Sex, Lies, and Duct Tape

The supreme power that is Google represents the superhighway of blog traffic. One has ones friends and followers that visit regularly, via direct cyber roads. It is a well-known concept in blogland that certain key words and phrases will drastically increase the traffic on the Google freeway exit for your page.

Jenn And The City rarely pays attention to this aspect of blog marketing. I write for my own amusement first and foremost, and anyone who wants to tag along in my narcissistic adventure is always welcome to hop on the magic carpet. It’s definitely a “travel at your own risk” sort of trip. You never know when I’m going to turn at the second star on the left and go straight on til morning.

But I was fascinated to see the amount of traffic that the “Surviving the Duct Tape Wars” post generated. One intuitively recognizes that certain words, like “sex” or “Britney” will up your site visitor count, but “duct tape”? That’s.So.Messed.Up. There’s way too many people out there Googling “duct tape”. I know it’s popular in home and vehicle repair, and also an alternative gift wrap option, but really, why would you Google it?

Maybe I should mention that I once managed to Super Glue my finger to the weather stripping on my dog door. Does Super Glue have the universal appeal in the cyber-world that duct tape does? The even better Super Glue story is the tube that Travis-whippet got hold of and started to chew up. Those who know the story of Travis and his teeth probably think I should have let him keep the glue.

What happens to my visitor count if I tell the story of the WD-40 fiasco? Will that cause the counter number to whirl cheerfully skyward? In my experience, locating duct-tape in the hardware store, and inserting the straw into the can of WD-40 require Y-chromosomes. You don’t want to know about the reaction of the Y-chromosome at the hardware store when you try to return the defective uhh, lubricating product because you're having difficulties making the, err, tube delivering the viscous oil fit in the opening provided.

Additional fun fact about WD-40, it can be used to clean crayon and ink from computer monitors. Do Not Ask Me How I Know This. Remember I’m a recovering blonde.

Stay tuned next time when we will explore the Google results for hardware choices such as cordless screwdrivers, channel locks, and needle-nose pliers.

For Patience-Please

It's come to my attention that my friend Patience at Patience-please might be having a tough day. I think this because her blog today says"Be warned - not my usual post". Patience's posts are often funny and always meaningful. "Poignant" someone described them to me once.

So, loyal follower that I am, I read her blog. Expecting something decidedly un-Patiencey, like mindless drivel or something insensitive about animals and small children. This is not the case.

Patience rewound the video of her life and tried to decide if she's made good choices. She's taking a moment to reflect on missed opportunities. And she's feeling selfish and guilty and unentertaining for blogging about it. Huh? "Selfish" and "unentertaining" aren't even allowed in the same zip code with Patience.

First, she wrote an excellent blog, everyone should take a moment to ponder the lessons of the past. They guide the path of the future. Second, if she hadn't traveled the road of Patience, she wouldn't have been able to write that blog. Or her first and second books. And I'm willing to bet that Patience wouldn't be nearly as entertaining to us all if she kept a cattery, or showed poodles. Nothing against poodles, I'm just sayin'. And heaven help us if she'd learned to knit.

It is, I think, the hallmark of a really good writer to be able to look backward and be able to use that energy and those lessons to push forward. I know it drives me. Drives me crazy and up a wall and bonkers sometimes, but drive it does.

Patience is going back to full-time nursing. She's not exactly thrilled about the occupational adventure, but I am. There are going to be some totally awesome and funny stories. (THAT, my friend, is me being selfish.)

And they will be poignant.

No Penguins in Asia

I have four "guys" in my kitchen playing "Risk". Aside from the need to describe the situation in quotes, this isn't too bad. Yet.

The tin of Wal-Mart flavored popcorn is nearly gone. The Costco tub of red licorice is half-demolished. Howard Jones blares on my iTouch. Get Smart blares from the living room t.v. where my poor (pause, while JATC determines relationship) b/f's ex-wifes, son from first marriage's wife (otherwise known as Annie) is watching t.v. Annie is delightful, she has Nike and Tara wrapped under blankets watching t.v. with her. Annie is also a vet tech - she "gets" the whippets.

Rob is "out" of the Risk game. Brandon (ex's son), Travis (ex's current hubby) and Nick (their son) are still playing. Everyone but Nick has been drinking Crown and Coke (legally).

