Month: July 2012


    We're starting to call Abby 'Prince Abner' now... She/He is front and center there.

    I go out of my way to order hens (for this flock I drove personally to another city) because my neighbors aren't keen on the crowing. I'm not keen on their dogs, but we've agreed to declare my yard a demilitarized zone. They keep their dogs out of my yard, I don't get roosters.

    I have butchered a LOT of chickens in my life. When you grow up Mennonite on a farm, you see*. death*. everywhere*. It's a way of life and I have no problem eating chicken, but as I've gotten older, I've gotten softer. It kills me to have to kill my chickens now, even if they're miserably dying of illness and old age. I love them, wah!!!!

    Abs is a beautiful bird, and either she's going to be an Amazonian machine, or he's going to be dinner. This is weighing more and more heavily on my mind every morning, with the crowing... It's been so many years since I've eaten one of my own babies, I'm not sure I can do it anymore.

    Roosters are funny thangs. They're actually kind of effeminate the first three months, usually looking more and more like giant klutzes, and you wonder what the crap because you paid top dollar getting them sexed and surely this one isn't having a growth hormone problem, you know? I've seen a lot of weird genetic stuff in chickens, anything is possible. But then the crowing starts... It's like when a boy's voice starts changing, it sounds really weird for awhile and you go, really?, and that's what makes you think it might still be a hen, because hens crowing can sound a little ridiculous. Btw, that doesn't mean they're turning into roosters or going androgynous, it's just a natural bird thing for a tribal leader to clearly state territory proclamations. If there is no rooster, a lead hen sometimes naturally takes over. It's a very important job and must be done correctly, and you can go all Terry Pratchett-y if you dwell on that too long.

    Anyway, I've been through this umpteen times, gangly awkward teenager goes giganto and starts irritating everyone, practicing foolishly on old hens who get miffed when an ideal opportunity pops up as they are getting a drink, and next thing you know, Jr. is on his back in the water bowl because he can't keep his balance, and the old lady's head is squashed under the kid ~in the water~, and, well, I'm pretty sure that's where the saying "mad as a wet hen" originated from.

    And then the spurs start nubbing out, and boy don't they feel all sassy then, and oh look, legs walking across the yard, *stealthstealthcoolstealth* here he comes, dragging a wing and hopping sideways, then the LEAP, and *whamo*, I block the nidiot with a slick hip move and send him rolling, and he thinks that's so awesome that he comes right back and keeps throwing his body all over me, and dang if he's not trashing my good pants, what was I thinking wearing them in the back yard... My dad got specially bred fighting roosters one year because he thought they'd look pretty walking around the yard, boy was that a joke. You get one of those guys on your head and it's exactly like a cartoon, but with real blood. Nowadays you could impress people saying a zombie nearly got you.

    I'm kind of hoping we can wait this one out and see what happens, maybe break out the good camera and have some fun with it. And maybe rename the guy. I'm not crazy about just sliding it over to 'Abner', and I really wanna stick to my tv character theme. Abby was for two Abbies, the one on NCIS, and the one on Primeval. You know what? Today is Wil Wheaton's birthday, I could use one of his characters, like Dr. Isaac Parrish (who is, incidentally, a dick) from Eureka. Or I *could* just name him Wil Wheaton, because technically he played himself on The Big Bang Theory but I hate to do that because later on I'd be saying Yeah, Wil Wheaton got mangled in a dog attack, or Wil Wheaton got hit by a car, or we ate Wil Wheaton for supper last night, and a phrase like that could wind up throwing some kind of horrible cosmic irony at me if me saying that happened to coincide with something terrible actually happening to the guy. I mean, what if a raccoon found a way into the pen and ate Wil Wheaton's brain? And the biggest Prairie Kingsnake Scott ever saw went slithering past the Quackerdome door while it was wide open last spring, easily 4 feet long. You just never know, so that's why I don't name chickens after anyone real, because it sounds bad when you tell someone they died, you know? Kinda bothers my sister to hear someone had a pig named her name but it died, can't say I blame her. She has a cute name that winds up in songs, so I'm not saying it was disturbing to have a pig named after her, ok, this is getting out of hand, you know what I mean.  It sounds like a jinx.

