Ok, so I’m a photographer. Today I was looking at this magnificent gallery of photos taken on the Suisun Bay Mothball Fleet. The photographer has a pretty nice gallery (although it could be a little smoother, photo transtions and such). And then I realized that her site actually links up with her Flickr. Huh, that’s a cool trick. I then found the very clever and useful Flickr Photo Album for WordPress plugin from Joe Tan. It allows you to put up galleries of your Flickr photos onto your own site — you know, like a “real” photographer.

My, my, it seems like I could get some real use out of that. For a while I’ve had a back-burner project to start selling some photos (although the feasability of that remains to be seen). I’ve always liked the idea of showing my stuff right here, where I can control the presentation. And, honestly — don’t tell ‘em I said this, though — I’m beginning to think a lot of people consider Flickr kind of a photographer’s ghetto, where every level of quality or involvement is allowed, and where the best aren’t necessarily advanced forward. Having your own gallery is more than simply a mark of pride, or effort, or professionalism, but also a mark of status.

Thus begins the odyssey to create something worthwhile. Things I hope to incorporate eventually into my very rough, yet functional gallery:

• CeeBox for pop-up image enlargement
• javascript toggles to show/hide sets
• integrated commenting, so a visitor never has to leave the site
• browsing by tag
• javascript pagination — so there’s no tedious reloads
• Flickr collections, favorites, galleries, view counts, contacts (maybe)
• a classy dark layout

For the last two weeks I’ve been without Glot. All just an error, but whose is hard to say. I waited until three days before homepie.org‘s expiration to try and transfer it, which wasn’t very smart. After it expired on the 13th, there was an unanticipated 5-day waiting period from Tucows.com (my registrar’s registrar? I think?) and after that, the nameservers “didn’t carry over,” and we had to wait for them to “propagate for up to 72 hours,” and even that “didn’t work,” blah blah bleh. I just kept calling Moniker customer support and eventually I got high enough that somebody flipped a switch and BOOM everything works exactly as before. That sucked, but boy does it feel nicer now.

It sort of reminds me of something which happened around exactly this time last year.

One of the worst parts is that my primary email is located on the homepie.org domain — so even though it’s hosted on Google Apps, the magic of the internet couldn’t find it. I’m sure I’ve got a lot of newsletters to re-subscribe to, and a lot of people to inform that I’m not dead yet.

Regardless, it’s good to be home. Don’t let me do that again.

Because it took me  long time, because I’ve not seen it before, because I can, I’ll tell you all about this:

Orin Zebest’s permanent Twitter archive for his Twitter account, @Orinz on Twitter

Yes, that’s right, it’s a collection of every tweet (Twitter update) I’ve ever Twitterered. Because who knows? Twitter.com could be bought by Fox News Corp., or explode, or any number of unfortunate things. Or perhaps it’s just a pain in the ass to search through 120 pages for one interesting thing. So, through the miraculous process of tedious copying and pasting, I’ve made myself a good, everlasting monument.

Course, I still have to maintain it. And I couldn’t actually fit it all on one page, since after about 2000 updates the code gets so large my web server can’t handle it all in one chunk (I split it into three, there’s one for 2008 and 2007).  But it still looks nice; looks just like my real Twitter page,  just much, much longer. It was a labor of love. I’m pretty amusing, it turns out.

Server’s changed. After the seamless file copy from the old to the new, the nameserver pointers repropagate, and no one’s the wiser. Like *that*.

It’s their own dumb fault. I’d been hosting homepie.org with Lunarpages for four years and had few problems. Of course this year I’m a little strapped for cash, but since they were running a discount on hosting for two years, I was planning on taking them up on it (long-term planning, y’see?). $118 is a chunk o’ change, but this internet thing is important to me. So I asked for it as a gift. In fact, I asked my host if there was some sort of “gifting page” I could send people to. By way of response, they charged my card the $118. Oops.

Long story medium, I got it back, then a couple days later had an unannounced auto-renewal at the normal $95 yearly rate, canceled my service, canceled my card, had the charge go through anyways, negotiated the lengthy cancellation process, had to accept paying them for the domain fee… somewhere along the way a friendly girl named Lynae suggested that I just pack up and put all my stuff on her server. She’s using nowhere near the “unlimited space” or “unlimited bandwidth” provided for in her hosting plan, and she’s not quitting the internet anytime soon. So yeah. We’re just that much closer now. It’s even better than sharing a bedroom, I say. Wasn’t even that hard. Like pulling a switch.

