Categories
Just Shelley

When things work

This weekend I also spent time reformatting and re-installing Windows 2000 on my laptop. As I was digging out the old disks, I realized I had forgotten what I needed, it’s been so long since I did a reinstall. And the disk itself was quite old, from the last of my Developer Network subscription in early 2001.

I did remember, though, that I would have to add in several security patches from the Microsoft site after the OS was installed. Unfortunately, though, all I had was a modem connection. I had installed the accelerator software on my Mac, but not the Windows machine, and without it downloads were amazingly slow. Still, it’s just a matter of starting the load, keeping the connection going, and getting the job done.

After the install, I accessed Microsoft and the update page. The update service failed twice, as software to handle the automated update had to be installed; eventually it worked and I got a page of new software I would have to install. Close to 60M of software!

I started with the larger security service pack update, which was 25M. As I was downloading it, I noticed a message pop up. It said something about my system was using unprotected software and recommending that I click a button to update my machine. The first one I got I thought was part of the install process, and clicked okay. My machine started to get funky, and the next ones I got, I examined more closely and could see they weren’t part of the install. I had no idea where these messages were coming from, and couldn’t seem to stop them, so I closed out of each using the window control buttons.

When the machine finished the download and install of the service pack, I re-booted, but when Windows opened, first one of the laptops fans started and then the second one. Checking the processes, I could see some strange ones running uncontrollably, and I couldn’t kill or shut them down. It would seem that as I was using a very slow modem to download the software to protect my Windows 2000 installation, something had crawled in.

I was pretty peeved, as you can imagine. After spending all day downloading software, I would now have to start over again using the same slow modem and the same exposed machine. Damn Microsoft and its damn buggy software! Damn the modem, and all software, and hardware for that matter, that doesn’t work.

After fussing and fuming for about an hour, I went to bed with a really good book and just ignored all of the machines. The next morning, the first thing I did was to pull the modem card from the PC and re-install it’s wireless card. I then switched my Airport back on in my Mac, connected the accelerator-enabled modem in this machine, and turned on internet sharing for the modem connection. I also opened up a secure shell (SSH) to Burningbird, went to my raw logfile directory and did a ‘tail -f logfile’ to keep a running print out of the log file. Doing this would help keep the modem from being disconnected by the ISP.

From there it was a simple matter of re-installing the operating system, accessing the Microsoft site and installing the recommended security updates. It was still slow, but stable, with a connection that would last on the PC, even if I were to lose dial-up on the Mac. And which wouldn’t have to be reinitiated with each update reboot.

More than that, my Mac was keeping the connection protected so my vulnerable little PC would be left alone long enough to get the security updates it needed.

While this was happening, I read my excellent book some more, looking up from time to time at the smooth flow of data to my machine (it took all day to download the software), and thinking wasn’t it great when things worked.

It worked last week when I realized I had accidentally deleted an entire directory of photos and was able to download My File Recovery to help me recover them. However, before I went to download the entire OpenOffice installation for the PC today, at close to 50M, I also re-established my cable modem. Now, things that worked great are working even better.

Categories
Just Shelley Social Media Writing

Weblogging is for winners

Page archived, with comments, at Wayback Machine

Marc Canter called me a couple of months ago about a new concept he was working that would help webloggers make money. The concept became reality today, as several people started making 800.00US a month to promote a new CMS called Marqui.

When Marc and I talked, I was ambivalent about the idea and whether it would work. Ben Hammersley has been a sponsored site for some time, but it worked with Ben because he could be enthusiastic about the products of the company that was paying him bucks. Ben likes cigars, and the ambiance associated with cigar smoking, so being sponsored by a cigar company suited his site. I remember reading one of his cigar reviews and being surprised at how much I enjoyed it, precisely because he does feel enthusiastic about cigars.

But I don’t know of many people excited about Content Management Systems, or CMS. I’ve used too many commercial variations of these product to have anything even remotely resembling enthusiasm for them, myself. And if you couldn’t be enthusiastic about the product, wouldn’t the sponsorship come off like the old Geritol television show sponsorships of the past? You know the kind, where the host would stop whatever he or she was doing, plant a fake, bright smile on their face and extol the virtues of a product that would re-build tired blood?

