The update on S's lunch-bag serial story:
I'm very pleased to tell you that Z decided he wanted in on the action too, and now he has a story of his own. So, here are the stories so far. First, we'll catch up with the Phineas and Ferb characters ...
And, Z's story is just starting. Who knows where it will go:
I just got email from O'Reilly, including a book on SEO.
I frequently find myself criticizing SEO practices, because they are so often snake oil.
While I acknowledge that there is a science to writing headlines so that people will read them, it seems that more and more we're writing "copy" so that algorithms will rank it highly, rather than so that it is beneficial to humans. This is, of course, the rationale behind wiki spam, comment spam, and on and on, which isn't written for people to read, but for algorithms to read.
Then, the algorithms get optimized to compensate for what people are writing, and the spiral goes on until we're all communicating in grunts.
But when O'Reilly publishes a book about something, I tend to assume that there is in fact some merit to it. Perhaps I should read this, so that I'm not merely knee-jerking against the charlatans that are riding on the legitimate science. Assuming that there is a science.
On a related note, I'm making a conscious effort this month to write blog posts rather than condensing all of my thoughts into 140 characters. At work, I send 24 tweets a day, every day. I have to condense really cool ideas into 140 characters that do a crappy job of conveying the awesome. As a result, I start to to think in 140 character segments, which, in turn, is making me inarticulate. Must stop that.
Also, I expect that this blog post will draw a lot of spam. *sigh*
The story so far:
Can hardly wait for tomorrow.
Storm
April 29, 2012
From the Sunday Scribblings
Now, the storm has passed,
or at least blown away for as long as
a afternoon nap lasts,
and I have a moment
to think uninterrupted thoughts,
write one or two of them down.
How many poems have been
derailed by a whoop,
a whine, a scream,
between brain and pen?
The clouds loom
dark and cold as my
forgotten coffee, set down during the
last storm,
the cream separated and
drifting among the darkening clouds,
ready to be knocked to the floor,
spilled like so many gathering thoughts.
