. How often do you think the site gets updated? 2003 was the last time.
So the Internet is an immortality, in a way. Unless the server crashes without a backup.
Well, I’ve been writing this ridiculous blog for about five years now, so maybe it’s time I started to track it right–
I started to say, “Do it properly,” but that maybe a bit much to ask at this late stage of the game. I yam what I yam.
But here’s the thing: I was on MSN spaces for all that time, and I liked it, for the most part. Lately it seemed to get bothersome, and some of the changes I didn’t like. I decided to move to wordpress, and leave the old MSN page up as an archive.
Then along comes MSN and says, yo, that’s a good idea you had, moving to wordpress. We’re going to make everyone do it. Well, it is exactly what I would have done, and they helped me do it. Last night I decided to take the plunge and migrate everything to wordpress. It was a fairly simple process. And everything came over, except my lists and things–but I had already saved those.
Even the comments on my blog came over, and as a consequence I stayed up way too late reading them, and reminiscing.
It seems that back in the day, I had a pack–a gaggle–a band of loyal readers. What happened to them all? One by one, they dropped of, dropped out, and lost interest–or realized they had lost. Detroit had explained to me that many of them were women who–perhaps much like herself–had been searching for someone. Someone to save them, take them away from their dreary, unhappy lives. They had been searching for a knight in shining armor…
Yeah, that would be me.
After she had captured my heart and reigned victorious over the intarweb’s elusive butterfly of love, the others congratulated us, said they were happy for us…and stopped coming around.
To be fair, there was a period there where I wasn’t writing on the blog as much, because I was busy being stupid in love. I know how annoying that is to see, so I can sympathize with those who saw it and said, “Ugh, no thanks.”
I know that I’m gullible, naive, innocent, and ever so slightly retarded, but I didn’t think that ALL of them were after my body and my shirt–both of which I am too sexy for, by the way. Some of them were genuinely friends, it seemed. And notwithstanding the flirting and the offers for everything from a hug and a kiss to participation in the threesome of my choosing, I did receive many compliments on my writing.
The theme running through them was that I was honest (truthfully, I don’t see it) and able to bring them into my world and my life with my words. The best example is one woman–not even a regular, but a casual reader–said that she didn’t even know me, but felt that she knew me, because of what I had written.
When I go back and look at it now, all I see is the occasional misspelled word and a propensity for horrible sentence structure. Over the past five years I’ve become a better writer (I hope), but hardly anyone reads me now.
I feel like I have Hair Band Syndrome. This is a new one, so let me explain:
Back in the 80s–the golden age of Pop music that was also the dark ages for Rock–lots of these no-talent hair bands were really popular. Loverboy, Def Leppard, White Snake, Poison, et cetera. Okay, I won’t say “no-talent.” But low. Or talented, but definitely not experienced, practiced, accomplished. Through luck and studio magic, they had some hits.
Twenty years later, after their rise and fall and individual internal crisis, they decide to learn how to play their instruments. Also, the age and experience has turned them into better performers, better musicians, better songwriters. They are better now than they ever were during their peak of fame.
And no one wants to see them. They can’t fill a bar, much less an amphitheater. A stadium? You’ve *got* to be kidding! Where did all the fans go? They grew up, and now they listen to Nirvana. Well, shit. Where did all the groupies go? You only had one, and you married her.
I’m now a better writer, technically speaking, than I ever was. I’ve also been through some serious shit, the flames of which have forged the steel that is my soul. Aged with experience and carved with cynicism, my failing eyes see the world through a bitter lens, and everything is grey and ashen to my jaded taste buds. I’ve also learned how to use a thesaurus.
Compared to the hack I was before, I’m Ernest Fucking Hemingway now. Where at go all my readers?
On one hoof, I’d like to recapture the glory and have readers again: The huddled masses, the hoi polloi, waiting desperately for my next post to give their pathetic lives meaning.
On the other hoof, we all know it’s not a good idea to encourage me too much, because it’ll just go to my head.
I feel like I am the lasts one here on MSN spaces, and I also feel like I am talking to myself most of the time. I made the decision to move my blog to a new site.
I wish I could afford to get a domain name, and keep it. In fact, I think I did do that at one time. Where oh where did it go?
But I made a blog on WordPress. It’s easier to manage, they don’t change shit on me without giving me a choice, and it’s easier to leave a comment on. Plus, I might actually get some traffic and readers there. Who knows.
I’m going to keep this one up as long as they will let me–maybe I have o visit once in a while to keep it–so that you will have access to all the hilarious antics that are the archives. In the meantime, come follow me on wordpress at:
Okay, I’m starting my blog all fresh and new here, because MSN spaces has become a pain in the ass. Not only do I not have any readers any more–and, to be fair, maybe that’s more my fault than anyone else’s because of my off-putting nature–but the structure and management of the site has become disappointing and unnecessarily difficult. I’m going to keep the old one up as long as they will let me keep it up, because I have five years of archives there, and in that are a couple of worthy gems.
Which ones? Well, that’s up to you to figure out. Think of it as a frustrating and pointless treasure hunt. Enjoy.
For those of you new to me and my blog, howdy! Prepare to be entertained, or whatever you want to call it. Amused, pissed, shocked, and disappointed, all at once. The Germans have a word for it, I think.
I write about my life. My past, when it comes to me, and current events as they happen. Not before they happen–my psychic ability is about a voyeur on the scale from celibate monk to necrophiliac bestiality.
Puzzle the meaning of that out later; pay attention. I never thought I had an interesting life until I started to write about it. And maybe I really don’t, but I do find amusing ways to talk about it. I have worked in the food-service industry for a long-ass time, and that’s where the idea and the title come from. I’ve delivered more pizza than you could shove down Rosie O’Donnell’s pie hole, and I’ve seen and experienced and done some truly bizarre things. Customers are the bane of my existence.
I get way too personal on this blog–more than I should and more than people that are close to me are comfortable with–but I have learned to use aliases, at least.
So sit back, or follow along, or fuck off, whatever you want to do. But I have a story to tell. Most of it is in the archives, but new shit always comes to life. I have lived by the Chinese proverb–a curse actually. This curse was laid upon me by a vindictive God with a twisted sense of humor:
“May you live in interesting times.”
Feel free to comment, I can take criticism. Go ahead and guess what happens if you piss me off. Go ahead. Guess.