    Behold, Dr. Isaac Parrish.

  • if there's time to lean, there's time to clean- ug


    My mom used to say that her mom used to pretend the Queen (of England, I presume) was coming over as incentive to knuckle down and really clean her house.
    That doesn't work for me....  
    There is no way I can convince myself something that vaguely remote might be possible, given the next door neighbor has never come over in 20 years. My neighbors are rugged individualists with clearly defined property boundaries who spend thousands of dollars every year on their lawns. I'm sure it irks them that we let our grass go to seed before everything dries out, which means we mowed, hang on a sec, lemme check... once this year. While the neighbor nearest us keeps the local hardware store in business with all the chemicals that run off toward our organic chicken house , we spread a little 'zoo doo' on our front yard every 3 to 5 years and do just fine.
    Anyway, I don't feel the need to impress anyone.
    I think part of my problem is I worked too hard as a kid. My dad is Mennonite and worked a big cattle ranch in Gunnison, and my mom was a city girl who dreamed of marrying a cowboy, and they wound up on a 7 acre nearly self-sustaining farm. I-worked-like-a-dog. Fast forward, my own kids are all grown up and outa here, and I'm tired now.
    Another part of my problem is cleaners. I cleaned in a big hospital when I was younger, before wearing gloves was mandatory, and my hands were in and out of the harshest chemicals all day long. I moved on to other jobs and discovered environmentally safe 'green' cleaners and thought How about that, now it's safer for the environment *and* me. But I developed airway restriction while I was using green cleaners on several occasions, and last year had a very abrupt anaphylactic reaction to lemon. Rats. I went back to good old Windex, but I guess over time my immune system had run down and every time I cleaned even a little bit, I felt very weak and sick for a couple of hours. I got to where I had to leave the house while Scott mopped floors. Eventually I did some research and found out that a very concentrated citrus oil solution called limonene is used in all kinds of things, from cleaning supplies to insecticides to candles and perfumes to you name it. Wow.    And even if something doesn't contain limonene, I guess something else is affecting me now.
    More research. Back to mixing white vinegar and water. Well, look at that, it actually works. Just like my mother used to use when my grandmother pretended the Queen was coming over. And the first thing I noticed was that I didn't feel sick at all while I was cleaning. And the second thing I noticed was that the dread I'd come to know when it came time to clean seemed to be closely tied to that sick feeling I used to get. I thought I just hated cleaning.
    So I no longer dread the sick feeling. I just don't want to have to clean at all. I don't hate it, I'm just really tired of doing it.
    I've been up and down with illness through my adult life, and I remember when the kids finally got jobs, my youngest brought home some girls on a work exchange program from Hong Kong. I had no warning, and my house was a wreck. Chattering happily in broken English, those silly girls took pictures of everything in my house, including my dirty dishes, my laundry room, my unmade bed, my bathrooms... I'm betting every one of those pictures wound up getting shared, big time. Even though I was really puny that year, that gave me enough incentive to pull it together and at least keep the place picked up. I'm in a pretty good habit of keeping everything picked up now, which is so much easier now that the kids moved out and got married. I'm biding my time till my youngest has kids, and I'm going to pop in for a visit on a rough week and take pictures of every room in her house...  
    I get a little incentive nowadays in a weird way. I like to Wabble with family online once in awhile, and I've noticed that sometimes one or two of us get so distracted multitasking over videos or facebook or whatever that I wind up sitting around twiddling my thumbs for 20 minutes. I can't sit comfortably for any length of time, thanx to spinal injuries I got rolling a car when I was young, so I've learned to get up after my turn and do a little something, like start a sinkful of dishwater, or get a load of laundry folded. Sometimes a game can last up to 2 hours, and I get a *lot* done. Sometimes all I have to do to get myself up and moving is text around to see who wants to wabble. And that gives me the excuse to sit back down a lot and take little breaks, which works out really well for me since I can't keep my momentum up for very long.
    Then there are days when it's just me, I don't feel like playing a game with anyone, and I still need to get something done. I used to at least have a little pride, either do it so Scott wouldn't regret coming home from work to a messy house, or do it because I have standards. That trick works some of the time, but not all of the time, and when you get a week sliding by, you suddenly notice it all built up and dang, now you *have* to do it.
    Now my excuse is this oppressive heat. My massage therapist told me she's getting all kinds of calls from other fibromyalgia clients, because this kind of heat triggers muscle inflammation. I have never done summers well since that car wreck, but I never connected that to the heat itself. I learned over the last 5 years that I just simply feel better if I go outside as little as possible in the summer. This year, though, it is SO hot, that even with the AC running, just reaching into a cupboard hung on an outer wall to get a dish is like reaching into an oven. Our 3 story home is more efficient than the neighbor's single story home, and we know this because we were surprised to find out when he complained about his electric bill one year that we use less electricity. We don't have a single hallway in this house, there is no wasted space. We can shut vents and close off rooms, and those rooms become insulators under the attic. The basement temperature never changes year round, being built into the side of the hill. We don't heat or cool it at all. So I'm finding it very noticeable this year that we have heat pockets inside the house, like inside all the cupboards and closets that line the outer walls. My nervous system seems to be acutely responsive to moving through the temperature changes around the house.
    So today I'm using a different trick. Stuff piled up again, so I thought I'd bore myself to death writing about it, and in between every paragraph, and sometimes every other sentence, I'm getting up and getting something done. In the time I've written this whole thing I've cleaned two bathrooms, gotten rugs through the wash, put together a homemade soup, cleaned out my refrigerator, and cleaned up part of my kitchen. This is stuff that wouldn't have gotten done if I hadn't found a silly way to trick myself into making it happen. And it'll only work if I actually post this to a blog.
    I know, I know, the whole world is watching the olympics right now, so I have an excuse not to even worry about this.    And you're not buying this at all, are you? So I'll tell you my *real* incentive. Even though I've got broadband and a great laptop, I'm in a sucky area with a bit of interference, and loading youtubes goes so slow I have to get up and do something. And right now I'm SO BORED that I'm scouring twitter for anything new I can find from fans, and then following whatever wayward links that branch off from there, so stuff like this is my reward for making it as far as I have today, because otherwise I'd have no incentive to be this patient with the internet. So thank you, Bradley James, for being pretty, and thanx to for taking the time to load it 13 days ago. And to all of you who read this far and dig this guy, treats on me. You're welcome.   

