thatnight.net

Champion of the PhotoKu

If you missed the contest details, you can find them here.

You are all hilarious, and worthy of expensive Apple merchandise. I wish I had forty $100 gift cards, but if that were the case, I probably wouldn’t be blogging. I’d be watching movies with Joseph Fiennes in my own private theater, and eating at the Primanti’s that’s attached to my spacious, hardwood dining room.

That’s a complete lie, because even in that daydream, there’s a MacBook on my lap. Anyway.

In case you’ve forgotten, or your mouse is broken, here is the picture of Dan that you all wrote haiku about. By the way, did you know that the plural of haiku is haiku? Mind boggling.

I picked my five favorites, and then, honoring the theme, allowed Dan to choose the winner.

The nominees!

Polka dotted hat,
absurd with casual clothes,
My gosh, the intrigue!
by Gina

Dan obviously
does not like the polka dots
but Rachel insists
by Brother Anthony

Dan, our favorite clown.
There, waiting in the background
the “4″ that killed him.
by Jennifer

Dan: modeling a
comical, conical hat.
next facebook photo?
by Denise

My hat is taller
My gaze is a fancy one
Come hither, sez I
by Will Rutherford

I hope to have the means to hold many a PhotoKu. For now, though, the champion shall be named Jennifer. (Please email me with your address!)

Tug of war

Today, I was going to write about meaningful things. Listening to Lifehouse will do that to you.

I probably would’ve discussed the past year, highlighting how detached I’d become after the down-slide of what was, essentially, a six-year relationship.

I could’ve mentioned the transitions between colleges, how I was never really completely sure I’d made the right decision.

I might have noted my displacement after finally coming back to a Pittsburgh that I wasn’t entirely familiar with, and the reasons surrounding my return.

But I’m still not sure if I want to go there. So here’s my dog, eating a pupcake.

Either way, he’s happy.

PhotoKu: A contest for you!

Recently, this website has surpassed my humble blogging expectations, and I’ve been trying to come up with ways in which I could offer my thanks and appreciation. Because of you, I am happy to write every day. I can eat food now and then. Not to mention, I am able to attend SXSW in two weeks.

And so I sit here, with Dan, at a coffee shop (OK, it’s Panera). Dan is one of my very best friends. Back in 9th grade, I was the new girl at a public high school, recently transferred from a Catholic middle school, and we were about on the same level as Dan spent 8 years not talking to anyone. We were fiercely unpopular.

Anyway.

I happen to have this $100 Apple gift card laying around. And I want you to have it.

I had originally thought about going the route of the goddess Pioneer Woman and having “Name that Photo” contests. But I’m an English major, yo. We need to go deeper.

Enter: The first ever PhotoKu.

That photo way up top there? I took that of Dan at a party goods store. And you? You are centering your creative medium and writing a haiku about it, and posting it in the comments section of this entry. Be serious or absurd, witty or allusive. Either way, my favorite submission will be $100 closer to a shiny new piece of Apple goodness. Apple pie? Never mind.

The contest will close tomorrow afternoon when I return from my lit. theory class (Monday 6:00 PM EST), and I will announce the winner shortly after. Remember, syllables per line are 5, 7, 5. One entry per person, please. And I will keep watch, trust me. Seventy percent of my waking life is spent checking my comments.

Wrapped around his finger

Three pretty girls are huddled around the back of an open SUV, drinking from a case of Miller Lite before a hockey game.

Across the parking lot, a guy in gray sweats and a white baseball cap walks his teeny German Shepherd puppy.

He sees them and swaggers over, the dog trotting behind him, and the girls gather and coo softly, kneeling to pet him.

The boy scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, I found the mother right before she had the litter. Abandoned, I guess. There are seven of them.”

The girls look up at him, pouting. “Aww.”

“I took them all in, and we lost the mother right after.

“Aww.”

I bottle-fed them all.

AWWWWW!

