The following conversation took place at 6:20 am this morning.
MARC: I need to get up and make coffee. I scheduled server maintenance at 7:00.
ME: You have to maintenance your own server? Doesn’t Rackspace do that?
ME: Let me remind you, I ask these questions because I really don’t know the answers.
MARC: Why would they maintain my server?
ME: Why wouldn’t they?
MARC: WHY WOULD THEY?
ME: I can play this game all day, you know.
MARC: (disgusted sigh)
ME: And so I’ll ask again… What kind of maintenance do you have to do to the server?
MARC: Air up the tires and check the oil and stuff. (WHO’S THE FUNNY GUY?!)
ME: (disgusted sigh)
MARC: I have to update the software.
ME: Servers have software? What kind of software?
MARC: (said with genuine disbelief) I really don’t know how to answer your question. I don’t even know what you’re asking.
ME: Seriously? What the hell? It’s really a reasonable question. Do I have a server? Do I schedule maintenance on my imaginary server?
MARC: (said like a whiney little kid about to throw a tantrum) BUT YOU’RE ASKING ME ABOUT SOFTWARE! (If he had been standing up, there would have been a foot stomp. He might have even fallen down and rolled around on the ground)
ME: I know what f*cking software is. I just didn’t know how a server works. But thank you for explaining it to me in a way that doesn’t make me question my intelligence. Or rather, your opinion of my intelligence.
MARC: (instantly calm) Oh. Well, you’re welcome.
So now, not only am I going to credit my upcoming web page to Marc, I’m also going to go get a server. And put stuff on it. And maintenance it. And make it dinner and do its laundry. I bet my new server will tell me I’m smart, notice when I get a haircut, and watch Sex and the City with me. You guys are going to love him!
If only Marc were here. He could probably explain this to me. OR NOT. I also asked him about some very basic skillz (CSS-related) and he very politely pointed me to a website, the way one would give a stranger directions. Like, you’re slightly annoyed at being asked - because doesn’t everyone have some sort of GPS shit on their phones? - but you’ll spare a few precious minutes being a decent human.
P.S. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t read this blog because I made it and it exists on the web. So therefore it would probably burn his eyes.
This one I pulled from the archives.
So I took a Dreamweaver class. Not because I think that Dreamweaver is amazing or is a glorious substitute for coding, but because it was free. F-R-E-E.
Jessica: So I made a website. Come over here and look at it.
Marc: (raises eyebrows) You did what?
J: Ug. I made a website. Come look.
M: (just sits there)
J: Just look at it. It’s not all HTML-tastic but it’s useable. It’s not ridiculous or anything. Just quit judging it from the couch and judge it to its face!
M: (comes over, stares at computer for about 30 seconds) Um, yeah. That’s… It’s nice.
J: What’s the problem?
M: I mean, it’s fine. Sure.
J: Why do I need a website? I don’t. So this one has a photo of me, some nice colors, and links to social networking stuff. It’s simple. It doesn’t need to be all complicated and do complicated shit.
M: Yeah. It’s… I mean… Why did you do this again?
J: I don’t know. Because maybe I want to create websites for a living using Dreamweaver?
STARE DOWN ENSUES
J: Just because I wanted to. To see how hard it was. I mean, apparently we have established that you aren’t going to make me a website. We’ve apparently also established that this embarrasses you. And you know what? IT SHOULD. You should be embarrassed that you won’t create a website for your girlfriend because THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS! LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!
P.S. I never published it, but I mean, come on. It’s not that heinous. I’ve seen websites that look like Myspace profiles. I could have gone that route.
P.P.S. I was never able to shame Marc into making me a website. Back to the drawing board. I’m thinking a comic sans font might do the trick. Wish me luck.
I’ve decided to start recording conversations between Marc and I, the ones where I ask a very simple, reasonable question and he looks at me like I’ve just told him that I’m leaving him for Edward Cullen. The actual Edward Cullen. Like I think he’s a real person.
Me: So, what happens when “the server crashes?” (Use of air quotes here)
Marc: (blank stare, blinks eyes)
Me: I mean, what causes a server to crash? And how do you fix it? You’re always talking about server problems and fixing them. I just want to know what that means.
Marc: (continued blank stare)
Marc: I don’t understand the question.
Me: Why are you looking at me like I’m an alien? What happens when a server crashes? Is it really that complicated of a question?
Marc: It’s like you asking me, “Why won’t my car go?”
Me: First off, I would never ask, “Why won’t my car ‘go?’” Maybe “why won’t my car start” but never what you said.
Marc: That’s not the point - the point is that what you’re asking is way too broad to be answered in one sentence.
Me: (becoming irritated) Well, couldn’t you just have given me a f*cking EXAMPLE?
Marc: (shrugs) Flat tire?
So I just started using Klout. “Using” is not quite the right word, though. Because I’m not sure how to “use” it. I just entered in my information and then I stared at the screen.
If you need advice on cars, local politics, and weddings please DO NOT ask me. These are probably the top 3 things IN THE WORLD that I know the least about. I am probably the last person – again, IN THE WORLD – that you should ask if you want to learn more about these things. However, Klout also believes that I am influential on plastic. This could be true. I like plastic. I use a lot of things that are made of plastic. I like to recycle it. You should recycle it, too. See? Knowledge. Influence. It’s all right here.
I love notebooks. I have a sort of collection. Yesterday I counted that I have 7 notebooks of different sizes, reporting for duty (not counting the 10-pack of steno pads that I just bought at Sam’s). ‘Cause, you know, I’m going to write stuff in them at some point. Lists, meeting notes, profound shit, and the like. But I do not consider myself a writer – more of a doodler. And again, a list-maker. Here are the things I love about lists: 1. the excitement of crossing things off never gets old… And you get the point. I’m sure there is some sort of psychological oddity that drives people to obsessively make lists and I’ll do some web research on that later and cure myself.
But for the time being, I’ve been pondering a different issue – why does everyone want a blog? Or more importantly, why do we all think we can write an interesting blog that people want to read? Is it because we are physically capable of writing, therefore we think we can do it well? Maybe I’ll finish that novel and some Good Will Hunting karma will come my way and I’ll be rich and famous. And all along, you thought I was ordinary! IN YOUR FACE!
Back in the day I kept angst-filled diaries, which I promptly burned upon rediscovering and reading them. Oh, the horror. And the bad poetry! Let’s face it – recording your most intimate thoughts is similar to taking compromising photos of yourself: in the wrong hands disaster ensues. What I want a blog to do for me is to create a sort of time line that I can look back on. Like my first blog post on this Word Press site from two weeks ago – man, those were good times. I remember it like it was yesterday.
But writing is damn hard. First, you have to find something interesting to write about – something that interests YOU. Finding things that interest others is a science that the majority of us have not mastered. And then, you have to present yourself as a halfway intelligent being while writing. So after 6 months of contemplating your first blog post, you might be ready to post it after 30 days of writing, rewriting, questioning whether or not it’s a good first blog post, wondering whether anyone will read it, wondering whether you should even tell your friends about it because what if they secretly make fun of you, and then actually finding the time to get around to posting it. What was I writing about again?