Website Updates of Sorts: November 2004 Archives
I was getting some pretty crazy spam comments. Regrettably, I deleted them all. It's not that I want spam comments on my bloggo, but they were just so... interesting. Mostly for video poker sites, but the comments all appeared to be famous/semi-famous philosophical and political quotes. I give the following example:
Religion is but a desperate attempt to find an escape from the truly dreadful situation in which we find ourselves. Here we are in this wholly fantastic universe with scarcely a clue as to whether our existence has any real significance. No wonder then that many people feel the need for some belief that gives them a sense of security, and no wonder that they become very angry with people like me who say that this is illusory.
This is a quote from Fred Hoyle. (No, I did not know this already. I googled it, like any sane person.) But somebody/thing called "Slots" left it in my comments. Without attributing it to Fred, the bastard.
The upshot of all this is that I installed the MT-Blacklist plug-in, and it's already blocked 20 such comments. I love MT-Blacklist now, but perhaps I'm not as enlightened as I would have been. I'll no longer have some video casino robot telling me belief is illusory. I am. I was.
Those one or two of my friends who may have come here at the exact moment it was being restructured (in this case, moment = a range of about 6 hours) may have wondered what the hell I was doing to the bloggo. Well, I was doing this to it. Very plain, I know, but I never wanted more than a utilitarian blog.
I would have had it all fixed much quicker if it hadn't been for two things: 1) I fucked up midway through installing MovableType (it's what I get for not really knowing what I'm doing) and had to start again from scratch, and 2) I was at work. But my reference shift, which would have been extremely slow what with NOBODY asking reference questions, just flew by as I FTPed my way to glory. It was bloody, but I got through it.
Today is Friday. This morning, I announced this fact and then put my head on the table. My mother asked me if Fridays are bad for me. I replied that Friday -- or at least this particular Friday -- feels like the end of a long, harrowing journey from hell to the home I knew as a child, where I can finally die in peace lying in the mud. That's not actually what I said, but it was something like that. Then my mother asked me if I had ever actually read Cold Mountain. I said no.
And it was the truth.
I could do with some sleep.