Still, there is a great deal of discussion about the ‘purity’ of this environment and compromising the faith with our readers and that sort of thing, all of which gives me a rash. It’s as if weblogging is for winners only — people who are supremely successful and need no other help; or independently wealthy, and couldn’t use a few extra bucks. Let me tell you something: only the rich can be Saints, and the rich weren’t Saints to become that way.

Or as Alan, Head Lemur, wrote:

This is going to facilitate a dialog, between the company, me and most importantly you. They are paying us for this. They are paying me to tell them and everyone else who reads me what I think. It may not be what they want to hear. This is a risk they are taking.

I do not need the money, I have a day job.
Can I use the money? You bet!

Here are my risks.

Will I be regarded as a whore for taking money?
I already have. And if I am successful I will become a call girl.

Isn’t that ‘call boy’, Alan?

Can I use the money? Damn straight. I had a hard time making enough money to keep this site going, without having to pass the hat not once, but twice in the last few years. So which is better, and more dignified? The hooker on the corner, or the beggar across the street from her?

Still, I write tips and techniques and help folks and I like to think that when the people have contributed to keep the site going, it’s because I’ve provided something that’s been helpful a time or two. But it would be nice to be able to do this _without_ having to pass the hat.

*sob*

(Of course, what I really need to do is finish my own weblogging tool, Wordform, and then I will automatically become both wealthy and hugely popular.)

So what’s stopping me from tugging at Marc’s shirt and saying, “Hey buddy of mine, can I get back into this deal?” It’s that old Geritol thing, I can’t get it out of my mind.

Stowe Boyd covered some of this in a writing about the Marqui Effect, saying:

Note: I am not a purist who turns away from ads. On the contrary. But I think there needs to be a clear separation from content and commerce. I don’t say good things about Silkroad just because they are sponsoring my blog and the True Voice seminar series. Their ad occupies the upper right rectangle on the blog, and by all means, click through sometime and see what they have to offer. And if they don’t get enough traffic, I am sure that they will put their ad dollars elsewhere. But I am not being paid to write about Silkblogs once per week. And that distinction, although nuanced, is important.

Mitch Ratcliff responded to Boyd’s assertion, writing:

Of course Corante has incentives to increase click throughs, because most ad programs are priced based on click performance. Sorry, but the condescension here is just annoying, since the substance of the Marqui agreement seems to be identical to the ads placed on Stowe’s site, from the simple click through on the SilkRoad ad to the “free” seminar offer (Corante presumably gets some kind of compensation for promoting the conference, even if it is sponsorship placement at the event) that are clearly compensated placements or else they would not be on the page. I’ve been a publisher and editor and trade show producer, so let’s step back from the ledge (or “Get Real,” as Stowe’s blog is called) right here and now: Admit that publishers, especially early-stage publishing companies, exist on in-kind trades. If these are not “not evil,” how are they qualitatively different than what I am doing in relation to Marqui? I put a sponsorship graphic on my site and say thanks once a week, creating a kind of periodicity in the appearance of the company’s name in the blog, just as Corante creates a special section sponsored by Zero Degrees that features fresh links.

Ratcliff’s point is good, as is his earlier notes in the post about how at one time he used to make a lot more money for his writing. Hey, if a few bucks can help Ratcliff and others continue writing, where’s the bad?

Boundaries. I’m hearing people say, “boundaries”. As if Technorati and Google aren’t already placing boundaries in this game.

From the Wikipedia article on the history of commercial television:

In the earliest days of television, it was often difficult to perceive the boundary between the actual television programs and the commercials. Many of the earliest television shows were sponsored by single companies, who inserted their names and products into the shows as much as possible. One of the most famous examples of early television broadcasting was Texaco Star Theater, the variety show that made Milton Berle a household name. Texaco not only included its own brand name as part of the show, it also made certain that Texaco employees were prominently featured during the course of the show, often appearing as smiling “guardian angels” who performed good deeds in one way or another, while the Texaco musical logo would play in the background.

