In Which We’re Baaaaack!

 Did you miss us? Did you notice we were gone? 

A couple of months ago, we remembered that, not too long ago, blogging was a regular pastime, a daily one in fact. And that people even occasionally read the silly meanderings set down in these pages. We stopped the regular blogging in the face of general feelings of overwhelmedness (it’s a word!) and really hadn’t given it much thought. But then, one day, we got to wondering whether the site still existed. Sure, the internet is forever, but Google must do occasional purges of dormant digital domains, right? How else to make room for the important things? Like porn? 

Imagine our surprise, not to say pride, when we realized that Ye Olde Solipsist could still be accessed! We could start subjecting the world to our random musings anytime we wanted! 

Alas, it wasn’t quite that simple.

While we could FIND our page, we couldn’t actually create any new posts. When we tried to sign in, we were offered the opportunity only to create a new blog—while (reassuringly?) being told that solipsisticmusings.blogspot.com was already taken. We were perplexed.

We went to Google Answers to try to find. . .well, answers. Interestingly, it seemed that ours was a somewhat common problem. So we posted our question, and sat back to wait for a reply.

And we waited.

And waited.

AND WAITED.

Stupid Google! Don’t be evil, my eye!

We had essentially given up on ever retrieving editorial access to our digital soapbox until today, when we had to go to Google to retrieve some information on llamas (don’t ask), and we noticed the little waffle in the upper right hand corner—which reminded us that we had a GOOGLE email address. One we never use. One that would probably be the one to which any replies from Google would probably be sent.

Sure enough, there was a reply, dated about ten minutes after we had sent in our initial question, telling us what to do, and before you could say “Sweet Loretta” we were back to where we once belonged.

When we first kept this blog, we went some five years without skipping more than a few days here and there. The new streak begins today!

Inspirationaemia

How bad is it? I'm lying here, watching TV. A commercial for "Flex Seal Clear" comes on. The pitchman enthuses about Flex Seal's ability to prevent water damage by forming watertight seals around cracks. The dramatic demonstration: the bottom of a rowboat is replaced with a sheet of clear plexiglass. Numerous holes are drilled in the plexiglass, and then the whole things is sprayed with Flex Seal Clear. The next thing we see: The pitchman in the boat, happily bobbing on the waves, the seal holding, fish swimming oblivious below...

...And I'm lying there thinking: Hey, THIS could make a good blog post!

And So This Is New Years. . .

As 2013 draws to a close, I find myself in a melancholy mood.  There have been some big changes in my life of late--maybe I'll tell you all about them one day soon.  I can't say the year has turned out badly, but I can say that, one year ago, I wouldn't have expected to be where I am now.  And I can scarce imagine where I'll be one year from now.

I started this blog about five years ago, as a sort of new year's resolution, in fact.  And somehow, over the years, I have acquired 39 followers--which is about 38 more than I ever expected to have.  And to all those who have read anything I've written, I'd just like to say thanks.  Whether you've ever left a comment or not, the thought of people out there--wherever "out there" is--actually caring to take a couple of minutes a day to read my random ramblings has actually kept me doing this.  So you have no one but yourselves to blame!  But you can also congratulate yourselves on helping to facilitate that rarest of feats: the KEPT New Year's Resolution.

Maybe It's the Weather

For nearly four years now (!), I've kept up this blog on a near-daily basis.  I don't know exactly how.  Many was the day--perhaps you could tell--when I truly had nothing to say.  And yet I managed to crank out a paragraph or to in order to say it (nothing, that is).  A dubious achievement, to be sure, but an achievement, nonetheless.  Lately, though, I've slacked off.  Very few of my recent endeavors have risen to the level of acceptability--not much I would consider placing in any compilation of the Solipsist's greatest hits.

There are some things going on in my personal life, which are probably taking a toll.  Well, definitely taking a toll.  I know I'm less-focused on this blog than I might otherwise be.  I don't think, though, that this wholly explains my meager output.  Honestly, I suspect it has something to do with the weather. I generally scoff at such pharmaceutically-promoted "diseases" as "seasonal affective disorder": Sorry, but if a condition was unknown before a treatment was miraculously invented, said condition doesn't really exist.  Still, the Bay Area has been in the grip of something of a cold snap the past few days, and it does wear one down.

