Do you speak computer? Does Berlitz have a course? Who writes this stuff?

PINGING: "In blogging, ping is an XML-RPC-based push mechanism by which a weblog notifies a server that its content has been updated.[1] An XML-RPC signal is sent to one or more "ping servers," which can then generate a list of blogs that have new material. Many blog authoring tools automatically ping one or more servers each time the blogger creates a new post or updates an old one."

Got that? Me neither. 

Why would I need to know what pinging is? Doesn't have anything to do with Ponging.
Apparently, it is to get the "subscriber feeds" to be sent on the day they are supposed to be sent. What a concept.

 I can figure this out, I thought. So in a moment of self sufficiency I went to the "Feedburner" (catchy name) for help. Google, not incidentally, is the parent of this activity.
Here's what I found.

"Need help with FeedBurner and our Help Center doesn't have the answers? Post your question(s) in this Group. 

Okay a help center. Read on.

Our previous home for discussions, FeedBurner Forums, IS NOW CLOSED to new posts but nearly all of its content history, from late 2004 onward, has been imported into this Group and is searchable here. (The old Forums site will remain up and running for some time to come for reference/web search results.)"

CLOSED FOR HELP? Since 2004? But, you can find the answers from previously posted questions. Did the stock hit its all time high in 2004? Would explain then, I suppose, closing shop in the feedburner help world. 

So, then. If you are reading this and can absolutely, positively, translate, interpret and fix my email problem, lemme know. 

If you, like me, shrug your shoulders, graciously accept that when the emailed blog shows up, it shows up, that works to.

Parli italiano?

In just a few days we turn our clocks back one hour. That's after we have confirmed with at least a dozen people that it is, absolutely and definitively, "fall' back and "spring" ahead.

Then we spend the next 5 or so months lamenting the fact that we have turned the clocks back one hour. We bitch and moan about it being dark at 4:30 in the afternoon.  We are a sorry lot.

For some the time change is welcomed. Embraced. Revered. Cocktail hour feels more appropriate when it is dark outside. For others, they can bound out of bed, refreshed and excited by the fact that it is lighter out. Their morning hopping, skipping, jumping routine can take place without the aid of headlights and dayglo vests. Now, isn't that a plus.

I have the same conversation with myself every fall. 

Why am I a northerner? 

I like the sun. I'm no longer a participant in the slathering of iodine/baby oil ritual, I actually apply sunscreen when I am out. But I do like the sun. I do like my skin to have an, oh so faint, golden glow. Delighted that this slight blush of color isn't a hot flash. 

Yeah, sure, there is something nice about the seasons. Leaves turn glorious colors, Central Park looks extraordinary after a snowfall. Sadly, the female body appears to think its going to be hibernating (an evolutionary flaw) and stores fat. 

Until sometime in April. Then the mood lifts. I can photosynthesize. I'm happy.

Eavesdropping. We all do it. While strap hanging over some folks on the subway, waiting for a movie to start, ordering at a take out counter. But those encounters only provide snippets of conversation.

Not the really good stuff.

The real deal happens at Barnes and Nobles Cafe. First off you can, like some demented Goldilocks, move from chair to chair until you find the one that is "just right." Once you've settled into your seat, opened your book, magazine, daytimer, iphone, you are good to go. You are now ready to be transported and totally absorbed in another's life. Job interviews, break ups, first dates. Yummy.

For example. The job interview. "So" asked the interviewer, "what salary range did you have in mind?" Now I want to whip around and say, "RANGE is the trick part of the question." But I can't do that. So I cringe and wait for their answer. "75-100K," he/she answered. Now what do you think the odds of getting higher than 75K is? Really.

The first/blind date are my favorites. Pretty much a replay of the job interview. Lot's of "how comes", and "tell me about your last one" and "what are you looking for" type questions.  "Marriage" I can attest, is not a good first date answer. 

"It's not me, it's you" was the best break up line, to date. 

I guess people who do inside trading, fix sporting events or participate in other nefarious activities don't frequent my local Barnes and Nobles. 

Too bad. 

A docent.

A lecturer, a tour guide, an explainer of things, capable of pointing, nodding and smiling. I can do that.

I am pretty certain that to be really effective I would have to attempt a British accent. It seems to me that New York nasal doesn’t have quite the gravitas for the task. Other than Ringo Starr, I can’t think of listening to an English accent and not thinking, what brilliance! what insight! what rubbish!

Can you imagine? I could be a momentarily anointed expert. Momentarily is, you see, conditional on how long the installation remains at the museum. I would think, based upon my ability to retain new information, the best bet for me would be to be assigned to the permanent collection. Or the garden tour. Unless someone slips in, during the night, and adds a new picture or plant you pretty much can guarantee you’ll remember what you said yesterday. Hopefully.

One huge concern I have is that I have never been able to find my way out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I imagine the headline now. “Lost Docent and her group of out of town museum goers were finally found staving off starvation by lapping water out of the fountain in the Greek and Roman gallery.” Alternatively, I could hope that my charges have short term memory issues. I could circle the same room over and over again in the hope that they wouldn’t remember having looked at that picture just a few minutes before. That could work.

And sensible shoes. I’d have to buy sensible shoes. And a headband.

Pointing, nodding, smiling. I’m in.

As it should be.

When Sendak wrote “Where The Wild Things Are”, more than 50 years ago, it was either derided as too dark for children, or hailed as an incredible opportunity for its readers to unleash their “collective imagination.”

And now, for sure, the collective imagination of its readers has been unleashed with Spike Jonze’s interpretation of Sendak’s classic.

And, it’s the interpretations of the interpretations that I find fascinating.

Let’s see. David Brooks of the New York TImes has a go with the concept of psychology and philosophy as the competing forces in shaping Max’s behavior. The Call of the Wild Things by Charles McNair gives us an in depth analysis, questioning… is it the illustration, the story, or something else? Hint, it’s something else. The Huffington Posts Jonathan Kim questions the rift between those who thought the film was ill conceived and misguided (yikes) and those who thought it charming and delightful (fuzzy and warm?)

For the record, I thought the film was ____________and will be continuing my interpretations on the interpretations around Oscar time.

If you have a comment on the comments of the interpretations of interpretors here is your chance to weigh in.