  • on a cicada-free night, you'd think we'd sleep

    Tonight has been ~waaaay~ too exciting. Scott and I both woke up around 2 with our eyes oozing, kudos to whatever can still pollinate all night after days and days of utterly wilting heat and drought, and thank goodness there are Olympics on several channels, because tv pretty much sucks at 3 a.m. So I got back on twitter to catch the funny stuff everyone is saying about watching Olympics (general consensus says Ralph Lauren made us look anti-American), but I got completely distracted watching Michio Kaku's twitter getting hacked ~LIVE~... *That* was some funny stuff. Following twitter reactions to that was better than watching Comedy Central, people in general are so witty and hilarious, it was awesome.
    And if that weren't exciting enough, Scott suddenly decided, after a year and a half into a total peanut ban in my life, that he was going to break out an old jar of peanut butter he had stashed away for to make peanut butter toast with some cereal, and I'm like *D*U*D*E*, wtcrap?!?!?!?! It's not exciting enough already, you want to risk me having an anaphylactic reaction at 4 in the morning??? omgheissodumb. I can't even let my skin touch the edge of a sleeve that has lightly brushed a suet block for a bird feeder without itching like mad and breaking out in sores and swelling, and he would have kissed me good night later without a second thought...
    So this whole night has been one long adrenaline surge, and I've never been the sort who could go back to sleep and get up at noon. And all this is with benadryl. Looks like my plan for tomorrow is to be as lazyasIwannabe.
  • I have this chicken thing

    I grew up around chickens and started raising my own when I was about 18, I think. I live in an area that's like a chicken mecca, big hatcheries in several directions, and big production barns a little further out. There are breeding farms within half a days' drive that specialize in rare breeds of quail and partridge, turkeys and pheasants, geese and ducks, and even peacocks. It's not unusual to see emu ranches, and I even had an emu fall out of a trailer in front of me on an exit ramp one year. Don't worry, I didn't run over it.

