The Big DumpTruck

Throwing Little Thought Pebbles at Your Windshield Since 1996

Category: complaint department

Flowers, Damn It!

There’s an interesting thing about going to Florida in January. They have flowers. THEY HAVE FLOWERS! They don’t have 10 feet of snow plow residue at every street corner. Not once did I have to scrape ANYTHING off the rental car. It’s like this place was build so that I could pretend it was spring for a few days. And I did. And now I am back.

There is nothing good about this winter’s weather. We’re due for 3-6 more inches Saturday. It’s gotten to the point where my reaction is “oh, only 3-6 inches,” said with the same tone I’d use if someone who regularly shot me with a nail gun was only going to hit me with a board. We are all destroyed. I have reached the “I don’t want to ever leave the house again” stage of winter.

Evening in Epcot

This picture was taken on Friday, January 29th. See the flowers? There were flowers. I want flowers!

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The Secret to Attracting Spammers

I have been on the Internet for about 16 years now. The Internet as we define it today. Prior to that, I ran a BBS out of my bedroom on a dedicated phone line. One person could be logged in at a time. It was great fun, but can you even imagine if the Internet could only support one user at a time? I’d be so annoyed at the busy signals!

Since moving to WordPress (when Blogger inexplicably kicked anyone with their own domain and server space to the curb – Ev wouldn’t have let this happen back when he owned the company. Back then, I even paid extra for my level of membership, because I thought it was worth it. But I seriously digress.) I haven’t had much trouble with spammers. I actually haven’t had many comments at all. Or readers. I think that might be my fault, for neglecting the site while I went crazy playing with Twitter. Banging out 140 characters is easy. Writing longer pieces takes more work, and who on earth wants to have to put effort into anything these days? Hell, I just watched an episode of Victorious on Nick because it was set to record on the DVR and the TV changed channels and I was too lazy to get up to find the remote. That would be work.

And then, Loyal Reader Angie pointed out in an email that my comment functionality was turned off. That happened during an upgrade, I swear. So I think I fixed it. Well, I know I did, because I’ve gotten hammered (for me, anyway) with spammy comments on one single item on the blog. Not across all articles, just on the one. You don’t see them because I set all comments to be approved by me until you’ve previously had one approved. The post in question was about a little Mexican girl who hangs out with a monkey and a backpack. I won’t mention her name because I don’t want to have the spammers attack this post. Of course, they could have picked the word monkey as a trigger and now this one will be a problem too. We’ll see.

So in conclusion, if you want spammers, write about Ora-day. She’s popular.

I’m Too Young For This Shit

I know, the movie quote is “I’m too old for this shit” but really, my point is that I’m too young for it. I’m almost a baby! I’m pretty sure I just graduated from kindergarten a year or two ago. I remember we put cream in a Mason jar and everyone in the class took turns shaking the jar until we made butter. We made butter, I tell you! A group of 5 and 6 year olds! It was my single greatest accomplishment from my public school career. I don’t even think it was better than the time I made a terrarium in elementary school (during the same program where I learned how to decoupage and do macrame. Ahh, the 70s.) But wait, I am far too young to have ever been in school (or even BORN!) in the 70s!

You know what? Let’s forget I even mentioned it. Carry on.

It’s 1am

Remind me to not upgrade WordPress on a school night.  At least I finally FINALLY fixed the broken photography link in the menu above. And to bed I go, battered and bruised by technology.

Goodbye, Worcester Telegram.

The Worcester Telegram, which ticked me off last year by apparently firing all the reporters who covered North Central Mass, has moved to a “pay to read” model. The same model that MUCH BIGGER PAPERS CAN’T MAKE WORK. The funny thing is that their online advertisers, once they get a gander at the complete drop-off in readership, are going to laugh when the Telegram tries to charge their current advertising rates. These advertisers would be better served putting fliers under people’s wipers in a mall parking lot.
No, I’m not going to pay. You hardly ever write anything about my town any more. And half the time, your headlines are so vague that I only clicked through to them to figure out if the news story MIGHT have been for my town.
I dare say, this will backfire badly, and the people who suffer will be the residents of Central Mass.

Why the “Local” Paper is a Joke

Our local paper, the Sentinel and Enterprise Sucks. Well, not for Fitchburg, just for Leominster. There is a bias against Leominster that just about anyone you talk to has noticed. A shame since they were the ones who bought out the Leominster Enterprise all those years ago to create a ” Twin Cities”-focused paper. Not any more.

WHY do they hate Leominster? Who knows. The storms the other night caused a fire in Leominster, but you wouldn’t know that from reading the Sentinel’s website. I saw the story on Bostonchannel.com, and it appeared to be just up the street from my house. So yes, of course I’m interested. That storm was big local news! Even when it was being covered on television, the focus was on Leominster, not Fitchburg, because of the path of the storm. So maybe some feelings got hurt? (Trust me, next time there’s a horrible storm, Fitchburg can keep it.)

Thinking they needed an extra day to get the story, I went to their web site today. Nothing about the fire, but they DO have the following top story: Russia Probes Parasailing Donkey Stunt. Please note, dear readers, that this story is covered on the “Local” section of the paper.

Fitchburg Sentinel, this is why you suck and I will not even miss you when you’re gone.