dirtbubble's Xanga

25 Random Dirtbubble Facts

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 01:35:03 GMT

I failed to jump on the "ask me anything" bandwagon because it materialized right around the time a bunch of hate blew my way. I didn't want to risk finding out how few of you really even wondered the first thing about me. So instead I found a recent entry by GodaiTheRonin with the old "25 Random Facts" thing. I've never been tagged for such a thing, and, thank god, he didn't tag anyone, but instead left an open invitation to participate. Imagine that. It's nice not to be excluded once in a while. Thanks man.

I don't know what the deal is about user tags. As far as I know they're mine to use and yours to follow, ignore and/or delete, but they seem to be a source of inexplicably great consternation. So I won't be following the "25 user-tag" rule here and using that feature even more sparingly from now on (I never really used it too much anyways). I've been tagged a few times and barely noticed. Tag me if you want, because apparently I missed the memo.

Here it goes:

Rules: Once you've been tagged (if you were at all), you are supposed to write a note blog with 25 random facts, habits, goals, or things about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged (unless you don't want to). You have to tag the person who tagged you (or not).

1.    I'm a big crybaby, as extensively documented in this blog.
2.    I could be anything I want to be. That's what my dad told me, anyways.
3.    I am the best writer a lot of people know. So I'm told.
4.    I'd rather play music than do just about anything else.
5.    I have saved a few lives in my time on Earth.
6.    My best friend is not only a Jew, but also a Scot. I wore a kilt as best man at his wedding.
7.    I'm still about 5 years old emotionally.
8.    Port wine used to be my favorite drink, but now it's second to sake.
9.    I have shouted poetry from the tops of abandoned rail cars.
10. Timothy Leary is a hero of mine. I met him once. I also met Harlan Ellison and Steve Tibbetts.
11. There are some things I will never talk or write about.
12. For the right money I can do great design, but it's not fun enough to do for free.
13. Cooking is one of my other passions.
14. Someone crashed into my car and I used the insurance money to see Carlos Castaneda at a Tensegrity Seminar.
15. I used to be a freak for Christian rock bands. Petra, Servant, Rez Band, ArkAngel, etc.
16. I wept with passion at a Kitaro concert.
17.  I saw Jane's Addiction play "Three Days" at the first Lollapalooza. Swoon.
18. Corvettes from the 1970s are my favorite.
19. I could live on chocolate.
20. I can get a girl pregnant just by looking at her.
21. Right now a Stone weighs me down.
22. But I am quite certain I can fly, according to the many dreams I've had.
23. I possess great destructive powers that I have never used, nor will I.
24. I was the top singer in high school but something bad happened to my voice since then.
25. I am not afraid of death. I am afraid of increased and prolonged suffering.

Writing Love on my Arms

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 22:06:11 GMT

Written in response to To Write Love On Her Arms Day (TWLOHA) challenge post that I found on Ampersands_Anonymous' blog.

This has to do with TWLOHA, "a nonprofit organization that deals with addiction, self-injury, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, and suicide."

There is some irony for me in this since I was at the helm of a teen suicide prevention public awareness campaign for the state government in 2007-2008. During that time I was surfing on my own cresting tsunami of depression. That wave has not yet reached its full peak. With even more irony I confess that just today I was nearly consumed by such feelings, so perhaps this would be a good time for me to remember why I keep going.

Three things I love about myself:

I am truthful
Also sincere, honest and I don't lie.
This includes the fact that I do not write "fake blogs."

I am a freaky hot lover
For all the good it does me.

I am becoming a better person
On purpose.

Cry of the Loon

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 15:34:06 GMT

Deep into the thickness of a blackened night we drank the very bad wine and smoked the most awful, resinous leavings of leaves once kind. All potent. All horrid. The crest of the summer of 1986 had passed on into a vibrating fecundity that tickles at the corners of eyes. By then the moon was gone too.

It was my last day on earth and I was celebrating in style.

