Month: August 2012

  • Saving Mr. S Thompson

    People have been pushing me to publish for years, so I think it's funny that my daughter is getting published before me.  They sent her the cover art this week. happy 


  • LARPing the night away


    So last night I attended a local fundraiser award banquet, just this tiny thing in a small community building, and nearly everyone there was on the nomination list somewhere because they were both the fund raisers and the charity recipients, which really isn't that odd considering it's the only way they can drum up any money at all. I found a seat at one of the gussied up card tables and parked my gear (i.e. purse, mostly), and then wandered around meeting and greeting and asking some of the nominees to pose with some of the visitors before the ceremony got under way. Very casual, good food smell coming from somewhere, everyone's jovial in their fancied up wheelchairs and prosthetics, and I heard one say, "Not there, I'm saving that chair for Aisha Tyler." ~really???~ *wow*
    I took that with a grain of salt, you really don't know if a person is living in another little world or something, but I was really impressed that someone in that little building even knew who she was, so I was all like Hey, that's cool, I'm glad she's coming, hope you win your award category. And I was about to go find my seat when in walks *~*AISHA TYLER*~*, and I about fell over, omgshecutoffallherhair. I mean, she looked great, she always looks great, but seriously, it was *gone*. Eventually she mentioned having her hair all cut off for a show she's doing, and how they wanted her to go all gold glitter kind of look with flaming orange hair cut real short, and it really was hot on her, but still, a shock. Heads are really gonna turn when that show airs.
    We all got through the usual typical tiny local thing, much eating and clapping and yapping and laughing, and it got late so people filtered out, and there were only a few of us left. I was taking a few last notes to keep my camera organized, lotta stuff to go home and load and sort and post, alone at my table, and a couple of people plunked themselves down, Aisha and the other chick from that show... dang, I can't remember that show. But she looked so familiar.
    So we started a little light yap about how it went and what they thought about a show I liked that they were both in, and the woman I couldn't remember suddenly asked me, "You are really into that show, aren't you?" And there I went, that was my trigger. I'm not a big talker until you trigger me. I'm all like What? No! I mean, yeah, it's a good show to role play, but we use it more like an instruction manual. You know how you get something cool and you don't want to wait and read the manual, so you just start doing it, and then you get stuck on something and have to go read the manual. Well, we did that, go climb the cliffs and throw the rope and die on the tree and burn the village and stuff, but then we'd be all like what did they do next? So we went back and watched some more of the show, and we're all like They did THAT?? I can't believe they did THAT. And then one time we got stuck in the part where the whole village enacts the Induction Ceremony, so we started watching the show again and got up to this one episode where they changed everything, YOU know the one (the woman I couldn't quite placed nodded, oh, yes, she knew exactly which one), and we're all *seriously*?!? So the next time Jimmy came over he was about to go to the Heaven Camp after he got killed and we told him "No, you've gotta go over here now. No, you just stand there. Because they just stood there in the show, that's why." And Aisha and the other woman knew exactly what I was talking about and thought it was funny.
    And then I wake up and I'm kinda sitting there remembering this dream, and I go Um, ok, what. the. hell. I really wish I could use backward italics there because that's where you sorta sit there with your mind frozen and mentally kinda leaning back away from the weirdness of how real that all just felt.
    Been awhile since I've had to do pain meds around the clock. Getting a little too interesting.  And what the heck show was that, anyway?  We burned a village?!  The only thing that comes to mind is Trogdor...  I think I crossed over into a parallel earth or something.


  • Marcel


    Life gets a little sucky sometimes, and that's when it's good to have a friend. This is Marcel. He thinks he's looking cool and nonchalant.
    I had to see my dr today for follow up after urgent care this weekend. There was mention of possible MRI, and since my claustrophobia is more ridiculous than Scott's fear of needles, Marcel didn't have to bribe me to let him go with. Marcel ~luvs~ MRIs.
    So I'm looking at that and going Isthatreallyhowmyhairlooks?!?, so I took another one just to make sure. Guess it's ok. I'm not keen on it right now, but I'm too allergic to hair care products to waste my time bemoaning anything.
    So Marcel got into the car and immediately took over.
    We both like this song.

