Category: blogosphere

Blogsaster

elvisLeave a comment

(this entry copied from my blogspot blog) I don’t know why I’m writing this. I have nowhere to post it. Last night sometime – late, I’m not sure when, but late, because readers first noticed it then – our server crashed. Moronosphere.com is hosted by my friend Seth, on a machine he keeps at his […]

(this entry copied from my blogspot blog)

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I have nowhere to post it.

Last night sometime – late, I’m not sure when, but late, because readers first noticed it then – our server crashed.

Moronosphere.com is hosted by my friend Seth, on a machine he keeps at his house. This isn’t a service. I don’t pay for it. It’s something he offers me because we’re friends, because his lady Jen and I have been friends for well over a decade.

But this isn’t a commercial service. There’s no support. I’m on my own, I just get space and bandwidth free. No problem, most of the time, because I’m an old unix sysadmin type; I know how to install perl packages, I know how to hack into a mySQL database if I can’t find the password, I know how to configure a web server. In short, I can do whatever I need to keep MovableType running.

But, this being just some guy’s machine, I’m working without a net. There are no automated system backups. No striped and mirrored drives.

I know that. Sure. I do. And I make my own database backups, automated nightly. For months I’ve been meaning to figure out how to automatically transmit those to someplace off-site.

So last night, my luck ran out and the machine crashed; or more exactly, the data disk crashed, hard head-crash from Seth’s description. I used to work for Seagate building and testing disk drives, I know what this means. I’ve seen the carnage of a bad head crash.

We have no backups to speak of.

I don’t know what Seth lost. I know data was lost there. But my blog – almost all of it – is gone, wiped out. Nearly two years of work. Plus my Fiji blog from last year, and a blog I keep with stories I’m working on.

But that’s not the worst of it. The worst is that I host other people. Ray. Buck. Circe. Samsarra. A few others. I let them down by not keeping my backups, my database dumps, off-site.

Ok. All is not lost. The disk goes to a recovery place tomorrow, and in 5-7 days we hope to hear that the disk isn’t a complete loss. Fingers very much crossed there. And I may still have some of our old files stored in my home directory at work where I archived them after a previous database crash. That’s at least a year back, but it’s something.

There’s also hope that some of our work can be re-gathered from web cache servers out there; I have a few things archived on my laptop (thanks to ecto). Not every word of it is gone.

But I’m without a blog. That’s the thing that hurts right now. I write this and can’t share it. moronosphere.com is my home on the internet, and it’s a dead-end now. I can’t even tell anyone what happened. I shout at the empty space and not even an echo returns.

Seth, friend that he is, will get a basic web server up shortly, so we can at least tell the world ‘yeah we’re down’. He may decide to re-build his machine, he may not, I’m not sure; I may need to find new hosting, someplace where they can give me a unix shell access so I can do this right, someplace where I pay, but get the security of backups. What I’d really like to do is set up a co-located server of my own, but I’d need to charge people to host blogs, and it seems sorta silly

One Click Away

elvisLeave a comment

Whirlbrain, one of those lovely people I know only as another blogger, but whom I’m glad to know, hits it right on the fucking head.It’s funny, that blog depression thing, silly as it is, distills something floating in the ether for a lot of us who’ve been blogging for a while.

Whirlbrain, one of those lovely people I know only as another blogger, but whom I’m glad to know, hits it right on the fucking head.

It’s funny, that blog depression thing, silly as it is, distills something floating in the ether for a lot of us who’ve been blogging for a while. Something about the point where the blog stops being an outlet and starts being something else, a frustration, a responsibility.

We always say to each other, like some twelve-step sponsor saying no don’t take a drink, ‘don’t stop, just take a break.’ But there’s the need to make some stupid self-destructive gesture. It’s not the stopping we want, it’s the feeling of putting a bullet in its head.

But that’s the sort of pointless thing we all know is stupid even as we say it.

Still, I understand. I’ve had moments. I’ve twice taken my blog down in rage and frustration, moved it all aside, a mental ‘to be deleted’ tag on the files. One ‘rm blog/*‘ command from nuking the files, one click of the ‘delete this blog’ button. I know I won’t do it, I’ve deleted work before and always, always regretted it. But there’s that moment, like a bridge jumper thinking I could, but today I won’t.

There’s empty beauty in pointless gestures. Silent sorrow in empty boats.

Blog Depression

elvisLeave a comment

as blogging has exploded and, under the stewardship of the veterans, the form has matured more and more bloggers are finding themselves disillusioned, dissatisfied, taking long breaks, and in many cases simply closing up shop. this debilitating scourge ebbs and flows but there is hardly a blogger among us who has not felt it’s dark touch.

