Actually, neither of those things is true. My name is actually Taylor Catherine Lindstrom, and I am to understand that ‘widget’ actually refers technically to those applications you use on a website. However, it is easier both to refer to me and the problem I am about to describe by our simpler pseudonyms (ooh, alliterations that doesn’t LOOK like alliteration! I love it!) and so, damn it all, that is what I am about to do.
Feedburner. Why is it a mathematician?
I have discovered my Feedburner likes number sequences. The first time I looked at my subscribers, I had seven. Then I forgot Feedburner existed until some other blogger mentioned that their subscribers had hit twelve kajillion, and I checked it, and it said fourteen. Then I forgot again, and someone mentioned it again (does anyone sense a pattern here? No, besides the number pattern, don’t be a twit), and then I had twenty-eight subscribers.
My plan is to take an amnesiac pill every time I check my blog stats, rinse and repeat. I figure I’ll erase about half my memories and motor skills in the process, but my subscribers will equal the number of people with internet access the galaxy over. Worthwhile trade-off, no?
Incidentally, I’ve noticed that other bloggers like to casually mention the number of subscribers they have, like they were keeping track of their golf handicap. “I got three thousand today, not bad for a Saturday. What say we go get a martini and mock the poor sap in the golf cart?”
Blog stats. Why do they think they are an Etch-a-Sketch?
I think my blog stats no longer reflect the actual number of visits to my blog. I think that some goblin uses my blog stats for a toy and is painstakingly attempting to reconstruct the skyline of the mountain ranges on the West Coast. To which I say to him, that’s all well and good, but I happen to think the journalism terms post was damned funny, and you’re cramping my mojo by telling me that only 200 people came around to take a look at it.
Goblin: “Ooh, looks like today we’re drawing Hell’s Canyon.”
Me: “I hate you, you slob-nosed green menace to tiny child-princesses and elves.”
Twitter. Why does it always know when I’m at lunch?
I like the Twitter, I do. I don’t quite get the way that some people find me, because I personally don’t sit around just waiting for someone to say something witty so I can follow them. This is partially because I find the random most intriguing, and I know this does not necessarily bode well for the long-term. Some guy could have been reading his grocery list piece by piece, but if all I get in the Tweet that I see is “Medium-large cabbages, the purple kind” – I’m intrigued.
But I do follow some very interesting and funny people, and they all seem to have delightfully witty and intriguing conversations. When I’m asleep. Or eating macaroni and cheese. Or finally turning off all social media to get some work done, for the love of all that is sacred and righteous in the world, by which I mean ‘chocolate’. I come back. Delightful commentary is still on the screen. And now I want to play, but it happened two hours ago and now everyone is gone, and I’m all alone, reading the Tweets over and over again, the way you listened to that message your teenage boyfriend left you when you were thirteen. It was so sweet. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe. If I just stay by the phone long enough. But no. The moment you go to bed, you know what will happen, and so do I.
James and Harrison are going to debate which of them has better biceps, and I am going to miss it, and I will never be able to throw in the surprise write-in vote for Naomi, and she will be pissed. Check out the contenders here and here, ladies and gentlemen. And . . . all you others. Also up for grabs: are those their real biceps, or are they making gratuitous use of image archives? Curious minds want to know.
What are you addicted to? Stand up, we’re all friends at the Lusty Weevil. We’re here to help.
Subscribe. Otherwise you will break the numerical sequence, and my math friends will be sad.
Rogue Ink 
The answer is Harry. That’s the end of it.
Comment by Naomi Dunford — May 22, 2008 @ 4:58 am |
Oh, and I’m addicted to Statcounter. Used to be Technorati until they fucked me. Now it’s Statcounter all the way. Real time, baby. R.E.A.L.T.I.M.E. (Wow, that was really hard to type.)
Comment by Naomi Dunford — May 22, 2008 @ 4:59 am |
Hi. My name is Sunili and I am addicted to Facebook, Twitter, the “all stats” option on the dashboard, and when I’m on the bus/waiting at the doctor’s/Facebook or Twitter is blocked/lying in bed and can’t be bothered to get up after my snooze has given up, checking Fb, Twitter and Gmail on my new fandangled mobile. Which is totally giving me brain cancer and is like Meth cf just plain old crack.
