kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Losers

  • SPAM: Earning Money From Home & Man Units

    Smothered in SpamCan someone please tell me what in hell is going on with all the spam already? It’s completely out of control. Wasn’t the Spam King thrown in the slammer? Well, at least one was, but wait, isn’t this guy a spammer, too? And, uh, this one? Okay, so maybe all the spam spawn have hatched, or closet spammers have come out to infect the rest of us with their completely ridiculous crap. Who are these crack dwellers?

    I’ve thought about this. I picture a seedy room with an unkempt individual who hasn’t seen the light of day in weeks, (no, not me — my office is pleasant looking) and is maniacally hacking into others’ computers, networks, and lives. I know. Pretty naive, huh? Okay so my revision of this diabolical scenario would be that the sleezy creature is wearing Gap cargo pants, flip-flops, and a Grateful Dean tee (a Beatle shirt?) cracking its whip at a bank of orgasmic spam bots. (You, Too Can Have A Home-Based Business). The whole concept is just bizarre. And I just don’t see how they can actually make money.

    Seriously.

    Well, so maybe they do make money. And the source quotes that “spam will overtake human-sent email sometime in 2007.” So, I guess that time is close to being now. And AOL will change their little email voice to greet people with, “Damn. You’ve got Spam!” At least I haven’t had to deal with the fake greeting cards. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
    I’m sure I’m not alone. Yes, of course this site gets spam, but Askimet catches 99.9% of it and all I have to do is open my spam window and flush the toilet. Right now, it’s a toss up between the guys who are rabid car sales freaks and the seriously pathetic cockroaches who all want us to sport enormous penises and engage in unmentionable activities with various and assorted females, males, and sheep. Honestly.

    Sheep? Ahem.

    And then there is the email spam group. Unfortunately, that’s primarily my fault. You’re all dying to know why, right? It’s Friday. You have time.

    Well.

    Last October when I was beginning to feel as if my entire life was ready to cave in, (tune in to channel 11 on Telemundo…) I began to think about Working From Home. Big. Mistake. All you have to do is have an inkling of a glimmer of a seed of a thought, and your phone rings all day. Your snail mail box begins to fill with offers of wonderous wealth, and spectacular imaginings of shiny, sleek cars, McMansions, and yachts the size of battleships. And the email. My goodness. You get to learn about what affiliates are. You get to find out who The Rich Jerk is. Sorry, no link. I don’t want to encourage him. And don’t Google him, either, unless you love being verbally abused. Okay, so if you like Dr. Laura, you might enjoy The Rich Jerk.

    At one point, I physically couldn’t keep up with the amount of pure manure I was receiving. It took a good amount of time each day to filter through it to find real emails. Nearly 2,000 of them. Yes, I know. Why didn’t I get another account? Uh, I’m stubborn? I shouldn’t have to? I didn’t ask for the spam mail? I know. I should have gotten another account. You’re correct. Print this and frame it, because I never concede. Never.

    Anyway, the most annoying of the emails must come from some pyramid scheme having to do with home mortgages. They have continued for more than 10 months now. Long enough for me to wonder what the hell is going on when I don’t get one. The poor saps have been sold a list of names (mine must be on 10,000 of these lists) and told that whomever is on the list is a “lead.” You know. I’m going to be a sucker, respond to their email, and then they’re in. Someone, somewhere told them they could make a zillion dollars doing this, Working From Home. They’d be able to get hold of me and sell me something. Anything. Because I was desperate. Uh…not. Delete, delete, delete. And I completely love that there isn’t a link to “unsubscribe,” like I actually subscribed to something in the first place, allowing them to send inane emails. I don’t want a free laptop, a Gucci purse, fake Rolex, or any of that Adobe software that is discounted 75% with a poem thrown in for good measure. Huh?

    And I definitely, absolutely am not interested in “Extra Size your man unit with Extra Size Plus.” Man Unit? Uh…No. Do people actually answer those emails? They can’t. Really? If you’ve actually gotten something worthwhile from one of those stoopid emails, I’d love to hear about it. Well, not if it’s about the man unit.

    Speaking of subscribing. Don’t tell me I’m the only one on this earth who has clicked on a link to see what is “free” and then before you blink, you’re getting items in the mail that you are automatically billed for. And it’s a recurring bill. A big one. Hoodia? Did I order that? “Ma’am, it was in the small print. And I actually lost 10 pounds on Hoodia. It is pretty expensive to grow,” the phone person confided.

