A freaky convergence of events
2006-03-02, 1:22 p.m.
You know when there�s a freaky convergence of events, and they all work together to produce something remarkable, as in �worthy of me remarking upon�? Let�s work backwards on this.
First, go Google �Russian skater wardrobe malfunction�. Go ahead. Do it. OK, fine. I�ve done it for you.
Second, do you see the first result, the one in Number 1 position? Yes? You do?
Third, I�m not supposed to be searchable. I have that �no robots� thing in my header that keeps me from being found by search engines.
But fourth, I did all my own highly-skilled html tinkering last week, and OOPS, managed to not transfer the �no robots� html correctly to my older entries template. So my newest entry here is not searchable, but once it�s one of my older entries, there it is. Lovely.
So fifth, I went in and (1) found the mistake, and (2) repaired it, and (3) I FIXED AN HTML MISTAKE, Y�ALL! (I think) but unfortunately, it takes a couple of days or weeks to get yourself out of the search engines. Something with caching or something which I don�t fully understand. I liken it to airing out the cigarette smell in your leather jacket that you wore to the bar. It�s like that.
I have always been entertained by folks who dedicate a journal entry to running down the weird Google searches that bring people to their journals. At first, I wondered how they did this: how do you find your Google search phrases? But I soon realized that being unsearchable, I would not have these fun things to be able to talk about.
But being a FREAK about making the connection over the ether, I love to go into my stats and find out where people are coming from to get to me. By the way, most of my visitors who come here via a link somewhere else, come from here. Folks looking for Jane�s favorite porn site, I reckon. Thanks, Jane!
Then, the other day, there in my referrer stats, were two Google references. What? How did that get in there? I got to experience three things simultaneously:
1. The fun of having a goofy search phrase attached to my journal.
2. The horror of realizing that I am searchable because I screwed something up.
3. The delight of being the NUMERO UNO result when you Google �Russian skater wardrobe malfunction.�
I feel famous and delightful for the MASSES. I don�t want to be famous � I want to be relatively anonymous and unfindable. I just wanna be loved. Is that so wrong? Oh well, we live and we learn. We live and we learn how to repair our faulty html.
So onto the puppies:
The photo I gave y�all yesterday was NOT one of the actual puppies that we were considering. That was a picture of a very sweet and probably terribly expensive Blue Heeler puppy that I found online. I made an assumption. I heard �Blue Heeler� and that�s what I thought we were talking about.
Later in the day, I got pictures of the real puppies, and friends, things changed really quickly after that.
Cute, but not what I was expecting.
But to answer your questions, here goes:
Jules: they were purported by Don to be Blue Heelers. Their mother is a kind of amalgam of Beagle and Rottweiler, with just enough BH to make her coat look funky. As you can see, it looks like somebody grafted a head onto a mismatched body. I �m sure they are sweet dogs, but the pups look like a Beagle/Rottie mix, and no. No thanks.
Chantal: see above message to Jules. But I would, too, totally drink with you. Too bad Canada is so far away from South Texas. ::clink!::
Heather: we wouldn�t have a problem with giving a dog plenty of room to run. George would have had 10 acres upon which to run, as well as neighbors with livestock. Not that I would encourage my dog to run next door and herd the goats and cattle, but if it happened and nobody got hurt, I don�t think anybody would sweat it too much. However, see above message to Jules.
LL: see above. No puppy for us. See ya tonight!
Miz S: If I get Miss L Squared�s consent, I�ll be posting a fuzzy, low-res cell phone picture of our date tomorrow.
Just to wrap it all up in a warm, fuzzy blanket, even though Don is not dating Snatchy, he must still be in touch with/friendly with Snatchy-Dad, because these are her dad�s pups. And so Don got roped into helping find homes for puppies. What a sucky position to be in, eh? Because then you have to deal with assholes like me who ask �What the hell kind of dog is that?�
Answer: some things are not meant to be known.
3 comments so far