Personal blogger’s resource

I read personal blogs. Admittedly, they’re pretty much all I read online. I glimpse at Tweets, skim through emails, and glance occasionally at tech sites. I excitedly awaited Dooce updates back when I was drag-and-dropping at Geocities, installing Greymatter in tables, and dreaming of a future with Flickr and Facebook.

For me, that was where the genius was. Anyone could detail an Apple product and keep me interested, but being able to make me care about your cat’s test results, or your road trip to Washington, that’s what I really remembered.

That being said, even with thousands of new blogs being created every day, my Google Reader is still a bit scant. Although I don’t consider myself an authority by any means, I began to wonder what it was about certain personal blogs that made them so much more entertaining than others, and why I quickly skipped over some while sincerely hoping that others would post a new entry before bedtime.

I eventually ended up with the following list of trends I’ve noticed among the most interesting, fun, and widely-read personal blogs.

1. Write in color

If there was one piece of advice I could offer, it would be this: Instead of typing five wordy paragraphs detailing your complete day from walking your dog to a chat with your mother to OMG work was boring!, think back and try to remember the most colorful thing. Think about the guy at the cafe with the obnoxiously red hat and how he was reading Cosmo, or how your daughter looked trying on her poufy, stark white communion dress, or how your sister’s arm turned purple when you landed on it with that sled.

People have imaginations that can work out their own details. Give them a chance to picture things.

2. Come out

When I first started reading mommy bloggers, years ago, I thought to myself, why would you post a picture of your baby online?

Now I wish I could have a baby so I could post pictures of him online.

There are some anonymous bloggers that I love, mainly because their writing is incredible. Truth be told, not everyone is an incredible writer.

Mix it up. Record some video. Make your sense of humor known. It takes a while to reach that comfort level, but popular opinion has assured me that people feel a greater connection to a person they can see, hear, etc. Words all look the same on a computer screen. Putting a face, and a personality, to the stories makes for a more animated read.

3. Keep it open

Unlike a novel, your readers won’t start at the beginning of your blog. If your most recent entry is, “Remember that thing that happened with Greg last week?” the answer is most likely, “No.” Keeping a running list of moments, with minimal unclear references, will lead to better understanding and less-frustrated readers.

4. Develop a “thing”

Once in a while, when I see a news story, or TV show, or hear a conversation, something will remind me of a blog I read. With Cynthia, it’s cocktails. With Pittgirl, it’s pigeons. With Rachel, it’s Chicago. You’ll be less forgettable if people can’t help but be reminded of your website.

5. Design isn’t everything, but it’s something

This goes back to the originality thing. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of blogs with the same layout. If you’re clueless when it comes to tweaking, ask for help. Google it. There are crazy amounts of resources that will guide you through changing your header.

Make sure everyone can see what you’ve written. I hope you’re not using IE, but hey, you might be at work. Or you might not care. That’s great! I still want my sidebars to line up, so you don’t see an empty column when you come to read what I’ve written.

Unless your writing has been recommended to a new reader, chances are that they wont spend more than a few seconds scrolling down your long page of words. Even if you’re brilliant: stand out, visually, somehow.

“But if I’m in their RSS reader, they won’t see my design anyway!”

You need to get into their RSS reader, first.

6. Travel the internet, and keep your name

One of the first things a fan of your blog may do upon joining a new social network, application, etc. is to see if you’re there. Have the same nickname on Flickr and Twitter that you have as your domain. Let them know you’re there by linking to your profile pages on your blog.

7. Space out the emo

Your depression is human, but there has to be a little more to your life than that. Even if you take a moment to post some pictures of your newly-designed bedroom, or recall a somewhat humorous conversation between your nieces, try to space out the deep, dark, emotional stuff. People are awkward. Readers won’t return if they think they know what you’ve already written.

8. It’s the little things

It won’t be every day that you walk into Panera and see Steve Jobs on a Blackberry. It’s understandable. But don’t use this as an excuse to hide away for two weeks. I mean, seriously, look at what your husband’s wearing right now. Are those knee socks? I have to see that.