Eomneon, my best friend then and now, had invited me up to sit on the Rock with him for possibly the very last time. We agreed we should have some of that wonderful Gallo port in a giant glass jug.

On The Rock
The Rock is one among a family of epoch-rounded red sandstone sediment that pokes up sporadically along the crook between the Hogback and the first actual rising slopes of the Rocky Mountains – kin with the very same sediment that made Red Rocks Park Amphitheatre, Roxborough Park and Garden of Gods, all up and down the Colorado Front Range. (The Hogback is the first sheared plate of violated rock directly west of Denver that is unquestionably not a foothill – so named for its resemblance to the spine-side of a razorback hog. I climbed a segment once to confirm that it does indeed peak at an extreme, almost knife-like angle for miles along its length.) The Rock, this particular node of sandstone, is the centerpiece of a posh subdivision where Eomneon's family had been fortunate enough to settle, for a while – until divorce set them asunder. The east-facing slope of it is mild enough to walk over to the lip of the other side: a small cliff with a long, level recess carved into it by the millennia that provided just enough shelter from rain and noonday sun to make it a perfect outdoor hideaway hangout. It's necessary to drop down into it without twisting an ankle. One could easily imagine a Native American brave making camp on the hunt, looking out over the overgrown, nearly impassable marshy swath of reeds and giant grasses and that generous view of the valley and its massive western wall.

So that's about the Rock.

My Last Day On Earth
The wine we drank from its large glass jug was sweet like sunset candy and cheap like barato cheap – affordable like the kind Jack drank – to be fair his might've been a tokay but hey, not dissimilar unto – when he was out here forgetting how write nicely and getting ready to die. We poured it into tall kitchen glasses. We swallowed in gulps because there was a lot of it.

We had to smoke the pipe scrapings that night because some Republican war pig was in office and pot was ridiculously hard to find. "It's worth its weight in hash" if you can get past the cruel taste.

It was probably my last day on earth. One could never be certain. Tomorrow my cousin would arrive from out of California. Our plans were to step together away from this world of plain scientific and moral descriptions, through the Castanedaean gash between and beyond into the limitless inconceivable. I had a great need to see if it was true what I had been warned about all my life.

I have since learned that every last thing I was ever warned about is true indeed.

If things went well we would not be defending ourselves from packs of dogs in the moonless mornings or evading trailer park denizens or starving in places not so certainly either public or private. If things went well I wouldn't find myself trying to climb a red sandstone cliff wall (the very same stuff already mentioned, only hidden this time just outside Colorado Springs) to reach the nest of noisy crows with the foolhardy hope of feasting upon one. If things went well, we would not soon become a laughing stock among friends and families and have to get food stamps and live homeless in Boulder for a short while before we were at last separated and my cousin went on get beat up, eat from dumpsters and have all his shit stolen. If things went well.

But for the time being, out on the Rock with Eomneon, the night was dedicated to the celebration of my last day on earth.

Being my last day on earth, there were some critical, final matters between me and my great friend that I knew must be settled.

Cheers.

"I admit," I said, "it sure sounds like Fripp playing that solo in Two Hands. I was just going off this article I read once that said Belew was taking more leads."

"That's such a great solo, man," Eomneon said. And I knew he had let it go. At last, even my Jewish friend had learned how to forgive.

Emboldened, I said what was really on my mind, "I know you're thinking about my sister."

He shrugged.

"I'm not saying anything. I mean I don't care and it's none of my business," I continued. "But I don't think she's gonna go for you, man. You need to get in shape."

It was no secret he was looking pretty dumpy by then, all raw pizza dough and pear-like.

Eomneon was gracious, but miffed. "Naw, man. You're wrong."

"All I'm saying."

"Dude." He fished around his fanny pack, pulled out a brass protopipe. "Let's smoke some of this delicious pot resin."

To his credit, at this time Eomneon is probably the most fit, toned individual I know. But I doubt he ever got with my sister.

Shortly thereafter I heard a hideous sound.

