#ROW80 POST 15 – LET THAT BE YOUR LAST BATTLEFIELD

Apologies to “Star Trek,” the Original series for stealing a season three title. This was a Very Special Episode of Space Racism is Bad and falls under the heading of it’s so bad, it’s good. Thanks to the A.V. Club for reminding me how much I thought it was so important when I was 12.

Okay, during tonight's debate, I had one of my apoplexies brought on by laughter. We were reading the Twitter feed hashtag #fakedebate, mostly for @chuckwendig, Check out his website, terribleminds. Chuck is a terrific writer and funny as hell. I can spend hours and hours wandering around there. I've learned lots, but mostly just laughed. You can kind of tell I haven't really applied too much of his wonderful advice. Maybe NaNo will change that. 

Anyway, yes, "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield." A few things happened. First, from the Rhomboid, we got the something something something garble about some kind of von Clausewitzian philosophy about diplomacy by any means blabberian thing from Romney alá bayonets and horses and marches to the sea via Georgia or Iran or Syria or Mars.

Romney: "We used to have reed vessels, but we have less of them now, less of them at any time, since 1349. We have fewer planes now, than at any time since 1947.” Or maybe it was the Civil War. Yeah, the Civil War Airplane Collection, now at the Smithsonian. I can dig that.

Me, thinking “I know that’s correct, because that’s when the Army-Air Force dropped the Army-hyphen.”  I know that we also have 

Romney: “Bargle Army, blabber less than during the Punic Wars blah blah. Siege engines, Greek fire… Roman galleys! Triremes!”

I’m thinking… Frankly, I'd tuned out...  When Mr. Obama started to talk, I perked up. The President unloaded with this, and I'm giving you MY patented confuse-a-what impression:

President Obama: " ‘We also have fewer horses and bayonets’. We have these floaty things with big platforms on top. Planes land on them. We also have these ships… (pauses for effect, in his patented way) they go underwater.”

The President gestured with his hands, mimicking something going underwater, much like, oh, I don’t know… a submarine?

I almost fell out of my chair. Then, Twitter exploded. It always does; with this:

What passed for political discourse on Twitter during the debate. Oh, look! There's @YumaBev She just had DBS!

Fuckwhistle? So, of course, I laughed even harder. I'm going to use "fuckwhistle" every chance I get. Fuckwhistle, fuckwhistle fuckwhistle. Okay, enough. I don't want to upset my Dads and Moms. My “PD or not-PD” has been very bad of late. It didn’t help that at the first of the month, all of my hopes were shattered by the specialists I was depending on to help me manage my symptoms. So, I can laugh myself into apoplexy pretty easily; it’s just that much more exciting! And it was fucking hysteria. I’m sorry, that shit right there was a riot. (All of it moves too fast for me to reply, but I sure can laugh.)

So, we moved on. JC and his commentary weren’t helping. Romney continued to dig himself into a giant hole. I think he was aiming for  the other side of the planet. By the time we got to I WAS BORN IN DETROIT, MEXICO, JC had about worn himself out guffawing. I looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and on we went with gabbagool and propaganda. I never know what in the hell I’m hearing anyway. Everything’s at high alert because of my blindness, coupled with my DEFCON5 brain and hooting ears, so I try to pretend that everything’s normal. When I think no one’s looking, I run back and fact-check everything. So, I didn’t realize that we had a huge boner here, until just NOW. Oops.

I do not understand his focus on Russia. Oh wait, yes I do. He, under the auspices of Bain Capital, either helped or encouraged Investment Cartels to underwrite and fund loans to Russia and then sell the paper before the true worth could be realized. I don’t understand it completely; I’m not an economist. I took 2 years of Russian in college, and because I studied it during the USSR and was considered a closed economy, I took a  course in Russian economics; one of my electives.

