Category: Weblogging

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Today’s a true fall day, with wind loosened leaves falling into mercurial pools of water on sidewalks dark from rain. And with the weather change comes an attitude of gentle philosophy, reflections on times past. I wonder why the fall triggers a need to dive into the catalogs of our mind, to bring up old memories and relive them again? Is it the leaves floating past on the breeze?

Speaking of memories past, I think that if I could embed any one of my weblog postings in amber, it would be this one, my first posting in Movable Type, April 28th, 2002. I was still in San Francisco, it was the Spring, and our virtual neighborhood was still new and fresh and fun, and we — you and I — would spend time chatting online, in email, by phone.

That was the time that Jonathon started his Dishmatique craze, leading to the Sudsy Men of Weblogging. I beat Jonathon’s rollout to MT by a couple of hours, and it seemed like there was a virtual cascade of webloggers switching to Movable Type at that time.

AKMA was in the midst of a series of debates on postmodernism and forgiveness; Bill Simoni was expecting his first baby; Mark Pilgrim was ramping up on accessibility in a pre-engaged state; Halley was still married, Shannon hadn’t started waitressing, and Huffies was still alive (scroll down to October 2nd). Mike’s wife was still in rehab, her coming home a future hope.

Of course, in the midst of my basking in the golden glow of days of weblogging past, I must remember that in April I hadn’t started reading Dorothea and Loren and Michael yet, and they’ve become part of my daily life now, so there is much to say post-April.

Still, it seems as if we all had a lot more to say six months ago. Gary Turner mentioned this week how quiet things have been lately, a sentiment echoed by my friend Chris. I have to agree. Too many weblogs I’ve visited recently haven’t updated in days, weeks, even months. Perhaps we’re going through a maturation process — posting less frequently, but with more care. Or perhaps, we’re all burning out. How much virtual bonhomie can we all handle?

Leaves floating past on the breeze. This time of year always makes me nostalgic.

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

One of the advantages of going with MT comments is that I can see comments from older postings. And I’m finding out that a posting I did quite some time back when I was still living in San Francisco, is getting spam comments.

The posting had to do with the problems I was having with Sprint and international long distance charges. The company charged me over 600.00 dollars for about three hours of conversation — over 3.00 a minute.

The end to the long distance bill saga is that after a bit of investigation into my options and legal rights, I ended up only having to pay relatively reasonable fees and not the excessive amount first charged. (Who says the Internet isn’t useful?)

However, the posting associated with the Sprint long distance problem is now getting spam comments. Take a peek and you’ll see exactly which ones I’m talking about.

Spam email is bad enough, but spam comments? Is this a case of any comments are better than none? (Answer: I don’t think so.)

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Loren Webster writes compellingly, wonderfully, about the virtues of stubbornness:

More importantly, stubbornness got me through Vietnam. Unlike most of my fellow soldiers, I had few illusions about that war, but my stubbornness and unwillingness to give in to my feelings of despair got me through my tour there. I was determined to stay alive, and if that meant never taking a drink, never smoking anything stronger than a cigarette and experiencing the whole hell that it was while stone-cold-sober because that gave me the best chance of coming out alive, that’s what I would do. Stuck in a platoon that was dramatically understaffed with sergeants and experienced soldiers, I felt it necessary to assume responsibilities that aged me long before I should have been. Sheer stubbornness got me through that war without enduring psychological problems and allowed me to deal with the hostility I met in the “liberal” groups I ran with when I returned home.

I see a stubborn streak in all of the webloggers whose writing I enjoy on a daily basis. I sometimes wonder if this strength to hold one’s ground is the reason why I do like their writing, regardless of what they write about.

I am not a stubborn person. There are a few universal truths I hold on to with fierce grip: protection of the environment, a great dislike of war in any form, a disgust of hypocrisy, the importance of treating fairly with one another, and a love and appreciation of beauty no matter its form. However, outside of these philosophical generalizations, I hold on to very little else with any great strength.

You only have to look at how many times I’ve moved to see this. From Kettle Falls to Seattle to Salt Lake City to Seattle to Yakima to Phoenix to Yakima to Ellensburg to Seattle to Portland to Vermont to Boston to San Francisco, and finally here to St. Louis. And I don’t have even the excuse of being in the military to provide reason for my restlessness.

I also let go of people, as easily as I let go of places. The slightest hint that I have no place among the people I’m with, and I walk away. It’s in my nature to let go before being let go. Yet none of us have a place within any group that isn’t of our own making. Rather than walking away so easily, perhaps I should have held on, but found a different grip.

One year ago today, Mark Pilgrim set a dangerous precedent: when told by his boss to remove his weblog or else he would lose his job, he said no, and was fired. Defying management was bad enough, but to make matters worse, since that fateful day Mark has enjoyed success after success — a better job, respect and success online, even getting engaged.

Mark, that’s not how these things are supposed to happen. When management gives you an order, you’re supposed to grovel; and if you don’t and get fired, you’re supposed to end up on the street, destitute, homeless, begging lattes on the street corner.

Next thing you know, with the example you set, all workers are going to want to be treated with dignity and respect. Sheesh!

You’re a dangerous man, Mark. And only your kitty and I and every corporate manager in America knows it.