To be clear, Northern California temperatures cannot begin to compare to the arctic conditions across the Midwest and Northeast.  In a way, though, the relative mildness makes things worse: It's just cold enough outside to be truly uncomfortable, without being cold enough to require massive bundling or supplying such picturesque touches as snow and icicles.  The result is a general chill in the air that seeps right into the bones, making one feel vaguely fluish without, knock wood, actually suffering the disease.

My point is: Not conducive to anything resembling creative output.  I cling to the hope that this, too, shall pass soon and I'll be back to my normal loquacious self.

Send the Solipsist a Chuck E. Cheese Gift Card

When I go on Facebook and wish a friend--or even a "friend"--a "Happy Birthday," I don't particularly mind a message popping up encouraging me to "Send Lemuel [for example] a Starbuck's gift card."  I don't actually send Lemuel such a gift, but I don't mind the reminder.  After all, it's the thought that counts, so even if Facebook is forcing me to have the thought. . . well, you're welcome, Lemuel!

Lately, though, I've noticed definite "gift-encouragement creep."  It started when I congratulated someone on his wedding.  I was encouraged to send--let's say, Zoltan--an Amazon gift card.  Well, OK--a wedding is an appropriate gift-giving occasion.  But then I made a comment--not even a congratulations, as I recall--on someone's picture of his five-year-old graduating from kindergarten--AND I WAS EXHORTED TO "SEND ZIPPY A TGI FRIDAY'S GIFT CERTIFICATE"!

Now, come on, Folks!  First of all, I'm not convinced that graduating from kindergarten is even a thing, much less an occasion for gift-giving or congratulations!  When I graduated from kindergarten, the only "congratulations" I got was an extra scoop of macaroni and cheese and a day off from cleaning the scullery!  (Oh, mine was a hard childhood!)  Second of all, if anyone deserves a TGI Friday's gift certificate for graduating kindergarten, I would think it is Zippy's five-year-old, rather than Zippy himself!

Where will it end?  Will we soon be encouraged to send Home Depot gift cards to anyone whose status we "Like"?  Can we no longer engage in minimally effortful communications with our friends, acquaintances, and virtual stalkers without constant intrusions of the crassest commercial nature?  Resist, I say!  Save your gift-giving for those times when it is truly merited. . . like, when you read a truly entertaining blog post.

Meet the New Blog. . .

The other day, a friend and member in good standing of Solipsist Nation sent me a link to an article in The New Yorker, "The Curse of Reading and Forgetting" by Ian Crouch.  In the article, Crouch laments the fact that, of the countless books he has read and enjoyed throughout his life, he can remember very little about the books themselves beyond the fact of having read them--and sometimes not even that.  As I read, I couldn't help but recognize myself in Crouch's commentary--I, too, can scarcely remember a thing about the myriad books I've read--and I felt, frankly, relieved.  I'm not alone!  I'm not suffering from some strange, literary Alzheimer's Disease, destined to end up drooling in some nursing home, rereading Middlemarch and wondering why it sounds vaguely familiar!  Or, at any rate, if I am falling prey to such a disease, I am not alone.  Indeed, Crouch's article is not the first piece I've read about this apparent pandemic--call it Bibliamnesia.  I've actually read two other articles, both from The New York Times book review, which touch on the same topic.  (Funny how I can remember reading those.)

So if I--along with at least three professional writers--suffer from Bibliamnesia, it stands to reason that others do, as well.  In fact, I suspect that much of the reading public suffers from this malady to a greater or lesser extent.  What is to be done?

