For my Etsy friends out there

As you all know, or should know, I have been permanently banned from the Etsy forum.  Now, I have never been banned from any forum in my life.  And I have been active in quite a few over the years.  I think it's even more heinous that I fork over large sums of cash to Etsy every month, but really, who gives a fuck?  The forum has some cool people who I can keep in touch with other ways, and the rest of them are probably typing from padded cells full of granny square blankets and industrial looking vintage stuff that no one knows what to do with.

However, given that I can no longer post the threads for which I was likely banned, I shall do so here on this new "relevancy" thing.  If you're not an Etsian, you should probably stop reading here.  Actually, you probably shouldn't have read this post at all but I do thank you for your attention.  Now go have a latte on me and I'll see you next time.

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We Built This City on Recency

We built this city on re-cen-cy-eeeeee!

There's been a big change on the Etsy site.  We now no longer type in a search term and get all the items most recently listed that could have any remote connection possible to what we're looking for.  Oh, it's much better than that now.  Now we see what Etsy's tech types have programmed into a computer to find for us. Yes folks, Etsy is trying to read your mind.  Can't you just feel their handlebar mustaches rubbing around on your gray matter?   They're sort of like an annoying girlfriend or boyfriend who keeps saying, "Please just tell me what you're thinking!"

I don't know about you, but I'm not all that thrilled with Etsy trying to read my mind.  Yes, I know that "relevancy" is the norm out there in cyber selling shitville.  And yes, I know that having a system which let people feed $.20 into the giant one armed Etsy slot machine was probably a bit you know, well, frankly, working well for lots of people.  Etsy was growing by leaps and bounds all the time we were told.  Now I guess we're supposed to believe that Etsy will grow by even greater leaps and bounds.  Yippee Diane!  (yes, Diane is my real name).

Still, I guess I'm okay with trying to be leapier and boundier.  And I guess I'm cool with no longer dropping coins into Etsy like a vibrating bed machine.  Let's face it.  Both often times didn't work and made you nauseous or left with a raging headache.  Can you say "macbook decals"?  The bane of my existence I tell ye!

At least Etsy doesn't have bed bugs. 

I just don't know where that leaves those of us who make "fuck off coffee mug cozies" cause let me tell you people, no fucker is searching for that.  I have considered tagging my items "steampunk" but I have no clue what that is.  It has nothing to with either steam or punk as far as I can see and that's where my research ended. Oh well, I guess time will tell as to whether people will find my amazing crap.

Until then, get all your tags and titles "relevant"... meaning, "add a bunch of keywords to your items in BOTH the tags and titles..." cause there's nothing I love more than a drop of redundancy in my morning relevancy, "and still be beat out by a copycat who has those keywords in NEITHER title NOR tags" because it just wouldn't be Etsy without something not working or doing so mysteriously so conspiracy theories can crop up all over the forum and blogs like mine and twitter and well, you get the drift.

So thanks Etsy for all your hard work.  I hope it does work so all those late night organic green tea iced lattes the techies blew their paychecks on were worth it. I hope my sales skyrocket as a result. If not I'll just hum to myself, "we built this city on recency!" while I find a cheap motel with a vibrating bed and reminisce while I edit my tags and titles again. 

Kid Quotes 3

As said by my daughter when Cartman dressed as Hitler for Halloween came on the screen.  Yes, I let my children watch South Park.  I think it's the best satire out there and want my kids to understand absurdity as young as possible.  I just fast forward through any anal sex jokes.  

Kill. Me. Now.

I know you probably think all I do is complain and/or criticize.  And you're quite right.  But that's not my fault. It's because so much out there sucks.  And it would be unjust of me to simply ignore it when I can point it out to you, make fun of it, and get a perverse sense of superiority out of it.  That's what Jesus would do too.  I'm sure of it.

But we have reached a new low folks.  A horrifying new low.  So low that I'm thinking of ways to end it all. Death by torture?  Crucifixion?  Those would be child's play compared to the pain and depravity we are all going to experience.

