Good grief, it’s 4:00 already! How did that happen?
Blogged, went grocery shopping, blogged some more, cranked out a Newwithviews column–that’s how. And now I’m feelin’ it.
There really are too many stories for me to cover. The other day “Unknowable” suggested I visit the Wikipedia article about the Hasbro toy company, to see how deeply Political Correctness has debauched our culture. I did; and the thing that stood out was the storm of protest that greeted Hasbro’s “Star Wars Monopoly” game. A lot of people went on the warpath because there weren’t enough female characters in the game. Oops. Was I allowed to say that?
Hey! If that’s what’s important in your life, you need a new life.
But then just about every game or toy they come out with winds up with somebody, somewhere, protesting it. Like these dips just live for something to complain about.
Our popular culture wearies me, sometimes.
Well-nigh instantaneously, as I tried to post my weekly “Joe Collidge” piece on Facebook, I received the following message:
“Your message couldn’t be sent because it includes content that other people on Facebook have reported as abusive.”
What “other people”? Who had any opportunity to read it? I’d only just written it. Do they mean Mr. Algorithm?
I think I’ve figured out, though, which particular phrase set off the robot’s alarm bell. As an experiment, I’ll go back and try a minor edit. If it works, I’ll return to this post and add a P.S. In the meantime, I hope the picture of the happy puppies can spare me further censorship.
P.S.–I made the edit and still can’t post it. This time it’s some razzmatazz about not being able to download the message from my URL, whatever the deuce that means.
If any of you would like to experiment, try sharing the Joe Collidge post on your Facebook page and see what happens–and let me know.
I lost a big chunk of this morning because, as I was peacefully, innocently typing the last post some two hours ago, the computer suddenly decided it didn’t want to type anymore. Hit the keys, tap-tap-tap, and nothing happens. The screen did display a warning box of some kind, which flashed on and off in just a second, much too fast for me to read it. Something about “filter keys,” whatever that is.
So I went and did our weekend’s banking and grocery shopping alone while Patty stayed here and fixed the computer. The keyboard was locked, she had to unlock it: shut the computer down, then start it up again, easy as pie.
Michael Crichton had a pet peeve about stupid design in technology, which he mentioned in several of his books. Here, one of my fingers must have touched whatever key locks the keyboard–I have no idea which, and certainly never did it on purpose. The computer keyboard provides all kinds of opportunities for disaster. All it takes is one little slip-up. I once lost five chapters of one of my books because I hit a wrong key somehow, and that whole great big job of work simply disappeared forever. Maybe some Martian has it. I had to do the whole job over again. How wise I was! to decide to type up my books in limited-size chapter sets, and send them to the editor as I finished each one. It could have just as easily been the whole 80,000-word novel. But if I go on about it any more, I’m going to wake up screaming.
Time for a cigar.
We actually have a bridge almost just like this, a mile or two from here. I wonder if it just might be our bridge!
As I set this blog up for the day, Patty reads me nooze items from the Drudge Report. Meanwhile, for the first time this whole winter, it has snowed outside! Gotta be a good three inches’ worth. New Jersey now has three inches more snow than Trinidad got this winter.
For some reason our political nooze seems especially grotesque today. I will never understand why there are Democrats.
I keep looking out the window at the snow. I know more than a few of you are heartily sick of snow this winter, but that’s only because you’ve had too much of it. Don’t be mad at me for enjoying this three-inch extravaganza.
Come on, now, Lee, there’s political nooze for you to cover–
I think I’ll go outside, stand in the snow, and enjoy a cigar. All work and no play, you know, makes Jack a dull boy.
And maybe a snowman…