I know Alan, aka Head Lemur, and I have no doubts that he wouldn’t be corrupted for a mere 800.00 a month. A couple of grand now…

Seriously, unlike the television shows of yore, the amount of money at stake, and the number of people involved is going to limit how much the Marqui Effect will impact on the weblogging environment. As for me, personally, at a minimum it doesn’t impact on how much I trust the webloggers involved. If I trusted the weblogger before, I still do now. If I didn’t know the weblogger before now, I don’t have an increased sense of trust because they’re, like wow, sponsored.

In comments to this post at the Kitchen, I wrote:

I have known some people in weblogging for years. I trust them and their judgment. If they were to tell me that a product is great, I would trust what they said. Even if I found out later they’re being sponsored by the company who sold the product, I would still trust what they said. I would be surprised, but my trust would still be in place.

But, and here’s the kicker, the people who I trust and who I’ve known for years would not, I feel, do such a thing. They would either tell me they’re being sponsored or make note of this in their recommendation. So in a way, my trust is based on their past behavior, which would preclude the need for the trust anyway, because their behavior is such that they would issue a disclaimer.

After some thought, though, I realized that even if I trusted another weblogger, and there are some I have known for years now, and do trust implicitly, I would still not likely act on just that trust, alone.

If it comes to buying a product, especially something fairly expensive, I research reviews at publications and read opinions in forums and scrutinize the specs in addition to listening to those I know from weblogging. I would value the other weblogger’s opinion, highly in fact; but would also understand that they bring into their discussion all sorts of assumptions about what is a ‘good’ product that may not agree with mine. A case in point is my recent purchase of a photo printer — I had advice from several people I know and trust, but ultimately made my decision based on which printer fit my needs the best.

And if others are more easily influenced? Well, I guess they’ll have to find room for their boxed CMS software — perhaps next to the Chia pet, or up against the Ginzoo knives.

Sponsorship isn’t the Titanic event of weblogging; our ‘purity’ is not compromised because some people are selling some space and words in their weblogs. Still, those webloggers who protest that being sponsored in this way will have no effect on them whatsoever are being idealistic and even a little naive.

Becoming sponsored does impact on you. You will be made aware of it each week as you write your little thank-you note to Marqui. You will see it every time you access your site and the first thing you see is the largish “Sponsored by Marqui” graphic. Your readers will be aware of it, and it will, even subtly, alter their perceptions of you and your writing. This may not be bad — in fact, you may get increased respect for swinging such a good deal. But your relationship with your readers will be different.

Eventually, the Marqui Effect could impact how you perceive your own space. Being hired to write an article for O’Reilly or weblog posts at a Marqui weblog, still leaves you your space to do whatever you want in it: to write obscene material, and be hateful all you want; or write your most intimate thoughts, which could eventually be equated one in the same. You may find yourself hesitating, even a moment, before you put down those words.

Or maybe you’ll continue just as you are, sane or not. Who knows? Me? I’m still working through that “weblogging is for winners” thing–but I think he or she who has the cutest kitten picture, or the most lovely poem, or is the most amazingly well read and erudite, or can bake a mean loaf of bread, be the best friend, or is the biggest pain the butt (that’s the rest of you), is a winner in my book. But then, I’m a begger on the corner, so what do I know?

I guess only time will tell what impact the Marqui Effect has. Stay tuned, and we’ll return after a word from our sponsor…

update

Marc was kind enough to extend the offer to me once more, and I was tempted. And it was tough to decline, but decline I must. I didn’t know that Marqui used to be Maestro, and Maestro is an ASP (Application Service Provider) — a service that you subscribe to, to manage your content; not a product you install and own.

It’s comparable to using Blogger or TypePad to manage your weblogs, rather than WordPress or Movable Type. This isn’t bad, but it does make you dependent on the service, and that’s something I’ve been rather vocally against for some time. However, I also know service-based products can be faster and easier to use for non-techs.

Personally though, regardless of subscription service or installed product. I think most CMS (and that’s Content Management System, no matter what word games are played) are bloated, over-priced, and over-engineered. They’re the primary reason why I now only work with lightweight, modular, open, PHP-based or comparable technologies. They’re why I’ve rejected ‘frameworks’ or anything of that kind — because the clients of the software more often than not buy into systems more complicated than they need, too costly to maintain, and usually dead-ended proprietary to boot. And I helped by supporting these products.