A long, shrill, descending shriek that cut through the pitch of night like a madding meat cleaver. Simply awful.

It was horrible. It was the sound of merciless midnight lunacy.

"What. The fuck. Is that?" I asked.

Eomneon looked at me, ever amazed at how little I know. "That's a loon, man."

"A loon," I repeated.

A crazy bird screaming with stone-cold abandon into the heart of my moonless last night on earth.

"Yeah, a loon."

The Cry Of The Loon
"Aw man," I stood up suddenly.

"What?"

"I gotta go. Let's go." Which basically means what was left of my last day on earth had begun to spin violently in seven directions. We made it up, somehow, in that blackest of summer nights only by the light of stars, over the precarious lip of the Rock and down the east side without incident. Once or twice ambling back toward his home I heard them again.

Terrible nightmare screams!

"Loon?" I asked. "You get that shit a lot out here?"

He only laughed.

We reached his back porch where I tried desperately not to get sick, clutching a beam and hanging my head over the lawn. My stomach was already in my throat and I was only vaguely aware of his dogs coming around to sniff at my ankles and my ass. I wasn't sure which way was up.

"Hey man," I said. Eomneon drew closer. "Hey man, forget about it."

"What?"

Just then the loon cried out to me: a lunatic's wail.

"RALPH!!!" I groaned.

"Ralph?" he asked, but then heard all of my jug wine and whatnot coursing back the wrong way of me and splashing out onto the rocks and grass. He knew what I meant. Stepped back.

"Loon," I gasped finally. "Forget about it."

The spins were already mounting again. After a while I moaned, "Wow man, that loon sounds just like a crazy bitch's scream."

Eomneon, my best friend in the world, agreed, "That's the sound of one nutty lady. You ready for some more wine?"

"Oh no..." Spins spins spins.

Then, again, from out of the deep and unknowable fathoms of night came the loon's horrific sound:

AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

"RALPH!!!"

It went on for some time just so: the loon screaming at me and me wretchedly retching for Ralph.

I would have to face my last day on earth with a jug wine hangover.

Just Wine

Sun, 08 Nov 2009 22:47:42 GMT

I knew there was something wrong with my fitness regimen.
Maybe I should mix it up a little with tequila and beer.

db

Results Are In!

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 21:51:51 GMT

This post intends to be the wrap-up, awards and analysis of my foolhardy, more than mildly entertaining, sometimes perplexing, often alienating and ultimately unimportant challenge post project.

I've got posts about The Beatles, your tiny little Irish Temper, old school Anime, what my wife is not (will I have the courage?), yet another lost beloved installment and who knows what other madness all lined up, plus I'm trying to write about four novels and get a real job, so

Let's make this quick.

And the results are (drum roll please):

Two of three challenge posts were featured on the Xanga Front Page! Back-to-back, no less.

A lot of folks kept congratulating me, and I had to keep reminding them that this means I lost the challenge. I long ago gave up trying and desiring to be featured.

In fact, this whole experience has convinced me that I'll be happy to never be featured again.

It's all the more bitter sweet because since I had to turn off Sign-In Lock I was discovered, ratted out and my life was ruined thanks to this challenge. Divorce, jail, AIDS. Just kidding. It could happen, though.

AWARDS
Losing the challenge means I have to honor the conditions of said loss. I already purchased my one month of Premium Xanga. Wow, it's really so cool too. While I was at it I availed myself of the AdSense program – maybe I'll even make my money back! So get some.

Secondly, I promise to never again write anything mean about the "Xanga Team" (whatever that really actually is). A dog's hind leg, does, after all, belong to a wonderful doggy. So I'll try like the devil to keep kind.

Finally, to my formerly dear and not at all sweet friend, A Horrible Strange Person and Victimization Addict, I concede to your long-held conviction:

Yes, Horrible Strange Person,
you are quite right!
It is without question
not difficult to get featured
on the Xanga Front Page!!
!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So there's that.

