JK Brady's Open Salon Blog

Pirate Wimmen - A Call to Arrrgggghhhs - UPDATE - We Won!!

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 15:11:57 -0500

We are presently under attack. Your service is required.

Please grab a bottle, an appetizer (no nuts please) and some tunes and join us here.

As is our way, this venue could move swiftly back to Cat's blog because she has the best basement, and the poor sod seems to really like us. Go figure.

thanks CK

UPDATE:

From JL's blog...

It's all good. I just checked out devonia's hateful other blog and the comments. She got our message and they've moved on to looking at Wordpress. Good job everyone!

PS It appears that the reason they must move quickly is because Yahoo is getting too many complaints about theirblog there and may shut them down at any moment LOL

Kellylark

November 14, 2009 11:21 AM

The invaders have run off with their cannons foddered.

Well done Wimmen. Now Grog for everyone!!!!!!!!!!!

Gratitude? Pffft. Why Bother?

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 11:11:51 -0500

In ancient teachings, ingratitude is considered a form of cruelty. Each time I hear this, it takes awhile for the meaning of this to sink in. We are taught to do things without the expectation of gratitude or praise. It is called karma yoga. Only with a true heart, does the gift of giving have real meaning. To perform acts of kindness, and then to boast about it, no matter how subtly, in order to garner self praise, defeats the original intent of the act. Even the most simple among us find that kind of self centered egoism distasteful when we witness it in others.

If our heart is true, we seek no acknowledgement of any kind. The simple act of giving is the gift in itself. And it is a gift back to the universe for blessings received. That is all that is required when you are keeping the ego out of the equation. So in this light, gratitude should be unnecessary. But few among us are so enlightened that we don’t, even secretly to ourselves, wish for a tiny nod.

In our busy society, ingratitude is common and even mildly acceptable. So, why do ancient teachings consider ingratitude cruelty? I went searching for this answer on the Internet not expecting to run into the Bard himself.

In As You Like It, Amiens sings one of Shakespeare's best-known songs:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude...

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not... (II.vii.174ff)

Quoting from the source I discovered:

“In Shakespeare the winter is described (in various plays) as 'rough, angry, frozen, churlish, barren, biting, and furious': terribly cruel, then, bringing suffering especially to the defenceless poor. Yet, the song says, ingratitude is more 'unkind' than winter. Very unkind indeed, in that case. But do we today think of ingratitude as such a terrible 'cruelty'? For English-speaking people now, 'ingratitude' implies little more than impolite behaviour: not even muttering a 'thank-you'.

The song in As You Like It offers two precise examples of the behaviour it calls 'ingratitude': 'benefits forgot' and 'friend remember'd not'. In Richard III Dorset offers another definition:

In common worldly things, 'tis call'd ungrateful
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent (II.ii.91- ff)

and we may compare this with modern definitions: '(not) showing or feeling gratitude' (The Concise Oxford Dictionary). Obviously, the plays suggest, a person's feelings will only be recognized on the basis of the actions which express them; unlike the winter's wind, actions of ingratitude are 'seen', because they are done. Yet, at the same time, ingratitude is an absence, a negation: it is that which is not done, not remembered; cause and effect, then, action and inaction, all bear the same name.”

Yesterday, as is the case every Remembrance Day, there was a ceremony at Queen’s Park in Toronto. To accommodate the crowds, the road was closed for a very brief time. Rather than respecting the veterans and their families who gathered, drivers began honking their horns during a solemn ceremony. Some even endangered the lives of others by backing up and driving through the closed area. It was shameful in too many ways to count.

As I write this, and muse on my own feelings on this, I remember a job I had a few years ago. My immediate boss was completely incompetent, and her boss, in order to save his own reputation, hired me to fix things. I’d been out of that kind of work and environment for quite awhile, and my own ego was tattered and desperately in need of a stroking.

I flourished in the job, and everyone in the organization gave me kudos for it – except for my boss and her boss above her. He actively sought to minimize or completely ignore my work in order to give credit for it to the incompetent he hired in the Director role. He paraded her around to the highest executives in the company with the sweat of my toil in tow. I am quite sure, neither considered me in this at all – it was politics after all.