*sits quickly and puts head down in shame*
Hehe I do the reading “reading the same Tweets over and over again” thing the same time. Usually at the end of my day when fortheloveof[insert prefered deity here] I am bored out of my mind, the Facebook block hasn’t turned off yet, I am expected to be sitting at my desk til 5:30 (when, ironically, the Facebook block gets turned off), and it’s like 4am for all the people I am following and the last person who stays up late (usually you) has finally crawled off to bed. Le sigh.
I ended up adding the fake Condi Twitterer etc hoping they would say somethng, but they didn’t.
Oh yeah, I am also addicted to Scrabulous, which I just discovered two weeks ago.
Comment by Sunili — May 22, 2008 @ 5:14 am |
Frick. Sorry. I didn’t realise that was that long.
Comment by Sunili — May 22, 2008 @ 5:16 am |
*sigh* Has Kelly gotten to you too? Now our little Pen Sister wants to see pictures? Where’s the faith? Where’s the trust? You’ve seen my bike, the office, the weaponry on my walls. You’ve even seen my cats. But what you, nor anyone else will see is my picture. Sorry. Got a thing about it, ain’t gonna do it.
As for what I’m addicted to…hm, let’s see what the addiction du jour is. Well, ANTM is over, the chubby chick won, which is cool, ’cause I liked her out of all of them, but now I no longer have that addiction until the next cycle starts.
I’ve been looking for the perfect iaito. After the last class Sensei said the one I had was way cool and well made, but unless I wanted to dice up my dojo brothers, it might be best to get a dull practice blade. So I did and it’s on it’s way, but I’m bummed ’cause I didn’t get to practice any of the cool moves I learned last week (all two of them).
If we’re talking solely widgets, for me it has to be subscribe to comments. Without that, I’m lost. *ahem – points to lonely submit button* You have a blog site to finish, honey.
Aside from that, it would have to be RSS buttons. I created a really cool one for Monika Mundell and can’t wait until she shows that little bugger to the world.
Comment by Harrison McLeod — May 22, 2008 @ 5:31 am |
Man, y’all were busy while I was out having a beer.
Naomi: What’s a Statcounter?
Sunili: Scrabulous had me in its clutches until I gave it up briefly, and now I’m bored with it. Scramble, baby. It’s Boggle online, in real time. Fucks your head up.
Harry: I know, I know. I suck. Also, I’m BUSY.
It amuses me on a deep level that you are an ANTM fan. Because it was what I used to watch with my Tessa when we were feeling particularly like drinking vodka and being snarky. Also, because James knits. Yes, that all made sense.
Comment by Tei — May 22, 2008 @ 5:53 am |
Harry: Oh, and also: I have no desire to see your and James’ faces. I am content with the bicep action. Carry on, you feisty men with strangely girly habits, you.
Comment by Tei — May 22, 2008 @ 5:54 am |
Tei,
re: Addictions. Nope. Nothing addicts me, and many (people and) things have tried. I have a completely non-addictive personality, which if you are Irish, is a genetic mutation. Slainte.
re: Faces. I have wondered out loud about the stock-image potential, too. Of course there’s not much I haven’t done with this gag. It began as a serious point, that readers want to connect and “seeing” you works wonders, but it’s all goofy now, and Harry thinks someone might wander the state of Nevada lookin’ for his mug if he put it up, and James thinks it’s all funny, or vice -versa. So I razz on, until one of them cracks and emails me pictures.
Then I’ll realize Harry looks like this and James looks like this, and I’ll never, ever have the heart to giggle about disembodies arms again.
BTW that’s Harry’s tricep, not his bicep. So the contest is over, Naomi wins.
If it’s Harry’s tricep, it’s pretty yummy. For that arm, dear (since I know you’ll be back)… for that arm, I could like tattoos.
But I wouldn’t ride a motorcycle for a tricep.
Regards,
Kelly
Comment by Kelly — May 22, 2008 @ 8:16 am |
Harry’s picture is gone!
Darn, the joke is ruined.
Harry looks like this.