    The thing about Marcel is that he and I both know we're not crazy, but other people don't know that. I can only imagine what the other person in the elevator thought when Marcel pushed the button.
    We took a library book to read in the waiting room, Carpe Jugulum. Marcel thinks Terry Pratchett is the bomb. The old ladies around us thought Marcel was precious. He behaved well and quietly minded his manners.
    I didn't get sent to have an MRI after all, which kinda bummed Marcel out, so he asked to drive home and I wouldn't let him.
    A long time ago I started enjoying one of several violent spinal injuries called an Internal Disc Disruption. Four different times it has flared up enough to make walking nearly impossible (longest was 3 months), and the last two times it has nearly shut down my bladder. What feels like the worst UTI ever is really just a very inflamed nerve in my spine. Everything's fine otherwise.
    I'm allergic to so many kinds of meds that I can barely treat for pain at all. Marcel helps me out a lot when I can't take driving and sitting in hard chairs and keeping a nice face on in public. I'm sure other people think I'm nuts, but it really does work to have a funny little distraction. I'm pretty good with pain because I've had so much practice.
    Marcel has his own pinterest board. He keeps telling me one of these days he's going to catch one of the chickens and ride it around the yard, but I won't let him.
    So anyway, back to physical therapy, core strength training, chiropractor, and ice packs. I wrote down what happened to me, and a guy that read it gave me the thumbs up. He likes the way I write.  shy 
  • ready for some peace and quiet

    THIS is what one guy was selling in ice cream last year a few towns over.



    Sparky's cicada ice cream run ends before it began - Columbia Missourian

    They're pretty big.



    So Scott took that one to the chicken pen, and of course they got all excited, but the first hen that grabbed and ran with it got the shock of her life when it suddenly started vibrating real hard, and she dropped it.  laughing  The rest of them finally killed it.


  • sex is wrong, or coming out of the pandimensional closet


    Ran into this article today while I was amusing myself looking up what a brony is. I was intrigued. Telling deep, dark secrets to help fight the war against hate? Heck, I'm game.
    I can't imagine what it's like to be a homosexual teenager, or adult. I didn't know at 3 or 4 years old that I was attracted to anyone (much less of the same gender) like some homosexual people do. I didn't know at ten years old what the word sex even meant, although I grew up on a farm and saw constant copulation all around me. I didn't know at 14 what an abortion was, although a few other girls my age seemed to know it pretty well. I didn't know what the heck a pedophile was until I married my first husband. And so on.
    I know now that I am a straight pangender asexual. I got that all figured out a few years ago during a big Eddie Izzard fling. I'm strongly attracted to sexually ambiguous people, sometimes men in makeup and female clothing, strong women in fatigues with weapons, androgeny. I'm very strongly attracted to youtubes about Spirk and Merthur because they're amusing or emotionally intriguing, big Xena fan. What I'm not at all attracted to, oddly, is real relationships with real people.
    And I know why.
    I was born with Asperger's. I didn't acquire it after a vaccination gone wrong. I didn't develop it because my mom did anything wrong. Like Gaga says, I was born this way, and I've never seen it as a personal problem. Along the way, though, I've had to deal with some weird stuff. Like sex.
    I don't like being touched or hugged. Touching brings such an overload of sensation that I either seize up into defensive mode or shut down into a headache. Any kind of touching. There are certain kinds of touching I can tolerate and even enjoy, like little kids playing with my hair while I babysit (imagine that), someone squeezing my tired feet (as long as I have socks on), a warm snuggle in big coats on a very cold day outside. But sex? I can barely begin to describe the nightmare. As much as I sometimes crave human contact, I cringe at the million ways all things sexual can go utterly wrong, from the very first eye secks. I have a hard time with looking in people's eyes anyway. But strangely enough, I do like sex. I've been accused of not liking it, but that's not true at all. I have 45 miles of nerves running through my body that make it super difficult to pop into bed with someone (that's why God made alcohol, you say), that's all. Just means I don't share much. I think T'Pol (she's a Vulcan) alluded to this kind of thing, as well.
    Likewise, I very rarely drool over anyone. I don't long or pine. I don't wander around aimlessly wondering what is wrong with me because someone doesn't like me. I can't flirt to save my life, usually have no clue when someone is trying to flirt with me. The best I can do is mimic what I see, and I suck so badly at it that everything about sex around me tends to come out rather cartoony. But funny is good. Me and Scott laugh our heads off.
    I mostly see sex as an art form. Most of who we are is self created. We 'sell' ourselves all the time. We pass with one group for approval and then play the game and pass with another group for different approval. We ricochet like pinballs through life finding niches we fit into and groups who accept us and people who might even just love us. I feel really bad thinking of people who are so sad inside because they don't find where they fit, and their lives hurt, because I have hurt like that most of my life. It's a hard thing not to feel loved. And you don't have to be on the wrong side of sex for that one, that comes with just about everything that humans make up to take sides over. I grew up with excruciatingly judgmental parents. Everything I did in my life was wrong. Nothing I've ever done has been good enough. And so on. I didn't like it, I don't like myself when I'm like that, so I have spent years changing who I am and how I behave. Funny how a person with Asperger's can learn to do that.
    I'm not into whining about what I don't like about other people. Goodness knows I was sick to death of people harping on me over the stupidest stuff. There's one way in life not to be a drag, and that's not to be a drag. Unfortunately, controversy sells. People like to fight. And sex is a biggie. Hey, I'll up your ante. If you say we all have to fit a mold, come with me back to my Mennonite roots. What the heck, lets all wear the same clothes, do the same work, eat the same food, and do the same kind of judging *together*.
    I like people. I don't care if they're messed up and wrong. I like them anyway. They're cute and fun to watch, tragic and mystifying, and most of them want to be loved. Sometimes I feel like being born a human myself was a weird mistake, because I have felt since I was a very small child that I don't fit into humanity. I shook my tiny little fist at God and demanded to know why I wasn't born a horse, or a dog. Fortunately, I have kind of adapted and didn't morph into the super villain I had so much potential for becoming, but for awhile there it was pretty touch and go.
    I think nearly everyone on this planet is tragically lonely inside at one time or another. I think the depths of being a human agonizing over the absurdity of being is one of the coolest things we have going for us. And I think that relying on any form of governance to define the rights and wrongs of personal preference in the face of the wondrous variety in our cosmos is a cold hard tribute to every kind of hell we humans concoct into our literatures through the millenia. Or, let's get really real about this. I'll take happy gay adults any day over pretender straights doing little kids and paying sex traffickers. How's that?
    I like sex. I also like reading everything I can about physics, playing wabble, and raising chickens. Life is too short to sit around being negative on each other. There is too much to do, too much to miss that we don't do because we're wasting our time sitting around being negative on each other. If I've got time to worry about someone else's sex life, then I'm wasting my time not doing something fun or cool.
    Just for kicks. Maybe there are other things to think about.
  • ok, let's drag Lexx back out of the closet