Crouch points out that one fairly effective remedy for the syndrome is simple re-reading: Don't remember what happens in The Pickwick Papers?  Well, just go back and reread it.  The only problem with this remedy is that it entails re-reading The Pickwick Papers.  And, seriously, who has time for that?  So I have a better suggestion: Bibliamnesia, the blog.  In this space, I will post "Everything I remember about. . . " whatever book happens to be under discussion that day.  These may be classic texts or just things that happen to be sitting on my bookshelves, mocking me with their having-been-readness.  My hope is that civic-minded folks will, in the comments section, provide additional details from their own readings of the books--or at any rate may be inspired to read the books themselves and then tell me what I've forgotten.  Indeed, I invite anyone to send me their own "Everything I remember about. . . " articles, which I will be happy to share.  In this way, I feel I can do a small service to literature--to say nothing of improving everyone's ability to show off at dinner parties.

Anyway, I hope you like it.  Let me know what you think.

Greetings from Part of the Problem

Despite her famous conversion from conservative to liberal, Arianna Huffington still displays some unreconstructed attitudes toward labor.  Specifically, she seems quite content to allow most of the The Huffington Post's content providers to toil away in unpaid semi-obscurity.  Not to bash Arianna: She's not the only media mogul to take advantage of unpaid labor and probably not the most egregious offender either.  One could fairly point out that many--if not most--if not all--of these uncompensated scribblers are only too happy to see their writing published (or re-published) in so prominent a venue.  Hell, if La Huffington saw fit to purloin any portion of my meager output, you can bet that HuffPo's virtual ink would scarcely have time to dry before I promptly slapped a link on my Facebook page and updated my CV to boast of this unexpected honor.  And therein lies the problem.

It's become a truism that the Internet has virtually (pun intended) destroyed journalism.  No longer can The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and other bastions of the Fourth Estate serve as defenders of journalistic integrity.  They can no longer serve as gatekeepers, protecting the reading public from shoddy reporting or even bad grammar.  How can they, when anyone with an iPhone and a few minutes to kill can become a cut-rate Cronkite, reporting late-breaking events in his hometown or expounding her more-or-less informed views on ObamaCare?  Even if the major news outlets took it upon themselves to cleanse the internet of ill-conceived or blatantly false incidences of attempted journalism, they would be playing an unwinnable game of Whac-a-Mole.  The Internet has become a journalistic thrift shop: Thousands of items, mostly worthless, with the occasional gem waiting to be found if one is willing to look hard enough.

But we really shouldn't blame the technology for destroying journalism and impoverishing journalists.  The technology simply enables the legions of writers willing--and eager--to work for free to serve as a sort of standing scab army for un- or semi-scrupulous publishers.  While a trained, professional writer may often do a better job than a dabbling blogger, such is not always the case.  And why should a publisher buy the cow, so to speak, when the cow is willing to write a 1,000-word commentary on drone warfare for free?

As a writing teacher, I can't help but derive a small amount of pleasure from the fact that an  apparently limitless number of people exist who so love the written word that they are willing to devote large chunks of unremunerated time to their passion.  But I am also a firm believer in the importance of paying the writer--I'll take any contributions anyone happens to throw my way.  I agree with the notion that journalism, especially, should maintain its elements of professionalism, but I am at a loss as to how this can be done when the Internet has allowed amateurism--in its literal sense of doing something for love--to flourish.

Still Slogging Along

Every time I feel remorse over my inability to provide you, my loyal followers, with some daily drop of wisdom--whether due to lack of inspiration or lack of time--I simply browse my list of "Blogs I'm Following."  It makes me feel better.  Because, while I may struggle to come up with anything more than a semi-funny one-liner, or a repetitive rant against right-wing ideology, I note that all--ALL--of the blogs I follow have apparently thrown in the towel.  Even "Sleep Talkin' Man" has gone silent.  I hope this means he's stopped talking and not stopped sleeping!  Although, considering that they just welcomed a new baby, I suppose it could well be the latter.  My point, folks, is that whatever I lack in originality, wit, or even bare enjoyability, I more than make up for in consistency.

You're welcome!

Annnnnnd, We're Back

Any psychiatrist will tell you that moving is among the most stressful experiences a person can go through, right up there with death or divorce.  But psychiatrists will tell you anything. If you pay him enough, I imagine a psychiatrist would tell you that Canberra is the capital of Australia, or any other farcical thing.

What?  It is?  Really?!?  So why did I pay that psychiatrist. . . ?  Where was I?