What Bain Capital did was during a time of great peril for a fledgling democracy, and damn, if a fucking bunch of Capitalists didn’t screw it up. The Commies may have been right. I found a bit of insight into why Russia has the President it does now, when I read a couple of articles. The one was about 2 Russian billionaires, one with ties to Putin. The other is by David Stockman, called “David Stockman v. Bain Capital.” Lots of dots are connected for me, just with those 2 articles and what little rudimentary knowledge I bring to it from university.

Lots of dots are connected for me, just with those 2 articles. Then, after Mittens said what he said? Kept jabbering like a cold warrior about Russia... He’s dangerous. I mean, really dangerous. I also, am no fan of the Israeli PM. Bibi was never moderate. He hates the Arab world with an Old Testament kind of Zionist hatred. He is scary, and I’m not too sure the Knesset is wild about him, either.

Bob Schieffer jumps in… and asks Mitt: “If your good friend Bibi called and said he sent fighters to bomb Iran, what would you do?” I love how Bob Schieffer does this kind of thing; and does it well. He’s an excellent moderator and he’s no dummy.

Mitt proceeds to jabber and wander and hypothesize and say, “I’m not going there” in 50 Shades of Nothing. Then after Mittens meandered around, I blipped out and did the 1,000 yard stare and thought… “This asshole is dangerous. I mean, really really, dangerous. I also am no fan of the Israeli PM. Bibi was never moderate.” What I said to JC was, “Pink socks!” So, moving along out of Boreville. We get back to DETROIT, MEXICO.

Apparently, DETROIT, MEXICO is an INDUSTRY. It is going to be LIQUIDATED. Gosh, I didn’t realize you could annihilate an entire INDUSTRY! But oh wait! Mitt never said that! No, never, never never never never never! Never, so there. But he didn’t like it when President Junior Bush wrote a check and he told him not to. Shame. Shame. Shame. Shame. President Junior Bush wrote the fucking check, anyway. Garble garble, blah-di-blah. zzzzzzzz.

No, President Junior Bush. This isn't a check for the Detroit, Industry, which I am totally, totally, totally, totally against. This is a baby.

President Obama jumps in and says something that makes sense. They actually say some stuff about how this was all great and wonderful and the debates are all over and la-di-da-de-da-di-da. Jesus, I’m glad they’re over. I already voted, but the Mittster is horrid. Now, we have the election. Twitter will explode again. That’s the bright spot here, folksve the election. Twitter will explode again. That’s the bright spot here, folks!

ROW 80 DAY 15 FORM DOESN'T ALWAYS FUNCTION

After the rigors of the last several days, it seems as if I've been all too serious, or at least that is the overall, vague impression I have if I reminisce for a few seconds, deep thinker that I am. So, I figure it's high time for some good old fashioned slap-stick, with my patented confusion as usual imprimatur stamped on this here post. This is going to be one patched together mess of a post. Be warned. I seem to be doing that more often lately. Warning, I mean. I hope I am not developing sloppy habits. Yeah, snort. As if I ever had any other sorts of habits.

Anyway, I've been gradually developing some kind of reader base. Of what, and how many I am not certain, but enough folks on Twitter and my dear Facebook family are reading this blog and responding, sort of. So, I owe it to you, my dear readers to "change it up" once in a while. Balls. I am using you all as my guinea pigs; I am not earning a farthing and I bounce my half-baked ideas off your patient craniums. We have an "understanding," you and I. I blather endlessly and you all play clams. So, now that we all know where we stand, let's move ahead.

One of the things that I have discovered in my new life as a blogger, is that you have to have readers. Wow, what a shock! No, you have to track your readership and you have to try and figure out what they want to read and tailor your writing to them or tailor your readers to your writing or some shit. I don't know. It sounds like running for president to me. If you have to tailor your writing to your readership, everybody gets short shrift. The readers know you're a phony and you aren't going to be happy writing horse dukey.