    I was surprised this morning to accidentally run into this little article, mostly because I wasn't doing a search on anything Lexxy at all, but was even MORE surprised that NO ONE had commented and there were only 2 facebook likes.  I went ahead and pinned it, commented, and liked, but dang, Lexx fans, where are you?  We used to be so hard core, we used to fight tooth and nail to get this stuff out the fastest, and this is already 3 months old and it looks like not a soul cares.  While I have constant surveillance on this blog from diehard fans and webmasters all over the world, this guy got nothing, so what say we help him out, make it WORTH HIS WHILE to actually write about your fave cult scifi show ever, show some actual internet support (yeah, I know, this coming from the person who tore down one of the biggest fansites on the North American continent), and give crap back to the critics *outside* of your message board comfort zones.  Click to go, like the old days.  And if you need to comment here, I promise I won't delete, say whatever you want, I'm just staying out of it.

    The cult sci-fi series LEXX comes home - Dallas TV |  

     The discussions are still alive in slo-mo, if you a determined enough lurker.  Waiting For the LEXX Spin-off

     For those without a clue- Lexx - The Full Wiki


     :edit: 8/20/12  Someone just asked me about the Lexx video game, is there one, etc.  I remember I used to have a link to this one.

    Lexx Video Game

     :edit: 8/25/12  I honestly never expected this much traffic on a single post in only a week's time (817 views).  I can only imagine what would happen if I were to rebuild my old Lexx stuff.  Since sitemeter isn't catching this particular page-specific landing point, I'm the only one that can see my internal xanga tracker, so I just wanna give a shout out to Russia, Germany, Bulgaria, UK, Thailand, Malaysia, Ukraine, Indonesia, Philipines, Netherlands, Sweden, Egypt, Belarus, New Zealand, and what the heck, a couple of you in the U.S., and that's just in the last 24 hours.  In the last 48 we can add France, Austria, Columbia, and Brazil.  Earlier this week I saw Kuwait, Singapore, Lithuania, Hungary, Greece, Ontario, Puerto Rico, Vietnam, Switzerland, Italy, Bandladesh, Venezuala, Argentina, and Finland, all coming specifically to this Lexx titled post.  If there is any doubt in anyone's mind that Lexx is dead, you couldn't prove it by this response.  The U.S. NEVER airs it, but we still have our avid fans here, too.  So big wave to all of you, thanx for stopping by, might get screen snips of all those hits for posterity.  Love those fans!!!!

    p.s. I'm wildly curious how some of you are getting into 'Events', since xanga dismantled that years ago and the only way I can get into it myself is through following your footprints, and once I'm there I can't edit or change a thing there.  I don't think it's supposed to show up at all.