Welcome to the new, cheaper, more convenient, same old Glot.

I’m just trying to prove it’s a labor of love. For the record, no, it doesn’t make sense to do this custom CSS work when no one but me will ever work with it. Pleasure isn’t always sensible.

Considering the current financial climate, both personal and national, I feel forced to justify the frittering waste of several hours of time that is updating one’s admin screen. So here goes (prepare for long sentence): it’s an exercise of skill which not only keeps the mind sharp, provides a small bit of accomplishment, and is something to show off, but reasserts and reminds me every time I login of my personal sense of style, a style which is particularly energizing and, well, awesome. I like it. Do you?

Often I’ve been asked, in the fifth hour of a project to improve some small thing on my GLOT, why I bother. Why not bother to actually update it, rather than improve something no one will notice anyways? Well, dammit, I notice. I notice that the Rubix cube doesn’t display correctly in Internet Explorer 6. I notice things that don’t match well, like the alignment of the contact form and me-photos. I know that the search was placed incorrectly and used borrowed CSS since I put the damn thing in. And so today, I fixed it. I fixed all of those things. Yet do I find satisfaction?

No. And here’s why: the web isn’t real. It’s not a tangible experience. Up until the moment someone pointed their browser at this particular website and saw this particular thing, it was just an idea. It was information, data stored in a machine of irrelevant location, and will go back to being there once that someone leaves. The data might be slightly different. It might be very different. But it’s still just data, and it doesn’t have a life of it’s own, it doesn’t DO anything that isn’t in its basic nature. It’s not even a thing, it’s an it.

Existential pontificating of digital existence complete. Back to the original question: why do it? Because it’s a challenge. Because it’s one I can usually accomplish, given enough time and tenacity. Because it fits my habits, sitting in front of a computer. Because it’s something I’m good at. Because it makes me feel like I did something. Because I can. And so there you have it: I do it because I can. Sometimes it seems like a pointless exercise. Often it is. But here you are, and for the moment, it’s real. Hm.

As they say, Content is King. Maybe tomorrow I’ll actually have some of that. But really, who says that but douchebags? I’m not gonna say that. Come back tomorrow.

Here’s my web redesign. I call it: The Glotocracy, or rule by Glot. It’s been in born and incubating now for more than two months. Checking the first confirmed date—February 23rd. Those of you who are long-time… fans? Long-time readers (i.e. those who know me personally) will attest to how much has gone on between then and now. Moved out of one place, got another, lost a job in the process, still don’t make hardly any money and have more to write about than you could shake a shtick at… Hell, half the reason I don’t write anymore is cause every time I sit down to blog glot I start fixing something.

So here it is, the solution to all my worries. The solution to all my very web-specific, non-life-relevant worries. And hey, just in time for the internet. The Glotocracy. Version 1.0!

General

most recent WordPress build
nice admin css (Aenonfire design & Camera On Road)
animated favicon
css color variations a la aNieto2k, Impact Switcher
random css.php file for users w/ javascript turned off
categorical css layouts

Posts

unvisited links underlined, visited crossed out (e.g. visited)
link :hover interestingness a la SevenNine
post number determines color
tags listed at end of post
SIFR rich typography replacement
very visible Comment Here link
sub-titled per-post taglines
front-page category segregation
smaller text for long posts, larger for short ones
printer-friendly version (downloadable pdf version?)

Sidebar

button fiend
IM status indicator
BDP Referral stats
latest Flickr photo Polaroid-framed
better-than-live search
hybrid posts/tags search
integrate links to pages (FAQ, before I die list=43 things)

New Pages

digidentity, or, more than you’d ever like to know about my life online:

SimplePie makes possible:
del.icio.us links rss
Consumating RSS
Last.fm RSS
MySpace RSS
WordPress support forums

about page w/sub pages:

about glot: “what is a glot/origin of glot” page
about me: author info, contact form, real name
about faq: or, QITUYMA

all organized by brain phrenology regions

FAlbum integration
custom search pages
404 error page (100%x100% background image)
tag cloud + tag info
sitemap

Comments

front-page comments (Inline Ajax Comments, Expand Comments)
custom comment text (5 of you reckon…)
comments quicktags
comments preview
canary comment (possible…)
human validation: pick three cute things method
trackback/pingback segregation/variation
gravatar inclusion (Comvatar)
gravatar signup
fake more comments on old entries
# of comments (comments meter=ProgressFly)
comments imaginary point system (points for browser, pictures, # words)
rewards for points (signed shoes, minidiscs, clothing, art crap…)

The OzGlot

Until such and such a time when he decides he’s no longer there, you should all be able to get your daily smacking of glot right there. And hey! New feature—you can now contact this dude. There’s a form right there on that site. He loves mail.