So, to help us achieve this ephemeral goal of keeping track of our readers, we have an ever-changing batch of tools and by "ever-changing" I mean just that. I see ads for Hoot Suite, Google Metrics, Blogger, WordPress and I know I'm probably wrong about most of this stuff. There's RSS something or other, Reddit, which has a Spaceman. Today, I got the email about Triberr going Atomic. Triberr is an application where you connect with, or recruit, bloggers who share your interests and blog like you do, or something. At first, I kind of thought, "well, isn't this like Coke recruiting Pepsi?" but then; you know how you think you've seen and done it all and you're jaded to the world? Well, this experience has shown me that the complete opposite holds true. So I took a flyer. I went to sign up for Triberr. Maybe I could get in a Tribe or something, with bloggers who are kind of like me (yeah, that's happening.)

Anyway, I register and look around this website. Oh goody. I'm in a tribe and I have 100 bones! A tribe of one! What's a bone? Yup. This is the way to get myself out there and join up with others of my kind. So, because I never read anything instructional anyway, (seriously, I never opened a computer textbook) I proceed to poke around on the interface. I wind up at "Bonfires" which looks suspiciously like the old "Lonely Hearts" section in the printed Want Ads of the newspaper, with snappy messages and coy photographs attached. After I blundered around in here for a while and decided that, no, I did not want Techno-Geeky 12 year olds bloggy-blogging their way to fame and fortune with me riding uneasily on their shoulders while I wore a Princess Leia harem outfit. I hope and pray that this is only in the fevered imaginations of their cyber-minds. After what seemed like 40 pages of this, I decided I wasn't going to find "my peoples" going about it this way, so I backed out of Bonfire of the Inanities and went back to the home page. I studied the Tribe menu for a minute and chose some categories:

  

Oh my. I think I broke an algorithm.

After that little eye-opener, I decided to find my kind of writers the old-fashioned way. I'd backtrack to them. I rooted around until I found these guys: TheAnonBloggers. They're pretty anarchic and fun. They don't seem to take anything too seriously and they write a variety of stuff. Okay, that part of it fits, so I can hang with them for the fun parts. 

ROW80 DAY10 HAPPINESS PROJECT

ROW80 DAY10 HAPPINESS PROJECT

MY RULES PLUS ADDENDA

Okay, first off. Let me answer the smart ass, er, the alert reader who noticed that my ROW80 went from Day 7 to Day 9. Well, Mr. Alert Reader, did you happen to notice that there were two Day 5s? Hmm? Smarty Pants? Hmmm? Besides, I jumped into this challenge 2 or 3 days after it started and no one has given a hoot, so there! Nyah nyah. I think this falls under the Commandment THOU SHALT NOT BE PERFECT. 


Following along those lines, I've had a chance to kind of kick these commandments around, or as I'm calling them now, "rules." Here's my list, loosely based on Ms. Andi-Roo's Do's and Don'ts:


1. Being happy is a decision.
2. Do something, anything; engage yourself in the world.
3. 90% of success is showing up.
4. Find the flaw and fix it.
5. Persist; keep starting. If you stop, start again.
6. Always be yourself, even if it hurts.
7. Don't put it off; don't talk about it. DO it.
8. Be kind and gentle to yourself. Chances are, you have the worst hurts of anyone you know.
9. Do the work and embrace it; joyfully, joyfully.
10. Sing; don't worry if it sucks.
12. Perfection is the enemy of art and bliss, progress and productivity.
13. Tomorrow is another day -- yes Scarlett, this too shall pass.
14. Everything will be okay.
15. (the old 17.) Catastrophe now makes a great story later.
16. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.
19. Smile.
20. Take care of you.


21. You're never too ________________* to __________________**
22. When you work, do it with complete passion and involvement. 


The man in the gray flannel suit lived a gray flannel life. I live a vivid life of color and wondrous sounds. It is a beautiful life. Sometimes, it is all in my own head, but that's fine. I've made it like that. My temporal life would seem dreary and sad to some. It's not. I have had a brilliant life and I continue to. I'm just in another phase.