It would be tough for me to endorse a CMS, but to endorse a centralized one? No, just cannot do it. And endorsement of the product is what this is about. Reading the contract that the webloggers have to sign with Marqui, the following spells out a direct endorsement of the product:

It is our desire that acceptance of this agreement reflects your basic confidence in the product and that it serves as an endorsement on your part of the Marqui product.

I can’t help thinking it would send confusing signals to spend three months being negative about a product that supposedly you endorse.

However, just because I am burned out on CMS and large-scale, complex, proprietary, centralized applications doesn’t mean others should be. Each of us has unique interests and challenges, and one woman’s corrosive drain cleaner is another woman’s fragrant tea.

In other words, lots of really smart and intelligent people like CMS, and have excellent reasons to do so. This, then, could be a very good deal for them, and for those of you who have gotten the golden goose for the next three months, I am glad for you.

And if I were to beg on the corner for alms to support this site again–which I don’t plan on doing but lord knows I change my mind more than my underwear– but if I were, then you’re more than entitled to a ‘neener neener’ all the way to the bank.

But since I’m not being paid, consider this my last word on Marqui.

Categories
Books Just Shelley

A little puffery

I discovered that I’m a Google Scholar. I guess this means that you’ll have to treat me with more respect; call me “Ms. Powers” or perhaps “Lady Burning” (please, not “Lady Bird”) and that sort of thing.

I don’t normally jump on all the cool gadgets that come out, but the Google Scholar looks to be very useful, and intriguing. For instance, when I did look up my name, I could click on a Library Link associated with my book, Practical RDF, and find out that it’s part of the stacks at St. Louis University and the University of Missouri. Which is rather cool if you think on it: the service and the fact that my book is at these two universities.

From there, I can access a page that could be used to request this book, or at least do a search at that particular library. Now that is pretty damn exciting, even for a jaded tech such as myself.

Let’s say I’m interested in finding out which library might have a copy of the popular book, “Birth of the Chess Queen: A History”, by Marilyn Yalom. I can search on her author name and the title, and find a reference to this book. From there I can click a link to find the local libraries that have this. Clicking on one of these, actually takes you to the web-based system to request this book. I’ve had a request in for this book at the County library for a couple of months. However, I found that the city library now has this book, and it’s checked in, so I can cancel my request at the County and place it at the City.

Good stuff. Read more about it at the Google Blog.

Categories
Just Shelley

Accepting death

The Robert Lowell poem Terminal Days at Beverly Farms focuses on the poet’s father’s death, which he dispassionately describes in the poem’s closing:

Father’s death was abrupt and unprotesting.
His vision was still twenty-twenty.
After a morning of anxious, repetitive smiling,
his last words to Mother were:
“I feel awful.”

Loren Webster rejects Lowell’s father meaningless smiles and resigned acceptance of the end, seeing himself fighting that long slow slide into night:

When death finally comes I won’t be greeting it with polite civility (my apologies to Emily). No, I’ll be raging, raging against the dying of the light, not standing around with my “cream gaberdine dinner-jacket,/ and indigo cummerbund sipping an “old-fashioned.”

The Dickinson poem Loren references is her Because I could not stop for Death, which begins with:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

Rather Loren agrees with Dylan Thomas, who wrote at the death of his own father, Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Three months ago I would have been in complete agreement with Loren, and had even re-published Thomas’ poem here in these pages. However, that was before the death of my own father in the beginning of October; a death in which he did rage against the night. For a time. But it was a hollow victory that lasted only five days, and left behind much devastation in its wake, as all battles tend to do.

I wrote about this in a post, and subsequently pulled the writing, still trying to find a way to deal with his death, and the manner of his going. However, Loren’s post reminded me how difficult Dad’s death was made because I didn’t know what to expect in the end–we never talk about death in anything other than the most poetic terms.

I had assumed that my father would quietly die in his sleep, or be there one moment, lucid and talking, and next his eyes glaze over as he took one last gentle inhale of breath. I expected to see the same dignity and strength in dying that I saw in my father in life. I expected many things, from Loren’s noble rage to Dickinson’s polite and genteel acceptance. I wasn’t expecting what happened.