I was unprepared for my own response. It nearly broke me. It was the worst form of cruelty made all the worse for my own shame at wanting recognition.

It taught me a great lesson about how damaging expectations can be. But it also taught me a little about the cruelty of ingratitude. If nothing else, it made more aware of the gift of showing sincere gratitude.

I know that few soldiers go to war with expectations of gratitude. They all have their own reasons for going, and for some, it is a way of paying it back, and for some paying it forward. And I know that politics weigh heavily in this equation. But, November eleventh is the one day we set aside to acknowledge the living and the dead without political debate.

So, I paused at 11:00 yesterday. I listened to the cannon fire on the radio and I went outside to look for the planes to pass after their flyby. I read posts from and for veterans. I looked at pictures of the dead, and I listened to the music chosen to reflect the sacrifice of so many.

And I was grateful.

But those I am grateful to don’t know that. It is lost in the business of the day. It is lost behind a society full of massive egos screaming, “Look, look, look at me!” “No, look at me, Me Me Me.” (Which is kinda funny since I did a satirical post with that title just a few days ago.)

This afternoon, I will walk through Mount Pleasant Cemetery with a friend I met at the ashram. And among the granite markers, I will reflect on what I am grateful for. Then I will come home and kiss my husband when he arrives, and finally, I will go to meditation class in a car fueled by the blood of too many souls. And at the end of it all, I pray that I will find ways in my life to honour the Divine in my life with gratitude.

Namaste

Honouring Those Who Die For Us

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 14:11:44 -0500

Some sacrifices should be honoured everyday.

Highway of Heroes by Bob Reid

This is an excerpt from something I posted months ago. It describes a drive I took down the Highway of Heroes back in March, 2009.

~~~

As I approached the 401 Highway, I noticed a man walking down the middle of the road carrying a large Canadian flag. He was heading for the highway overpass to join a handful of other flag bearers. He’d left his car parked in a busy Tim Donuts parking lot where I’m sure more than a few others were grabbing a hot coffee before heading out to brave the 2C temperatures for what would be a long solemn wait.

What was this man doing? He was honouring our soldiers. More precisely he was honouring the soldiers who were killed in Afghanistan on March 20, 2009 in two separate incidents. They are:

Cpl. Tyler Crooks, 24 (March 20 was his birthday and he was engaged to marry this year)
Master Cpl. Scott Vernelli, 28
Trooper Jack Bouthillier, 20
Corey Joseph Hayes, 22

I had seen many articles on these young men in the newspaper this weekend. I have to admit, that I scanned the pages, but paused on the pictures. These were four young men, with families, friends and futures.

The sight of that giant flag waving in down the road was a jolt – a reminder that I was about to get onto the “Highway of Heroes.”

Rather than hide our war casualties from the public, Canadians have taken to honouring them as part of a repatriation ceremony that takes them home to their families, usually along our busiest highway.

On the next overpass, I saw a single elderly farmer, holding a flag and waiting patiently for the procession to pass. I waved at him, he waved back, and I was a little surprised to feel myself choking up. It was a silent acknowledgement--me to him, him to me.

Just at that moment, CBC radio announced that the repatriation ceremony had begun at CFB Trenton, which was about an hour in the opposite direction. These people, this man, would have at least an hour to wait in 2C weather.

There was no one on the next overpass, but the procession was at least an hour or more away and I was driving away from the starting point. I assumed that the further I drove, the fewer people I would see. But there were people on many overpasses I passed along the way.

Sometimes there were only a handful of people and sometimes just a single person bore silent witness. Some were civilians, and some were wearing uniforms.

On one overpass, an elderly woman stood alone with her flag waving. Again I waved, and she returned the gesture. Actually, I waved every time I passed under an overpass adorned with flags, and each time someone returned the gesture. I’m not usually a waver, but I thought honking my horn would be disrespectful, so the wave had to suffice.

I was really surprised when I got to the Brock St. overpass in Whitby. There was about 30 people gathered on the overpass waiting, a bus parked on the off ramp and the bus load of people gathering on the hill, and a flat bed truck decked out in Canadian flags parked on the side of the highway.

Each time I passed under an overpass adorned with flags, I choked up a little more. The whole thing really hit home for me. I don’t know the individual stories that brought those people out today, but I’m proud of my fellow Canadians who choose to stand silent witness to these brave soldiers as they return home for the final time.

I couldn’t stop to take pictures, but I’ve found some pictures on the web to share with you, so you can get a sense of what I experienced. (I can’t locate an owner to acknowledge for these shots as they seem to have been passed around the web.)