And thanks to all of you who participated! You made this experience what it was. Whatever it was. What was it?

ANALYSIS
On to the analysis. This portion of the show is dedicated to my friend TheBigShowAtUD for his constant encouragement and tender-hearted mentoring. He helped me slog through the tough spots in my quest for defeat. Thanks, man *sniff* I couldn't've... ah hell, thanks for being there.

At the heart of this challenge is the raging debate about what it takes to get featured. If that's a goal. Which it was then but it's not now and wasn't before, but that was after it was. Some think that favoritism is in play. Others think formula, still others claim talent or skill can get one featured. Some are pretty sure it's random or at least at all times unknowable.

One revealing clue was in theTheologiansCafe's only comment ever on my blog when he said he never gets featured anymore but that he could post the same exact stuff under a new account and would get featured every time. This suggest that favoritism (or anti-favoritism in this case) and formula are factors in play. If he's right. But he's always saying stuff like that. But I know that sneaky Cylon already openly admitted doing shit like that, so I took it like gospel. Which gave rise to the formulaic "controversial topical" post.

Challenge Post #1: Controversial Topic Formula
Interracial Marriage: What About the Kids? was as crass and mindless as I could make it. It took me less time to think up and write that blog than some of my Pulses. Short copy. Big images. Current events. Racism. President Obama. Pop culture. I went right for the jugular. I filled my end of the bargain, and you, my dear readers, made it happen. Big time featured with gobs of recs and submits. I was swimming in pages and pages of comments. I got a lot of compliments for my writing, which made me laugh. There were some trolls and some 'tards who asked me to toss them out on their ears – not too bad. I had to block that little guy S_K_O_T who was so thrilled when I misspelled anti-Semitic in my reply to him that it gave him license to write a whole new book of onanistic absurdities on my site. Wrong. Not playing.

So this seemed to show that the type of formulaic topical presentation used by several prominent Xangans is a real crowd-pleaser likely to make feature.

(For those who are interested: it seems like as of the original posting of this entry – 11/4/09 – that dumb old judge Bardwell announced early retirement – without further comment.)

Challenge Post #2: MetaBlog Formula
Hey Xangan, What's Your Blogotype? was a calculated risk. It was a stunt post. I wasn't sure if I should try another type of formula or stick with the one that performed so well. If I failed to make Front Page, then critics could complain that my effort was not sincerely robust. I wanted to do a "list" type of entry, and as I scrolled through the featured archives I made a note that a metablog hadn't been up there in a while, so I cooked up the whole ridiculous premise. If you read it in a certain light you can see that I was already weary of the "ease" of getting featured. It was just another formula I'd seen many times. Again many of my supporters came through for me and Xanga Team bit. Traffic was less spectacular and I think a lot of people took me seriously. Oh well. For the record, I am the Stunt Blogger, but the rest of that shit I just made it up on the spot. It was just funny to me – that's all.

Once again I think we saw the performance of yet another formulaic approach.

Challenge Post #3: Scatalogical Formula
I Like to Smell My Own Poo was actually the real reason I pulled this prank. I just wanted to get as many people as possible to read it. It likely comes as no surprise to many of my long time readers, since I have been warning you about it since last May. I wrote it in June and went live last week with only minor edits.

The poo blog is a classic formula. Originally I had in mind to go on about it, but let me just say that those of you who congratulated some arguably more popular blogger of the top variety for his or her post about poo and then either ignored or gave me looks askance, shame on you hypocrites. My poo blog is way, way cuter.

I must also mention how I was very, very disappointed in my readers who failed to rec and submit as I had asked – I had to resort to submitting it myself and time-stamping like a top-blogger. Only my great friend, my own personal Doubting Thomas complicatedlight, had the courage to dip his finger in, so to speak, and rec the only blog in the series that really mattered.

Perhaps the failure of the poo post to make Front Page says something about the theory of favoritism in the feature selection process. If I had been a favorite, I bet they would have put it up in a heartbeat.

