I Can Has Feedburner?
Really, I just wanted to use that title on one of my posts. I do have Feedburner, but I don’t know what in the hell it does. All I know is that their logo looks cute. When I go to the Feedburner site, everything looks like a confusing blur, and I have no idea what any of it means. I feel that as a blogger, I have a responsibility to keep up with the technical aspects of this stuff, but since I have a documented technological impairment (for which I’m considering applying for Disability), it’s almost impossible. I just go through the motions.
I ping, only because I read somewhere that you’re supposed to ping. And I like the happy sound of the word “ping.” I didn’t know what SiteMeter was until someone on the WordPress Forums said something like, “Of course, you could always check your SiteMeter stats…” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I found it, signed up for it, and I LOVE it. It’s bright and colorful, and you can watch a little red ball bounce across a map of the world as people visit your site. They have a cute logo too. If I’ve learned nothing else from blogging, it’s that cute little logos are important.
I don’t even understand feeds, for Jeebus’s sake. I checked out library books on the subject,
but my brain almost exploded, so I returned them. I think maybe I’ve successfully posted a feed link, but really, I’ve never been sure. As for subscribing to others’ blogs– I do my best. There are some I have problems with (i.e. Nick’s Bytes), so I keep up with them the old-fashioned way, and just add them to my Favorites folder.
Widgets! I have managed to get a few of those to appear– the kind that don’t link to anything, or those where the site has posted instructions for linking printed in comic book form. After two or three hours of wrestling with the “how-to’s” I’m left with a few more gray hairs, a widget in my sidebar, and a great sense of accomplishment. Oh, and a heart condition. Mostly, what I’ve learned about widgets is that it’s really fun to say “widgets.”
This is how I know I’m growing old. While my brain cells are getting creaky and dying off, technology is expanding and leaving me in the dust. I’ve asked Tom for help, but he says, “It’s all too geeky for me.” I read knowledgeable people’s blogs, and find them fascinating. Lorelle on WordPress is the Encyclopedia Britannica of blogging. Netty Gritty posts about all of these great tools and gadgets. Techno-smarties jump in and engage in conversations about all sorts of important-sounding things. But after a few minutes, my brain fogs, my eyes start to glaze over and I want to cry. I timidly enter the WordPress Forums seeking help, and every once in a while, I’ll ask a question, but only after I’ve looked to see that no other poor sap has posted the same one. There’s about a seven out of ten chance that if they did, they unleashed the wrath of the Blogging Elite, in which the technologically savvy have raked them over the coals for their stupidity. My self-esteem suffers enough, so I usually just stay here in the fringes, knowing that I’ll never get Free Rice linked to my sidebar.
Here are some things that I believe will help me with this dilemma:
- A blogging primer. First grade level, like the Dot and Jim books I learned to read with. “See Jim. See Jim run. Run Jim, run! See Dot. See Dot link to feeds. Link Dot, link!”
- A trip to India, where I can climb a mountain and gain enlightenment from a mystical guru. I’d ask, “Oh great guru, what is the meaning of Feedburner?” to which he’d probably answer something cryptic, like “Beats the hell outta me. Why don’t you get a real life?”
- A session with Uri Geller, who can mind meld with me, and somehow pour technological know-how into my Chicken McNugget-sized brain.
- A Mercedes, breast implants, liposuction, a personal masseuse, and a million dollars. This may or may not help with the blogging thing, but I feel that it’s worth a shot.
Meanwhile, I have another cover story due in a few days, so of course, I’m procrastinating and writing here instead. I’m going to hang a very appropriate “out to lunch” sign on my door, but I’ll be back soon.
The Chicken and Rice Man
Here’s a story that will warm your heart. For three years, Jorge Munoz, a school bus driver in Queens, has been feeding the homeless, preparing meals in the kitchen of his tiny apartment. He funds this operation almost entirely himself from his $600 weekly paycheck.
Every day, he rises at 4:45, and on weekdays he works from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. After work, he goes home, and along with the help of his mother and sister, begins the task of delivering food to dozens of homeless day laborers, who affectionately refer to him as “The Chicken and Rice Man.” He’s there every night at 9:30.
I love this story. Thanks to disembedded for posting it. His website contains a video about Jorge Munoz, and a link to the New York Times’ story on him.
Dear Moonbeam: Advice for the Lovelorn and the War Torn
I’ve always had a secret desire to be an advice columnist. Although my life has always been a little crazy and unconventional, I feel that I’m uniquely qualified for this job for several reasons: 1) I’m the eldest of four children, and my middle name is “Bossy.” Not like the cow, like the boss who knows a whole lot of stuff and gets a front row parking space. 2) I’ve screwed up so much in my life, and have learned a LOT in retrospect. This enables me to instantaneously dig into my mental file cabinet of mistakes, remember how I handled any given situation, and advise people to do the exact opposite. 3) I am the queen of unsolicited advice (I have a crown and everything), and therefore, I’d be a natural resource for people who actually want to hear the pearls of wisdom that pour from my mouth like a puddle of drool on my bed pillow.
I don’t really know too many people here in my new hometown, so I figured that for my first time out, I’d write a few imaginary sample letters from some of the people I’ve observed in my neighborhood.
Dear Moonbeam,
My neighbor stole my crack pipe. It’s been in my family for two generations and I want it back. How can I confront him about this without hurting his feelings?
Pipeless
Dear Pipeless,
Screw his feelings– this is a family heirloom we’re talking about here. I’d suggest reporting this matter to the police– oh wait– on second thought, for the price of a six-pack of beer, you could probably get some big burly guys from the neighborhood to beat the crap out of him and take the pipe from his bleeding, trembling hands.
By the way, Martha Stewart has instructions for making a darling little home-made crack pipe in the latest issue of “Living.” A stolen exhaust pipe, some paint, a few sequins, and voila! You’ll have a charming peace offering to give your neighbor to insure that there are no hard feelings. A peace pipe.
*****
Dear Moonbeam,
I’ve been working the same street corner for over ten years. Last week, I found out that they’re putting a new Kroger on the exact spot where I’ve been plying my trade, which is conveniently located near a back alley and a liquor store. All of the other street corners around here are already occupied by other hookers– what should I do?
Heartbroken Ho
Dear Ho,
I wouldn’t worry too much about this– after all, grocery shoppers need love too. Stand your ground, and stay on your corner, but you may want to buy a little cooler to keep your customers’ perishables from melting.
*****
Dear Moonbeam,
My homies and I were debating an etiquette question, and thought we’d consult with you. I say that when a lady friend is participating in a robbery or a drive-by shooting, a gentleman always opens her door to let her out of the car upon returning home. The other members of our gang say that the bitch shouldn’t be tagging along in the first place, and that she can open her own motherf—-n’ door. My mother taught me better than this. What do you say?
Polite Pistol Packer
Dear Mr. Packer,
Three cheers for you, mister! It’s a sad day for us all when we can’t put aside our petty differences and engage in some simple civility, the glue that holds our society together. You’re right- a gentleman always holds a door for a lady, be it a after a drive-by, a robbery, or a simple drug deal. Ten lashes with a wet noodle for those fellows you call “homies.” They should be ashamed.
*****
Got a problem? Send your letters to “Dear Moonbeam,” c/o this blog, or at the e-mail address located on the sidebar.