~~~~

And below are pictures of various repatriations. There was another one just last week.

They never seem to end.

OS in 3 Acts - It's All About Me - The Final Act

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 18:11:57 -0500

Did you miss ACT ONE or ACT TWO. Maybe you shouldn't have had that extra beer before coming to the theatre? Just sayin'

~~~~~~~~

Act 3, Scene 1 - Who Else Could it Be?

Our blogger is picking up the fallen newspapers and trying to clean up the living room. The detritus surrounding her laptop on the nearby dining room table is noticeably less.

Ghost of Bloggers Future:

::thud::

::cough, cough::

Aaaaaheeeeem!

::thud thud thud::

JK: Oh My God. Freaky???

GBF: That’s Ms. Freaky to you. Where’s the cake at?

JK: Erm, I don’t have any. I actually don’t eat cake.

GBF: As I suspected. Skinny, yoga doing Canadian. Fine, just get me a rum. A super BIG RUM. And some Velveeta. But nuke it first and dip me in it. I feel like a hot tub.

JK: Eewwwww. Why don’t I just drop you in a hot rum toddy?

GBF: Perfect. I like you better already. Ok, let’s get down to brass tacks here. Do you know what the future of OS is? Do you punk?

JK: Erm, Freaky, this doesn’t really sound like you. Who are you channeling right now?

GBF: Ooops sorry. The ape put me in the drink mixer again, and I’m a little shaken and stirred. Now, where was I? Oh yes.

I AM THE FUTURE OF OS.

Forget whatever Zerry told you. His time here is done. I am finally taking on Oprah with this foray into publishing. Just like O, every cover will have a big picture of MEMEMEMEME. Just me.

Those cover gripers are more right than they know. No one wants to read that stuff they put on the cover. They want to see ME and my super smiling face telling them what they need to do to have a life as super as mine. It will be all pink hair and cake from now on. No more woe is me, mean girls, fake doctors or movie reviews stealing the spotlight from ME.

The only birth certificate that should be talked about is MINE. Healthcare? Troll’s don’t need doctors so enough of that. From now on, people will flock to OS to find out how to be super – just like me. Even though those pathetic apes have no chance of evening getting close to being as super as me, they will bask in my pink glow and feel better just for being near me.

JK: Well, alrighty then. Freaky I am a little surprised that Kerry sent you to represent the future. This doesn’t seem to jive with his initial chain rattle.

GBF: Of course it doesn’t. Zerry doesn’t know his foot hole from a hole in the wall. I let him believe I’d be his harbinger of truth, and really, I am; but it is just a much more super truth. Zerry's all washed up. Joan’s moving him up the ladder because he’s failed. He’s going to be in “Super Special Projects” next. And we all know what that means. Where are all those Lexus posts now? Pffft. And Adsense? Do you see OS at the top of the Google 1000 yet? Nope, it's time someone put their foothole down around here and made things happen.

The only thing that will pull this sinking ship out of that hair-clogged bathtub drain is ME; precious, pink, super, cake-loving me. Every day will be cake and rum day. Every cover will sport me. Every topic will be me. And everyone will have a Freaky avatar picture. Forget all those panting dogs and cute cats. No more one-eyes, no more eHarmony CFM pictures. From now on, it’s Freaky on every blog.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME

Giant poof of pink smoke, lights dim, end Act 2.

~~~~~~~~~

Act 3, Scene 2 – finale

Our weary blogger sits head in hands over her laptop. The wine glass is empty, and the bottle is lying on the floor. She sits up when she hears the rattling of chains once again.

KL: Well, JK, you look a little strung out.

JK: I am strung out. That was worse than a troll war – erm – not of the Freaky kind.

KL: The ghosts showed you OS from another perspective, but still, you have no idea what it is really about –the corporate side of OS.