    Whatever. Just don’t ever answer your phone when the area code is 866. Ever.

    Or open the grant writing disk that comes in the mail.

    Or the foreign language instruction cd.

    Coffee beans from Florida (huh?)

    Secret shoppers offers.

    Travel club teasers.

    Graduate degrees.

    Affiliate this, affiliate that.

    Employment typing at home.

    And no, I don’t want a free Kaboom thingy to scrub my toilet with unless you’re going to send someone to scrub it for me as well, thankyouverymuch.

    OR, an exclusive membership to a secret, ancient organization of people who have been wildly successful and are eye-poppingly wealthy. Totally creepy. Didn’t they make a movie about this starring Tom Hanks? Jeez.

    I was able to break most of the connections I had with all of the crazies who seem to be Pod people from the planet Twylo people like you or myself, and who were stuck with a name to contact. They’re just trying to make us all want to reach through our monitors and rip their eyeballs out of their sockets Earn Money From Home.

    Although most of the emailing nightmare was months ago, a new wave has come, and I think it’s because instead of just deleting the emails, I’ve been clicking the unsubscribe link. So call me Pollyanna for truly believing that since they legally have to post that link, I should be able to click it to be removed from their list. Excuse the hell outta me.

    BBC News

    Whatever. So I’m gullible.

    And since everyone now knows this, if you’re going to send me spam, could you just spell correctly, please? Would that be too much to ask? And use English at least semi-properly.

    Or teach the bots how to spell since the mud suckers haven’t a clue. Shit. They must have skipped Kindergarten. And I thought there was No Child Left Behind.

    p.s. Don’t ever believe anyone on the phone who says they will build you a web site with guaranteed traffic to a site like Amazon or E-Bay.  A “website” that is something I now know enough to put together myself.  A website that will somehow make you money.  In your sleep.

    It was an expensive lesson.

    Yes, my mother did teach me not to talk to strangers.

    And yes, I do know about that statistic on suckers.

     

  • Robosapien Spares Bloggers

    Over the past few months since I’ve developed an interest in blogging, I’ve begun to notice other’s reactions to the idea of blogging in general. Several weeks ago, someone mentioned to me that “blog” is one of the “most annoying words” connected with the Internet. I get it. The word is annoying, hence, bloggers are annoying. I’ve encountered a person here or there who will inquire at a get together,”What exactly is a ‘blog?’” hesitantly, trying to feign interest after they’ve learned that “blogging” is what I have been doing since leaving my job. The conversation goes like this…

    “Hey, how have you been?

    “Great, thanks. Good to see you,” I reply.

    “How is work going? What school are you at again?”

    “I don’t work any longer. I quit a few months ago.”

    “Is everything okay? What are you doing instead?” the person inquires because no one sane would give up their job for no reason.

    “I write quite a bit each day.”

    “Really. What do you write?”

    “Personal essays and other pieces. I’m just getting back into the habit of it after several years of not being able to find time the time. I’m really enjoying it.”

    “Oh,” blink, blink…

    Another person approaches us. “She has a blog. You know. On the Internet.”

    “Oh,” the first person repeats, and looks uncomfortable, like I might grab my wallet and throw a photo accordion of my 13 children at her. I’m tempted, but I wouldn’t do that to my kids even if I had 13.

    She and others are most likely thinking, how sad that she has come to this, wasting her time on the Internet all day. Doing nothing. One individual reacted to my writing, struggling to read what I’d written, and succumbed to muttering the words aloud as one might tackle a treatise on an Analysis of Glucose Cycles in Mammals Indigenous to the North American Piedmont and uttered in confusion, “What kind of writing….is…this? Exactly…?” I completely understoond her reaction and was sure it must be the very stylized syntax of sentences. like. this. Or, btw—wtf, yanno? Perhaps a Bwahahahahaha or a snort. Or two. Huh? = )

    Ahh, the frustration of one’s writing being in the hands of an audience it wasn’t intended for. Not exactly a novel dilemma, is it? I say this knowing that writers have always struggled with how their work is received. Anything that requires another’s interpretation is subject to the same risk. I do believe, however, that a person should have an idea about a piece of writing well before getting involved with it. But maybe that’s just me. I’ve lost the source, but I remember reading a particular author who believed his readers “write his books.” Said differently, any reader brings a massive amount of information, experience, and of course, at times, ignorance to a particular reading. With that, a book is understood in an infinite number of unique ways. That perspective either allows the reader to enjoy the book, or to question why it was even considered as something which might be enjoyed. Not everyone will appreciate every type of writing. I certainly don’t.

