The Adventures of Bloggard

Searching a method permitting BlogBoys users to edit their AboutMe, I was hunting a php programmer. A Nucleus forum visitor pointed me toward a free script to do the job, and once downloaded and installed, it’s great and it’s terrible.

It’s great because I can copy the script anywhere into html space, then browse there, and presto I can see inside most any folder on the server. In any folder world-writable, I can copy files, make links to files, delete files, edit files. Neat.

It’s terrible because, if I can do it, anybody can do it. Getting into a previously ‘secured’ folder and stealing the credit-card number proved way easy. If I can’t throttle this boy into acting with some restraint, he’s outta here!

It will cover the world within ten years. Why? It is, as they say, the killer ap. Why?

Discourse and logic is not ever proof, only a audio-visual aid so you can see it for yourself, as we do. So I’m skipping the logic, for now, to appeal to your own experience.

Remember when surfing the internet was new? When was that?

Such a very short time ago! And you remember how interesting it was to go from link to link? Just looking for stuff to see?

And yet we don’t do that these days with the same sense of wonder. And when we do go searching, it’s focussed on a subject. Some of the findings are blah, some ugly, some commercial, some artsy, some off the subject, some incomprehensible. We find a few leads, and then we’re done.

And a site searched for, once found, how often do you return? And do you return every day?

Not usually. Which are the exceptions, the one you return daily or frequently? Mine are Slashdot, Tappistry.Org (daily), and BBC Science (now and then). What’s common to these? Mutability. They’re different each time visited. Wouldn’t go back if they were always the same. That’s why I never visit Microsoft; always piracy, never anything different.

But the experience of reading a weblog — no, make that the experience of reading some weblogs is different. Because of the eternal mutability, and because of the linkset commonly found. Because you discover one guy’s weblog (gal’s weblog) where you like the style or the content, and you click their links, and you find new sites, often interesting ones. Not always, but often enough to keep you clicking.

Because we’re not following a path by subject; we’re following a path of simpatico people and common interests. Today I found myself reading bio-engineering of viruses and aromatherapy. Not my thing. But it was made interesting by the interest of the human who was writing it. Transformation occurs.

Not a chain of subject, but a chain of people.

Suddenly, we are describing human nature, and we are describing the idea of what interests us interests our friends. And what interests your friends often interests you.

Mutability, and the linkage. That’s why weblogs are here to stay. And I haven’t got into writing a weblog yet.

Back in Henrietta Grade School (North Texas, 1950-1956), Phil Nimmo was a classmate. Lived on a farm to the west. His mom taught third grade and art. His whole family was quiet, and slightly rounded.

I stayed the night once, and was introduced to Ghost Rider comics, and the concept of using baking soda instead of toothpaste. I still remember the Ghost Rider story: while he (Ghost Rider) was unconscious, the bad guys bandaged up his head, but put a deadly tarantula inside the bandage. Later on, they were as surprised as I was when he was not dead. Come to find out, he had taken the spider out of the bandage. It was a relief to me, and I’ll bet you’re happy, too.

In later years, Phil Nimmo’s mom died. I no longer recall how or why. An illness. And then in high school, one winter day I got a call, Phil’s brother Lindsay had found his father; he’d died abed during the night. For some reason, hearing this news, it seemed vitally important to drive fast. Their farm was perhaps 7 miles out the highway. Many of my friends were there. Did we think we were a comfort to Phil Nimmo?

At some point, firewood was needed. I volunteered, then clumsily learned that chopping wood is not so easy. Phil Nimmo came out and said, “Let me do it.” I protested. He said, “I want to.” He made short work of it.

Years later, living in Dallas, I heard roundabout that Phil Nimmo now lived in Dallas. I located him and phoned. He seemed quite surprised to hear from me, and seemed displeased. He didn’t quite know why I was calling. I can still feel it, but I can’t exactly say why, either.

I don’t feel much different, but when I look into the mirror there appears to be more mileage than previously. What is today like? So far, similar to other days. But maybe it will be different in a minute.

Haw haw haw haw haw!

Just saw mpt, the weblog of Matthew Thomas. I don’t know a thing about this guy — though I might guess his middle name starts with ‘P’ — but the articlse seem mighty fine to me. The stolen quote in my title is his. That makes me remember the time … never mind.

It’s probably time to figure out what traceback and blogrolling mean. Time to find my peerds, or is it my pears? Lotto clever writistas out there; some must be findable.

Around mid-day I met Joe and Dameon and M&G Burger where we dined sumptuously on burgers and fries. After this light repast, the boys adjourned to the local moviola parlor where we saw trailers for Hulk and Matrix, and our feature film for today, the X-men (2). I’ve not seen (1) but I suppose this is still (2), because Joe and Dameon have seen (1). Pathos and fighting and wierd jumping around all occured in mighty sequence, and a good time was had by all. That’s today snooze.

Lesson three. A blog is not reality. It is a construction. Why do birds make nests? Why does a man with a hammer walk around looking for nails sticking up? It is the nature of water to flow downhill.

Make sense? A blog is not reality. Instead …

A blog is a construction. Perhaps it is artistic. Perhaps it blogges at bloggy time. It’s well known that it steam-engines at steam-engine time. This might be the same thing.

The blog is a construction. This means you can cheat. E Pluribus Zample …

Spozin you had nothing to say? Today. No problemo. This is the perfect time to soak in the rich bath of memory, savoring the scent of a madelaine cookie, in remembrance of things past. Now’s the time for Looky Back. Just dredge and repeat, dredge and repeat. In no time there’s your post for today.

Now I have an advantage over some of you whipper-snappers — as my Grandfather would deem ye, I reckon — and that advantage is that I am 59. What does this mean? It means there is plenty of the good stuff lying around on my time-track. I’m as littered with good stuff as crates of contraband litter the smuggler’s cave.

What else? You can move time forward and back. So what if you had the funny conversation at the dentist on Tuesday. Need material for Wednesday? Slide that puppy around! As Julia Child says (in context of dropping the fancy dinner onto the kitchen floor) “Who’s to know?”

What’s what I say. What say you?