They are remaking Dirty Dancing.  I'll pause for your howls of pain and sorrow.  In fact, I'm not sure I can keep typing this post as the vomit is pooling on my keyboard from the chunks spewing out of my face.  I'll wait until the dry heaves come.  Hang on.

If they do, they have to deal with Johnny Castle. 

Okay, I think I can keep going.  Now that the vomit is gone I just have to struggle with the slippery keys from my tears of pain falling on my hands.  I'll deal.  I'm strong.  I can handle it.

Humanity is over.  Patrick Swayze is grinding his hips in his grave right now.  Jennifer Grey's nose is running around the graveyard snorting loudly for all to hear, 'You can rhinoplasty me but you'll never take my freedom!'

I really have nothing else to say about this travesty of justice.  It's all been done.  It's all been said.  And that's proven once again with Hollywood literally (hee hee) raping the anals (hee hee heeee) of film history.  

So this post is for people to suggest to me ways to kill myself that are appropriate for the legend that is Dirty Dancing.  I'm thinking maybe Cha Cha Chaining myself in front of a speeding train.  Or maybe Carrying a Water Melanoma.  Not sure how I can do that to myself though.  Any suggestions?  Please post them here.

Swing low... sweet chariot...

How you know you're getting old reason 3,000,526

Grease.  I love that film.  Even though I look back on it now and sort of think, "wait, you mean this wasn't made in the 50s?" it is still legendary.  You had song.  You had dance.  You had an Australian who wasn't wrestling crocodiles.  It was just cool.

And yet we've now lost a second member of the cast.

I went to Catholic school too!

The full story can be found here: First Kenickie, now Cha Cha: Grease star Annette Charles dies at 63

Hand jive isn't masturbation?  Oops.

Kenickie and Cha Cha.  The one with the bad temper and the whore.  Gosh, it's literally like parts of me have died (literally... he he).

I remember when people like Moses died and my mother said things like, "I remember his first role.  It was some work with the Jews or something."  And I would think to myself, "People you know are dead?!?  You are so freaking old.  No wonder you smell of piss."

(Note- my mom doesn't smell of urine.  She is young and beautiful and has an appealing aroma of garlic and lavender.  Hi Mom!)

But these days I know the dead people.  And I've crossed over a second threshold where I don't know the alive people.  Okay, I know tons of live people.  I just mean I don't know the youngest alive people who are in our popular culture.  

The other day there was an iPad commercial with some young tart and I said, "Who the hell is that? How is this a good marketing campaign when I don't even know who that is?"

Both my husband and my daughter said almost simultaneously, "That's iCarly!"  Now before you think my husband is some pervert, he is of the parenting school that allows children to be in the same room with you and choose what they want to watch on television.  So he has been subjected to iCarly numerous times.  I come from the school of the kids will get to watch what they want over my dead body, cause I paid for this tv, this couch you're sitting on, the massive Time Warner Cable bill and the very air you breath is subsidized by my tax dollars.  Yeah, our school tshirts were nightshirts just so we could fit the whole name on them.

So I'm now in this no woman's land where the people I know and love are buying the farm, and there's all these young, talentless, perky boobed robots who are getting more air time than all the legends of Hollywood combined. It's like we're all marching towards a cliff and I've just seen Cha Cha hand jive (not masturbate) right over the edge.  My turn is next, and that goddamned iCarly is pushing me.  That bitch.  

I'll shove that iPad right down your throat before you push me over the...  Geronimooooooooooooo!

That's a Bit Shit 7

Gum on the bottom of my shoe at the cinema.

Chris Hansen being a cheating bastard.

Not being able to have a nuclear reactor at home.

Monday morning poetry break

I happened across this poem and wanted to share it.  I think poetry gets sort of lost these days.  Perhaps it always has.  I think it is incredibly difficult to write such emotion into so few words (other than motherfucker). Alas this poem is an instance of deep feeling in a few beautiful lines.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond E.E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands