My Theory, Which is Mine, and Mine Alone [*ahem*] (MH370)

Everyone’s got a theory about the Malaysian plane.

Some people online say it was hijacked to Diego Garcia, or to Iran (because, of course, two Iranian passengers had boarded with stolen passports in their attempt to get asylum in Europe away from Iran„ so I mean DUH they MUST have been involved. Riiiiight.). Some people say aliens. Some people say… well, everyone’s got a theory.

I’ve had like 15 different theories since the beginning of all this — seeing as the Malaysian Gov’t has amended, denied or about-faced on every little thing they’ve said, pretty much. One of the first “indications of deliberate, nefarious, diabolical action” was the ‘fact’ (in UMNO Malaysian Gov’t Land) that the ACARS had “been disabled” before the co-pilot — WHOOPS, the mystery voice — said “Alright, good night,” or “Goodnight, Malaysian Three Seven Zero”, or “Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are”, or whatever the geniuses in the Malaysian Clouseau Investigation Unit have proclaimed it to be most recently.

In fact, the ACARS (Aircraft Communications Addressing and Reporting System) had transmitted a burst at 1:07 AM, and was not due to transmit again until 1:37AM, when it did not. Apparently no-one in the Mr. Bean Honorary Investigation Unit never bothered to, like, call Boeing and say “Tell me about the ACARS, a little.”

ANYWAY, the whole early part of the “investigation” was colored by this sloppy, incorrect, unvetted, astonishingly stupid assertion. And it has continued in that vein (to some extent).

I guess the Malaysian Honorary Maxwell Smart Investigation Team is now saying that they are hoping they’ll find some survivors. ! Guess they got ‘smarted’ from the uproar of reaction when the PM declared “all passengers are dead” a couple weeks ago, sans any physical evidence allowing for that sort of definitive declaration. So now they’re backpedaling and trying to be ‘sensitive’. With all the sensitivity of a Louie DePalma. Or, no, I’ll stick with Inspector Clouseau. Without the lovable charm.

These are also the same impartial honorable folk who Made An Announcement several weeks ago that the Pilot Had Deleted Some Files On His Simulator. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod itmusthavebeenhim, he DELETED SOME FILES!!!!!1

They ANNOUNCED this. They didn’t just, y’know, include in their “information” pressers that the flight simulator had been cleared of any suspicious content in the easily-available files, but they hadn’t delved into the deleted files yet, so the investigation was ongoing… No, they made a point to ANNOUNCE that they had DISCOVERED THAT THE PILOT HAD [collective gasp] DELETED SOME FILES.

Because, y’know, deleting files is an extraordinary act that no-one ever does on their computer.

ANYWAY, enough random venting here… here is my *ahem* theory — one of many I’ve had, I mean not so much ‘theories’ as, y’know, the thoughts one mulls and tosses about when thinking about this remarkable mystery of Flight MH370.

[NB: Chris Goodfellow’s “simple solution” is the stepping-off point for this, but I have some additional thoughts.]

Even though pilot suicide — or, really, pilot (or co-pilot) mass murder / suicide — was my ‘theory’ earlier… now, with some of the early ‘investigational’ erroneous assumptions / ‘facts’ corrected — now, I’m wondering if maybe the “fire or smoke or electrical short” theory could fit.

Maybe Mr. Shah did indeed “deliberately divert the plane” — via the Flight Management System — in order to ensure that, if they were unable to function / breathe / live and land the plane at Pulau Langkawi, they would at LEAST not fly blind and dead into wherever the hell the plane happened to end up. Maybe a crew battling impossible smoke might want to program in a SPECIFIC flight-path, one far from land, one that does not encroach on any country’s radar and potentially freak out a jittery government, incite a military response / overreaction, a path that CANNOT allow the plane to crash on land and possibly kill people on the ground (though unlikely) — a route that, whether the plane succumbs to the fire or electrical problem or whatever the fuck in 3 minutes, in 30 minutes or in 6 hours when it runs out of fuel, in ALL those eventualities it would crash INTO THE SEA — not harming anyone other than the doomed crew and passengers. To an experienced, able pilot — one who is an “aviation geek” who loves flying and tries to keep up his aviation chops — letting a plane chaotically go wherever it happens to go, should it survive the humans aboard, must be anathema. The plane could also — if allowed to fly mindlessly “wherever”, after the crew is unable to maintain consciousness — could also have caused disaster in the air, colliding with some other aircraft.

Programming in a specific set of navigational waypoints in the Flight Management System so that the plane would at least NOT HARM anyone or anything on the ground — could that not have been what (presumably) Shah might have done?

The mantra of pilots is Aviate, Navigate, Communicate. In that order. If they were also dealing with a desperate attempt to Respirate — maybe the Aviate and Navigate imperitives became a valiant attempt to assure that the plane would go where HE wanted it to go, even post-mortem — as long as the plane was flying.

The consequences of a plane surviving its crew and passengers and flying “wherever” could be disastrous. A nice flyover of Pakistan? India? Naw. No-one would be alarmed by a communication-less aircraft headed their way. They’d be chill. “No worries”. Nothing bad could result from that!

I don’t know why or how the transponder and the radio would be nonfunctional. I really don’t know anything about that sort of stuff. But is it THAT unlikely that an electrical catastrophe, or toxic smoke and fumes from a mislabeled cargo of lithium batteries, would either disable some electrical systems, or impel the pilot(s) to turn off electrical systems, after which the imperative to Respirate became the top priority? Maybe ascending to 45,000 feet in order to starve a fire? Maybe even deliberately depressurizing at that altitude as well to evacuate toxic, unbreathable air while they relied briefly on oxygen masks / canisters?

I could be wrong on all this. I know nothing really about planes. I’m not Columbo, Monk or House. But seeing as the very first “facts” about this flight were in fact misinformation, sloppy, half-assed untruths (the ACARS / transponder / “goodnight” timing) that led ‘everyone’ to head in the direction of ‘diabolical intent’ right from the start — maybe we’re seeing it all with the paranoid eyes of a post-9/11 world, and not seeing something else.

I hope they find both black boxes. Wouldn’t it be astonishing if no nefarious intent was involved at all — instead, some terrible, horribly-timed sequence of events (anyone ever see the movie “Fate Is the Hunter?) that led the pilot to program in a Flight to the Indian Ocean to ensure that only they were doomed — and not anyone on the ground, not any other aircraft, not any horrible political fallout that might result from a transponder-less plane flying wildly near various jittery countries. Maybe Mr. Shah was thinking “Respirate — no, cant. But damn well gonna Aviate and Navigate.”

And maybe the “Communicate” part was spent communicating with a panicky crew and passengers, and instructing them.

Or maybe in the cabin they all expired from malfunctioning oxygen masks at 45,000 feet, and when he found that the fire was quelled but the people had all died, he did an “Oh, well, what the hell” like McWatt and flew into the ocean…

Who the fuck knows. I don’t.. But I wanted to vent a little.

I’ll probably turn out to be wrong, and for all I know a pilot can’t just “program a series of navigational waypoints” into the FMS… but isn’t that how most air navigation is done?

I do hope we find out, in any case.

Thanks for listening.

Over and out.

Smells Like Tea Spirit — Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the GOP

Load up on dumb, bring the dense
It’s fucked, they lost yet still pretend
They’re overlording selfish boors
Oh yeah, they loathe those dirty poors

They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow

“Shut the lights out! Or annul this!
Here we are now, just indulge us!
We are stupid and extortive!
Here we are now, all abortive!
A Latino, an orangino, a MarkMeeedo, neeno neeno
Yeah, hey”

They’re bad at what they do best
And for this grift I feel distressed
Their little group has always been
And always will be horses’ ends

They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow

“Shut the lights out! Or annul this!
Here we are now, just indulge us!
We are stupid and extortive!
Here we are now, all abortive!
A Latino, an orangino, a MarkMeeedo, neeno neeno
Yeah, hey, yeh”

“And I forget just why I vote
Oh yeah, I guess it floats my boat
I want my way, or else this bind
Oh well, whatevs, I have no mind”

They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow, how low
They blow, they blow, they blow

“Shut the lights out! Or annul this!
Here we are now, just indulge us!
We are stupid and extortive!
Here we are now, all abortive!
A Latino, an orangino, a MarkMeeedo, neeno neeno
Yeah, hey, yeh
A denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial
A denial, a denial, a denial, a denial…. [X 42]


~ ~ ~

"Gentlemen, you can’t legislate sanely  in here, this is the House of Representatives!"

My Flaky Following Style- Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying (sorta) and Only Follow 700% of What I Can Actually Read

I’m at the library for a sec before grabbing lunch and heading home before the Bacchanal tonight, and thought I’d slap on some words I *attempted* to Tumblog last night via my trusty LG cell phone during my bus-ride home from haircut. While my LG VX5500 is my faithful Twitter accomplice and enabler, it’s diesel-powered and it wouldn’t enter more than a paragraph or two on Tumblr. So here goes:

There are so many fun, funny, cool people I don’t follow on Twitter, just because I want to actually *read* much of my tweetstream, and trying to follow a larger number than I do (or as many as I do now, really) makes that impossible. (I wrote a tumblog over a year ago on this). On Twitter, I follow a mixed array of jokers, music tweeters, comedians, fart-joke experts, surrealist nonsense purveyors and general smatasses. I limit my follow-count through no advance algorithm (or is it logarithm?) but just a simple (somewhat unsuccessful) scheme to keep my twitter-time from consuming my entire day, and to allow me to have a sort of mixed-bag sampler twitterfeed of nonsense, newsbites, interesting bidbits, stoopid memes and actual convos. There are some fabulous people whom I’ve met at chshes and look forward very much to seeing and talking to, and whose twitter feeds are witty, interesting, cool, personable and fun — yet whom I, seemingly paradoxically, don’t follow. I visit various people’s twitter pages from time to time, to keep abreast of them (mostly because I like keeping, and saying, ‘a breast’), but don’t follow all. I hope the good people I have met and talked to and hugged at chshes know that my twitter-follow list is limited, a bit haphazard, and NOT a litmus of my attitude toward or opinion of that person’s charm or EVEN, really, their Twitter-charm. I just want to keep my follow-list in the low hundreds. I’ve been hoping to even reduce my following list to 100 or 200, but never have the time to sit at a computer and do that. My rambling point is, my follow-list isn’t a litmus of any judgment or feeling about a person; just an attempt to limit the # of tweets, convos etc that fill my little teeny phone screen as I shirk my duties and postpone eating for 5 hours and all those other lovely Twitter side-effects.

This is WAY less articulate than I’d like, since computer time is almost up and I gotta go home and get, if not beautiful, then at least presentable (I’m thinking naked)… but, anyway, I look forward to seeing the lovely peoples of the Internet tonight.

I’m glad I got my hair cut, so that I can actually *see* you wonderful walking avatars of #chsh. Cheers! Latuh! Love, BeccaPiano

12 Angry Twitterers


[Many of you lovely followers requested the transcript of my fictional experience trapped in the Oscar nominated film #12AngryMen. Here are the tweets… in order… all the way to the surprising verdict. Enjoy!]

*Disclaimer: This is NOT real. Please stop calling me, LA Courthouse!


Read More

 I was rooting for a hung jury.

I DO NOT LIKE THIS TIGER BLOOD - A Dr. Seuss / Charlie Sheen Poem

(as channeled through @BeccaPiano)

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Hello. I’m sure you know me, bro.

I’m winning, and I love my blow.

I’ve made the rounds and told my tale

I’m winning. WIN! I cannot fail.

I used to hang at sleazy bars

Cuz I’m a rock star, born on Mars.

I am of such stuff as sheens are made on.

I’m gold. I’m lead. I’m fuckin’ RADON.

It’s Tiger Blood runs in my veins.

I’ve a bitchin’, non-terrestrial brain.

It’s not a joke, no not a joke-at-all.

I’m fuckin’ HOT. I’m Eyjafjallajökull!

I live at home with goddess whores.

We live on milk, cake and s’mores.

I don’t do crack. I’ve tiger blood.

(Please tell me where they hid the drugs)

I’ve been around. And on the skids.

Make Keith and Mick seem armless kids.

Old Blue Eyes? Just a lame-ass dude

Compared to me. I’ve sharks for food.

You cannot process such as me.

Just test me. I have golden pee!

I do, I do, have Tiger Blood.

Please tell me where they’ve hid the crud.

I don’t need ‘hab. Or dumb AA.

Bill W.’s LAME! And likely gay.


And Tiger Blood. Did I yet say?

I think the main thing is, I’m WINNING.

I’m done with that old Cocaine Sinning.

Let’s shout it out! I’m cured, I’m sane!

I’ve Tiger Blood. And E.T.’s Brain.


WINNING! -Why’s the room all spinning?


Could I be HUMAN? Human, bud.

[Here’s where I leave the rest to Charlie

Can’t predict which way his gnarly

ass will go in coming daze.

Let’s hope he gets out of his maze.]

…Oh, and Happy Birthday to Dr. Seuss, a man whose brand of nonsense is enduring and uplifting. The kind of nonsense we all appreciate.



DEAR CHARLIE: I hope you can help with an etiquette question. Is it rude for me to ask for an extra invite to my friend’s wedding? – DONNA MURRAY, KANSAS CITY, KS

DEAR DONNA: Donna. Donna. Or should I say, “Jew-Harpy Stephen Spielberg.” This is all about YOU isn’t it. You JEW-CLOWN, this is…

"Gov For Sale" - an Anti-paeon to Our Felonious Ex-Governor

 I wrote a bunch of song parodies a year-and-a-half ago, inspired (if you can call it that) by the corruptitudinous goings on of our coif-ilicious former Governor here in the great state of Illinois. I posted these song parodies (it’s text/lyrics only) on — please don’t guffaw too loudly — MySpace, just to stash ‘em somewhere. I think now is a propitious (?) time to slap ‘em on my Tumblr. For those few of you who aren’t fully up-to-date with the hair-raising recent revoltin’ developments in the Rod Blagojevich case, this week Mr. Blag has only been convicted on one, relatively minor felony charge (“parading bizarre hairdo’s without a license”? I think that was it), and is awaiting retrial for the other 53,000 counts. Or 24 counts, I forget. Anyway, folks, here is the first ‘filk’, or song parody, that I wrote over a year ago. I’ll try and post at least some of the rest in future weeks, in the order I wrote them. (I even channeled Lewis Carroll in one epic poem… but that’s for later). So here’s my song, along with its original intro-blather; Ladies and gendermen, I give you — ”Gov for Sale”. Enjoy!  


[copy/pasted from original ‘blog’ post]
January 27, 2009 - Tuesday

An Infamy in Eight Filks: Being the First of 8 Song Parodies About Our Scandalous Governor

So I wrote a bunch of song parodies in the past few month or so [in 2008/2009], inspired — if you can call it that — by the outrageous and, in a twisted way, dementedly entertaining behavior and antics of our (soon to be ex-?) governor here in the Great State of Illinois (as our new Junior Senator loves to call it).

I’ll post them in the order I wrote them.  I wrote this first one around December 11 [2008], in that first week of the revelation of Blagojevich’s ignominious doings.  The original song that it’s twisted from is Cole Porter’s ‘Love for Sale’; you might want to check out one of several versions on the net that offer the lyrics and/or audio [and an Eartha Kitt youtube video].  Links and descriptions are noted after the song.

So here’s to justice, karma, Patrick Fitzgerald, the saving grace of humor, and the eternal relevance of the torch song… enjoy.

[Note on 8/19/10: If you aren’t familiar with Cole Porter’s classic “Love For Sale”, you might want to listen along to one of the links below as you read]


Gov For Sale

Music by Cole Porter
Lyrics by Becca S.

[Introductory verse, from lyrics not often sung in cover versions]

When the only sound in the G-man’s ear,
Is the heavy breath and the ready sneer
That belong to a loathsome pol,
The tape will roll.
When the Feds so long have been gazing down
On the wayward ways of this haywire clown,
That he falls into their trap,
At last he’s *Zapped*!

[Blago, hair slicked back, & wearing a sly gold lamé
backless number, strides on stage, followed by backup singers wearing
orange prison jumpsuits covered with gold dollars and porkchops.  Blago
lovingly holds a telephone receiver that serves as microphone, and
begins to sing:]

Gov for sale,
'Monetizing' thug, Gov for sale.
Gov that’s brash with hair well-oiled,
Gov that’s altogether soiled,
Gov for sale.

Who will buy?
Who would like to be the lucky guy?
Who’s prepared to pay the bill,
For a trip to Capitol Hill?
Gov for sale

Let the pundits type their shpiel
in their *bleeping* way,
I can screw their Wrigley deal —
I always get my way!
[ *backup singers* You’ve got to pay to play! ]

If you want the seat of power,
Better give me a golden shower
Bold Gov, crude Gov
Anything but a true Gov
[ *backup singers*  Finally you’re screwed, Gov! ]

Gov for sale.
'Monetizing' slug, Gov for sale.
If you want that Senate seat,
Follow me — and bring the meat!
Gov for sale.
Gov for sale.

Let Obama play me cheap
in his *bleeping* way,
I say *bleep* that *bleeping* *bleep*!
I don’t ‘appreciate’!

If you want to play my game,  
Join the fun, it’s quite insane,
High bids, sick kids,
I have really hit the skids
Gov for sale.

Gov for sale.
Advertising:  I’m up for sale!
If you want to buy my soul,
Follow me into this hole
Gov for sale.
Gov for sale.
Gov for sale.