So at the very end of it all can I honestly say it's cinch to get featured on the Front Page? Perhaps, if you like to write shallow and insincere posts in a dumbed-down-for-children style, following the formula of someone else with similarly mediocre aspirations. I found that to be rather difficult, though.

For those of you who have concerns that I have indeed lost my mind, take heart. Once my Premium runs out and the AdSense turns off I'll be going back on Sign-In Lock and returning to more familiar stunts, pranks and confessions. I missed my friends. That must have been kind of like how it was for Jesus.

As for whether it takes talent to get featured, I never set out to address that question. I will say that my challenge posts demonstrate the unrivaled genius lurking in my cranium. I said I would try as I hard I would even though it meant I would lose, and I did it, and I nailed it spot on – plus I made you look at the Poo Post, which was definitely more exciting.

I Like to Smell My Own Poo

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 12:27:37 GMT

My stinky poo is likely not all that different from anyone’s. I can’t seem to distinguish between the poo stinks of, say, a fresh school-age child and that of a despicable old codger. All smells like shit, as does mine.

I am quite certain that my shit stinks. All the same, I like to smell it, but only if it’s 100% mine. It can’t be tolerated mixed in with inferior public restroom stinks. And it has to be fresh, too. If I leave the restroom and return shortly, the allure of my leavings has faded. I hold my nose.

When I have the restroom all to myself, though, I allow the full spectrum of my poo's richly nuanced odor to waft through my nasal cavities. I’m pretty sure Freud has some very embarrassing thing to say at this point, but that’s too bad. I bet Freud liked the smell of his own poo, too.

I bet a lot of people, maybe even most people, like the smell of their own poo. And farts.

I’ve heard people start to joke about it, then quickly shut up as they realize no one in their audience is going to cop to it. Will you admit in mixed company that you like to smell your own poo?

Don’t get me wrong. Crap is gross. My crap is disgusting. I can’t bear to touch it.

All told, I admit I’d rather smell anything else.

I don’t know why I like to smell my own poo. It doesn’t make any sense.

Is this just too much information?

Hey Xangan, What's Your Blogotype?

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 01:14:59 GMT

or Just How Crooked is a Dog's Hind Leg?

After six seven-year cycles, a $50k student loan to attain a fancily-lettered BFA diploma, two marriages plus, buncha kids, two car-totaling courtesy of semi-trucks rear-end collisions, voodoo death curse attacks, a couple of quits without notice, onset of dementia, all the while avoiding jail somehow,

I finally

finally

finally know what I really want to be when I grow up.

I want to be a blogger.

Not just your any old kind of bloggy blogger just blogging blogs out there on the blogosphere all blogged out. No.

I'm going for that scintillant outer-crust blogasmic bloggiful blogger, bloggerific, bloggeous, blo-

er, I think you get my point.

Yes, while the rest of you toil according your station in life, I will ascend. And I will stand atop my tallest tower built from the bricks of your countless comments over the unmarked graves of trolls and haters. And I will survey my vast domain.

A Wide and Vast Dominion

I will choose from among you who has my favor and which of you will taste only the silence of my disdain. And you will yearn to call me by my first name and you will secretly think of me even away from the digital interface, even while spending quality time with your loved ones.

You will wonder if I even read your last, brilliant comment.

You will speculate about whether or not I will ever publish a post about poo.

As I contemplate my bloggimous future glory, I wonder what sort of blogged bloggity blogotype of a bloguminous Xanga blog I will be known for. There are several blogotypical bloggistic bloggers I have observed in my Xanga adventures.

Here are some bloggable blogibilities:

Easy A
Can you say "lowest common denominator?" A hot topic formula blog stripped down and streamlined to draw loads of traffic, and optimized to feed Google AdSense revenue. Proves that looks aren't everything and writing is a big waste of time.

Class Clown
While deriding everything Easy A does, studies and emulates the topical formula. Every controversy is an opportunity to make fun of something sacred for this thinly disguised ego vehicle.

Deriding hard.