    I'm way out of the loop now, but I guess it's still alive at Hal-Con 2012, and thanx to sites like and, I'll keep seeing some of you drop by.  Keep Lexxing.

     :edit: 9-6-12 > *wow* this stirred memories, dug out my Lexx cds yesterday, and it looks now like I'll be doing a marathon of all 4 seasons as time permits over the coming year.  If you wanna follow along and/or put in your own two cents, click this little button to go to my Lexx navigation page.



  • in which I nearly saved Wil Wheaton's life

    If you've never kept chickens, you can't imagine how unbelievably soap opery your life can become. This guy is a problem for me.

    And what old lady doesn't just fall in love with a beautiful gangly teenage boy? Well, he's getting past the gangly part now, but ok, say he's like 25 or something, and he's going all drop dead gorgeous on me, kinda like Bradley James in Merlin. He's suddenly starting to get his confidence and following the girls around, which you hear throughout the day as surprised and very angry squawks, because about all you get when someone twice your size hops on is one squawk. It kinda sounds like someone tripping over an old fashioned bicycle honk horn off and on through the day. *squawk* ~he's at it again~

    Living with stuff like that going on makes a person think about things, like how we all can't do much more on this planet than practice on each other. We practice all kinds of stuff until we eventually sift out the important stuff and get it (hopefully) boiled down to kindness and consideration. In the meantime, we all take turns tolerating what others stumble around learning, in this case, impromptu sex without any kind of manual. Humans at least get all kinds of social guidance, but that poor rooster has to figure it all out by himself on a group of angry females.

    The problem is that I live in a covenanted subdivision that doesn't allow 'farm animals' (and that includes frowning on racing pigeons), but I'm getting away with a few chickens since 2005 because we house them in a very nice building tucked back behind the house (and it actually matches our house, right down to the siding and tiled roof) and I stubbornly have them documented with a psychologist that these particular pets are important to my psychological health. I grew up with chickens, but never had them here until my health took a nasty nosedive and I spent several years recovering from injury and illness impacting my nervous system, which totally sucked. Desperate for distraction and a reason to crawl out of my house and into my yard, I wobbled into the local feed store and came home with baby chicks. That works, by the way. If you can't find a reason to keep living through anguish and pain, by all means, *create one*. I'm much better now, and I have no doubt it's because I challenged myself to the caring for other beings on this planet that required more of me than I thought I was capable of giving.

    Ok, got sidetracked. The problem is that a rooster crowing in this neighborhood is a dispute just waiting to happen, to put it nicely. Neighbors have taken each other to court over so little as a foot of lawn, and the whole covenant thing means some of my neighbors go to great pains to enforce little 'laws' that are so nidiotically stupid that you can't believe they have nothing better to do with their lives than to write lengthy letters to offices in the county courthouse. What's even more frustrating is that these same neighbors will own very expensive dogs that the state says is illegal for me to shoot at even with a pellet gun (but the state conversely strongly encourages us to shoot and kill 'feral' cats), and these dogs sometimes run around the whole neighborhood, leaving wakes of chaos and destruction.

    Personally, if *I* owned a $900 dog, I'd be a little worried someone would kidnap it (Missouri has one of the highest dognapping rates in the U.S. for illegal pit bull fight training). One year got so bad that I put video on youtube of a neighbor's dogs throwing themselves maniacally against my chicken pens (chickens will destroy themselves having panic attacks and stop laying for days, and I have rare breed chickens that have to be special ordered, so I get a little tense), and I was so ill that year that I could barely get across my lawn, and just trying to grab one of the dogs (I grew up with dogs, I can handle dogs) turned into a scary situation because I didn't have the mobility or strength to negotiate its constantly lunging body weight. The only thing I can do about the dogs legally is call the police, but I can't illegally detain the dogs, so by the time the police come, it's just my word, unless I've got video of the uncontrollable violence. Chickens are like the playstation of the dog world, that's total video gaming to them, and sooner or later, someone dies and the dog rolls happily in extra points and the easter egg prize, pun intended. Anyway, the point is, I have more leverage with the dog owners and whatever legal recourse they feel entitled to in the name of peace and quiet (which is a joke with their ATVs) if I keep comparatively quieter hens and no noisy rooster.