JK: Hold up there one minute Kerry. I totally understand the corporate driven mindset behind OS. This is supposed to be a for profit effort. It all comes down to finding those 15 or so stories for the cover that will bring in new readers and advertising dollars – if such a thing exists. Screw the user interface right now; screw what the OS collective thinks or says or writes. It is NOT a community as far as management is concerned; it is a business.

Some of the dramas and mudslinging on OS are downright embarrassing from a publication perspective. You aren’t here to award gold stars or provide group therapy. Any good executive knows better than to involve themselves in the personality aspects of an organization. Keep your eye on the goal and the bottom line. The griping of a bunch of basement bloggers has nothing to do with bringing this endeavour into profitability.

Sure, it sounds easy to make comments editable, but anyone who’s worked on a software development project knows that most “good” ideas that sound simple usually are neither simple nor cheap. Been there; done that; lost a company that way. I get it. As much as WE the bloggers want to think this is all about us, you know that for each one of us that leaves, another 30 will take our place. I get it.

It’s the readers that count. It’s about the clicks; not the cliques. It’s about making money, not placating the collective. When the collective steps up and offers to pay to blog here, then maybe, they can have a say.

KL: Hmm, you do seem to grasp the issues with much greater clarity than most JK. But you’d get further with me if you stopped with that incessant Canadian spelling. There is no U in Open Salon.

JK: Well, in addition to having the right to spell in Canadian, I do have 25 odd years of corporate chains on my shoulders; I just choose not to drag them into the blogosphere. I come here for fun. Now, if you were paying me that would be different. So if you didn’t expect me to learn the corporate angle with those ghosts, what was the point?

KL: The point my dear JK was to help you help those vying for the editor job understand how tough it really is to run this zoo and that it is NOT about what they want. Anyone thinking they are coming in here to wallpaper the cover with poetry and fiction better find their way over to The Walrus right now.

This is a business and our demographic has the attention span of gnats. We are closer to the Enquirer than the Saturday Evening Post. And we are comfortable with that. Sure, you bloggers have your personal connection to each other and to your little dramas, but we REALLY don’t care. As even you realize, it's clicks not cliques.

If someone from Big Salon clicks on OS, the first thing they better NOT see is Art James. Not that there is anything wrong with his stuff, personally, I think it is brilliant, it confuses me and in a good way; I love that man. But that’s not the point. We have seconds, no nanoseconds, to catch their eye.

I am not a destroyer of bloggers. I am a liberator of them! The point is, JK, that clicks, for lack of a better word, are good. Clicks are right, clicks work. Clicks clarify, cut through, and capture the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Clicks, in all forms; clicks for life, for money, for love, knowledge have marked the upward surge of mankind.

So if I have to plaster the cover in cartoons and YouTube videos to get them to stay for more than one click, I will. And the person who takes on the editor role better come in with that understanding. If they think they are going to walk in here and….

JK: Erm Kerry??? Uhm, well, uh.

KL: WHAT? Spit it out.

JK: Weeeeellllll, why exactly did you choose Freaky as the ghost of bloggers future?

Kerry starts to shake and sputter.

KL: Ppppppsssssssgggggaaaahhhhhhhh! WHAT???? Where the hell was Saturn Smith??? That’s who the damn ghost of the future was supposed to be. She’s got it ALL figured out.

JK: I don’t know, but Freaky has some pretty strong ideas about where OS is going. Think Oprah’s magazine, but with a Troll on every cover and ever blog. I think she’s even having lunch with Joan today.

KL: Saboteur. (Said softly while shaking fist)

THOMAS!!!! BRING ME THAT F***ING TROLL! I WANT THAT DOLL ON A PLATTER.

She has mocked me for the LAST TIME.

And bring me her ape while you are at it. And find me the lawyers. I want those user terms scoured for any reference to dolls. And if there isn’t a reference to dolls; WRITE ONE. And it better be ironclad. I don’t want that troll sneaking back in once I dust her out the door.

That’s it. I am never leaving my post. Nuke that pile of resumes. I’ve had it with those simpering wannabe writer, artist, driveling, snotnosed bu bu bu BBB BLOGGERS FROM HELL.

SOMEONE BRING ME A LATTE!!!

