It's been such a long time since I visited the Clotheslineblog that I barely remember how to navigate this site. Et tu?
I'm pondering a return to this particular trench.
If I do that, it will likely be a different deal from before.
I envision brevity for the most part. Brevity and fewer graphics.
I envision posting more links (which is a Bloggerstan no-no as a principle thingie, but WTF? That's how I roll).
I envision days of multiple posts, and days of nada when the well runs dry OR when I'm too furious or discouraged or busy to hang out here.
There might be some hiccups in this whole hot endeavor, because I've completely forgotten how to do HTML stuff. So funky formatting alert.
The success of this resurgence depends on you in part. This needs to be an interactive place, not a monologue. Seriously. barbara does not do well living, thinking, writing in a vacuum.
BTW, we have to keep the comments moderated because we are getting a lot of obnoxious spam, which I clear out as often as it occurs to me to do it. Frankly, I don't care all that much about erectile dysfunction and designer shoes. Not even erectile dysfunction in designer shoes.
The Queen of Procrastination (she sucks in her cheeks, peers down her patrician nose, and waves stiffly to the small people – though not until tomorrow probably) wishes you a happy new year. And if that’s not looking likely from where things stand today, then I hope you can enjoy periods of contentment and random moments of delight.
I have been chunking away at this blogging thing for nearly five years. It began as a bit of a lark, and it was fun when life wasn’t infuriating. Sometimes fun, even then. The gift of Bush was the ultimate source of blogginess.
The insurgence of the Tea Party has taken us to a whole new level of weird street drama, rooted in me-me-me and disturbingly twisted agendas. NIMBY has morphed into NIMUNOE (Not in My Universe Now or Ever). It’s difficult to make a case for it being the best of times when the worst of times has become so noisily dominant.
Anyway, I am neither sufficiently organized nor disposed to keep on keeping on. It’s really not fun any more.
So I’m taking an extended, and possibly permanent, leave from the Clothesline. It’s definitely time.
If anyone is out there, thanks so much for hanging in there, so to speak. Really. Thanks. It’s been an interesting ride, eh?
It started simply. I was visiting my daughter at college 20-some years ago and as we crossed the quad, she said, “I’ve got to check my email.” Your what? We went into the library and she settled into a carrel in front of a glowing blue screen. “Mail?” I kept saying. “How can this be mail?” Then I heard that voice for the first time. “You’ve got mail.” It was full of promise. I was hooked.
Now even though it's pathetic, I still greet the arrival of snail mail with the expectation – admittedly waning – that I might find a large check from a long-dead uncle. Or a letter from the high school boy who, fifty years ago, wooed me softly, then dumped me hard. Surely he seeks atonement in his sunset years – and I crave it.
But the USPO delivers the mail only once a day, and email delivers minute-by-minute. With the advent of Google, Read more.