What’s that you say—it’s too obvious I’m just writing this in the third person? I’m just trying to distance myself is all. Ha! And with that sublime pun (sublimely dumb) you’lll have to tide yourselves over for the next several months. Till then—ozzie ozzie ozzie(glot)!

Take a look around… doesn’t look like an 8th grader did it anymore, does it? Well, there’s still a few wrinkles. For instance the entire sidebar. But dammit, I wasted half a day just retrofitting the stupid thing and countless hours refining the design itself — now I’m gonna reap the reward of all this.

Reward… reward… hm.
I’m not sure what that is now. I seem to have forgotten the point. The point in doing all this. Of fixing up a blog that’s hardly read, that’s irregularly written. And while we’re on the subject, hey YOU: who are you thinking that this is good reading material? You have better things to do and you know it. I want you to stop reading this. Now.

• Counter-intuitive Rule #422 — If you want someone to do something, discourage them from doing it. Their essential contrarianism will cause them to do it more.
• Counter-intuitive Rule #422a — Unless, however, you point out their essential contrarianism, in which case they will not do it just to prove they aren’t contrarian (corollary).
• Counter-intuitive Rule #422b — If you point out that, they will most likely just get confused (counter-corollary).

1. Way too much time, I know.
2. Yeah. I’m a sucker for free stuff too.
3. Everybody’s got a damn blog, don’t they?
4. Actually, I don’t have anything better to do.
5. Self-centered American naval-gazing at it’s best.
6. Boy, do I miss books sometimes.
7. XHTML-compliance is a vice.

These turned out a little pessimistic, I admit. Especially since I like blogging more and more lately. I just… I wish there was another word. “Blog” used to mean the mixture of different alcoholic drinks you stole by the capful from your parents liqour cabinet. No, really—I read that in a book.

Damnable machines. The intricacies and interminglings of mechanical and electrical, the mystery and lure of esoteric knowledge, the elusive and seductive usefulness of them—such aspects evoke what the ancient ones would call the summoning of spirits. Caveman call to God with the same sticks and stones. A key turned, a button pressed, and a powerful and nigh-understood beast is yours to command. As spoken by Arthur C. Clarke: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Think about it. I haven’t.

Years ago American lore tells us that we men were fascinated with automobiles. We knew all the intricacies of engine parts, created mythologies (such as the ever-faulty Knuter valve), and “talked shop.” How quaint. Today these honored traditions are mostly just useless and annoying distractions. Example. Example. Example. Which of course makes them dishonored traditions. Because people have pooped on them.

Today, modern machines of manliness aren’t built from aluminum, but rather silicon wafers. By my scientific calculations the average american male knows a hefty 1.8 terabytes more in the category of “shit about computers,” as compared to the relatively clueless american female. Bear in mind this fake statistic takes no account of age and there are often pleasant exceptions. But by and large, I think you’ll agree, womenfolk have to deal with us cause it’s a man’s job to take care of the computers.

The ramifications: if you’re like me, there will be occasions when every-single-person-you-know will want you to fix their computer. Recently I had two computers break on me—the same day. The first, the PSU simply exploded… or, uh, imploded… I don’t know cause I wasn’t actually there… but am told the sparks were impressive either way. And the second? It’s PSU was momentarily temporarily disconnected. This (of course) caused catastrophic driver corruption. It’s now stricken with the condition I like to call “POS syndrome.” And, the day before, I’d picked up an old-timey laptop which needed to have everything reformatted, reinstalled, and re-gotten-working-again. Windows ME doesn’t seem to even exist on the internet.

And so, my essential caveman nature was faced with three highly sophisticated (highly busted) thinking machines. We’ve only evolved so much in 10,000 years, people. Let me assure you that only the best-placed utterings of damnation can sway a determined machine. General cursing helps, but not as much as besmirching the name of Engelbart. They hate that kind of besmirching.

