the thoughts and experiences of Heather Meadows
I always love it when people write mock news. (I wrote a fake job posting a week or so ago, but I guess nobody thought it was funny.) Today finds the Cynical Traveller combining the delight of satirical news with one of the highest forms of humor: self-deprecation.
Love it.
(Don’t miss the hilarious picture captions! The vending machine is my favorite.)
Here’s an awesome story about a woman whose life was saved because she happened to have a popular webcam set up in her horse stables.
People from Germany, the United Kingdom, France — all over the world had phoned the Charlotte Rescue Squad. When the emergency services arrived 45 minutes later, they were very confused about why they had received calls from all over the world about me.
I don’t know what would have happened if it wasn’t for the Web cam. I damaged my knee and my leg very badly. My temperature had dropped and I was in body shock by the time help arrived.
When I read the story, I have to admit that I wondered if she would have been in danger if she’d checked the webcam herself before going out to the stable…
Jakob Nielsen has written a piece entitled “Weblog Usability: The Top Ten Design Mistakes” (via BoingBoing). (If this was Japan, he could sue me for using his headline!) In the article, Nielsen discusses (amazingly enough) ten mistakes bloggers make. Not just any bloggers, mind you, but bloggers who are trying to be professional or who want a large audience.
His suggestions are good, and I thought I’d take a little time and use them to evaluate my own journal. Here goes:
1. No Author Biographies
I have a biography…sort of…okay, not really. There’s information hidden away here, and then there’s my Blogger profile, but my best biography is here. It’s buried in the archives because the Blogger profile couldn’t hold all that text. I’m unhappy with it for other reasons; it should be easier to read, with headings and maybe even (gasp) bullet points. Maybe someday I’ll tidy it up and link to it from the main page.
2. No Author Photo
HA! I’ve got that one covered…
…except I don’t have it covered directly. You have to go to smugmug to see pictures of me…and there’s no indication on the blog that there are pictures of me on the photo site.
Two strikes…
3. Nondescript Posting Titles
Oh, lord. Guilty, guilty, guilty. How many times, for example, have I entitled a post “Blah”?
Sometimes I do write descriptive titles…and sometimes, as with my previous post, I write titles that match in a story sense. (Should I use a descriptor, a la Magazine Man’s “random anecdote”?)
4. Links Don’t Say Where They Go
Okay, this is one of my own pet peeves…both because of the reasons Nielsen mentions, and also because links, especially news articles, expire. I was bad about not describing things adequately in the past, but I’m working on not doing that anymore.
5. Classic Hits are Buried
Oops. Yeah, I should have a section in the sidebar or somewhere (a la Magazine Man’s “The Ones Everyone Asks About”) highlighting some good posts.
6. The Calendar is the Only Navigation
Ha, I don’t even have a calendar.
But yeah, the point isn’t lost on me. I don’t have categories because I use Blogger, so people can only find posts through the chronological listing or through a search. (I use the search a lot.)
7. Irregular Publishing Frequency
I think I’m okay on this one…I typically post every day, and often several times a day. Lately is an exception. I’ve been a little out of it since the fire. I don’t have a standard place to write anymore. Back at the apartment, I left my computer on 24/7, so any time I was home I could walk in there and do any of my myriad Internet hobbies. Not so now. Even if I leave the laptop running (or in standby), it won’t necessarily be in the same place. I can’t, for example, use the ottoman like I’m doing now when the others are home, because the living room is typically Reid’s relaxing area, and the TV is usually on, which makes it difficult to concentrate. And I can’t use the patio furniture if it’s too cold out (it’s kinda chilly today) or if it’s raining. There’s always the bed, but I find that horribly uncomfortable, so…
At any rate, I think I post reliably enough under the circumstances. I think a greater issue would be whether or not I post anything worth reading.
8. Mixing Topics
I used to strongly believe that I should be able to post whatever I wanted here, regardless of content, regardless of whether or not it would be remotely interesting to anyone but me. I didn’t want to have separate blogs for separate purposes. I wanted to keep all of my stuff right here on pixelscribbles.com.
