Saturday, March 31, 2012

Watering: Namecheap, WrestleMania lethargy.

Watering entries are personal diaries, alluding to this post's conclusion. They are a potpourri of recent thoughts and experiences (one might even call them a blog, if one were to be so common), published when I have no other projects to work on, in order to ensure I've written something for the day.

I woke up this morning expecting to find an email from Namecheap stating that "propagation" had completed and I was now free to access my website via their hosting interface. No such email had arrived, although propagation was indeed finished, and I did not have access to my cPanel. How curious.

Once, in first grade, we had an assignment to make papier-mâché (Did you like that? My first attempt was "paper machete.") masks or something. We had to stand in front of the class and describe their creation. I went on in such detail, recounting every pitfall and dead end, that I was told to resile to my seat and allow all the other students to go before I could continue. I often think of that day when I realize I'm belaboring my point.

Suffice it to say, I was able to deduce, in conversation with fake-American tech support girl Mary, that having web hosting for overwrote the email forwarding from its domain service. After that, not only were my problems rectified, but the installation of WordPress went dubiously smoothly. Literally, in seconds. I am still skeptical that the site is up and not just cached on my browser.

I made a Mass Effect-like decision to apply both of my WhoisGuard vouchers to The Player Character instead of one to that and one to 1-uprising. I'll have to wait until the end of the trilogy to see if that was the right call. In consolation, I can probably assume the difference will not be dramatic, but merely a matter of War Assets.

Time constraints and all. We're dealing with a lot of variables.

I also woke up hoping for another message, one that I really shouldn't have been. Signs of life, overtly erotic, from Storm which immediately sunk my heart. I've done a good job today keeping that issue from occupying my thoughts, but it's not night yet. Sunday will be harshest.

That is to say: Sunday, tomorrow, there's a date to Skype. It began with my suggestion, later imploration, to that we all purchase and watch the special two dollar Dragon Gate USA iPPV being streamed, featuring Low Ki vs. PAC in the main event. I've heard many good things about PAC, only seeing him live once in a match the crowd mired, and Ki is always a favorite of mine, so I really think I'd have enjoyed the show. Plus, there is still something to be said for supporting a product and not obtaining what little independent wrestling I'm still exposed to like a brigand.

Instead, it was decided that we should instead watch WrestleMania together, for spectacle's sake. The big deal is John Cena and The Rock. I never saw X8, so I've nothing to compare this to. I like Rock in theory. Eh. Tim and Jeremy projected last night that the show will open with CM Punk's title match, which, man, how could my excitement for the show be further extinguished? No Money in the Bank, as that's its own desperate thing now, so the only gimmick match is Triple H and Undertaker, both of whom are so old that it is assured nothing outrageous will happen.

I'm relieved that no wrestling fans (or anyone) will ever read this post. Were my heart into it, I imagine I could write about the art without sounding like a stereotypical (unfairly so, of course) indie smark, or hokey gimmick fan, but frankly, I just feel generally languid about the whole event. The only boon of the situation is getting to spend it socially with the Skype chums and I am past certain that I'll feel sheepish for having written that come Monday.

Friday, March 30, 2012


It took a fair amount of serendipity to bring me back here, and it couldn't have happened otherwise.

The Unenthused Enthusiast was likely created for the wrong reasons, at the wrong time. It was my final creative gasp before drowning. (I presume to know that drowning entails a gasp, although I have reasons to think that drowning is actually remarkably unlike its common portrayal, rendering the previous metaphor incorrect in addition to being silly and melodramatic.) It was conceived in a burst of envy and crisis while I was unable to devote to it either the required attention, effort or love of writing. I was likely too busy eating myself to death to bother.

My new site, now due to launch in just over a week, was frankly brought about in roughly the same circumstances. Perhaps it edged more toward spite than envy and, in place of eating myself to death: yearning to eat myself to death. That's why it took another year, half of which has been spent in ketosis, and a confluence of fortune, to finally realize it.

I also had to regain my love of writing; that's why I'm back.

I am less despondent than the previous paragraphs would indicate. To wit: I feel a warm sense of return merely from worrying out loud and internally about the quality of prose on this old Blogspot, like slipping back into an old coat. (This is a decidedly bellatristic idiom to which I have no personal memorial relationship.)

Google results are an abstract, useless metric. "'Write every day,'" in quotes, yields 1.2 million results. "'Write everyday,'" less than one. I attempted to make a point about the universally agreed upon value of doing so, of writing every day (less so everyday), by comparing that to the results of, say, "'taylor swift'" and "'bieber,'" and for a moment it looked as though I'd found vindication. Why, their numbers were a third of "'write every day.'" (It would have been better to make those last words possessive, but then I would have had to deal with an apostrophe, quotation mark, followed by another apostrophe, and S; it's just too damn early for all that.) Then I noticed I'd been overlooking a set of three zeroes and they actually returned hundreds of millions of results.

But Google results are stupid anyway. I'm going to write every day (not everyday, which is an adjective, and knowing so is one of the everyday benefits of writing every day). If not here, elsewhere, but I've always wanted a journal, so why not? This is going to become more personal, trivial, as my thoughts on mass media become collected by larger projects. But those projects have gaps, and this is a good catchall. I can talk about television here or, hell, review music, just because I can. It's as exciting as it was back in November of 2009, thinking of all the good that will eventually come to this spot, like a man who's just planted a seed and stands smiling above the soil, hopefully, so consumed with his visions of a mighty tree that he can't be bothered to water it.

It's those damn patterns.