Valedictorian
Seeks to discover the perpetual Oprah moment with an endless stream of inspirational essays while passively exposing the failure of moral character among lesser humans.

Think deep thoughts.

Freak Magnet
Keeps normal people away through frequent outbursts of inarticulate ventings. Ostensibly a topical blog that favors one or more obsessions. Attracts a motley crowd of ardent admirers, curious co-conspirators and deluded detractors.

shout out yo

The Dog's Hind Leg
Not a real blog at all but a robot blog designed by evil forces to appear to be moderate, wholesome and attractively well-spoken with the purpose of spreading ire, dissent and dissatisfaction among the good people of Xanga. Attains traffic and featured status through nefarious means.

That's how crooked.

Stunt Blog
The bloggingest blogged blogger who regularly achieves or fails amazing feats of pathos and pathology through a mysterious application of language known as writing.

Show 'em how it's done, Evel.

Whether you aspire to ascend to superultrametablogdom, or prefer to keep a less blogbastic profile, you have your own, special niche to fill here on Xanga.

Maybe you have your own list of types of bloggers. What are they?

Which blogotype best describes you?

Interracial Marriage: What About the Kids?

Fri, 16 Oct 2009 20:35:57 GMT

Louisiana’s good ol' boy and justice of the peace Keith Bardwell refused earlier this month to grant marriage to an engaged couple because, he did indeed say, they are a biracial couple and apparently he don't take a cotton to that.

Beth Humphrey is white and her fiancé Terence McKay is black, and it wasn't too difficult for them to find someone one else to marry them. But they are considering taking legal action against Bardwell.

I would.

Bardwell says he has turned away interracial couples before, referring them to another justice of the peace. Yesterday, as he contemplated his future as a reviled, unemployable imbecile, he said, "No one's ever complained about it before."

Just looking out for the kids.

Meanwhile, American Civil Liberties Union in Louisiana and the Center for Constitutional Rights and Justice in New York have called for Bardwell to resign from his justice of the peace position in Louisiana’s Tangipahoa Parish.

The soon-to-be infamously retired Bardwell takes the high road. "I do it to protect the children," he says. "The kids are innocent and I worry about their futures."

Hell yes, Keith, one of them mixed-race kids might grow up and become the president.

Kids these days.

Personally I like to mix it up and I like seeing it all mixed up. I sure get nervous in places where there's a whole bunch of white people running around acting like they own everything.

I can't see Bardwell's rationalization for denying interracial marriage as anything other than cold-hearted racism.

Story here.

What do you think?

What about the kids? Does this guy have a leg to stand on?

Feature Me Xanga: A Challenge

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 23:33:12 GMT

While the topic is still warm and I'm hot with the inspiration, I think we'll all do a project now. You and me together, we're going to prove how easy or how difficult it is to get featured on the Xanga Front Page.

We'll do this by getting at least one of my next three posts on the front page.

This inspiration comes from an exchange I had with a Victimization Addict who insists in a recent entry that she is nobody's favorite little pet blogger on the "Xanga Team" (whatever that actually is). Perhaps it is only by the sheer merit of her writing that several of her posts have been featured. Or maybe she somehow accidentally hits a feature-worthy chord back at the Xanga feature factory. I am not disputing this.

I am however taking issue with this notion that it's a cinch to get featured on the Xanga Front Page. This has not been my experience.

The only people who promote this view are those who have had numerous blogs featured on the front page. This stands to reason, since this is their experience: they post a blog and it gets featured. It's that easy!

On the other side of the fence there are folks like me who have at least made nominal attempts if not relentless all out assaults to get featured and have failed. If you think this is evidence of my inability to write a feature-worthy post, I hope you'll understand that I am not ready to concede that point.

