I don't know about you, but I find technology to be a strange mix of torture and pleasure: Computers, the Internet, blogging, Facebook--they're all wonderful resources--when they work.
When they don't work, however, there is perhaps nothing more torturous. Viruses, frozen screens, having to reformat your computer and lose all your information... these are reasons why I use a Mac.
Yes, I am one of those Apple users that borders on psychotic in favor of my beloved computer/s that "just work."
Unfortunately, there are some things that can't be avoided: namely, Internet-based applications. Such as Firefox, (my favorite browser), and Google Analytics, which has been implemented by seemingly every website in the universe, used to track visitors and their clicks.
Hosed up beyond my wildest imagination, my lightning-fast, high-tech, never-has-a-problem computer has been rendered lethargic by Google Analytics. For weeks.
And I--ever the problem solver--have also been hosed up, wasting hours of my time searching for a way to fix it: reading blogs, searching forums, and downloading applications (which I am mostly not afraid of due to the Mac-ness of my computer being far less vulnerable than my PC counterparts).
Finally, my wonderful husband found the solution for me and now I will share it with you: It's called NoScript, and it is the only thing that has worked: https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/722/
If you're suffering like I have been with this Google Analytics problem, I hope it helps you too... the Internet has once again become an invaluable tool rather than a torturous device that tests the very limits of my willpower to not throw things out the window. Good luck!
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Women and Friendship
Women and friendship, what's the first thing that comes to mind?
Close-knit girlfriends who are there for you always, through thick and thin, bringing bottles of wine in your time of need? Who you can call at 3am just because you need to talk and they'll groggily be glad to hear from you?
Alas, this is not Sex and the City. This is real life. And while some lucky ladies may have a friend out there who she could call at 3am, it is the very rare bird who actually feels like she can. Or would.
More commonly, our lives are filled with acquaintances: People we spend time with, chatting about things like our childrens' schools, work, what's on sale at Penney's and other mundane topics, but never really getting to the nitty gritty.
Sure, there are some friends with whom we come closer to the sandpaper of life--gingerly touching with a fingertip--but then turning that index finger and using it to point. At her? At ourselves? Pointing, no matter in what direction, is easier than exposing a wound, open for another person to see.
But then, there is another question: What would happen if we were to continue rubbing? If we were to force ourselves through the discomfort of touching those rough surfaces, allowing our friends and ourselves to break through the protective barrier that we all keep around us (thin though it may be)? And what if, instead of pointing, we were to lay the fingertip on the table, open, wounded, and allow one another the opportunity to nurse it with the antibiotic salve of friendship?
It might be like in the Sex and the City movie (the first one), when Samantha spoon-feeds a few bites of hot cereal to Carrie, who has been jilted and is completely miserable. Whose friends know she is miserable because instead of putting on a brave face and acting "okay," she openly cries in front of them, then gets into bed and won't come out for two days.
But then again, it might not be like that (we logically remind ourselves, "Those girls are in a movie!"). That's the risk that we women, who go through life acting like acquaintances yet wishing we were soul mates, would have to take. It would be uncomfortable. And it would take two people both doing it at once.
It would take getting comfortable with being uncomfortable.
I've often wondered, if we women were to put a moratorium on "surfaceness" and a stronghold on "safeness," could women and friendships be different? What do you think?
Close-knit girlfriends who are there for you always, through thick and thin, bringing bottles of wine in your time of need? Who you can call at 3am just because you need to talk and they'll groggily be glad to hear from you?
Alas, this is not Sex and the City. This is real life. And while some lucky ladies may have a friend out there who she could call at 3am, it is the very rare bird who actually feels like she can. Or would.
More commonly, our lives are filled with acquaintances: People we spend time with, chatting about things like our childrens' schools, work, what's on sale at Penney's and other mundane topics, but never really getting to the nitty gritty.
Sure, there are some friends with whom we come closer to the sandpaper of life--gingerly touching with a fingertip--but then turning that index finger and using it to point. At her? At ourselves? Pointing, no matter in what direction, is easier than exposing a wound, open for another person to see.
But then, there is another question: What would happen if we were to continue rubbing? If we were to force ourselves through the discomfort of touching those rough surfaces, allowing our friends and ourselves to break through the protective barrier that we all keep around us (thin though it may be)? And what if, instead of pointing, we were to lay the fingertip on the table, open, wounded, and allow one another the opportunity to nurse it with the antibiotic salve of friendship?
It might be like in the Sex and the City movie (the first one), when Samantha spoon-feeds a few bites of hot cereal to Carrie, who has been jilted and is completely miserable. Whose friends know she is miserable because instead of putting on a brave face and acting "okay," she openly cries in front of them, then gets into bed and won't come out for two days.
But then again, it might not be like that (we logically remind ourselves, "Those girls are in a movie!"). That's the risk that we women, who go through life acting like acquaintances yet wishing we were soul mates, would have to take. It would be uncomfortable. And it would take two people both doing it at once.
It would take getting comfortable with being uncomfortable.
I've often wondered, if we women were to put a moratorium on "surfaceness" and a stronghold on "safeness," could women and friendships be different? What do you think?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Next Novel: Started!
I'm a member of a few reputable writing forums; the one I benefit from most is Backspace (www.bksp.org).
Often, I've wondered how in the world people can be writing another book when their previous one has not even been published yet. I couldn't imagine being able to concentrate on a new project when "my baby" is still awaiting representation.
Turns out, they're onto something. I've recently discovered that if I were to sit around waiting for everything to come together, I'd soon be on the funny farm... the funny farm at which e-mail is banned because the novelists are all sitting in the corner babbling to themselves about the need to check, Check, CHECK their e-mail!
Sigh. I knew it would be a long process--it was the arduousness of it that I underestimated.
Today, I surprised myself. When I opened my new project (for the umpteenth time), I finally had something to say. My fingers flew as the story began forming magically on the pages.
Ah, magic. The magic of writing. I truly hope others will soon be able to enjoy MOMNESIA, but until they do, at least I'm getting some fulfillment out of writing.
Stay tuned!
Often, I've wondered how in the world people can be writing another book when their previous one has not even been published yet. I couldn't imagine being able to concentrate on a new project when "my baby" is still awaiting representation.
Turns out, they're onto something. I've recently discovered that if I were to sit around waiting for everything to come together, I'd soon be on the funny farm... the funny farm at which e-mail is banned because the novelists are all sitting in the corner babbling to themselves about the need to check, Check, CHECK their e-mail!
Sigh. I knew it would be a long process--it was the arduousness of it that I underestimated.
Today, I surprised myself. When I opened my new project (for the umpteenth time), I finally had something to say. My fingers flew as the story began forming magically on the pages.
Ah, magic. The magic of writing. I truly hope others will soon be able to enjoy MOMNESIA, but until they do, at least I'm getting some fulfillment out of writing.
Stay tuned!
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