I’m starting to understand that that’s impossible–I will write things elsewhere, there’s just no getting around it–and that it’s not user friendly. Without categories, visitors here have no choice but to wade through my whines and my rants to get to the occasional interesting piece about Japan or life (or whatever).
I’m still mixing topics, but at least I know that it can be a bad idea.
9. Forgetting That You Write for Your Future Boss
…yeeeeeaaaaah. I’m more careful about this than I used to be. I used to say a lot more than I should have about work. And those posts are still there…
I’m an archivist, so I’m leaving all my posts up. I have mellowed in my old age, though, so if someone wants me to, say, remove their name from all posts that mention them, then I can do that. (Although if a lot of people want that done, maybe I will just come up with pseudonyms for people I write about. And I have to remind them that even if I change it now, if the post’s been up for years, there’s probably an archive of it with the original name stored somewhere.)
In any event, yes. I used to call watching what I said “self-censorship”, but now that I have half a brain I call it “not being an idiot”.
10. Having a Domain Name Owned by a Weblog Service
Yay, having my own domain pays off once again!
So, there you have it. I’ve got plenty of stuff to work on, but I think I’m at least thinking about moving in the right direction.
Do those of you readers with blogs pass Nielsen’s tests? Do you agree with his assessments?
Oh hell, none of you are going to answer this unless I tag you. So I tag Mari, Derik, Goei, Em, Miklos, and (what the hell) Magazine Man. Answer on your own blog, or here in the comments :)
Edit 10/19 10:41pm: I would like to retroactively tag Brooke. :D
It’s finally cool enough outside that we can leave the windows open and run the fans instead of the air conditioning. I haven’t seen much in the way of brilliant fall foliage, but hopefully that will change soon.
Life has pretty much settled down here at the Meadows homestead. I’m not freaking out about wanting my own place anymore. I do miss my kitchen and my room and my things, but lately, rather than wanting to go out and get a place right away and fill it up with replacement stuff, I’ve been feeling worried about owning anything new. Worried that something would happen and I would lose all of it, too. It’s made me feel like I don’t want to buy anything expensive or special, or accept any nice things from others. It’s a disconcerting feeling, I expect brought on both by our tragedy and by all the tragedies in the news these days. Part of me feels that heirlooms and valuable items would be safer with someone else. Part of me wonders if anyplace is truly safe.
I did buy myself a set of dry measuring cups today, though. When I saw them in the store initially, I thought they were the same as the ones I used to have, only translucent…but as I wrote the first sentence in this paragraph, I realized where I remembered them from. They’re the same as the ones my mom owns.
I’ll probably buy myself another set, eventually. Back in the apartment, I had three sets: my mom’s old original yellow ones (minus the 2/3 cup measure, which I believe is still in her tub of flour); a blue set I bought at Wal-Mart while I was living in Huntsville; and the nice set I was hoping to replace, beige with little colored dots with the measure stamped on them. I’m not sure where I bought those last ones. I have a habit of shopping at every single grocery store–which one depends on my mood and where I happen to be in town–so I’m not sure I’ll be able to find them again. It would be nice, though.
If you’re wondering what I need dry measuring cups for when I’m living in someone else’s house, someone who cooks and has a kitchen full of cookware, the reason is this: Cheryl doesn’t have any. She uses liquid measuring cups for everything. I think this is cute, because I always use dry measuring cups for everything. It’s like we’re inverse.
Yesterday I got up at around 10, which was early in my book, and I started doing chores. I cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed and dusted. It doesn’t sound like a whole lot now that I’m listing it, but when I was done I felt tired and somewhat lightheaded and nauseated. (I’m wondering if my new thyroid medicine has these side effects.) I decided to make pancakes for everyone, so I tidied up the kitchen and mixed up some batter.
Reid appeared then; he’d been at work since 6. I’d assumed they were both still in bed (that was, of course, where Sean was), so I’d been careful and quiet while I messed around the house, but it turned out neither of them had even been there. Reid didn’t want any pancakes.