I can hear my mother now, "Mary, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times, life is just one Goddamned thing after another." She's right. For years I was just tearing around the country and the world, playing viola and doing IT support, and now after a rather prolonged and uncomfortable metamorphosis of sorts, it has become a rich, online life. Yay me!


Some people don't even get the one life. I am grateful and happy. I also realize what a truly wondrous gift I have received. I hate sap, just like I hate organ recitals (had that gall bladder out in '02, then the 'ol uterus dried up in '05, ick) but I have been blessed with some of the most creative, entertaining, snarky, hilarious and truly sarcastic friends in the online universe. And yes, you are all here for the sole purpose of entertaining ME!


Phew, got out of that Hallmark moment alive. Anyway, I really became fascinated with the shift in dynamics of friendship several months back when I was visiting with a real, live human being from my playing days here in Tampa. She had dropped by to bring me my beloved viola, Wolf. Wolf couldn't come to the homeless shelter with me. They don't approve of mixed marriages there. Just kidding. He's valuable and insured, but if something happened to Wolf in those circumstances, it's doubtful the insurance would pay for viola and bow. Anyway, my friend brought me my viola after I moved and I was telling her about how few flesh-and-blood people I still associate with on a regular basis. It's a total of 5 people, and not all of them on a daily basis. 


There are roughly 250 people that I talk with between Twitter, Runescape and Facebook. Twitter and Runescape pretty much incessantly and Facebook several times a day. So you can see the shift. I've read the reports on how this isn't psychologically healthy, blah-blah. However, my vision pretty much keeps me house bound. I go out and like to, but it can be a chore and I am no longer as comfortable being out as I once was. I've met people all over the world online and my friends are a strange amalgam of high school friends, friends from my "virtual office" of 5 years ago, Runescape friends, blog and writer friends. All wonderful. 


Well, once again, I ended up somewhere other than where I wanted to end up when I first started out. Great.


Numbers 21 and 22 on my list I separated from the other 20, as I didn't really see them on Andi-Roo's list. I may have just missed them, or slept through them. Who knows. Well, in the interest of not being perfect, lemme give it a whirl: 


21. You're never too _____* to ______**          Pretty generic crap. 


You're never too old* to limbo**. 


You're never too Glam* to Putt-Putt Golf**.   You get the idea.


For me, it's you're never too OLD* to ACT LIKE A 12-YEAR OLD ON TWITTER, FB AND IN RUNESCAPE**.

 Okay, so maybe we're 3 here

22. When you work, do it with complete passion and involvement. I mean, EVERYTHING. 


I pretty much have been this way all my life and I try to live my life with conviction. I don't always come up to scratch. I have my meh days and who-gives-a-shit days like everybody. My ma lived life full throttle. She died at the age of 70, what would be considered young in my family. She was pretty sick for the last 12 years or so of her life, but that did not stop her. She died on the run. She lived her life passionately, up until the very end, dragging around her little portable oxygen tank, giving the "seniors" hell and feeding her fat dog more Sonic Burgers. She regularly beat the pants off the old crabs at the "Senior Center" playing Cribbage. They were in their '60s. She was cantakerous. I plan to be that way, too. From my plastic chair, possibly in front of my computer screen, hee. 


After I had to give up driving and playing and IT'ing, I was at a loss for a while. I kind of lost my bearings for quite a while. I've found them again. I've found that I can have a hell of a good time right here. Just writing and observing and "interacting" with my friends on various "social" websites. Maybe it's all illusion and I'm grasping at some kind of global chimera that doesn't exist. I don't think so. I was utterly taken with the show "Touch" about the autistic boy Jake who is able to connect globally with others. It's pretty much hooey I think, but the ideas are gentle, mystical and whimsical enough for even an old battle-axe like me to play, what if? what if, indeed.