CyberSpace 42

So the Blogosphere is to end in a glorious crashing apocalypse. Now what? What are my famous last cyberwords?

That’s the premise of the charity-driven meme from Urban Monk and I was tagged by Michael.

Oh, how I would love it to be witty like “42” or “So long and thanks for all the fish.” (RIP Douglas Adams)

Fact is, I got nuthin’.
Nothing original or witty or poignant or insightful.

I’ve enjoyed blogging. The thrill of having readers may not ever wear off. I don’t see how it can.
It was exciting to check Sitemeter and find out I’d had traffic from China, Indonesia, Lebanon, India. Someone from every continent but Antarctica has had a sniff. They didn’t stay, but they were there, and that’s darned exciting.

Blogging gave me back a way of communicating I thought had ended when I left newspaper reporting six years ago. I had a place to voice my opinions and learn what others thought of my stance.
When readers agreed with my newspaper columns I sometimes heard about it. When they disagreed I always heard about it.
I was once told to “get an education.” Another time I was mentioned at four churches on the same Sunday. Readers occasionally prayed for me. I kept all the letters to the editor about me after they ran in the paper.
When public opinion of my thoughts was scarce I’d take them out and roll in them just to remember why I wrote a column.

It meant I was being read. And more importantly, it made people think. I like to think that I’ve done that on the blog so my final post of the blog apocalypse will echo what I said when my reporting career ended, “Thank you for reading me.”

NB I’m supposed to tag others as I have been tagged.
Consider yourself tagged.

Goodbye, Scotty

James Doohan’s ashes are being sent into space tomorrow.
(Read more here http://www.cnn.com/2007/TECH/space/04/02/doohan.ashes.ap/index.html)


It’s a poignant and fitting tribute to the man best known and loved as Lt.-Cmdr. Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer of the USS Enterprise on the original Star Trek.

The original series was the best. It was never about space or special effects or science fiction. Because of that it stays in reruns and the episodes can be watched over and over again.

Star Trek was more real to me than anything on television.
I hadn’t realized how much of an impact the show had on me until one day in the early 1980s. I had a government drone job and was on my way back to the hive by way of a shortcut through The Bay store. A radio station was announcing a contest and I swear the prizes included “one of 10 Air Canada trips to the Neutral Zone!”

I’d go in a heartbeat.

Doohan’s death took a wee bit of my childhood with it. It’s a reminder of mortality and the bittersweet passage of time.
Consigning his ashes to the stars makes it real to me all over again.
Of course Mr. Scott is in space.
Where else would he be?

I Wonder What That Means?

It’s bad enough that I sometimes can’t read my own handwriting. I occasionally forget what I meant by the scribbled noted in the manuscript margin.

The first problem is when I’m correcting I sometimes
a) use a pencil
b) write very small
It’s usually only a typo. If I can’t read my squiggle I can still see the problem because my squiggle is right at the mistake.

The second problem is more difficult. Crossing out words is easy to follow, but adding them in is a challenge. If they’re just illegible I have a reasonable chance of reasoning them out. But sometimes the words are perfectly legible, but I don’t recall why I thought they belonged.
Yesterday I was doing the corrections on my ms. I’d read it over several weeks ago and knew I should get right at my corrections and get them done.
I did chapter one within a day or so, rewrote it a bit, and then decided to let the dust settle.
Yesterday I got back to it. One the first page of second chapter in neat hand in the left margin I found the phrase
“letting ourselves enjoy.”

It could relate to either of two paragraphs. It doesn’t.
It doesn’t fit anywhere. I have no idea what it was we should be letting ourselves enjoy.
I’m sure its stellar advice, though. I intend to let myself enjoy as much as I can.
But I’d enjoy it a lot more if I knew what it was I meant.

Be Careful What You Say

Ever since I wrote about getting up early I’ve been sleeping in.
I was careful to not deal in absolutes when I wrote it as that gets one into trouble. But it seems like the mere act of writing about it at all has messed it my routine.
I still greet the mornings. It’s closer to 6:30 than 5:30 most mornings although today I was up at 5:30 and I feel way better for it.

I want to blame it on adjusting to the time change, but that’s getting a bit old now.
I could heap credit on the cold, wet weather, though that doesn’t seem fair. I just plain lack the verve that got me out of bed and outside even when it was a clear and crisp –40C.

So here’s my plan. I’m going to vow right this minute that I’ll never get out of bed early again.
I shall laze in bed and slugfully return to the days when my husband brought me my morning coffee and the newspaper in bed.

And while I’m at it:
I absolutely will not be commercially published. Ever.
Ha!
That’ll show me.

Editing is You’re...oops...Your Friend

I know the difference between your and you’re. They’re easy to remember and easy to use, but it still doesn’t stop me from throwing down the wrong one in a sentence and not seeing the error of my fingers.

The first one means something belongs to you; it’s yours.
The second is a contraction of you and are. It can warn of an impending opinion like, “You’re a dolt for always mixing up your and you’re.”

I’ve done it a few times in commenting on blogs. Sometimes I catch it. Often I go in a post a second comment making up for the mistake in my first comment. It bothers me that much.

I do it in my writing too frequently for my comfort and don’t always notice it. Spell check is interesting at the best of times and all but useless here.

I’ve gone over my third ms several times. I’ve had betas go over it. Mistakes were pointed out. Corrections were made.

I started shopping it a few months back and then recently went over it again.
I read it out loud this time. It forced me to think about what I was reading and really see it rather than skip along assuming that what was supposed to be there was really there.

I still found your vs. you’re mistakes.

Okay, at least I caught ‘em before any publisher asked to see it. But I wonder, if it sits another six months what other horrors will I find?

Cart Smart Action

Here are the photos of the CartSmart in action.

Along with the two outside pockets shown here it’s got three inside pockets. They’re ideal for keys, cell phone, wallet, etc. and the main deep pocket is great for carrying a small amount of groceries like bread, milk, and eggs.

Thanks to the Rocky Mountain House Co-op for letting me use a store shopping cart and parking lot in the photos.

We’re From the Government. We’re Here To Help You

Here’s a head-shaking moment courtesy of government bureaucracy.
I’m waiting for a call back from the Public Trustee’s office. I like to think I won’t be waiting long to clear up this matter, but the government’s pace can be glacial.

A few years ago my Uncle Reynold died in government care. He’d been a ward of the Province for most, if not all, of his adult life.
Consequently his government cheques such as AISH (Assured Income for the Severely Handicapped) were banked.

A few month ago my dad was advised that everything was sorted out as to who gets how much and that cheques were to be sent out.
Shortly after finding this out my dad passed away. Logically, the simplest and easiest thing to do is make dad’s cheque out to his estate.

But this is the government and logic is a stranger in a strange land.

I asked the Public Trustee’s office back in January what they needed from me in order to get Uncle Reynolds’ money released.
The fellow I spoke with said I needed to send him a copy of the probate.
But probate wasn’t necessary in my dad’s case.

The fellow didn’t have a response for that so he said he’d get back to me.
Yesterday I received a letter from the Public Trustee’s office advising me that I needed to send along a copy of the Grant of Probate.

I’m sure this fellow is just following the rules.
He’s probably forgotten that I said there was no probate.

I’m sure this can be handled simply and efficiently, but for now I’m just going to shake my head.