I was cooking them for myself when Cheryl got home, burning them horribly in her cast iron skillet. Smoke filled the house. “What happened?” Cheryl asked. She has this tone of voice that combines incredulity and humor, so you know she’s not mad, but you still don’t want to hear it because it means you’ve messed up.
“Just trying to cook,” I said, self-deprecatingly.
“You need oil in that pan,” Cheryl said. I put the second burned pancake on my plate, put some oil in the pan, and started to clean it. I had decided I was pretty much done.
Cheryl pulled out a steel pan and started oiling it for me. Then she stopped. “Steve made ham and black-eyed peas,” she informed me. “Do you want? Or do you want pancakes?”
I was feeling a little overwhelmed at this point. I’d filled the house with smoke and made some crappy-ass pancakes…I didn’t feel like cooking anymore, but I also didn’t feel like socializing. “I don’t care,” I said helplessly. “I just want to eat now.” And I started picking at one of my pancakes, wondering if it was still doughy inside.
“You don’t want to eat those,” she said, wrinkling her nose at my blackened cakes. “Do you? You’re not going to eat those, are you?”
“I guess I don’t really want to,” I half-said, half-mumbled.
“I didn’t think so,” Cheryl said, putting the oiled pan on the burner. She then proceeded to cook the pancakes herself.
“Usually the first one is the one that sticks,” she said. “And if it starts to smoke like that, it means it’s too hot. Take the pan off the eye until it cools some. This pan has a steel bottom, so it stores the heat. You can turn the eye down to low once it’s heated up, and it’ll stay hot.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, feeling stupid. “I’m used to nonstick pans…”
Reid came in briefly while Cheryl was cooking and asked what she was doing. “Making me some edible pancakes,” I said, and he laughed and laughed.
Cooking the pancakes took awhile. I just stood there while the pancakes turned golden and fluffy, feeling useless and trying to keep from crying. My eyes did tear up, and I was very quiet. Finally Cheryl said, “I love you, Heather.”
“I love you too,” I said, and sidled up to her so we could hug. I wasn’t quite able to keep the tears out of my voice. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re just not domesticated.”
I’m just…not domesticated.
I’m pretty sure Cheryl didn’t mean to make me feel like a failure, but you know me, I have to be perfect at everything. “My mom is like the best cook ever,” I said. “I guess it’s just…I guess she did all the cooking and I–”
“You were busy reading,” Cheryl interjected. She was smiling at me.
“And other stuff,” I said, because I felt like reading was a valid excuse, and I didn’t think I really had a valid excuse.
“You’re an intellectual,” Cheryl said. “I didn’t care about reading, and spent all my time cooking and doing household things. But you spent your time reading. You and Sean just need really good jobs–”
“–so we can hire a cook and a maid,” I concluded, somewhat dully.
“Exactly,” Cheryl agreed. “Or you could have your mother-in-law live with you. I’d take care of everything if I didn’t have to work. And you could buy me a Mercedes.”
I managed a laugh. “Sure.”
“Room and board and a Mercedes.”
“That sounds fair.”
I left the conversation feeling strong enough not to cry, but also feeling as though I’d failed my mother. I mean, she is one of the greatest cooks in the world. But I barely made an effort to learn from her. Granted, I seem to have trouble learning without notes to look back on (she had to teach me to make rolls three times, and I really never remembered how to do it until she emailed me the instructions), but I still feel like I should have worked harder to learn how to make basic things. Things like eggs, and pancakes. I feel like I didn’t learn anything about cooking while I lived at home…and I feel like I cast the blame on Mom, which is unfair and untrue. She took every opportunity to teach me; I just didn’t learn.
Cheryl and Reid went next door to eat ham and black-eyed peas with Steve, and I sat alone at the kitchen table and ate the perfect pancakes Cheryl had made for me. They were delicious.
Later, when Sean got up, I used the remaining batter to make pancakes for him. And this time, much to my relief, they turned out…
…perfect.
You are AERIS. Benevolent, beautiful and…well, What Final Fantasy VII character are you?
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The doo-doo was brown, so I’m guessing it was a squirrel.