How I eventually managed to fix all these problems isn’t actually important. Even though you probly’ve been lead to believe it is, by me. Although hint hint—my method did involve money and throwing. Needless to say the computer that’s mine is working again.

Now this is not the kind of thing I like to admit openly. And in this day and age, where coolness is a personal commodity, this is not a paltry thing to admit. Especially for a 21 year-old. Especailly for me—I’m the coolest person I know. What does that say about the rest of you fuckers? Poor sad bastards. No wonder I’m so boring. I’m bored.

Has the world lost it’s luster? Or has the stunningly doldrum-hohum warm-piss wooden-shoehorn nature of this stucco’ed strip mall of a town finally begun to egg away at the colorful and wild-hearted edifice that is ME. Maybe this ham-it-up phone operator spchpiz-niz is getting to me—the need to speak clearly and in an elevated tone, having to to say things like “how may I direct your call?” and “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have those bath towels delivered right away.” I need to do something soon, man, soon. I just used the word spchpiz-niz in a sentence and it made perfect sense.

I swear I have never listened to a rap song on purpose.

What brings on this tide of troubled thoughts to my toiling cerebrum? I’ll tell you: girls, goddamn… damn… girls. Being all, there, and all. They taunt me with their… making me think about them. That’s the best I can explain my feelings at the moment.

I am reminded of the cosmic precept (not quite a law), that is applicable in a situation such as mine. The more you need something, the more you feel you have to have it, the less likely you are to get it. Conversely, if you are terribly afraid of something and obsess about it happening it will happen. You’re going to lose your hair. The germs are going to get you.That airliner’s going down. And you know what—this isn’t just some cheeky-tongued blaaah-zay adage here. It deals with the primal force of manifestation, and a powerful force it is.

This is science (or philosophy—depending on how you view the very nature of consciousness). I’ll give you an example: you’ve heard of that cheesy R&B song, “I Beleive I Can Fly?” Well that song is full of crap, no one can fly unless they’re on a feakin’ plane. Now, that’s an example of negative manifestation: I believe it’s impossible ergo you can’t fly. And it’s true! See what I’m saying? This same principle keeps me from being suave with women: I know I could be reallly good. But I know I’m not. I think myself into doing the wrong things even though I know what the right things are, and this happens because… because…

Damn I’m bored. I need a hobby. Like web design. Or blogging. Wait—you know what, fuck that shit—I’m gonna go whittle a boat or something. I hate tha intarweb. I hate calling it ‘tha intarweb’. You heard me, Internet. I know you’re out there. Sending you’re little robots to check up on me alla time. Coming in 12:15, 12:30, 12:55, what do you think I am, a blog junkie? You’re lucky if you get one entry a week from me Internet. That’s cooler than Kottke can say, working his b.s. as a full-time gig. What a loser…

Please, like me. If I blogged more would you like me? Would you grant me the graciousness of your pagerank, send me the beloved unique IP hits that pad my ego so? Tell me, in so many bits, that not only is my prose lively and un-boring but is worthy of actual readership? Well fine then. I’ll do that, and I’ll make it XHTML-compliant-valid-and-douched just like you told me to. But you gotta get me a girlfriend, Internet. You know the kind—smart, pretty, willing to engage in long bouts of smart-assness. And she better be from this country too you ass, stop sending me girls with surnames like Iripov or Kerpletzka. If you have to pay for it that’s cheating (I don’t know if you realize that, being a formless amalgam of machines and all). Also I’m cheap; tell her that just in case. Other than that she should know I don’t need her, but uh, you know it’d be nice. Just make it sound cooler than that when you say it. I don’t want to sound boring.

Deal?

Slice off the circle ↓

<!-- go away now -->

For the day draws nigh when I shall set upon the world a sight which it hast never before borne witness to, a site whose time hast come, a site so unlike any other it can be called by naught but its own name: WordGlot.
Thou shalt see. All of thou.

Indeed, I can practically see the classes begin to file in, sense the navigation gain direction, while the floating divs become more bouyant and springy along with the nonsensical metaphors.

Launch in t-minus… 5… 4… 3…
uhh, could we start back from 100, Curtis? I was just being a smartass and killing time between work.