I'm interrupted from Twitter and Blogger with the Risk related question "Are there Penguins in Asia?" I'm not sure what that's got to do with the game, but given the Crown, I can work with it.

Rob has overturned his bar-stool, Nick's bodily functions are not fit for company, and Brandon has had about a half/pint of Crown. Just another Saturday Night at JATC.

For anyone wondering, there are NO penguins in Asia...
J

Happy New Year

Happy New Year, Blogland!

I don't normally make a New Year's resolution. I manage to resolve all kinds of crap all year long. Doesn't do a damn bit of good. I do need to do some things. I need to lose some weight, I need to write more, and I need to quit having these maddening anxiety attacks. There's nothing quite like that rush of adrenaline to your extremities that never stops, or the constriction in your chest that feels like your heart is going to implode. Of course, I'm also the only person on the face of the earth for whom Xanax.Does.Absolutely.Nothing. Much to the chagrin of my physician, who is struggling to find a pharmaceutical solution that will keep me functional and non-agoraphobic until the increased Prozac dose kicks in.

But I'm not going to resolve to do those things. For one, that would just be boring, and second, I doubt it would help me accomplish them.

At the risk of being pedestrian and lemming-like, I think I will make some New Year's resolutions this year. They're going to be a little different than the average bear though.

1. I resolve to eat whatever I want. By nature I'm a generally healthy eater, my mother did a good job instilling sensible eating habits. but I tend to get obsessive about junk food. And I've never managed to have a positive relationship with vegetables. So, pffuuiii on food. You will no longer control my life.

2. I resolve to let go of the self-conscious, socio-political filter in my brain. The one that overthinks things and has a death-grip on my imagination and creativity. I suspect this will not always lead to positive outcomes, but one must take risks to keep moving forward. See probable 2010 resolution to "put filter back on mouth".

3. I resolve to smile more. At myself, and at others. Just now I'm sitting here smiling at Tara. She's asleep, and doesn't care, but it makes me feel better.

Gotta go eat some cake and take my meds. Smiling.

Surviving the Duct Tape Wars

My father is a marine biologist. I should have liked to study biology or veterinary sciences, but my negative relationship with numbers precluded me from even getting through Algebra 101 in college. I simply lack the disciplined, methodical thought process required. Thoughts in my brain flit about like hummingbirds, whirling along at top speed from one bright, shiny idea to another. They never pause to rest or consider the merits of proceeding in an orderly fashion.

While I’m quite fond of my hummingbird brain, its limitations transcend career choices. Wrapping Christmas presents, for example. Regardless of shape or size, my father can wrap gifts with striking precision, never using an inch too much paper, lining up the patterns with straight seams that would be the envy of a master tailor. On a good day, I can manage to get enough paper to overlap itself several times, using half a roll of scotch tape to control the jagged edges. 3M stock goes through the roof when I wrap presents. Recipients of said gifts find it charming that I’ve allowed a small child to assist in the wrapping process. When I smile and announce that no, I’ve bungled it up all on my own, I’m greeted with looks of horrified despair.

Really bad wrapping and horrified despair took on new meaning last year when I started celebrating the holidays with Saint Rob and his relatives. Here, tradition demands that the frustrations of familial dysfunction revenge themselves via gift wrap hell. If you are still miffed that Uncle Rob forgot your birthday, it is entirely acceptable to place the DVD of “Get Smart” that you bought him for Christmas into a shoe box, swathe the box completely in duct tape, then wrap it with “Merry Christmas” paper. Uncle Rob must then spend half an hour trying to free said DVD without benefit of a box knife or scissors. Meanwhile, the entire family alternately cheers or provides a snide commentary to the unwrapping process. Each year the creativity used in gift wrapping with duct tape aspires to a higher level.

Somehow I find that not only did I fail math, I also failed to acquire the duct tape gene. I can’t even find the duct tape department at Wal-Mart without help. The scene wherein I gamely attempted to participate in the tape-wrap battle ended rather badly indeed, Curiousity didn’t kill Stan, but it did get him semi-permanently affixed to Nick’s present.

So here is my salute to the gift bag. Thank you 3M.