And book me into the spa for the afternoon. I haven’t had a mani/pedi for weeks, but when I get back, I want the pink one ON MY desk.

Kerry pounds the bloggers table and in a chain rattling flourish disappears in yet another POOF. The stage remains dark and silent. But from the distance, we here a quiet HEHEHEHE. Freaky appears stage right under a single narrow spot. She’s dancing back and forth singing the ME song.

ME me me me me! It’s all about ME! Super fabulous ME. hehehehehe

close curtain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OS In 3 Acts - It's All About ME - Act 2 of 3

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 18:11:11 -0500

Did you miss Act 1? Were you in the bathroom at curtain call?

If so, click here to start at the beginning GO TO ACT 1

Act 2, Scene 1 - You Can't Handle the Truth

As the lights come up, they stand in a library like room full of stacks of paper.

JK: What IS this place? ~cough, cough~

GBPAST: It is the secret burial ground for old posts. You’ll never find a “Sexiest Man Living” post here. Those viral bastards live on forever. But most posts, no matter how good, have a shelf life of 2 or 3 days tops. After which they languish and die a slow miserable death. Once they’ve gasped their last comment and felt the pulse of their last rate, their light is extinguished and we bring them here.

JK: Wow. Even Digg and Reddit can’t keep them alive? What about Facebook? Surely Facebook can save them?

GBPAST: No JK, not even Facebook can save your old posts. And don’t call me Surly. Look over there. Recognize those?

JK: OMG, those are my old posts.

She looks upon them as a woman looks at her grown children’s baby pictures. He grimaces over her use of OMG.

JK: Aw, my first post. Look at how cute it was. And so many comments.

GBPAST: Pffft. It was a meta post on a drunken winter Saturday night. You could have vomited on it and received that much feedback. Not to mention that you blog whored it over on Mungular’s post.

JK: But, but, I didn’t know ANY of that. It took me months to figure out what meta was and I would never knowingly whore myself. That’s just not the way it was at all. I was a newbie; a, a virgin.

GBPAST: Pffft, you did it again a few weeks later when you called out Monte Canfield. MONTE FRIGGIN’ CANFIELD. He’s like a GOD around here. You were shameless. Don’t play coy with me. But whatever; it worked. You found a wee audience most of who have not completely abandoned you. You are either lucky or sly, but definitely craftier than the sorry lot over there.

He shakes his skeleton hand towards a pile of dusty forlorn posts.

JK: What are those?

GBPAST: Those are the one timers. The sorry souls who posted once, never garnered a single comment and sulked off into blogger oblivion. And those next to them, they are a really sad lot. They post and post and post, and nary a single comment comes their way. Pathetic.

He points upward and seemingly into endless space.

And those ones still shaking in the rafters…those are the suckers who tried to upload multiple posts from another site during prime time. As YOU know JK, people don’t take kindly to feedhogs, even if they are crippled by the OS interface and a complete lack of useful instructions.

JK: Hey,I apologized to that guy, AND I took it down, AND I defended him on other posts. Pffft.

She turns and heads back to her own posts.

Wah, wah, wah. Enough about them, let’s get back to MEMEMEME. This one over here; it didn’t die. That’s from the Great War on Canada weekend. The greatest weekend of frivolity ever hosted on OS – even bigger than the Pirate Wimmen uprisings. You remember Cat. You were there. We quipped in French. Nanatehay started it, and I answered his war cry in kind with this post – First We Take Manhattan.

She holds up a tattered scroll of paper and shakes it at the ghost.

JK: Together Nanatehay and I garnered almost a thousand comments. It was effing brilliant. It still gets hits on my stats counter.

GPB: But JK, as fun as it was, did it get you and EP? A front page?

WELL? Did it? NOoooooo. That is my point. The editors never even glanced at it, so it sits here with the others - left to rot in the ether of the Internet. But enough here; there is more to see. Take my hand.

Poof, lights dim, end scene. (yeah, there’s a lot of poofs; so sue me.)

Act 2, Scene 2

As the lights come up, they stand in what looks like a cafeteria full of tables.

JK: Now where are we?

GBPAST: Just wait.

A lone woman enters carrying a stack of pages. She scans the room and then walks purposefully over to a table by the windows. She walks like she owns the place.