    My dream since I was a child was to have peacocks, and there are so many cool 'collector' colors out there now that I positively drool, so that's definitely on a bucket list. Problem with peacocks is they are *noisy* thangs, so I'm hoping we move to a bigger place for those. A rural subdivision full of fancy dogs is no place for peacocks.

    When you grow up on farms and ranches and have to name a lot of animals, it becomes kind of a game, and sometimes you develop themes. When we were teenagers we had goats, and one set of twins was called called Bunny and Jack (put Rabbit after that), another set was Timex and Speidel (watches). My niece named a calf Tuna when she was little, and her sister had a cat named Amino. I try not to name pets after people I know, especially chickens, because chickens tend not to live that long, and you hate to go, oh, so and so died... I know my sister finds it frustrating when someone pops up that they have a dog or pig with the same name as her, and other people might find it disturbing, too, so I try to stick to themes. For instance, my last flock before this one was named after retailers, although Macy was technically named after the parade. I also had a Dooney (& Bourke), Bean (as in L.L.), and Spencer.

    This year's flock is named after tv characters. I started with 8, but Zelda (after Ocarina of Time) went into seizures her first week and didn't make it, so I lost my first ever Cuckoo Maran, which would have laid 'chocolate' eggs. (I'm linking so you can see pictures if you want.) The names don't always fit, but I had the names picked out before we ever got the chicks.

    Myka (from Warehouse 13) is an Indian River, and I was under the assumption she would turn out red like her mom with the Delaware markings like her dad, but she's a beautiful white. Supposed to be a super egg layer.

    Mary Margaret turned out not to be as 'Snow White' as I thought she would be (from Once Upon a Time). She's an Austra White, another mixed breed for vigorous laying. I've never had a pink faced white chicken with black legs before, so the joke is that she's my naughty Catholic, a lady of the night in her stockings, as it were.

    Abby (from either NCIS- Scott's choice, or Primeval- my choice, take your pick) is a puzzle. I knew what a Columbian was supposed to be like, it's a particular color pattern, and our Abby is spot on. But she's turning into a monster. The hatchery guaranteed 93% accuracy on sexing, and out of 8 chicks, that means there is a fairly strong chance of one of them turning out to be a rooster, so we're hoping Abby is just going to be a big gal. I've had heavy breeds before, but our Abby is only 3 months old and already bigger than all my old hens were, so I hope it's not a growth hormone problem. Sometimes you see weird stuff.

    T'Pol (from Star Trek: Enterprise) turned out to be my most aptly named chicken, very first one to investigate and do everything. She's a Speckled Sussex, and already looking more petite than Bean from my last batch (who got pounced on by a hawk when she was 3). I've never seen a more curious breed than this, not sure if it's common trait or I just got two flukes in a row.

    Nadia G (from Bitchin' Kitchen) is a Golden Laced Wyandotte. A Wyandotte trait across the board is a rose comb, which I'd never tried out before in all my years of raising chickens. Kinda reminds me of the little dress hats my mom used to wear to church. So far Nadia is our tamest, likes to come see what we're doing and stand by us, lets me get pictures without freaking out.

    Morgana (from Merlin on Syfy here in the States) is a Silver Laced Wyandotte, and my most drop dead gorgeous chicken, easily the most photogenic, so I think I matched the name up pretty good with her.