[Blago is led off the stage in handcuffs by several Federal agents, as the backup singers exit followed by a trailing throng of paparazzi]


You can find the original lyrics at

And here are links to listen to the Cole Porter song:

Eartha Kitt, live - youtube video.  She’s a riot
(yes, the above is a link, even if your cursor doesn’t turn into a finger icon — just click on it!)

Dexter Gordon (no lyrics; jazz combo)

Ella Fitzgerald — a straightforward version but Ella’s NOT in fine form here, is way past her prime

I’m sure there are more versions to listen to on the net… Billie Holiday sang it, as did Mel Torme, Tony Bennett, Dinah Washington, and even Elvis Costello, as well as I’m sure lots of others (and Miles Davis did a lovely version on horn)….


I’ll post the other parodies as I have time to get around to it.  I’ve written six [8/19/10 Note: more like nine], but Lewis Carroll’s ‘The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits’ might motivate me to churn out 2 more, to create “The Hunting for the Pork: An Infamy in Eight Filks.”*

The first couple songs, or maybe most of ‘em, aren’t as ‘current’ or fresh as when I wrote them [2010 Note: Especially a year later!] (I wrote the Blago First Press Conference one [‘Blagbird’] the evening after he held it, a couple weeks ago [when originally posted in ‘09], and it’s not as fresh now [especially since his 2nd press conference may have outshined the first!  ‘Bring me your crippled, your poor, your whoever I could get, so I can pose them in front of the camera for a desperate PR move that just MIGHT distract the scowling public for a tiny second from the fact that I am a lying, stealing, cheating son-of-a-bitch!])

'Pork', for all you non-Chicagoans, alludes to pork barrel politics (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pork_barrel), a specialty of the house around these parts it seems.  Or at least in Springfield (not the Simpsons’ Springfield!  Springfield, Illinois, our capital)

And what’s a ‘filk’, you ask?  A ‘filk’ is a term for a song parody, often a twisted version of the lyrics to a familiar song or melody…. You might say that what Wierd Al Yankovic, Mad Magazine, and the Capitol Steps do (or did) are ‘filks’.  For the interesting origin of the word ‘filk’, you can google it and get a million hits.  Short version (I learned from Wikipedia or some such):  At some science fiction convention in the 50’s or so, back when science fiction conventions were “let’s put on a show!” small, one of the people programming the activities decided it might be fun to have a kind of jam session, with participants making up songs about science fiction topics or the like.  But due to a typo, what in the printed program was supposed to say ‘Science Fiction Folk Songs’ came out ‘Filk’ songs.  Somehow that word stuck, and has escaped the science fiction world to become a word used elsewhere as well.  Sometimes.

Perhaps ‘song parody’ is more apt as a general term for this stuff.  But, rhyme or prose “by any other name…”  [would stink as bad]

OK, that’s more than enough blather for now.  Next filk that I’ll post:  ‘Blagbird’.



* If you’re interested in checking out a little more about the Lewis
Carroll work I’m referring to, here’s a link to his ‘The Hunting of the
Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits’:  (nothing’s posting as a bona fide link
tonight on this computer, ah well)

here’s another:

Read more: http://www.myspace.com/beccas_parody_paradise/blog?page=2#ixzz0x4qYXZlS

An Exercise in Fartility, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying & Love Twitter Zendesk

I have been trying for over six months to get Twitter zendesk (better known as ‘Twitter Zoned-Out Desk’) to help me get back the Twitter regular (standard) site on my cell phone, which I used to use swimmingly for several months from my first day at Twitter nearly a year ago until last July, when suddenly my cell would not go to the standard site (twitter.com) but only go m.twitter.com. The mobile site does not allow one to star tweets, reply (link to) to a specific tweet, view WHAT tweet someone else is specifically replying to, etc. etc. etc. When I could get to the standard site on my phone I could do all that.  I tried a million things: I called Verizon, who insisted there’d been no changes “on their end” and that they couldn’t possibly be the source of the problem. I initiated a ticket at twitter.zendesk.com, which is not unlike asking Spoor from ‘Brazil’ to fix one’s heating problem. Where’s Harry Tuttle when you need him?

After the approximately 5th or 6th time that some smiley, happy but utterly clueless Zendesk peon has responded to my reiteration of the problem with a non-sequitur reply geared toward someone with Twitter problems on their COMPUTER or whatnot, I finally just now sent this:



This is on my PHONE. My PHONE. There is no Firefox on my phone.

Maybe you’ll understand this if I speak in Dr. Seuss?