JK: Hey, that’s Sandra She’s So Perfect. Always perfect and prepared and sooo grammatically correct.

Two more women enter, but separately. Each scans the room, and joins the first woman at the table and place their own stacks of pages on the table.

JK: Oh sure. There’s Verbal and Jodi. Of course, here come the cool girls. So it is true. There is a clique. OS IS just like high school.

Quickly, all the tables fill and it appears much like a high school cafeteria.

JK: There’s the jocks over there, the politico cowboys, the druggies. Wow, a whole table of butch lesbians. Cool. And look at all the Liberals still carrying the signs from their last protest and the little group of teabaggers snarling at them from the next table. Nice bowties guys. All those posts about this place being high school and cliquey were right on.

GBPAST: JK, you disappoint me. You are letting your prejudice show just a tad. We are in cyber space. The bits and bytes of this place are arranged by your own internal program. Change the program, change the view. Come over here with me.

They stand near the "cool girl’s" table.

JK: Holy shit, they are going through those posts with RED pens. I knew it. Not only are they judging us, they are marking our grammar and spelling mistakes.

GBPAST: Look again JK. Not all is as it seems.

She gets closer, peering over Sandra’s shoulder. Sandra is gnashing her teeth and crying softly.

JK: Wow, what’s she so upset about? She has more EPs than anyone. She is like the homecoming queen of OS (don’t tell Freaky, but she is). Wait, they are all sniffly and angst-ridden.

He nods and gives her a knowing look.

GBPAST: You see JK; everyone is the same here on OS. There is no magic clique. These girls write well and get noticed, and the price they pay for that is to suffer the envy of others. Too many resent them and assume their lives are perfect and sanguine. Nobody resents the men do they? But these women are just like everyone else. Here, they are combing through their own posts - anguishing over every word and comma. These posts have remained in their draft piles for months, but they will not post them until they feel they are perfect.

You see, too many can just blog with no mind of grammar or spelling or basic sentence structure, but these girls, these “cool” girls cannot. And they have lives full of the same woes as the rest of us. So do not put them on a pedestal JK. Pity them, for they are troubled. They could never slaughter the English language the way so many on OS do and live with themselves. And they could never garner rates through cheap ploys of pity and whining. No, JK. These bloggers walk a lonely path. No YouTube videos for them; the price they pay is very high.

And over there, the Conservatives aren’t really that angry and unfeeling. Well, most of them. They are just woefully misinformed by the rise of Fox News and their ilk. See the baby puke on their polyester shirts. They want America to be great again for their children as much as the Liberals, but their view of the path is just a little skewed. They are troubled by things they cannot understand. Gay people scare them, and big government scares them, and no government scares them, and Glenn Beck works them into lather on behalf the corporations who laid them off. But they mean well.

JK: Erm, Cat, why do you people feel you can use America to describe the USA to the exclusion of all the other countries that exist in South and North America? Hmmm? Enquiring minds want to know.

GBPAST: JK, America is still the greatest power on earth, and the rest of you don’t matter squat to Americans. Why do you think the OS editors ignored Canada Day. Pffft. Like THAT is a day. Moving on now.

You see JK, OS is not be a democracy; it is a meritocracy. Now the definition of merit may cause some angst among this group of mostly educated folks who gnash their teeth over EP/FP choices, but they have no say in that. And that is the way the Editors like it.

When you can snatch the pebble from Kerry’s hand Grasshopper, then you can pick EPs and covers. But let that not bother you little one. As I said earlier, it is your own internal program that organizes the bits and bytes. OS is what you make it. You will find what you seek here. Look for anger and resentment, that’s here; look for poetry and love stories; that’s here too; look for friendship; it is here in buckets. But, if you are a troll, the good people of OS will, as has been proven in the past, drive you out of town.

Except Freaky of course.

JK: Of course.

Poof, lights dim, end scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act 2, Scene 3

Yes, she’s still at the table blogging. What of it????

Offstage Voice: Honey, are you coming to bed?

JK: Erm, What?

Offstage Voice: When are you coming to bed? It is after 2:AM.

JK: In a minute. Just one more comment. I promise.