    Amy Farrah Fowler (from The Big Bang Theory) is our wonky little oddball. She's a 'Blue Egger', basically a mutt that is supposed to have the blue egg gene, which is dominant. She was the cutest chick because of her little muff around her face, but she's grown into something so cartoony that we can't help thinking that her front half looks like the chicken hawk from Looney Tunes. She grew funny and has an unusual gait, so her back half moved like a pigeon until she matured, and she still uses her legs like they were patched on by an Igor. She has never cried and eats like a pig, so I don't think she was ever in any weird growing pain, but she's always going to be tiny and weird. The coolest thing about her is she has awesome super fluffy 'blue' feathers underneath the funny light ginger color.


    So I'm trying out Wyandottes this year. I've tried so many kinds of chickens, but never before Wyandottes, and I'm finding out there is a worldwide hobby devoted to new colors called feather lacing (scroll down that page for some truly beautiful birds). Might try it myself one day. Click on the icon for more about designing your own chickens.

    Blue laced reds are on my bucket list, one of the rarest varieties in the world.

    Personal note on Egyptian Fayoumi, one of the many breeds I've raised, you might wanna treat these like game birds for awhile, they tend to fly off into the trees and don't necessarily come back. The ones I had were about as wild as any I've seen. Somewhere in Missouri is a flock of wild chickens...

  • Is anybody else watching Lost all over again?

    I am getting sucked back into Lost on G4, watched the first two eps yesterday on my dvr. That show debuted in September 2004 right around the time my mom was in the hospital for a week with her broken hip, and wasn't long after that I was going through the bankruptcy stuff with my dad and then the bell's palsy, which got so bad it affected my brain. No wonder I couldn't get into it back then. So I feel like I'm getting a second chance to cycle back around through those years and pull myself back together. Me and Lost are on a journey, and this is all part of the whole me I'm going to wind up with. I've been fragmented too long. 8 years of me to patch back up. I spent my 40's plunging slowly into epic face palm starting with a death in the family at the beginning of '04, and by the middle of '07 I couldn't even walk due to back injury, '08 was months of recovery from a nasty CMV infection in my liver and wound up with total disability, '09 was a medication nightmare, and then my mom died.  I can't even talk about 2010 up through this year yet, with all the crazy new food allergies being the least of my problems.
    My 50's need to be about my rebirth, like a phoenix.  Like Lost...
    I saw the sixth season when it aired, so going back and seeing the very first season all over is like full circle, all those hints they made, it all makes sense now.  I hope life is like that.  I want it all to make sense, like the backgammon game John set up on the beach.
    Click on John for the wiki page on that episode.

    Black and white - Lostpedia - The Lost Encyclopedia

  • zombie apocalypse


    One thing I don't do well is what my mom and her family used to call "visit". I last about an hour on a good day, and then I need a 3-day break. This includes all kinds of interpersonal interactions, and especially the phone. If you're one of the rare few who have ever gotten me to chat with you on a phone, major kudos. I actually like being around people, but once the aspie overload hits, my brain melts and I slide right out of this dimension.
    The last couple of weeks have been a nightmare. By some twist of fate, and this iconic truth has only recently revealed its true horror, people feel compelled to talk to me because, of all things, I'm a good listener.
    Just writing that made me dizzy. silly 
    Scott's real dad from Florida showed up last week and spent four days at our house. His arrival was like a bomb going off. I had just sat through a "joint adventure" (knee replacement) class with Scott's mom, two long hours of graphic pictures and exercise demonstrations. We got out and phones started ringing. Boom, guess who's here, he's at her house with one of the sisters, omg his mom freaked out because that sister has MRSA, wtf, how long has this been going on, apparently at least a month of secrecy and extreme tension, now the whole family is freaking out. shocked 
    Reality tv has nothing on my in-laws.
    And then the rest of the week was an 80 year old Jehovah Witness in my house shutting down the 4th of July and his ex-wife's 80th birthday party. That's right, no cake. When I turn 80, if some old zombie kills my joy over religious convictions, I'm gonna poke his eyes out. And I can say that because I grew up Mennonite.
    But the worst part was the compulsive talking. For 4 solid days. I'm serious. No, he wouldn't go watch tv or take a nap. When Scott got home from work the first day, I said "your turn", and I had to explain to his dad that now I'm on lazy face time. I spent eight polite hours nodding and looking interested, I'm off the clock. My own dad doesn't get that.
    And that was just one day. *dayam*
    This last Tuesday I got a phone call. Scott's mom was in a wreck only two miles from my house. 
    She's ok, thank goodness, but bruised up from the seatbelt and airbag, and amazingly was the worst one with injuries. I came back and got Scott's step dad and drove up to the hospital. He's a talker, too. Over 80. For five hours.... -omg-
    And then I sat at the hospital with Scott's mom for two days. She's not a quiet person.
    Before I sound just terrible, ok it's already too late, I have to beg off with a lot of hospital time I've put in already over the last seven months with other people, which cancels that out. But I worked out the math. In ten days' time, which is 240 hours, I spent 121 solid hours listening to three people over 80 talk. And that's not including a couple of phone calls from my dad over that weekend. This went way beyond my brain melting. I'm still picking sticky pieces off the walls and trying to cram them back into my cranium. The only way I could keep the days right in my mind (I'm notorious for showing up to appointments on the wrong day) was by counting down to ComicCon live on Spike. Which I missed because I was at the doctor making sure a little sore on my lip wasn't MRSA. Just the idea is finally going to cure my lip picking, I think. winky 
    hashtag asperger cool
  • I did the unthinkable