At the same time, hug your hometown. A lot of your readers probably haven’t been to your city, or your farm, or your college, and most of them don’t have the money to travel at this time. Show them what it’s like, take them on a bus ride, or tell them why you avoid public transportation completely.

9. Don’t disregard your high school English

Your blog isn’t a newspaper, or a book, and hey, you should be able to let loose, right? Maybe. While people want to connect with a writer, they also want to be confident that the author knows what they’re doing. As a reader, becoming involved with a lovely post about your high school sweetheart, and running into an odvius misspeelling, is like hitting the wrong piano key.

10. Monitor your ego

Make fun of yourself — there are plenty of reasons to. Don’t complain to your readers that they aren’t commenting enough or mention in every other post how you’re so sorry you haven’t gotten around to answering all of these emails — it’s a turnoff. I really am not very interested in where you rank on Technorati. Actually, I’m not even sure what that implies. But that entry you wrote last week about how you met your girlfriend at the train station? You know, the one that only got two comments?

God, I loved that.

Return your comments, answer your emails, and comment (and comment, and comment) on others’ good posts. And give credit where credit is due. If you have 10 unique readers per day, and one emails you a recipe they think you’d like, and you decide to post it, don’t lead in with, “A whole bunch of people emailed me this recipe this weekend…”

No. One did. Maybe two. Get off the giant horse, you’re a blogger.

Advice from turkey sandwiches

I woke up this morning completely miserable. I didn’t consciously acknowledge Valentine’s Day, although I knew it was sitting patiently in the back of my mind, poking the inside of my skull with a rusty, decrepit Cupid’s arrow that’s been stuck in there for five years.

I may have been angry that I couldn’t go about my day without having my unwarranted grouchiness attached to something. Being cranky because it’s Valentine’s Day made me even crankier, since the world is out there, wondering why I just stood in my front yard flipping off the horizon with both hands. She must have a lousy love life, poor dear.

I also woke up hungry, and decided that I needed Panera, or I might as well pop some Dramamine and stay in bed till the weekend. I threw on jeans, didn’t touch my hair, and loaded the dog into the car.

My steep, upward driveway, a solid sheet of ice since yesterday, hadn’t thawed as much as I’d hoped under the uncommon winter sun, and it took me at least twelve tries to back out. I would reverse at an angle, hoping to gain some momentum, and my tires would squeal and smoke before I drifted slowly back down. Fifteen minutes later, I was on my way, circling the side streets for a parking spot. I pulled into a loading zone and sauntered inside.

I placed my order: a smokehouse turkey Panini. It’s hot, it’s flat, and it’s loaded with bacon. It’s wonderful. And I was ready to eat it.

After finally ending up back in my dining room, I excitedly peeled back the paper wrapping, and nearly collapsed when I saw an ugly, cold, mayonnaise-covered turkey sandwich on white bread. I thought about how nice it would feel to cry and get on with my day, but I was angry again. I couldn’t understand who in their right mind would go to Panera and spend almost $7 on a plain turkey sandwich. I could walk next door to the grocery store and spend the same amount on turkey sandwich supplies. And then I could make ten turkey sandwiches.

I marched back out to my car and slammed my ignition, getting up the driveway on the first try. I half-assed a parallel parking attempt and went inside. I found the girl, explained my situation, and was met with the look. Are you serious? I was suddenly less self-righteous and extremely self-conscious. I hated being that girl.

She disappeared into the kitchen and an older woman stepped out. She looked at me, a pale girl in a pea coat with smeared makeup and yesterday’s hair. “How’s your Valentine’s Day, sweetheart?”

I was staring off at the giant hanging menus when she asked, and I looked towards her, shuffling in place. “Oh…fine.”

She leaned sideways on the counter separating us and knowingly shook her head.

“Girl,” she started, slowly. “I know exactly what it’s like when you’re expecting a hot, fresh, crisp turkey sandwich and all you can get is a cold, flabby thing that you just shouldn’t settle for.”

She chuckled once and walked back towards the kitchen, and I laughed, becoming slightly less of a Valentines Grinch.