Tha Rules
Three Feature-Worthy Posts
I will write three posts, each according to my best understanding of what makes a feature-worthy post (see below). Oh don't worry they'll be decent.
I Submit
I will submit these posts to the "Xanga Team" for consideration here.
(http://www.xanga.com/submit-post?user=xanga)
You Submit
You will submit will submit at least one of these posts for consideration here.
(http://www.xanga.com/submit-post?user=xanga)
Each post must get at least one reader submittal or the challenge is off.
Please let me know when you do.
Recs! with your comments
Lots of recs are in order so don't hold out on me, baby.
Each post must get at least one rec or the challenge is off.
"Ish" Sites
Don't Count. Only Xanga Front Page feature link to my Xanga blog counts yo.
This Entry
Does not count either, but that would totally rock.
If Two of Three Posts Get Featured
I'll admit to the Horrible Strange Person that I was wrong and she was right and I'll buy one month of Premium (lord I am a cheap dude). I'll never cast doubt on the fairness and judgment of the Xanga Team again.
If Just One Post Gets Featured
We'll call it even – after all, I believe I've been feature-worthy already. And I'll refrain from disparaging the "Xanga Team" with a grain of salt. I think about buying a month of Premium.
If NO Post Gets Featured
I'll close my Xanga account and go hang myself like I should have done before I wrote this post. Prank! Just kidding. If I don't get featured then I'm sticking to my story that the "Xanga Team" is playas. Then we can all have a rollicking discussion about whether any of the three posts were actually feature-worthy (I assure you they will be). And Xanga can forget about my five dollars.

I'm Counting On You
This challenge will be a wash if I can't get one rec and one user submittal per post, so I'm counting on you to help prove or disprove the statement that it's easy to get featured on the front page. The more, the better.

What makes a post "Feature Worthy?"

Since I've been here on Xanga I've read a few posts about how to write a post that will make the Front Page. I can't remember who or where, but I do remember which entries of mine I employed what tactics on, so the more esoteric principles will remain unspecified. But, per Krissy_Cole's suggestion, I looked up john's post How To Be Featured on the Xanga Frontpage. Here's what he said:

Write Something Interesting! This may seem obvious, but we can only consider posts that are interesting to people besides your friends/subscribers. Tell a story, share a recipe, muse about something random... you get the idea.
Something interesting. Hmmm. Wow, this is going to be harder than I thought.
Don't be afraid to be controversial. We recently featured a post about sexual molestation, because it seemed like an important topic and we wanted to raise awareness. We won't shy away from tough topics!
My middle name is Controversy. Unless you happen to agree with me.
Keep the profanity to a minimum. We know that a lot of people swear now and then, and that's cool. (And of course with our Ratings system, you can say whatever you want!) But if you drop a lot of F bombs, we probably won't be featuring your post.
What's an F bomb?
Turn off Your Locks. We can't be featuring your post if you've turned on Xanga Lock or Friends Lock. Then people would click over to your post, and not be able to read it.
Done. I only started using locks on and off more recently – long after I had given up on getting featured.

I've also heard "keep it short" and "ask a question at the end" quite a lot, so you'll see me working that angle too.

I hope to dish these posts out in short order – I'll try to keep it to under a week. If you want me to tag you when I post, please let me know. Thanks in advance for your help.

Have you ever done anything this dumb?

Health Care Please

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 04:12:07 GMT

My little boy has got it bad again. He was down with tha sickness for week, back up for a week, and now he's boiling again.

Here's the deal.

I know I agreed that we should take all the time necessary to create fair, effective health care reform legislation. But now I think they should hurry the fuck up. Pass that shit with or without a damn Republican and let's see what you got because my family can't wait for your bipartisan nuance.

Public option? You got one? Hand it over because I got nothing. I work full time. I can't even pay rent on my own but the State of Colorado believes I make too much money to qualify my children for Medicaid. That's right, last month a group of pencil pushers looked over our re-application and mulled it over while we stood at the back of the line. Denied.

So guess what. As soon as my boy is sick enough we're going down to the goddamned emergency room and we're not going to pay. You are.

Mandate? Ha ha that's funny. Fine me, then. I'll be back at the emergency room, not paying.