    I've had this blog for 8 years. It morphed from a silly personal college group to public fandom, and then disappeared. Over that time it garnered 13,500 site visits from over 80 countries, and nearly 33,000 total page views. Unfortunately, I never paid for premium on my site meter, so the statistics and details disappeared during the year I had this blog locked down and the site meter went dormant. I know, right? It's all gone.
    Long before I was Janika Banks in the Lexx fandom, I was Yablo, moderating onelist groups in the Sliders and Xena fandoms. Since 1994 I've owned over 40 websites, writing my own code and hosting all of them on my own dime. A lot of people from a lot of places have contacted me, including authors, publicists, actors, artists, and musicians. Fans have included all ages from all walks of life, very rich and very poor, some handicapped or terminally or mentally ill, all beautiful to me.
    I've also met interesting people in some of my jobs, including very successful software developers, millionaires, performers, musicians, writers, athletes, all kinds of world travelers and business owners. I bought my second computer from Doug Pitt at Service World. Yes, Brad's brother. I drive by Brad Pitt's old high school at least once a week. I went to the same college as John Goodman and Kathleen Turner. Part of Larva (renamed MorphMan) was filmed in the courthouse of the town where I went to high school. The Blues Brothers featuring Dan Aykroyd performed in a field at a jeep rally 5 miles from my house. Yakov Smirnoff sat only a table away from my group at a Chuck E. Cheese. I could keep going.
    I mention this stuff because I never really have before. A lot of people seem to know me in one way or another, not all by the same name. Some people have no idea who I am online, others have no idea who I am in real life. I so rarely mix my identities, have never before integrated my entire life as an aggregate.
    I have fairly severe social anxiety. This is difficult for some people to understand since I have absolutely no fear of public speaking. Anyone who knows me will confirm that I don't know when to shut up. My problem is interaction on a personal level, because I have Asperger's Syndrome. I'm very good with the public at large, going so far as to win customer service awards. But I'm sure my internet friends have found me to be a confusing person. Even when the interaction is 100% positive, I'm easily overwhelmed by even a small volume of personal contact and go into shutdown mode, a very typical Asperger trait.
    Like Burt on Soap, I need to be invisible. I need my comfort zone. That kinda blew up, I moved to another planet, my stuff disappeared, and Janika Banks dissolved into the mist, as did Yablo before that.
    Until Scott and I were run completely off the highway last month avoiding a late night head on collision at 65 mph +(plus) the other car's speed coming the other way (this is where your middle school math skills come in handy, remember those word problems?) and miraculously we all lived, literally missing each other by an inch in the dark at high speed. Yeah, scary. The next day we could see that if we'd gone off the road in any other place a mile either way, we'd have been killed. We were on the only short strip of flat grass between deep ditches, steep drops, jagged flint outcrops, and big trees. It still feels really weird that we're alive, because during that incident with no time to think, we both assumed we were dead. Neither car rolled or wrecked, we both self corrected right back onto the highway, and I'm assuming the other driver went home pretty shook up. All I can figure is that person was coming home from a late shift at work and was asleep with their eyes open, using the headlights of oncoming cars to gauge their position, then automatically self correcting toward our headlights thinking that the further to their left we move, the more off the road to the right they were going. That driver self corrected four times straight for us and didn't jolt awake enough to self correct back until they saw our headlights tilt slightly going off the road, just in the very nick of time, which means their eyes were open and they were sober enough to make a vital hasty decision. We nearly got plowed. That was going to be a really nasty wreck.
    My psychologist was very surprised when I told him I'm going public again. He's been working with me for 5 1/2 years on social and communication skills. My lawyer says my IQ is through the roof, but the psychologist assessed my GAF at a 60 on a day I thought was going pretty good. I'm the textbook nerdy geek with lower than average social skills. Scott calls me Sheldon when I get real bad, so imagine what I'm like to live with. I not only have a spot on the couch, but one friend went so far as to politely point out that I nest. He also said that I am to be taken with a tub of salt.
    I have had more friends than just about anyone I know, friends who have literally left their homes and traveled a thousand miles just to come see me, but I don't know what to do with that. Alas, it has taken me so many years to understand and appreciate the portent behind that kind of behavior. I'm sorry it has taken so long, but given the Asperger's, I'm probably lucky I've learned it at all. Anyway, really long story dramatically shortened, ok, I confess I set those bombs under all those bridges. But I have a psychologist now. I've been practicing, like this: *ahem* "I'm sorry I ate your pets and used their skins for pillow cases. I hope you can forgive the misunderstandings and gloss over the awkwardness this has created."
    And if not, I'll still leave comments open anyway. It's all good in a psychologist's office.
    To all my friends who understood my encryptions and accepted who I am: Hello. I'm back.