    The simplistic answer to this problem by nearly everyone I know is just eat the rooster. And yes, I grew up doing that, that's what you do, it's practical, it's logical, and it's the circle of life on any farm. You eat your pets. Your babies. Your loved ones. And that's where this soap opera goes all nutty, because, thanx to midlife and a major hormone crisis last spring that dredged up flashbacks of losing an unborn child in an awful way, I can't touch this. You know why women anywhere near menopause either stay on birth control or wind up on head pills? Because people who *don't* can wind up like ~moi~, melting down into disassociating on a highway in traffic. I don't take 'medicine', like Granny on the Beverly Hillbillies, but a LOT of women I know drink their way through their midlife crises. I'm a firmly renounced alcoholic, I drank that stuff like koolaid in my mid 20's and nearly destroyed myself. I've spent the last two years getting *off* handfuls of meds that got me through the worst of my debilitating pain, and I'm not going back on them because they screwed me up in the long run as much as anything could. So I'm just gritting my teeth and pushing forward through skating around the edge of what feels like mental illness, although my psychologist assures me I'm ok, take it slow, 'small bites', weather through the hormones readjusting themselves. It sounds like this is really common stuff, but you don't just hear women confessing how 'crazy' they feel during big hormone changes because it's so taboo, especially now with tv shows like Snapped (which I've actually never seen).

    So here's the deal. I grew up killing things, on a Mennonite farm. I have strong values and core beliefs, but I grew up with a hatchet in one hand and a knife in the other. I grew up smelling blood, blood smeared all over me and other stuff, even worked on jobs later where lots of blood was involved, like cleaning in a hospital after births and surgeries and deaths. The LAST thing I want in my life while I'm feeling even vaguely crazy is a beautiful little guy dying by my hands and then having its blood on me and then *eating* it, because right now everything is triggering flashbacks of losing that baby.

    This is a big thing. There are people I know who won't understand this, they'll think I'm making a bigger deal of it than it actually is, I'm being ridiculous. When you grow up around practical people, you get blown off a lot if you have a problem. Or if you are the rock solid one around other flighty people, they're floored when you suddenly have the problem, they don't know what to do with you. I'm in a weird situation. But people who didn't grow up killing what they eat are probably shocked to read this. Any vegetarian, I'm sure, is doubly shocked that this is such a conundrum in the first place.

    I had to break down and spell it out to Scott the other day, because he wasn't getting it, either. He's sweet, though, and asked around work if anyone would want a rooster, and guess what, tomorrow is the big day. A coworker has a brother who in years past was a principal or superintendent or something in one of the school districts, and he has chickens. *wow* Talk about luck. And after I hand my rooster off, this burden is gone, and I don't have to know any more what happens. Dr. Isaac Parrish just might hit the jackpot and get thrown in with a whole flock of more experienced hens... I doubt his new owner will call him that, but for a short time in my little life, a chicken named Dr. Parrish was a real thing. And that's where it's a good thing I named him for a tv character, because otherwise I'd be able to say I saved Wil Wheaton's life, and people really would think I was crazy.

  • brain melt

    I think I might have Scott's zombie thing figured out. Before his regular doctor pulled him off everything and put him on the prednisone, an ER doctor had him on a really strong antibiotic and he was taking advil. We didn't know anything about vasculitis at that point, and that's when I first heard the zombie escape plan. He hasn't really mentioned it for about a week now, so I'm wondering if it was kind of like how you get fantasy and real life mixed up during fever or something. It's been so awfully hot, and Scott's not the sort to sit around, you can't keep the guy in the house unless he's obsessed with some kind of indoor project, but even then I'll constantly be looking for him outside. Anyway, for now, I'm chalking it up to heat exhaustion triggering the autoimmune inflammation in his arteries and veins. At any rate, he started back to work yesterday, and now he follows instructions to experiment by slowly getting back off the prednisone and seeing if it triggers again.
  • molten lava cake could also equal love

