Man, I’ve been trying to post all day, but spinster auntliness kept inserting itself between me and my appointed task. I’m not an aunt in name only, you know. I have a couple of actual nieces, and occasionally they manifest themselves corporeally in my midst. One of them did so this very day.
The niece in question is two. When we met for drinks earlier (pretend-milk in teensy wooden cups), the tyke, who is generally pleased as hell to bask in the presence of the favorite aunt, cast a jaundiced eye over the Twisty melon as I doffed my beanie.
“Juh!” she yelled.
Twisty, you may as well know right now, is not my real name. But neither is it “Juh.” The kid mangles my handle because of the inadequacies of the human tongue at age two. I don’t care for it, but apparently it’s the best she can do, so I don’t hold it against her. Especially since I call her Porky.
“Juh!” Porky yelled again. “Put hat back on!” And she stamped her foot, which was shod in a tiny hot pink Croc, and gave me the stink-eye.
What was this! Was my young relative–normally a child of discriminating tastes–actually declining to acknowledge the jaunty allure of my bald head?
Yes. Yes, she was. In fact, my head was was bumming her out sorely. I could only assume that the kid was viewing her own reflection distorted horribly in my brilliant, mirror-like chrome dome, and that this unflattering depiction displeased her. I felt for the tyke. I have seen things reflected on my head that would curl your hair. So, I made an exception in my policy to never take orders from toddlers, replaced the chapeau, and accepted half a wooden pineapple as symbolic of our tacit agreement to never speak of this incident again.
And now I take the liberty of complaining bitterly about TypePad, the paid weblog service I masochistically inflicted on myself until two days ago. I bailed after a bunch of supposed “enhancements” resulted in months of frustratingly crappy performance for which they were constantly apologizing but never fixing, which frustrating crappiness and hollow apologeticness and never-fixedness eventually caused me to bust a couple of veins.
Today, as some of you are undoubtedly aware, TypePad is completely broken. Recent posts are lost. Access is denied. The whole thing is frozen in time on or about December 10th. Certainly this flagrant customer abuse has dire implications for TypePadders the world over, but what, you may ask, is it to me? Well, it means that my “I’ve Moved” announcement no longer exists. So even though I cleverly got the hell outta there, they are still screwing me by virtue of the deletion of my forwarding address. Also, they’ve still got most of my blog’s images. So fuck fucking TypePad and the “issues with the primary disk system” they rode in on.
Next: Porn for Jesus.