Anyway, having already gone through one move and too many divorces to keep track of--I suspect I may mean that the other way around, but it's been a long couple of days--I can say that I look forward to death as probably the least stressful experience of the three.  Still, as unpleasant as the moving experience is--or as moving as the stressful experience is--there is definitely something pleasant about the completion of the process, especially when the place you move to represents an improvement over the place you moved from.  Such is certainly the case with the relocation of Solipsist Central.

The new headquarters features more space, quieter surroundings, and a view of the bay.  I've no doubt this will lead to tremendous improvements in the overall Solipsistic experience.  After all, there is nothing like water to inspire creativity.  Just ask Herman Melville.  Don't expect an answer: The man's been dead for 150 years, but ask him anyway.  Yes, the fresh ocean air will lead to tremendous literary feats: Expect greatness!  I will give you the Moby-Dick of the blogosphere.  Except, y'know, not quite so much about penguins.

I Think I See What You're Saying. . .

Over the last few days, as I've dealt with moving-related issues, my posts have gotten shorter.  I've noticed that this has not led to a decline in readership.  If anything, I've noticed a slight uptick in the average number of pageviews.  So, if I am interpreting this correctly, I am writing for a group of followers who don't much care to read.

Good to know.

Here is a picture of a wombat.

Who Goes There?

"Anonymous" is one of my biggest fans.  Not the hacker collective responsible for making Guy Fawkes masks fashionable, a different "Anonymous."  (Or, maybe it is.  How the Hell should I know? It's "Anonymous"!)  Many days I open my e-mail to find that "Anonymous" has left a new comment on the previous day's post.

In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion who "Anonymous" is--at least the majority of the time.  Over the last several months, though, something strange has been happening.  I check my e-mail and see the familiar message alerting me to a newly posted comment from my most stalwart fan.  When I sign on to this blog, though, no comments--from "Anonymous" or anyone else--appear.  It's just as well, really, because the content of these "Anonymous" comments is. . . Well, here, for example are a couple of comments--copied verbatim--ostensibly left but not actually appearing on the "Solipsist":

"Properly, the submit is in fact this most up to date theme within this windows registry linked issue.
I personally participate in your data and may thirstily
look forward to your own arriving improvements.
Just declaring cheers will not just be adequate,
for any unparalleled lucidity in your crafting. I will at
once seize the rss to settle up to date with almost any updates.
Stop by my web-site. . . "

"Great try out Gregory. Consult a few of your mates which love gizmos.
I’m confident they could aid.
Feel free to visit my site .. . "

The comments end with a link to some other website (which I will not deign to reprint here), frequently a site selling remedies for erectile dysfunction or genital warts.

NO! OK?!?

Obviously, these comments are some kind of spam; perhaps FOS with his wealth of all-things-computer-related can shed light on this particular marketing ploy.  But I guess I should applaud Google's spam filters for blocking these questionable comments, while at the same time allowing the more innocuous comments of the TRUE "Anonymous" (who despite his snarky attitude does possess command of basic syntax) to go through.

Multitudes

OK, look, I know I just did this whole spiel the other day about writer's block and whether it's better to write something even when one has nothing to say or just to skip a day at the risk of losing what few followers I have.  So I feel kind of bad about taking this time to tell you that I am not writing a "real" post this evening.  Do I contradict myself?  Then I contradict myself!  I am large!  I contain multitudes!  And a fair amount of undigested pie!  But that's another story.

At any rate, I'm not posting NOT because I have nothing to say, but rather because I have no time in which to say it.  Believe me, I have LOTS to say about. . . .well, you'll just have to wait and see.  Suffice to say, though, that a certain Cate Blanchett is going to have a LOT of explaining to do!

'Til tomorrow!

Ruminations on Writer's Block

DOS chastised me today for a recent spate of "non-posts": those days when it's all I can do to muster the will to post a "Sorry" or a link to a video of kittens playing with ducklings. His advice: If I have nothing to write about, just don't write.  Let a day go by.  See if anyone notices.  And, if anyone DOES complain, plead ignorant indignation: "What do you mean, no post?  I certainly wrote something.  If my post didn't show up on your internet, take it up with your service provider!  And, no, I will NOT supply a back issue!"