    I believe it is important to note that those of us who choose to write in this very public way, do so for a variety of reasons. I also believe that as much as it is enjoyable to have others read what I write, not everyone will appreciate all of it. Some may not like any of it. Is audience appreciation always the reason for our writing?

    I write because I want to. Because I need to. Because I can. Although my mother has kept personal journals for more than 25 years, to my knowledge, no one else in my family has been interested in writing. Just more proof that I must have fallen off the turnip truck. I can’t say that a teacher in my past had anything to do with motivating me to write because very few of them assigned writing — let alone taught the craft of writing. No, I was never even forced to write the venerable Five Paragraph Essay. Ahem. And we know how many of those are published annually.

    Most likely, reading has influenced my need to write, as well as a well-developed ability to observe and remember nearly everything I see. Each author has a new perspective, a different voice, a way of allowing me to see through their thoughts. With that information, words and stories of my own evolve. As much as I enjoy writing my thoughts and observations, that is all they are. The way I choose to write them is exactly that: a choice. One that I value.

    Yesterday while I was perusing others’ blogs, I came across one that featured a book review. The point of the review was clear: People like myself are amateurs. The business of writing is not something we are good at. In fact, people like myself are to blame for destroying the foundations of society, and card-carrying readers of “drivel” who will hardly be lining up “to read Shakespeare.” It was stated quite plainly that writers such as myself are only about “monkey business” and that all those who count themselves as “professionals” should work to find solutions allowing “those with talent to flourish.” I do have a suggestion: Write something others would enjoy reading. Fairly basic. Writing a few sentences about writer’s block doesn’t quite cut it, though.

    So let me get this straight. I’m a professional if I write about education because I was employed as an educator. But if I choose to write about my life, my observations, my opinions, my ideas—which all belong to me, are connected to me, and referenced with that which is relevant to said life, observations, opinions, and ideas—I’m an amateur? And I need to stop this “monkey business” so the “professionals” can get a word in edgewise? Interesting.

    I have to confess that reading the post, some of the comments, and comments made at amazon got the best of me. I haven’t been that worked up about anything for months. Embarrassing, actually when I consider all of the very important issues I should be worked up about. But I recognized what was causing my irritation. It all seemed so like the junior high students I had worked with for many years. Smug, egocentric, cliqueish. Very much a case of, “Hello? I’ve done the seat time required for the label I’m applying to myself, and while I’m at it, I’m going to pass judgment on you, on your admirers, and hell, our quickly disintegrating society in general because:

    1. Bloggers exist.
    2. Bloggers attract attention.
    3. The attention is distracting others from noticing those who are more deserving.
    4. Like me (The Professional).
    5. Society is falling apart because no one reads Shakespeare.
    6. Or gets in line to buy Shakespeare.
    7. Because they’re bloggers.
    8. Or readers of blogs.
    9. Bottom dwellers.
    10. Destroyers of the English Language.

    William Faulkner said,

    “Read, read, read. Read everything— trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the masters. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write.”

    Well said, Bill, even though I never really enjoyed reading your writing when I was in college. Mind you, I know you’re called one of our best writers, and that you were A Professional, but I just didn’t “get” your style. Maybe I was too young to truly understand considering the experience I approached your writing with—or lack thereof. Did you actually write Sanctuary for college sophomores? You’re in good company, because Will Shakespeare isn’t my cuppa tea either. Was he A Professional? If I remember correctly, he had some issues with written English. But who am I to bring that to anyone’s attention. I’m only an amateur.

    One who is contributing to the downfall of society one post at a time.

    What will become of us all? Will we drown in technobabble? I doubt it. We’ve continued to survive legalese and eduspeak. We are engaged in trying to survive Dub-Yah.

    But Monkey Business still abounds. Damn technology.

    Robosapien & Roboraptor Professional Smackdown

    Weak-Assed Whining Professional Gives Self Away

    Robosapien Smells a Snob

    In the End, Amateur Minions Lack Seasoning; Save Society

  • Thank you, San Diego. Please leave your trash on the beach.

