Tinkering with web design, for me, is like Sisyphus rolling that damn rock up the hill. Assuming he even reaches the top of Jenga Myass, you know he’s gonna be Indiana Jonesin’ mere seconds after trying to chock his accomplishment on the edge of a chasm called Pack a Lunch. ‘Cause you’d need one — long before you hit bottom — if you fell into it; kind of an in-flight last meal.
Sisyphus is rockin' & rollin'
Sadly, when this whole coded mess comes barreling behind you and tumbles down around your head like the walls of Jericho, instead of your flash lifing before your eyes just moments before you’re buried alive beneath a mountain of even the simplest HTML, you’ll remember that humbling view from above the clouds, which proved you weren’t even at the pinnacle of the highest peak in the park.
Buddha said all life is suffering. Buddha was a world-wide web master. I am but a web worm, inching my way through copious amounts of code that drop like crumbs from great masters’ lips as they devour mountains of php, xml, and cold fusion as mere midnight snacks washed down with a cup of hot javascript. But if I meet Buddha on the path up Jenga Myass, I will kill him.
I have a rudimentary understanding of my native tongue — I speak Manglish — and now I’m attempting to learn Hyper-Text Mark-up Language, which is still baby steps out of the womb of personal computing. These faster and faster processors are allowing me to make mistakes quicker and quicker. Between Moore’s Law and Murphy’s Law, I reside and resign myself to dwelling in this modest hovel of graphic pixelation known as My Website. It’s a 1970s tract home, sitting quietly on a tiny plot of cyberspace, and in need of an extreme makeover.
Working on the inner nuts-and-bolts of Lines on the Road, I feel like the Chief Engineer for the Great Wall of China, but my hundreds of thousands of laborers are missing. When I chisel, shape and mortar a few bricks in place, here, along the lofty mountain peaks, all appears to be smooth and functional. Unbeknownst to me, however, the wall has crumbled a thousand miles away to the North, in the low-lying grass plains, and Mongol hordes are pouring through the broken code where a single faulty DIV tag lies scattered in the footer.
If I meet Buddha on the path, I will kill him
I have the sneaking suspicion that my subconscious surreptitiously sabotages me with make-shift work on the maintenance of the site, just to keep me from actually writing, which I say I want to do . . . daily. Thus, the former title of this blog was: The Daily Snarl. Then, it became The Several Times a Week Snarl, The Occasional Snarl, and, finally, The Whenever I Get Around to it Snarl. If nothing else, I’d like a little truth in advertising. I want to be my word. There are few things worse than a hypocrite.
However, I prefer not to just post some purloined and petty picture from the internet and make a routine retort, merely to justify some artificial agenda that falsely fulfills my intent and obligation to my muse. I would rather avoid the run-of-the-mill trash tabloidism that permeates the planet’s media mindset, where cookie cutter infotainment is the norm, and the Pop Tart Diva of the Week Award is being fought over by younger and younger trailer park queens in knee-high fuck-me boots and strawberry lip sheen.
Not everything is Shakespeare and even the most amazing sand castle will still be washed away by the evening tide. So build well and wisely, padewan.
Hmm, do I really need this 'SPAN' class attribute?
Or, like Samson, you may find yourself sheepishly shorn and bringing down the house in a manner that’s a real career-killer.
Pole-dancer tryouts begin at 7
Careful, honey, some stunts won’t work — like trying to put a square peg in a round hole. And that pole position will give you splinters.
To build a great wonder of the world that will last longer than a 2-day quickie Vegas marriage, you need to pay close attention to the quality of your materials and cast a solid foundation — on rock instead of sand. Whether it’s the crafting of code in a mediocre blog, a wall spanning thousands of miles and years, or a greatest hits album by a girl named Spears — a labor of love takes commitment, patience, and perseverance. And please don’t confuse commitment with needing to be committed or you’ll fly right into the cuckoo’s nest, instead of over it.
If you want your creation to last, then scrutinize every little detail. Build it brick by brick and line by line and it will stand the test of time. Be careful who you let into the storeroom, guard the blueprints and hide the dynamite, and don’t operate heavy keyboards while under the influence — ’cause small children may die.
Ultimately, everything you do, you do it for you. There is no out there, out there. Until you recognize this, you are doomed to play to the shadows on the wall. And your own personal doubts and demons will wail, weep and gnash their teeth till you cannot hear yourself think. This is the time to get clear and be lucid — not stupid.
So, if I don’t post something everyday, perhaps you’ll be patient and understanding, knowing I’m trying to craft a Great Wall or roll a rock up a hill while offering something more noteworthy than a shaved head, a new tattoo or a pantyless pussy.
The Kat
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