Believe me, I've considered it.  What stops me, frankly, is fear.  Inertia beckons.  Succumb to laziness once, what's to stop one from succumbing again?  Harper Lee took a day off after finishing To Kill a Mockingbird; now, fifty-plus years later, we're still waiting for Mockingbird's Revenge!

I don't call what I've "got" writer's block: I've always thought that a somewhat precious notion.  Self-indulgent writers trying to dignify laziness with pseudo-psychological diagnoses.  I always tell my students--and I stand by this--that, if they have nothing to write about, then they're not paying attention.  There are any number of potential topics: One need only pick a newspaper or magazine article at random and riff for a couple of hundred words.  If someone said, "Hey, Solipsist, give me 500 words on '[INSERT TOPIC HERE],'" I know I could fulfill the order.  (Quantity, not quality, guaranteed.)

The problem is more writer's apathy.  I don't care enough about any topic to expend energy on it, a feeling compounded by a sense that I have nothing new to add.  What insight do I have to offer on the latest turmoil in the Middle East or Notre Dame's chances in the BCS Championship?  Gloating over Republican misery, while enjoyable, gets old, too.

These things are cyclical.  Tomorrow or the next day--or a week and a half from now--I will see something in the paper or experience something at work that will stir my creative juices.  Just as I go through extended dry periods, I also experience weeks where virtually everything provides a trove of blogworthy material.  But if I don't force myself to plow through the fallow periods, I won't be ready to go when the floodgates open.

So, DOS, take the good with the bad with the pointless.  Even a Hall-of-Famer gets a base hit only about thirty percent of the time.  That doesn't stop him from taking every at bat.

BEST. WEBSITE. EVER!

Notice anything different about today's post?  You probably don't, but I do--or I will in about 80 words.  Tonight's musings, you see, are being composed not in their usual venue at Blogger.com, but rather on the Best. Website.  Ever: "Written?  Kitten!" (http://writtenkitten.net).

The site is exactly what it sounds like.  OK, maybe that requires a bit more explanation.  If you go to "Written? Kitten!" you will find an empty text box. Start writing in the box.  After writing 100 words, you will be rewarded with a picture of a kitten!  And as if that weren't enough, every 100 words thereafter--OH, I JUST GOT MY FIRST KITTEN OF THE DAY!  OOOOOOHHHHH, IT'S A WIDDLE OWANGE OOGY-WOOGY WIF BLUE EYES AND A WIDDLE PINK NOSE!!!!

Ahem.

Sorry.

As I was saying, every 100 words thereafter, you will receive a "fresh kitten."  If this isn't a cure for writer's block, I don't know what is.  And consider the pedagogical possibilities.  I'm thinking of requiring my students to type all their assignments on this site.  "I'm sorry, Johnny.  But I wanted at least a five-kitten essay.  This is three kittens at most."

One caveat: You cannot save work on "Written? Kitten," so you need to copy and paste your work to a word processing program or e-mail every kitten or so.  Still, it's more than worth any such minor inconvenience.  Thanks to Ms. Brandy Gibson for introducing me to this site, a site that could go a long way towards making the world a better place.

Travels with Paul

Saw a charming movie the other night: "Paul," written by and starring Simon Pegg and Nick Frost.  Pegg and Frost, of course, are the geniuses behind "Shaun of the Dead" (Best. Zombie Movie.  Ever.), and "Paul"--while not QUITE in the same league--shares the same general vibe as that previous masterpiece.

In "Paul," Pegg and Frost play two British uber-nerds who have decamped for the San Diego Comic-Con.  After taking in the convention, the pair set off on a geek-odyssey to take in the legendary sights of the American Southwest (Roswell, etc.).  On the way, though, they meet the eponymous Paul, an actual alien (voiced by Seth Rogen), complete with big gray head, wide eyes, and various otherworldly powers.  Shenanigans ensue as the friends must flee from government agents, angry rednecks, and biblical literalists,  As in "Shaun," comedic hijinks are balanced with moments of true humanity, and the movie provides a satisfying helping of warm fuzzies in the end.