There is no Firefox on my phone.
There is no Firefox, it’s a PHONE.
I do not like this Zendesk crap.
I wish for this there was an app.
You drive me nuts with inane posts.
You guys are deaf! Your brains are toast!
I already tried clearing cache.
You guys are one big Pain in Ash.
For one last time: IT’S ON MY ***PHONE***!!!!!!
Do you guys there have brains of STONE??
(Or maybe you’re just GETTING stoned.
Your deafness makes me want to groan).
So: ONE LAST TIME: My CELL’s the prob.
How DO you dumbkopfs keep your job????!!!
If this seems rude, just bear in mind:
It’s SIX MONTHS NOW; that’s loads of time
For SOMEONE there to heed my cries.
Poor Horton had more sane replies.
Now WILL someone with BRAINS respond?
I don’t need Einstein, nor James Bond,
To READ MY POST and not be lame.




So, whaddaya think, guys? You think they’ll get it? Or should I speak to them in ‘Dick and Jane’?

"See Zendesk. See Zendesk fuckup. See Zendesk fuckup alot! See Zendesk at there desks smoking ganja! See Zendesk go to hell!"

They take incompetence to an Olympic level. Anyone have any ideas for a National Anthem for the Twitter Zendesk?

Thanks for list’nin.

Hot News Day.

Well said, sir. Well said.

Analogies are so excellent for purposes of satire; you’ll forgive me however if I also look forward with bated breath for the claymation version to come out. I’m sure Ray Harryhausen’s* rendition of DCA vs. Everyone Else will be AWESOME!


*Or Nick Park.



Wow. Some news today!

You have probably heard about the death rattle of Favrd.com by now. Unfortunately, the end of this popular website has started a chain reaction through the technorati of personal publishing and then the web in general.

The first casualty I’m sorry to break to you is Twitter. The guys behind Twitter don’t like people outside the original user base clique using the sevice, or the fact Facebook is doing well and attracting many users. So rather than putting some effort in, they are shutting the site down and blaming it on all the people that have a user name more than four letters long.

Next, I’m afraid Tumblr are shutting up shop due to too many people using their service that don’t have the ability to take screenshots on their iPhone. Also they are citing the fact that people use their platform for blogging and gaining recognition… and frankly, people can not be trusted with that.

Twitpic are rumored next to bail, after rumblings that they are unimpressed with young ladies taking pictures of breasts to put on the internet. Soon they are to put a statement out explaining they simply just can’t trust the general public to use their service wisely, and turn the website off.

Google are in high level management talks, sick of the fact that the majority of searches on their popular self titled search engine are in fact for pornography. They feel that people using their service to search for porn is debasing them, and since they don’t respect people for searching for porn, it’s time to close down.

In their closing down statement Google are expected to acknowledge people can search the internet from other sources, but encourage people to ask their friends if they know of a good article on their chosen subject rather than use another search engine… and if they come accross a good article, write the author a little note saying thank you rather than using the comments section. After all, nothing warms the heart of a web author more than having 200+ emails a day saying “Great article - thanks” and explaining why they enjoyed exactly what the person crafted for them to enjoy.



Two years ago today, this happened. And I don’t mean my son’s tooth coming in; of course, I mean that I first tweeted.
What a weird two years.
As I’ve become increasingly engaged with some kind of Twitter community, I’ve encountered: love, anger, births, deaths, proposals, breakups, people gone missing, people found. Warmth, filth, and everything in between. Competitiveness and apathy.
Most of all, I’ve found laughter.
Wait, what? Those things aren’t weird at all. They’re what life is made of, online or off. Turns out we aren’t really living all that differently because of Twitter, we’re just doing it cracked open for everyone to see.
All the better to let through a little of that interior light we keep so hidden.

This is my very first reblog, I believe! —So well said, Mike. And to think that Twitter CAN be more than fart jokes…


Two years ago today, this happened. And I don’t mean my son’s tooth coming in; of course, I mean that I first tweeted.

What a weird two years.

As I’ve become increasingly engaged with some kind of Twitter community, I’ve encountered: love, anger, births, deaths, proposals, breakups, people gone missing, people found. Warmth, filth, and everything in between. Competitiveness and apathy.

Most of all, I’ve found laughter.

Wait, what? Those things aren’t weird at all. They’re what life is made of, online or off. Turns out we aren’t really living all that differently because of Twitter, we’re just doing it cracked open for everyone to see.

All the better to let through a little of that interior light we keep so hidden.


This is my very first reblog, I believe! —So well said, Mike. And to think that Twitter CAN be more than fart jokes…