If you wake up and you’re bored, Tei, it appears I missed closing the quotation marks on the first one. You could close them for me and get rid of this lolo comment.
Why I want the plug-in that allows you to fix your own boo-boos on every blog. I’d even let James wiggle me to WordPress to get it (on every blog)…
Comment by Kelly — May 22, 2008 @ 8:22 am |
Golf buggy enters, stage left. The licence plate is clearly visible and highly polished: “3000 SUB”. A tall, slim figure in golfing attire exits and mounts a waiting Segway scooter painted in Burberry checks, followed by Larry Page, Sergey Brin, and a bright blue parrot. The hum of three electric motors whining up to full tilt is heard. The stranger clears his throat.
Nick: What ho, folks! Spiffing weather, isn’t it? Perfect for a day of very public stat putting! Had a dastardly moment on the 7th, wouldn’t you know? Sergey here said he’d drive my Google Analytics account straight into a bunker if I didn’t put a sock in it about my monthly unique visitors, wot wot! Isn’t that right, Serge?
As for Larry. Well — he’s a card! On the 14th he shouted that he’d pitch my FeedBurner stats into electronic oblivion with three clicks of a phone if I didn’t mark him down for a Condor, buy him a bloody good Scotch and be done with the whole silly game. Naturally, I obliged. Got quite uncomfortable for a few secs, didn’t it chaps? What’s more, this daft parrot’s been squawking the whole time; twattering away to itself, it was! Something about biceps. Most odd.
Comment by Nick Cernis — May 22, 2008 @ 8:27 am |
Yeah, I’m a morning person and usually quit all this ‘puter stuff by 4:00 PM or even earlier. When I come back, I find that everybody has been twitting away all night (well, probably not, but it seems like it to me from the vantage point of the morning).
The thing about blog stats is the same thing about any kind of stat.. the numbers reflect something about reality but they aren’t reality themselves. If you are a geekish sort, you can extract more information from your logs (see http://aplawrence.com/Web/how_many_rss.html for example). I also recommend Google Analytics – most useful for a business website trying to drive visitors to that action page, but interesting stats for even a “no business here” blog.
Comment by Tony Lawrence — May 22, 2008 @ 11:39 am |
Since you asked, I’m addicted to gum, cheese, and blog reading. I’m dangerously addicted to the Rogue Pub and/or the Lusty Weevil. I say dangerously because I’m often so drunk on clever and wit I can’t get more than four hours of work done in a day. (Back off, buddy, that’s *my* bar stool! See that ass groove? Made by yours truly.)
Comment by steph — May 22, 2008 @ 1:03 pm |
I’m addicted to my own blog (Good God, what have I created?)
I’m also addicted to Family Guy and Southpark and the Simpsons.
And McDonalds.
I need help.
Comment by Friar — May 22, 2008 @ 2:07 pm |
@Friar: judging from your shows, we have the same sense of humour.
Peter Griffin: I’ve got an idea – an idea so smart that my head would explode if I even began to know what I’m talking about.
Chris Griffin: Dad, can you help me with my math homework?
Peter Griffin: Math. Math, my dear boy, is nothing more than the lesbian sister of biology.
As for the McDonald’s…McDonald’s is bad, mkay?
Comment by steph — May 22, 2008 @ 2:47 pm |
Tei,
I stumbled your journalism post because I thought it was hy-larious. The Who’s laughing now? bit slayed me. I’m still giggling. Anyhooz…I just went back and changed the tag from “journalism” to “writing” and put it at the top of my su home page. Hope it sends you more readers. Pssst…all you stumblers reading this should give it a big ol’ thumbs up, yah?
I am addicted to (1) very strong cups of tea with cream and (2) dark – but not bitter – beer. Each addiction at the appropriate time, natch. For over a decade I was hopelessly addicted to coffee and cigarettes but managed to break free. Hardest thing I’ve every done. Srsly.
Comment by Sally J. — May 22, 2008 @ 2:57 pm |
Kelly: Sesame Street ROCKS.
Nick: Twattering. Heh heh heh.
How did my golfers go from being WASPs to Brits? You just changed the premise!