    censored Scott keeps bugging me. He thinks it's funny that I look so crabby. I told him back off and don't touch me. My uterus wants BROWNIES. The only thing I can think of that equals the word love right now is BROWNIES.
    cool An exercise I've been doing over the 2-3 years that I've blogged privately is some form of bullet pointing, to cut down on extraneous verbage. So here we go with thoughts about this week.
    sad It's not enough that I've been autoimmune since my 20's, now Scott is diagnosed with stuff scarier than mine. The rest of this month will be an experiment in whether he will be able to change his workaholic lifestyle before he croaks himself off.
    shocked omg, if we wind up having to sell the house, that means we have to ~clean~ it... You'll understand the horror of that statement only if you understand Scott is a super neat freak and our walk in closet is spotless. I continually stop him from packing everything we own into labeled neatly stacked containers.
    wtf The whole plunge into floaty disassociating depression after my gyno pulled me off birth control to see where I'm at with my hormones on top of my regular dr radically dropping my thyroid dose when they found out I went way hyper was a real trip and a half through severe hormone deprivation, so maybe none of this stuff is real. I haven't been sure what's real or not since about April.
    angry So the whole way-past-menopause thing was just another fling from a slingshot and now I seem to be more fertile than ***EVER*** and I'm allergic to everything including condoms and chemicals, and now THERE ARE NO BROWNIES because Scott is on such a big load of prednisone that a half piece of toast spikes his glucose up to 150.
    winky I see my psyche guy tomorrow. I can't wait to tell him about Scott's plans to thwart the zombies. I'm cool with it as long as they can't get into the chicken pens. I just wanna know if vasculitis is a precursing symptom of turning into a zombie, and I'll need written instructions on what to do so I don't mistake him for a cockroach from outer space because my memory lately is just shot.

    surprised ~breathe~ The anxiety isn't as bad as it used to be, thank goodness, but I still can't watch the water polo events without feeling like I have to hold my breath a lot.

  • the zombies got sitemeter



    And that's even worse when you feel about two months behind in the first place.
    To all you poor saps working around the clock at Sitemeter lately, I raise my coffee to you this morning. While little blogs around the net are actually documenting traffic increases every time the word sitemeter goes into their posts because so many frantic surfers are looking for answers, they are still turning to other stat counters in tiny desperation. What happened this time? Massive lightning strike? ( X-class CME pulsing their equipment? ( Traffic jam during the server move? (pun, ha, I'm so funny at 7 a.m.) I'm just glad I'm not on that end of it. I'll wait it out over here in my little house, because I'm curious. I've been with sitemeter since 2004 and I know all their ins and outs. I've triangulated their tracking system with internal tracking here and a stalker module on another blog when it was bouncing off the walls in 2008. People talk about switching: hey, just add something. If you're getting it for free anyway, just use more than one tracker so you'll have backup. Don't just compare during their worst crisis, compare it year round when your sites are slow.
    So here's the deal, since other bloggers are yapping their TMI numbers. My sites were essentially dead, because I had them all closed for two years, some longer. I only recently opened them back up, just in time, apparently, for the epic sitemeter fail. My internal trackers asploded this week, nothing over the top, just busybusy, and it would have been nice to have sitemeter for a tad more accurate info. But I don't have any of that, and after wrestling with it for a couple of days have decided to sit back and ride it out, just watch and see how it gets handled, etc. Every time a host of any kind goes down for 'maintenance', it always takes longer than projected, it's usually handled badly, i.e. making the users feel abandoned without explanations, and then when it's all fixed the host service usually winds up way better than it was before. I went through this with AOL's growing pains years ago and stuck with them when everyone else I know bailed, and I can't tell you how cool the services are now. I've gone through this with xanga multiple times. Look at all the people hanging in there with facebook, even though the grumbling is continual. Webring did a massive overhaul and is trying to get me back. And sitemeter has grown through several glitches just like everyone else. "Gentlemen, we can rebuild him, we have the technology, we have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. We can make him better than he was before; better, stronger, faster." I remember when there were no computers for us peons. Now regular bloggers have access to light-speed-up-to-the second information and have all kinds of cows and kittens when servers go down. At least send sitemeter a thank you card for boosting your traffic while you're complaining about them. That's a free service.
    Back to my coffee. I've got bigger things on my plate. The prednisone seems to be curing Scott of zombie-itis, and he's feeling well enough to wrangle with some new technology at the break of dawn. We'll have our own server downtime going on if I don't monitor this situation.... *need coffee*  (ug, now photobucket is upgrading again...)


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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


August 2012
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