By lex, on September 9th, 2005
One of the thing about server-based blogging solutions that I hadn’t anticipated is the way that they tend to spike the market for loosely organized impromptus at the end of the week. That’s really how the whole “Friday Musings” meme came to be, way back in the way-back-when. Gosh: Nearly two years ago now.
But anyway, when you can run your cursor across something good and send it right along from wherever it is that you happen to be, the accretion of things that are just-OK but somehow don’t quite merit the hassle of a post in their own right is vastly reduced. It’s cool, having the flexibility, but there’s a learning curve as well. Technology.
When I was a plebe (he started, and ten thousand grads nodded their heads in silent affirmation) there was this thing the “firsties” or seniors used to do by way of harassing the taller of my plebe classmates: A man who was six feet-four or more tall could just climb the space over his rack (bed, landlubbers) using his hands and feet, the ones braced to the headboard and the others braced to the clothes locker at the other end. You had to stick your butt up in the air to make it work, and I guess it was a pretty amusing sight – they called the manuever “asymptotes.”
One day, when one of my classmates was being thus entertained, the midshipman officer of the watch drew his sword and laid down on the bed below the plebe with the tip pointed up towards my classmate’s abdomen. Now, this was taking things rather too far: Not only was it dangerous, but it took the asymptote game straight out of the disciplinary gray area and all the way to the capital offence of hazing – an offence for which the senior might have easily been dismissed, in fact, had the truth been discovered, must have been dismissed. My classmate, showing what everyone (even the seniors, once they’d gotten the straight skinny) later admitted to being admirable poise, started to shake from his brace as though his arms and legs were giving out, exhausted. The senior rolled quickly off the rack and sheathed his sword. At which point, my classmate braced his feet and hands firmly on the bulkheads and walked himself down again, omitting all signs of distress, stood at attention and looked the firstie in the eye defiantly. That worthy, knowing very well what was what and how far outside of the box he had gotten, said nothing in return but beat a hasty retreat.
We had so very few victories, as plebes.
I had a point in sharing that story, it had something to do with bridging the gap between the technophiles of the generation beneath mine and the technophobia of the generation just above mine, and the allegory was really quite stunning but now it escapes me entirely. So it goes.
They say the memory is the second thing to go, but I don’t think that’s true. In fact I know it isn’t, don’t bother asking how.
Did I mention that in creating the visual effects for the current theme I needed the assistance of my 11-year old daughter? I did not? Well… “Need” is rather a strong word. I could have gotten there on my own, probably. Given enough time.
And anyone tempted at this moment to bring up notions of infinite numbers of monkeys, typewriters and time, mixing them all up to grind out the compleat works of W. Shakespeare is advised at this point to go soak his head. I’m not a total ee-jit. I have learned to go to superior sites and right click to “show source” and take feverish notes. So there.
So there’s this one instead: I used to run biathalons and triathalons in my long-past, oft-lamented youth. I never finished first, nor even in the front of the pack, but neither did I finish last nor towards the end. Instead I would finish in the lonliest place of all – the dead middle. And that’s kind of the way I feel about technology: I’m nothing like a real geek, but I love to play with the shiny toys. Through brute force and desperate determination, I finally figured out a way last weekend to shift my blitherings to this space instead of the old one. Having done so, I now lay exhausted on the side of the road, spent and panting, and unable to figure out how to oh, embed photographs or change the links at the top to actually go somewhere or almost anything else besides dribble out little bits of disconnected marginallia.
Call it: Room to grow.
Also: You have to spell check. Or, wait, no – you don’t. You can post and rest assured that one or the other of your readers lie in wait among the reeds and bushes, looking for the opportunity to pounce upon any momentary demonstration of ineptitude. Clever readers.
Oh: And it’s a great deal easier now to send trackback pings, than ever it was before. A simple cut and paste in the same window in which I edit my misspellings, after they are nearly instantly pointed out to me. This used to require a rather tedious opening and closing of multiple browser windows, cutting and pasting merrily as you go, in a six-step navigation of the haloscan trackback page. I even sent one Jeff Goldstein’s way for an article which he posted not unlike my own in spirit and intent, and which apparently he declined, even after all I’ve done for him the bastard!
Does anyone else wonder where I’m going with this?
Also sprach nobody, which does rather demonstrate the limitations of the genre. So.
I think that’s all I’ve got for you today, but with all this new found power I may have an update later in the evening, but given the quality here you’ve every right to wonder why you should ever come back, updates or no. As for posting updates of course, then again I might not. Only one way to find out!
Until then, have a great weekend!