One quibble: The head badguy is played by Sigourney Weaver.  Now, in the world of "Paul," the characters are heavily influenced by all the icons of geek culture: "Star Wars" references abound, as do references to "Star Trek" (Pegg and Frost occasionally converse in Klingon), "E.T.," and "The X-Files."  So, what I'm getting at is, Wouldn't these guys be familiar with the "Alien" saga?  Wouldn't they recognize Ripley?

Yeah, OK, I'm thinking about this way too much.  Just watch the movie.

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PUBLICATION NOTE:

Your-Not-So-Humble-Correspondent is off to New York tomorrow night, so I may not be around too much over the next couple of weeks.  I'll see you all in early August.  Keep the faith! 

Now It Can Be Told

It all started after the election.  Michelle and I were getting ready to move into the White House, and I was concerned about maintaining my "common touch" while living in the famous bubble of the American presidency.  Michelle said, "Barack, you are about to become the most powerful man on the planet.  You're going to have trouble staying 'common.'  What are you going to do?  Drink Budweiser?  Start a blog?"  In retrospect, I think she may have been kidding, but who was I to question Michelle's instincts?  And so, just before New Year's 2009, I started "The Solipsist."

I was sure SOMEONE would figure it out!  But, I guess I'm shrewder than even I give myself credit for--and I do give myself a great deal of credit.  (Heck, people STILL haven't been able to prove definitively that I was born in a Kenyan madrassa, despite all the hints I keep dropping!) I made a point of constructing the most un-me-like persona I could think of.  As a graduate of both Columbia and Harvard law, I needed to create a truly blue-collar "character" to "write" this blog--and what could be more blue-collar than a Jewish New Yorker, living in California, who only holds two masters' degrees and teaches at a--get this--community college?!?  I worried that, when I spoke in favor of community-college education, people would put two and two together, but they never did!

I've had a lot of fun over the last three-plus years.  It hasn't been easy, but I've managed to post just about every day.  You've even seen me doing it.  Here, people thought I was putting the finishing touches on my 2010 State of the Union speech:

In fact, I was writing that day's column, about the wagering between the mayors of Indianapolis and New Orleans ahead of the following Sunday's Super Bowl.  I've also had a great time with my Facebook "friends" and followers.  Every so often, for example, I'd have my people mess with the Facebook page of "Michelle Obamawitz" (if that is your real name--which it isn't--and I know what it really is).  You should have seen the look on her face!  (which I did-oh, and, "Michelle"?  You know hat "Pizza Delivery Van" that's been parked across the street from your house for the last two years?  It'll be gone tomorrow.)

I need to stop writing this column now, what with the election coming up.  So, just to clear up everything: I DON'T really have anything against Canada--especially their vast oilfields.  I DO have a bit of a man-crush on George Clooney.  And I would really appreciate it if the Supreme Court doesn't overturn Mecare.  I'll be turning reponsibility for the Solipsist over to a randomly selected citizen who can consistently maintain the trannsplanted-New-Yorker-community-college-teacher persona I have so carefully constructed.

Thank you for reading.  God bless you.  And God bless the Solipsist.

Today's Post Brought to You (FINALLY!) by Jiteco

Finally, someone has recognized the vast reach and influence of Your-Not-So-Humble-Correspondent and is willing to remunerate him appropriately.  The other day, I received an e-mail from the good folks at Jiteco:

"Dear The Solipsist," the letter began (such formality!  Most people just call me "Solipsist"), "We would like to promote Camtica 4.3.49578 on your blog."  In exchange for such promotional consideration, they offered to GIVE me a full copy of the product!

Sign me up!

What's the product?  I have no idea.  Well, here:

Camtica enables you to create professional screen recordings, presentations, tutorials and more. You can record any desktop activity with voice, webcam and animated mouse clicks. The resulting video can be saved in various formats including AVI and WMV.

Why do you need Camtica?