I decided to re-print the entire post I wrote, including the writing which I had pulled–if for no other reason then a reminder that there is a difference between fighting for life and fighting against death.

—-

In Memoria

I had finally gone through all of Dad’s books and decided which to keep, and which to give away. I called the library, but they weren’t accepted any new book donations until April. The lady I talked to asked what kind of books they were. I said they were mainly mystery and detective novels. She suggested I call the local Veterans hospital and see if they could use them.

The hospital said they’d be grateful for the donation, and I went down to drop them off at the Jefferson Barracks Medical Clinic. The weather was fine today, and the place was very pretty with the old barracks buildings and their peeling paint. I asked the person who helped me unload the books if I could take pictures, but she I better not – the place is also the local Homeland Security office.

The hospital is right next to the National Cemetary and I stopped by it to take photos. There were several funerals underway in various places and I could, from time to time, hear the faint echo of shots being fired. It never fails to move me to see the row after row of white gravestones, especially so soon after my own father’s death. I was grateful for the camera, because through it I could view everything dispassionately. I managed fine up until I heard the single trumpet playing Taps.

The sound brought back the memories I still haven’t resolved yet, of my Dad’s death. Especially the Monday before he died, when I was the only one with him in the early morning when the morphine started wearing off.

Dad was dying of congestive heart failure, and it can feel like you’re drowning at times, which is why he was kept so heavily sedated. When he started to become aware, he began to panic when he had trouble breathing and kept patting at his chest and asked me to help him. The most I could do was ring for the nurse and ask for more sedation.

It was the morning busy time and she was late, and Dad got worse and I finally screamed out “..for someone to come help me, Damn it!”

Several people ran into the room, and one nurse went to get the shot, and a second came in to help calm Dad and me, because by this time I was crying so hard I couldn’t stop. When she left, I sat next to Dad, still crying, telling him how much I loved him.

I don’t know where he found the strength, but he pushed himself up on his left side and somehow brought his arm around me, and dragged himself over to the edge of the bed so he was almost in my arms.

I clasped him tightly, and softly told him that it was okay now, and that it was time to think about letting go; we had been advised to tell Dad this, so he could face the resolution of his death. He held me tighter and said just one word, in a voice that was like that of a child, exhausted and high-pitched with confusion and fear: “No”.

The nurse who went to get the shot opened the door and then stopped in astonishment at what she was seeing. She helped me get Dad back into the bed and gave him the shot. After she left, I told Dad that I loved him again, and he said, so faint I could hardly hear him, “love you, dear”. He then fell asleep, and from there to a coma, and never woke up again.


What price

I sat that last night alone with Dad, as his eyes slowly began to turn a odd color since the eyelids never completely closed. I watched the Travel Channel all night long, and held Dad’s hand and just listened to him breath. For four days, I had sat there and listened to my father breath.

What was the most difficult aspect of Dad’s death is that we could have made decisions to move him to a hospital and given him extraordinary care, rather than keep him in his bed at the nursing home and just provided comfort. If we did, he might have lived longer, perhaps even a few months.

Did we make the right decisions? Did we deny Dad his last chance to rage, rage against the dying of the light? I don’t know, and I never will know.

Categories
Just Shelley

Thanks for the birthday wishes

Many thanks for the birthday wishes. I didn’t have a cake tonight, but I did treat myself to two margaritas when my roommate took me out for dinner. And I’m also treating myself to a whole raft of movies, including some classic sci-fi recommended by a friend.

(Speaking of movies, we watched Shrek 2 tonight. I hope I’m not the only adult that loved Puss n’ Boots in this movie; or laughed themselves silly during the hairball incident.)

It’s odd, but I normally don’t remember dreams quite as vividly as the one I recounted earlier. I can’t help thinking it would make a nice centerpiece to a book, or at the least, a short story. If nothing else, it was better than dreaming about being naked in front of an audience, or showing up for school, not prepared for an important test.

It was a good dream, though. Everytime I think on it, I smile. There was something about the book store and the choice, whatever the choice that had such a positive feel to it. And I can agree with Dave Rogers that all the main characters in the dream could be variations on myself — but the man I’m kissing? That sounds just a little too weird, even for a dream, even for me.

Again, thanks for the wishes.