Tony: Ah, but see, I am not a geeky sort. This is why my addictions are small and paltry.
Steph: Ain’t nobody got an ass groove like yours, girl. You might consider not carrying the gum and cheese in your back pockets.
Friar: McDonald’s? Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!
Sally J: Oh, thank you! If I had any idea how any of those things worked, I might be more popular. I will figure it out, I swear. Dark beer is the best addiction EVER.
Comment by Tei — May 22, 2008 @ 3:57 pm |
@Kelly: Kermit???
@Tei: My habits are not girly. I’m a well balanced individual secure in his own masculinity and not afraid of my feminine side, either. It’s easy to get hooked on ANTM, and just about every other reality show out there if they run a marathon. When a show is on and I have to tune in to it each week, I forget it’s on (hm, sorta like subscribe to comments – not a dig, just an observation). I’m also hooked on Top Chef, and was hooked on American Chopper for a while until I got tired of hearing “old school” one time too many. Until they do a custom job using a VTX 1800 engine, I’m not interested.
Comment by Harrison McLeod — May 22, 2008 @ 4:39 pm |
Harrison, oh quasi-mysterious Sagittarius-of-my-heart,
What? He’s got nice arms… he rides a bike… If it’s as close as I’m gonna get, it’s a lot closer than the nearly-jailbait James wanted me to carry as an image of you. I drooled, but I felt a bit… dirty.
Not that I’m complaining… 😉
Maybe like you and ANTM.
I love Top Chef, by the way, but Project Runway marathons are my guilty pleasure.
Tei,
Yes, Sesame is the best Street ever.
I am proud to say that Jim Henson is my all-time biggest hero and role model. I have a beautiful picture of him in my bedroom. Not huge and draped with roses and weird (like the poster of Harry’s tricep), just an inspiration as I walk around.
Until later,
Kelly
Comment by Kelly — May 22, 2008 @ 6:33 pm |
Hiii, Tei. My name is April, and I’m an Information Junkie. My addiction is pretty much self-explanatory. I’ve tried to limit my other virtual addictions (information is everywhere), though I admit I’ll Text-twist ’til my eyes burn.
Harrison, definitely not “girly” pursuits. Besides, I think my “Trick My Truck” marathons balance out your ANTM in the gender neutralizing universe.
Friar: McDonald’s good in moderation. :: ducking :: I had McFood yesterday, although the McD’s in my ‘hood has gone “bistro”, so I don’t know if my meal counts as McFood — hot pastrami sandwich and cole slaw (served on a real plate with silverware).
Comment by April — May 22, 2008 @ 9:42 pm |
Tei, I feel your pain. By the time I get around to reading and commenting, the world has moved on. Ahh, such is life…
Comment by April — May 22, 2008 @ 9:44 pm |
A bright blue golf cart burns over the crest of the hill, the casual driver negligently clipping a flag and knocking over Mrs. Spinster’s clubs while sipping from a beer. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a baseball cap stuck on backwards, one wonders why they let him in. Especially with that sign hanging from the back that reads 1,300 – BUT CLIMBING!.
He screeches to a stop next to Nick’s cart… or tries to… grabs a golf bag from the back and slides out of the seat.
“Dude. What’s up?” Squinting at the sun, he surveys the course, then takes another swig of beer. “They’re checking out porn over there,” the man nods at a gaggle of women.
Then he draws a club, and scans the horizon, calculating distance between ball and hole. “Your shot or mine?”
Comment by James Chartrand - Men with Pens — May 22, 2008 @ 10:18 pm |
James’ shoes glisten in the sticky Californian sun. A crowd gathers, hoping to catch a glimpse of one half of the duo they’ve been drooling over. Eyes rise, tracing faded jeans upwards, only to find a pixelated overlay obscuring all facial features, motion-tracked to every movement by an unseen force; a cruel reminder that anonymity extends even to web-based fiction.
Four seconds pass in silence, broken only by the the crack of ice breaking in a fine single malt — a Dalmore ’62. Nick looks up from his glass and flashes a grin.
“Porno, you say? Never been my thing. Too much chafing if you ask me, my friend.” In a single swift movement, he launches a driver from his bag, spins it two and a half turns anti-clockwise, and sends a previously unseen coin spinning into the air. “Heads or tails?”