From The Nonist:

a nonist public service pamphlet:

there is a growing epidemic in the cyberworld. a scourge which causes more suffering with each passing day. as blogging has exploded and, under the stewardship of the veterans, the form has matured more and more bloggers are finding themselves disillusioned, dissatisfied, taking long breaks, and in many cases simply closing up shop. this debilitating scourge ebbs and flows but there is hardly a blogger among us who has not felt it’s dark touch. we’re speaking, of course, about blog depression.

You know, it’s funny because it’s true.

google goodness

elvisLeave a comment

You know, there are a number of reasons to check one’s hit logs.

,

You know, there are a number of reasons to check one’s hit logs. See if traffic’s up or down, see if hits are coming from some other web site that’s linked to me (Thanks Ang, I got mad hits from coolios); see which old entries are getting hit.

But one of the very best things is to see the weird random googlings that lead you all to me.

I get an absolute shitload, for instance, of hits on fucking ‘taco flavored kisses‘ because I once quoted that stupid south park song in an entry about taco flavored cheese (ick). I get hits and hits and hits from searches on the tasty Jessi Combs. I get hits on jazz stuff, on peanut butter fudge recipes, on the phrase “Trample Me”

And I get hits daily on the phrase “Skull Ring“.

But the funny stuff isn’t the stuff I’ve specifically blogged about. For some reason, I get hits at least weekly on the phrase “Daddy fucks me” or some variant; “daddy fuck me hard“, “fuck me so hard it hurts“. “fuck me kitten” showed up today. And every time I see one of these in my logs, I get this stupid grin on my face.

I really should capture these on an ongoing basis somewhere, build a page out of them automatically. It’d make an excellent geek project.

Edit: I just got another one, for, get this, girls sticking live fish up there (sic) pussies.

And I wanna ask, who are you, who’s googling that?

[made with ecto]

Blogosphere Dropout

elvisLeave a comment

I really haven’t even thought about any entries of note in a week, I have not read anyone else’s blog in a week…. Even though I’ve been working like a dog all week, I still feel like I’ve been on vacation from everything.

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God, I feel like I’ve totally dropped out of the blogosphere. I really haven’t even thought about any entries of note in a
week, I have not read anyone else’s blog in a week. I’ve barely been on line, haven’t IM’d, have not answered email.

Even though I’ve been working like a dog all week, I still feel like I’ve been on vacation from everything. But now I feel oddly out of touch with the online world and have a lotta catch-up reading to do.

My bachelor week is about done. And while I didn’t go anywhere, still, I feel like I’ve had a vacation. My watch is in the shop for repair, and literally, it’s been a week since I knew what time it was; it’s been a week since I cared what time it was.

So what have I done? I’m trying to think. Not much, and yet I feel like I’ve been busy. Busy not doing anything important at all. I’ve been to a few dinners, watched a few movies, finished a couple books, written quite a bit. I’ve had too much to drink almost every night. I’ve talked to friends on the phone, I’ve hung out with topless, sunbathing lesbians, I’ve seen a movie, watched some TV, and just hung out a lot. I’ve been to a couple strip clubs, gone drinking with a group of guys I just met, watched porn movies. I’ve sat in the sun and done nothing. I’ve gone swimming at midnight and slept until 10am. I’ve gone for motorcycle rides and cooked for myself. Re-wired a friend’s AV system.

I have not read any Harry Potter. Waiting for the family to get home for that one. But I have read up on Harry Potter spoilers. I’m like that.

Apart from some writing and work, I’ve avoided my computer. As I said, little IM, no blogging or reading blogs. I’m behind on mashups over at MashupTown, I’m behind on everyone’s blogs; I don’t think I’ve left a blog comment in a week.

It’s been an interesting week. I have never truly lived alone. I haven’t been this alone in years; last time I was this alone, I crashed my motorcycle and spent most of the week barely able to walk with a back sprain. This is considerably better.

Yet it’s weird to get up in the morning and not see my kids; it’s weird to not read them stories before bed. It’s weird to not have anyone to cook for; it’s weird not to have the daily, constant chaos that comes from living with a family. That chaos is both the bane and the beauty of being a father, so it’s loss is both good and bad. It’s lovely to not have to run my dishwasher daily, to not have two loads of wash every day, to know any mess I have to clean, I made. But it’s a little empty to come home from work and not have anyone say Hi Daddy.

I miss ’em. Yet, this is good; it’s been therapeutic for me in many ways. Time to think, to relax, to not have to think about anyone’s needs but mine. I think we all need more of this; fathers, mothers, husbands, wives. Our kids, if they’re lucky, sometimes go to summer camp, and some of us get to go away to college. Grownups need summer camp now and then, I think. Particularly a summer camp with strippers and sunbathing, topless lesbians.