::tap, tap, tap::

::click::

~New Post~

And control/vee. Presto.

Title? … Hmmm. To swear or not to swear? How bad do I want viewers?

I’ll do the tags first. Tags are fun.

::tap, tap, tap::

*snorf*

::click::

What, they didn’t take? AGAIN? Bloody interface... they were freakin’ brilliant. Again…

::tap, tap, tap::

::click::

NOOooooo. Not again.

::CLICK CLICK CLICK::

::TAP TAP EFFING TAP::

She puts her head down in the detritus of the table and sobs dramatically. When she looks up, she is not alone.

JK: I don’t know who you are, but if you are the ghost of OS Server management, I’m gonna make you wish you were alive.

GBPresent: Hehehe. No such luck. I am the Ghost of Bloggers Present.

JK: But I don’t recognize your avatar. You have no street cred with me buddy. I’ve been on OS for NINE freakin months. You wanna piece of me?

GBPresent: And THAT is why I am here. No JK, you don’t know me, even though I’ve left several comments on your posts. I favorited you last month; but nothing. Not even a rate from you Namaste princess. But hey, let’s not be bitter ok? That’s not why I am here. I am here to show you a few things. Take my hand.

JK: What’s with the hand thing? Don’t you people know there is a swine flu pandemic? Don’t you read Dr. Amy’s posts???

She reluctantly reaches out … poof. They are standing in her kitchen.

JK: What. You hungry or something?

GBPresent: Take a good long look. What do you see?

JK: So it’s a little messy. So what?

GBPresent: When was the last time you cooked dinner for yourself. A real dinner?

JK: Erm, I dunno. Sunday! Ha, I made ribs and salad on Sunday.

GBPresent: Nice try. You had company. When is the last time you did it for yourself?

JK: I DON’T know. Whatever. I do NOT want to do this now. And why don’t we go to Cindy Ross’s house. You just know it is like 10 times worse than mine. She’s got that peeing dog and her husband farts in his sleep and everything.

GBPresent: It’s not about Cindy Ross for once, and all husbands fart in their sleep. Now, let’s check out the living room shall we?

He runs his finger across the coffee table, and pushes over a stack of newspapers 2 feet high.

GBPresent: These papers are unread, and this room hasn’t been dusted in months.

JK: Look, if I wanted this crap, I’d wake up my husband.

Poof, they are in the bedroom.

GBPresent: Yes, let’s do that shall we? When was the last time you went to bed at the same time? What about ate dinner together? And date nights? Do you remember date nights??? And if one spurned lover isn’t enough, look over THERE.

He points with a flourish to the cold, dark TV.

When was the last time you watched that??? Millions of people’s income depends on viewers like you, while OS supports maybe four people. And yet, you toss your TV habit aside like it was nothing. Forgetting all those years it kept your butt glued to the couch. Wasn’t it easier to eat in front of the TV than while blogging?

No JKBrady, you are one selfish blogger. And for what? Money? How’s all that Adsense tasting now? Fame? Not on your life. EPs? Pffft, your last one was an easy mark. But really, when was your last substantial one? You dear are no Iamsurly. She’s been here half the time of you and every post garners her an EP.

JK: Yeah, but she’s like the queen of snark. They love snark on OS. And she used those crappy 1970s recipe cards to get noticed. She probably bought them at a yard sale for 50 cents. Pffft. And she’s an EX-heiress. Even lost money gets noticed in “America.” Kerry probably thinks she has connections he can use. Pffft. Pffft and double Pffft. You can’t compare us. I blog with heart. I go to ashrams and write poems and say Namaste to people.

I am a friggin’ GODDESS of compassion on OS. I don’t need to cheapen myself with snark.

GBPresent: Hehehe. Erm sure, whatever you say. Fine, let’s look at Will Someone Feed the Cat—another Canadian. She swoops in here with that cool avatar name and picture, and does in a day what you couldn’t do in six months.

JK: What are you? The Ghost of Blogger Abuse? You working for some for-profit 12 step program? Did my husband send you? I don’t need this. ANY OF THIS. I have important things to do.

GBPresent: FINE. Goddess of compassion my ass.

Poof, lights dim, end scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Go to ACT 3