Morning procedure

Back story: The dog loves his pig.

At around 8 a.m., I hear the distressed whimpers.

He’s still too small to make the jump from bed to floor.

I sit up to investigate, although I’m familiar with this tragedy.

Pig? Pig? The pig? The pig?

I should interject here before he tumbles head first in an act of valiant bravery.

Nom nom nom.

You can’t play it cool

I’ve put myself in so many awkward situations that I’ve become slightly better than hopeless when attempting to recover or preserve some small sliver of dignity. There are some instances, however, that either I’ve experienced, or witnessed others experiencing, that leave very little occasion for saving face.

Note: The degree of embarrassment is much higher when there isn’t a friend nearby to offer comfort or share laughter. Most of these circumstances occurred when the victim was alone, with strangers.

You’re sitting on a bus and the mother of all wasps flies in through the front door. It takes a liking to the back of your head, and buzzes near your neck relentlessly through multiple animated swats.

You’re out on an early date, and just as you enter the car, and hear the click click of power locks beside you, your escort slams the door. On your fingers.

You’re walking down a busy sidewalk when your flipflop seems to magnetize itself to the cement. You turn to look down and see a pink web of chewed gum pulling you back to where you came from.

You buy an iPhone and unwittingly bring it out during a dinner with new acquaintances. They excitedly gather around your chair and ask you to “show them what it does” as they reach out to hold it. You awkwardly run your finger across the shiny buttons, avoiding the notepad with your to-do list of “refill birth control” and text message screen which displays a new message from your best friend, “How’s the shitty dinner, hoebag?”

Your sister calls during class, and you realize you forgot to silence your cell phone as the professor watches you scramble to smother her preferred ring tone of “Barbie Girl.”

You’re in the hallway in high school when the overactive jocks start throwing around a football. As you turn towards your locker to grab your math folder, it slams you square on the side of your head.

You’re meeting a new friend for lunch at a coffee shop. You get excited about an idea and your mouth starts running, launching a bit of food from your mouth to their shirt. They pretend not to notice, but they do.

You’re walking down a steep hill in heels when they completely slip out from under you, and you land (hard) in a position that makes it seem as if you’re about to butt-slide the rest of the way down.

Personal cover art

Untitled

I don’t usually like to do the meme thing, but Cynthia Closkey recently posted a pretty cool idea on her site, and I liked its simplicity and visual outcome. It goes like this:

The CD Cover Meme group has only three rules: (1) The first article title on this random wiki page is the name of your band, (2) the last four words of the very last quote on this random quote page is the title of your album, and (3) the third picture here, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

My band name was, obviously, Cave Swallow, and when I clicked over to scan for the last random quote, I thought it was an odd coincidence that I get this one by, who else, Heather Armstrong:

“Keep writing. Keep doing it and doing it. Even in the moments when it’s so hurtful to think about writing.”

And that’s my Saturday. If this becomes your Saturday (or Sunday, or future…), leave me a comment. They’re fun to look at.

Photograph by Dalla*.

Let’s talk about MySpace

Deleting my MySpace page 2 years ago was sort of a personal rebellion against all that is unorganized, trashy, and grammatically incorrect. I had Facebook to fall back on, not to mention this website, and I really couldn’t pinpoint one benefit to keeping it.

A little while later, and up until now, I began meeting people who didn’t engorge themselves with the internet, as I do, and only had MySpace pages. And although I guess I could’ve sat them down and detailed the Good Lord’s gift of Wordpress, I tend to not want new friends to fantasize about nailing my mouth shut with rusty screws. MySpace sort of seemed like a bridge I was overlooking, even though, that land over there? I totally wanted nothing to do with it.

Then I saw Rachel’s insanely mad skills at work on her newly-acquired account, and thought, “Hey, it could be cool.” Or, “Hey, it could be whipped into submission.” Mike Davidson provides some excellent design tricks for taming the raunchy raunch.

So here I am, joining in on the unprotected internet orgy that is MySpace. Life would be better if we were friends.

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