    The frenzied July 4th crowds began Tuesday evening. How could they not? The weekend had just ended, so it seemed that people were on simmer and waiting for an opportunity to really get going on their summer vacations. We could see them as we drove through the beach area on our way to the ball game many others decided would kick off their holiday as well. Lots of traffic, people hustling to get somewhere — anywhere — even if it meant getting stuck at the place where Interstate 8 ends at the Pacific Ocean. On that evening, there wouldn’t have been a glorious sunset to keep them entertained as they swore at each other, trying to squeeze from four lanes into two.

    I’m such a party pooper. For some reason, I’d rather be an observer than a participant. People watching is far more interesting to me than putting myself in a place where I could become the object of another’s scrutiny. I’m quite capable of making an ass of myself given the perfect circumstances, so best I avoid those situations by enjoying others while they are in their element — or not.

    IMG_2531.JPG Being one of about 46,000 at a ball park guarantees superb opportunities for people watching. But we were fairly early, so dinner was in order. The expected fish tacos never materialized. Instead, we tried the sushi restaurant. Sushi? At a ball park? The MoH has baseball in his veins, so seizing the opportunity to sit in a restaurant with a view of batting practice is seriously his cup of tea. Petco Park Er, ah, beer. With edamames, please. IMG_2525.JPG Nope. The RT was completely unimpressed with the California Roll because he most likely had boi-gahs on his brain. IMG_2526.JPG But the view was very relaxing and a great way to begin the evening. Unfortunately, the MoH is a jinx, so the home team lost. Again. IMG_2533.JPG

    E Ticket Seats to the Babe Watch The 4th was a very quiet blur with little or no fanfare. An excellent dinner with friends, with no celebratory songs of being glad to be Americans, and very little Souza. And why is it that the older one gets, the less important fireworks are? I won’t apologize for the bah-humbugging I’m doing because I’ve seen some fairly amazing fireworks shows and unless someone is interested in taking me to see the pyrotechnics competition they hold in Monte Carlo every year, then I’ll only feign interest. Actually, the view from our friends’ home is quite spectacular on a good night. But Monte Carlo?

    Small Boat, Big Flag Sadly, no Monte Carlo for me. I was more interested in heading down to the beach to walk early the next morning because I had to see with my very own eyes what the local paper had published the year before. I had to see the mountains of trash that others feel no discomfort in leaving behind after they’ve had their one day at the beach for the year. I had to see. Someone's Party Leftovers

    Junior Lifeguards It was early enough by the time we had stopped at Kono’s to get our coffee that beach rental folks were barely stirring, and there was nary an officer in sight at the SDPD Mobile Command Unit trailer. But many others had already been up for quite some time. Junior Lifeguards were congregating to pick up trash; the Surfrider Foundation was organizing the clean up event; Helping kids in summer day camp programs were collecting even the tiniest pieces of litter; men in skip loaders were gathering what the cans had held. Beach Clean Up It seemed that everything was under control. By the time that we walked by, compared to the ugliness of last year, the beach was relatively clean and it was only 8:30 am. Amazing. The greatest aspect of this was seeing people walk up to do their part just to help out.

    How might it be if people took the responsibility of not leaving trash to begin with? My evil side imagines for just a second, what people would do if a garbage truck removed the trash, drove it to a neighborhood where the once-a-year beach goers live, and summarily dumped it, leaving it for others to clean it up. But that wouldn’t be kind, would it? I wonder what their thinking is? Well, it’s only a bit of trash. Someone will clean it up. Or, everyone else is doing it, so what difference does it make? People are willing to carry very heavy bags, boxes, and coolers through the sand, but can’t think for 5 minutes on how to remove something that takes up less space in their SUVs, Trucks, and MiniVans, than when they arrived. Lazy? I’m thinking it’s something more subversive, but I’m not in the mood to stir that pot right now. Think about it. I still have the Black Beast sitting in my garage right now. I could have rolled it down to the beach and left it there, right? Take some time to see what last year was like and watch this video clip . Barbie, anyone?

    Enough. Hope your 4th was relaxing if you celebrate declaring independence from an overbearing monarchy. I could let you in on all the tourismo “stuff” we’ve been doing since then, but I’ll spare you. At least for now. The perspective I’m attempting to employ at this point is along the lines of working to appreciate the city I have lived in since 1968. The one I often say I don’t appreciate.

    The one I often consider leaving.

    And a Bev Holder