I must say though, I’m still tempted to go get my nipples pierced before everyone comes home. I’ve been thinking about it for a week, and I just might go do it, tonight, tomorrow. I would have gotten a tattoo, were not finances a little short this month, but some part of me wants to do something that leaves a mark. Other than walking into a door.

[made with ecto]

Can’t get my blog on

elvis11 Comments

I have all sorts of shit I want to blog about. A movie I watched saturday (awful!), doing kid-stuff with my kids (simple pleasures), cooking, a book I just finished (very good).

I have all sorts of shit I want to blog about. A movie I watched saturday (awful!), doing kid-stuff with my kids (simple pleasures), cooking, a book I just finished (very good). Another movie I watched last night (funny, and deeply odd).

But I just — can’t. I’m feeling too low, too frustrated, too spent. I just can’t find the words.

I was trying to comment on a friend’s blog last night, and I couldn’t even find the words for that, just stared at the gray background with my fingers on the keys and had — nothing.

I’m again struggling with the urge to take it all down, or archive it all and start over.

Gimme your body, Gimme your mind

elvis14 Comments

I had one of those weekends where I think about killing off my blog, because I am in a place where rage and pain and frustration mount, and I can’t seem to use the one therapy available to me — writing. This is where a private journal is better; yet I seem unable to write without an audience.

Technorati Tags:

Gimme your body
Gimme your mind
Open your heart
Pull down the blind

Gimme your love gimme it all
Gimme in the kitchen gimme in the hall

Art for arts sake
Money for Gods sake
Art for Arts sake
Money for Gods sake

I had one of those weekends where I think about killing off my blog, because I am in a place where rage and pain and frustration mount, and I can’t seem to use the one therapy available to me — writing.

This is where a private journal is better; yet I seem unable to write without an audience. As much as I belive in art for art’s sake I can’t seem to practice it, I need to send my words off to someone to have them worth saying.

Blogging is a double-edged sword. We send our words into the vast semi-permenant public record that is the internet, but eventually, we all must deal with the fact that from the click of the ‘publish’ button, our thoughts and deeds are public, and can, possibly, be tracked back. Even anonymous bloggers know this; look at Waiter Rant, who had to take his ‘tip jar’ down because it might compromise his anonymity.

Those of us who blog under a known name, real or trackable back to us, invariably confront the fact that people we know may read us. Family, friends, work, parents.

My mother reads this space. Eventually, my daughter will find it, as soon as she gets bored googling up obscure playmobile toys and decides to google daddy.

The audience constrains us. Things I might say, behind a curtain of anonymity with no names or dates, now, ever and always, I must think about. Who might this hurt? Is this someone’s secret? Am I free to speak? And this becomes a spiral, tighter and tighter, til sometimes I cannot move my fingers, trapped in some fugue state, paralyzed by thought and unable to create.

Days like this, I think, shut it down, it’s past it’s expiration date.

Fortunately, when I think this, I don’t reach for the delete key. At best I think ‘take it down’ and move the published files aside. The database that contains all this work, and that of other bloggers, is safe, and backed up. So if I again succumb to the desire to make it go away, the few ounces of treasure in all this won’t cease to be.

But I stare at ecto‘s compose window, more and more as time goes by, with empty, impotent frustration, my words filtered down to nothing. I post links and pictures and funny quips, meaningless film reviews, because I feel I must say something.

Mute frustration rules my life in many ways. Words I cannot speak. My words become the match that ignites a tinderbox of trouble. Yet words are the life-blood of me, my interface to the world, my only effective tool to understand the universe. I think in language. I often think in dialog.

I am trapped in my own head, unable to break free, the tools that helped now, I fear, hurt. There is so much I want to say, and so little I can.

…what was I talking about?

elvis5 Comments

I’ve hit one of those damned creativity lulls where I it down to write several times during the day and stare at the blank, mocking screen. I’m not sure why — possibly it’s that I actually have the germ of an idea for a story, which I’m a paragraph into but haven’t had TIME to work on. But maybe that’s where all the energy is going.

I’ve hit one of those damned creativity lulls where I sit down to blog several times during the day and stare at the blank, mocking screen.

I’m not sure why — possibly it’s that I actually have the germ of an idea for a story, which I’m a paragraph into but haven’t had TIME to work on. But maybe that’s where all the energy is going. We’ll see. But in any case I have a feeling I might not be updating here quite as much for the next week or so.

That’s either a good thing or a bad thing. you tell me.