When I felt it land I thought it was an acorn and reached back to brush it off. That’s when I felt something slimy on my hand. I looked at my brown-streaked fingers and said…
“Shit.”
I have a headache, but I have not had caffeine today! In fact, I’ve been a fairly good little eater…cereal for breakfast, peanut butter crackers for lunch (seriously!), a pot pie for dinner, and okay yeah I had some ice cream but still! That’s better than usual!
Maybe there was too much iron in the pot pie or something. :P
*frumps*
This is kind of scary. (Via Japundit.)
The Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper was awarded compensation from a small Internet firm that used its news headlines without permission, in a first-of-a-kind ruling in the country.
The Intellectual Property High Court, a special branch court of the Tokyo High Court, ordered Digital Alliance Corp. to pay about 237,700 yen (2,000 dollars) to the Yomiuri.
The court said the use of news headlines by Digital Alliance was illegal. It is the first ruling in Japan giving protection to news headlines.
But presiding Judge Tomokatsu Tsukahara said that headlines were still in a legal gray area as they are not mentioned under Japan’s Copyright Law. He did not order Digital Alliance to pull the Yomiuri headlines off its website.
There’s also a little note at the bottom:
Agence France-Presse has sued Google for copyright infringement, saying the Internet search engine was displaying its news and photos without permission.
The article was written by AFP.
Conceivably, I could be sued for quoting the article in my post. There’s always been that danger, which is why I don’t post the full text of any news article here. I typically try to keep my quotes short, and make sure to link to the original article. (This is problematic because news sites often don’t keep archives, so years down the road it’s sometimes impossible to tell what I was talking about.) I’d like to think that fair use applies for quotations, but that would ultimately be up to a judge. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of such a case.
As you know, I’ve been thinking about UFOs and aliens lately. How convenient, then, that this should appear on BoingBoing: a Google hack that superimposes UFO sightings onto a map of the US. Did you have any idea there were that many sightings every month? I sure didn’t…
They did something interesting on The Price is Right just now.
A woman had to guess numbers. All numbers from 0 to 9 were distributed among the prices of three different items. Whichever item’s price she filled in first, she got to keep.
The items were: a piggy bank with the amount of money in the price; a Ford Focus; and a giant American flag.
She ended up winning the flag, which cost 200-some-odd dollars.
I don’t know, I just felt funny about the whole thing. Like there seemed to be some sort of implied statement in her disappointment about winning the flag. But really, anyone would be disappointed, because obviously you’d want the car.
I guess I just find the choice of the “consolation prize” a little disturbing.
In other news, there’s a reddish brown bird in Cheryl and Reid’s backyard who flies into the patio door all the freaking time. I guess he thinks the living room is part of the yard, and can’t figure out why he can’t just come in. This isn’t the extreme kind of divebombing that breaks a bird’s neck, mind you…this is fluttering up against the glass like a butterfly. Only the bird is huge, so it’s very noisy. Not to mention weird.
The message when I try to visit my gallery is:
We’re having some temporary technical difficulties. We’re working on them at the moment, and expect service to return shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.
We’re not happy about it, of course, but we are prepared for it and expect there to be no data loss or any long-term reduction in service.
Thanks for your patience and understanding!
Somehow I don’t find the phrase “we…expect there to be no data loss” very comforting. :/
Update 1:40 pm: They’re back up, and I don’t seem to have lost anything. Sorry for being so paranoid, but those photos are literally all I have left :/
Tim: Dad, please! You’re a rocket scientist! Can’t you do something?
Dad: Well, I could put it in geosynchronous orbit, but I’m not sure how that would help.
Remember back when I was going to be a rocket scientist? ;P
It’s just lovely out, with a kind of cool dampness that I associate with Kentucky. It’s actually cooler outside than it is in the house, for some reason…I just hope it doesn’t rain!
I mean, yow.
And yet…somehow, I’m not affected as profoundly as I would have expected. Watching the Rutenberg warriors riding off to their deaths…I felt it, but didn’t, at the same time. And by the end, I was just shaking my head, because the Shinou had done it again. I’m starting to tire of his string-pulling. And also of Murata’s little comments…because really, what has the Shinou done that’s so bad? If there’s going to be a conflict between Yuuri and the Shinou, can it go ahead and happen already?