Comment by Nick Cernis — May 22, 2008 @ 10:51 pm |
Harry: Calls ’em like I sees ’em. I have many, many manly habits, and you don’t see me pretending they aren’t so. Perhaps because it is cooler to be manly than girly. Or womanly. Or whatever. I saw a website that was something along the lines of ‘Things Men Do’ and was thinking ‘There’s no way they’d ever create an equivalent site for women. Too much controversy. How come all men have to carry a good pocketknife but we can’t say all women have to carry, I don’t know, a towel?’
Kelly: Hurrah for Jim Henson! Why they canceled The Storyteller, I’ll never know.
April: It looks like we haven’t moved on, just moved over to the Nick-and-James storytelling hour. Watch as it unfolds . . .
James and Nick: Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind being just a little more careful where you swing those putters, I believe the bystanders would be grateful. They are rather hard, after all.
Pornography? Surely you jest, sah. We never have anything of the sort about this establishment. You must be mistaking us for someone else.
Comment by Tei — May 22, 2008 @ 11:12 pm |
Nick, OMG, that is way, way funny. Maybe better than most of my jokes on the subject. Okay, better. An un-sight gag! Love it!
Tei, I think you get to keep your Albany beer to yourself, for now. It looks like I have to postpone my trip to mountainville. Bugger.
Comment by Kelly — May 22, 2008 @ 11:41 pm |
Hazel eyes narrow while a calculating mind wonders if he’s being showed up or if it’s a showdown. Fancy British over casual Canadian… Yes, it would be a close call. And he had a reputation to uphold.
Then the cocky grin flashes, and in one smooth, swift movement, the club swings like a baseball bat, knocking the sparkling silver coin in what would surely be a home run.
“Tails.” Nimble fingers twirl the club and he tips his head a touch. “But since you and I are above chasing money,” he watched the coin drop into the grass yards away, “and the skirts chase us instead of the other way around, I say…”
He swept a gentlemanly arm (the one they all wonder over) in a low bow. “After you. Since I’m going to whip your pants (or trousers, in case the Brits were wondering), the least I can do is let you tee off.”
@ Tei – I promise not to deadhead the roses.
Comment by James Chartrand - Men with Pens — May 23, 2008 @ 1:09 am |
I’m just excited that you mentioned Princess and the Gobin, one of my all time favorite books (that nobody has ever heard of).
And with you on the tweets, nobody is ever there when I am on. 😦
Comment by Alisha — May 23, 2008 @ 3:05 am |
“Ah, a true gent. A most honourable gesture, sir. Bravo.”
A series of tiny, barely perceptible adjustments take place in the space of a heartbeat. Gloves are pulled tight, stitching binding to the skin in a long-standing symbiosis of man and delicate Italian couture. Golfing spikes are gently eased past frightened blades of crew-cut grass, rooting sportsman to earth like statue to pedestal.
A swing. A delicate ‘twhack’. A ball takes flight. The drive climbs high, its velocity ferocious. 360 dimples fight rushing air for aerodynamic supremacy. The ball’s core takes over, a secret compound of metal and lab-nurtured polymers, trained to hone in on the the tiniest fragment of steel — the flag pole that marks its drop zone.
Something’s not right. The ice white globe veers sharply, plummeting towards the club car park. It finds its mark on the bonnet of a 1967 Corvette Sting Ray, kissing a deep dent perfectly in the centre in a manner that hints at the intentional; an addition that instantly corrupts the low, sweeping line of the front end.
“Good golly. I do hope that wasn’t yours?”
Comment by Nick Cernis — May 23, 2008 @ 9:18 am |
@Tei. McDonalds. Hell, YEEEEEEEAH!
(It’s a novelty here ,though. The nearest one is a 30 minute drive).
@April. YESSS! Thanks for coming to my defence. Nothing wrong with McD’s…in moderation.
@Steph Ahhh. You obviously know something about Family Guy and Southpark, m’Kay?
That makes up for the vegetarian thing (hee! hee! hee!).
Comment by Friar — May 23, 2008 @ 1:57 pm |
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