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My first tracker was installed in 2004 and broke several times before moving to a new server, which lost a few months of stats, and then Xanga moved to new servers and I lost more stats for more months before the page came back up, so I've lost a total of about two years' worth of stats. The second was installed 2-22-14 and is considered very conservative by business owners who use analytics, which itself is very conservative, estimates being that roughly one third to one half of hits by real live people aren't even counted, most likely due to javascript discrepancies. Actual hits on several posts here are in the thousands now, and the Lexx Index in the ten thousands. I've got pingbacks turned off, so spam isn't counted at all within the Xanga internal tracker, and most direct post hits can be correlated to my real time linking activity on twitter and other social media. When I did Google Analytics beta testing I got to see how search engine performance compares to tracking. I believe live feed linking sources to various social medias are key to a future where search engines are more about performance than cataloging, which has been confirmed to me by coders who create bot algorithms as I was beta testing I've fought hard through redundant age-old stacks to make my way to the google front lines again, so my Lexx work shows up faster on Chrome searches now. This has been a really interesting ride. At any rate, my point is, I can still go back 6 years on my original tracker and I can still see that in 2013 just before the last big blog server move, I was getting traffic like this (and since then, the tracker may have been abandoned, we can't tell). Click the thumbnail to see full size.

My original tracker also still lets me see the latest 500 visitors on a map. I once counted over 80 countries among the total visits. You guys are not alone. Click the map to see it better.

Besides Lexx, the most common search phrases that bring new visitors here are variations on 'huge spaceship'. The most seen post from a phrase search is How Big is the Lexx? My biggest Lexx referrer is Lexx Domain. Most of page views per person count comes from the Lexx tag on Tumblr. Visitors who stay the longest come through URLOpener and are pinged through the Google translator server in Mountain View, CA.

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Lexx Index

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Everything I have in this blog


July 2012
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