I think part of why the episode didn’t work for me was due to an error in translation. One scene involves Cheri freaking out. The translation has Stoffel bark at her that she now has the chance to redeem herself, and she should be happy. However, I’m pretty sure that he’s actually referring to Conrad, and the other Rutenberg warriors. I mean, that would make more sense…what does Cheri have to redeem herself for? And the whole point of the episode is that Conrad and the other “half-breeds” are going to the front lines. Plus, Cheri laments the fact that she can’t do anything to save “that child”, which I’m certain refers to Conrad. I think the purpose of the scene was to add weight to the Rutenberg tragedy, but the mistranslation only took away from it. It made me confused–I spent time wondering what Cheri needed redemption for, rather than focusing on the tragedy that was about to occur.
I watched the episode twice, and it was only on the second viewing that it occurred to me that it might be mistranslated. By then, of course, I’d already had my initial reaction to the episode, so realizing what was really going on didn’t have the same effect as it would have. But I don’t want to just blame the translation for my lack of emotion. The episode itself is flawed, a vignette that really serves no purpose other than to maintain the status quo. I can accept that from comedic filler episodes, but not as easily from plot episodes. Something else should have happened.
But Yuuri came back, and saw Conrad, and almost said something…and didn’t.
I think that bothered me the most of all.
This may be a cultural difference that I just don’t understand. People are not nearly so forthcoming with their emotions in Japan as they are here in the US. Maybe that look shared between them was overwhelmingly enough, in Japanese culture.
But to visit the past of the one who loves your soul–the one who could never have the love of your past self (episode 50, anyone?), to see the past that you’re working to prevent happening again, to see his suffering…and then not say anything?
Something needs to be resolved there, and ending the episode like that gave no indication that resolution will ever happen.
The show has a history of putting off resolutions. Yuuri found out he had Julia’s soul in episode 35, but he never asked about it. Really, he didn’t consider the matter much at all until he was forced to, in the most recent story arc (episodes 48-50), and even then he never asked. It’s been a little more understandable up until now, because at first, he couldn’t ask Conrad, because Conrad was with Big Shimaron…and many things occurred in the meantime that could easily make him forget, or at least put off asking. There’s also the fact that he’s likely being sensitive to Conrad’s feelings…and also, after episode 49 especially, questioning his relationship with Conrad.
But there’s a limit to the believability of Yuuri’s silence, and I think we’ve passed it.
I’m notorious in my family for having a bad memory. I “remember” things that apparently didn’t happen, and I don’t remember a lot of things that did. The first can be attributed to my healthy imagination–I have always made up stories about people or played out scenarios in my head over and over. I’m not sure what causes the latter.
I think it’s because of my “Swiss cheese brain” that I turned into such a compulsive archivist. I logged pretty much every single Internet chat I ever had. Even with people I later blocked. Even if it was just a one or two line conversation.
And I would go back and read logs occasionally, and I was almost always surprised every time I did. I would not remember having the conversation. I would believe it happened, and I would understand my frame of mind, but I wouldn’t remember the conversation itself.
I had a somewhat heated discussion with someone the day before the fire. I’ve thought back on it several times since. It wasn’t a bad conversation, but I expressed my feelings fairly strongly, and I remember having a profound reaction to the person I was talking to. This is the sort of thing you’d think you’d be able to remember.
But of all the chats I’ve had in the past almost ten years now, there are only one or two that I can remember with any clarity…and even then I remember feelings more than substance. I’m going to forget this chat too, I think…I’m going to forget how and why I was so fired up. And now I won’t even have my logs to go back to.
My memory has been a good thing, in a sense. It’s helped me to forgive many people. Things that made me horribly angry in the past are wiped out, so I can move on.
But I’m uncomfortable with that. I’m unhappy that I literally have to forget in order to forgive…and I’m unhappy that I forget so easily in the first place.