* To create professional screen recordings, demonstrations, presentations, screencasts, tutorials and more

* To generate effective videos that help you train, teach, sell and more

* To create demonstration videos for any software program

* To show customers how to use your product
* To create on-demand interactive training, tutorials for school or college class

* To create a set of videos answering your most frequently asked questions

* To share your recordings on YouTube, Screencast.com and other videos sites

Features:

* Records entire desktop, selected rectangle region, dynamic region around mouse cursor, webcam

* Records anything on the screen including windows, objects, menus, full screen and rectangular regions

* Records desktop screen with audio and webcam together - personalizing your videos by including a webcam movie of yourself over * your desktop at any position

* Records video chats, Skype video calls, games, flash movies played on sites

* Mouse highlighting spotlights the location of the cursor

* Records video in many video file formats including AVI and WMV

* Supports various video and audio codecs

* Free support and advice

* Free lifetime updates and upgrades

* System requirements: Windows XP/2000/2003/Vista/Windows 7

It’s easy to use as one, two, three.

Sounds good to me. (OK, I still don't exactly understand what the product is, but, hey, FREE!)

Folks, this is big news.  For three years now, I've faithfully posted to this blog, enlightening you and bringing just a small bit of joy to your empty, empty lives.  And finally I have received that greatest reward to which any blogger can aspire: SWAG!  I think my New Year's resolution will involve the prominent mention of commercial products in every post.

Some may accuse me of selling out.  To them I say, I've been trying to sell out since early 2009!

Important Changes to The Solipsist

A piece by Susan Crawford in today's Times, discusses the "digital divide" separating those with adequate (i.e., home) access to the internet from the great unwashed who must make do with slower (if cooler) access through smartphones.  This is a disturbing topic.  It suggests that some of my devoted followers may not have a fully optimized Solipsist experience.  Not to worry, though; until the federal government does something to remedy this appalling situation, Your-Not-So-Humble-Correspondent is looking out for you.  To make things easier for those of you with slower connections, I will henceforth type much slower.  You're welcome.

Monday Miscellany

I NEVER REALIZED. . . .

Last week on "Colbert," food journalist and perennial killjoy Michael Pollan offered a simple maxim for healthier snacking: "If you're not hungry enough to eat an apple," he said, "you're not hungry."

Apparently, I have NEVER been hungry in my life!  Who knew?

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THE CRANKY KILLER

Wilford Brimley has been hawking diabetes supplies for, like, thirty years and counting.  Kinda makes you wonder how fatal the disease really is.

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AT LEAST NOVEMBER HAS ONLY 30 DAYS

Last November brought us NaNoWriMo, annoying shorthand for "National Novel Writing Month."  The idea, propagated by people with way too much time on their hands and way too much faith in the creative capabilities of the online public, was that people should, in one month, write a novel.  Didn't have to be good (I think Dan Brown's last book was a NaNoWriMo project), didn't have to be published, didn't even have to make sense (see again, Dan Brown).  Success was simply a question of unleashing one's creative spirit.

Apparently, this proved too difficult.

This November brings us the far-filthier sounding NaBloPoMo--National Blog-Posting Month.  The idea here is that people commit to writing a blog-post a day, every day this month.

Pardon me while I wax sardonic.

WOW!  A blog-post EVERY day!  For a whole MONTH!  Insanity!  How can these faceless NaBloPoMoHos expect ANYONE to generate a whole THOUGHT every day, much less express it in the form of sentences and (shudder) paragraphs!  I implore people NOT to try this.  A post a day for a whole month--no human mind can be expected to generate such quantities!

Here endeth the 1,062nd "Solipsist."  Yeesh!

BIG NEWS FOR SOLIPSIST NATION!

Now I've seen everything.  Well, OK, not everything.  I haven't seen anyone throw a waffle at the Pope.  I haven't seen a Republican candidate that I could imagine voting for without (or, hell, with) a gun to my head.  But I have seen something I hadn't imagined existed: Wordplay, a blog devoted to crossword puzzle criticism.

Really?  "I found Shortz' use of vertical clues pedestrian,  but I give him credit for going four years without asking us to identify the Thin Man's dog."

Talk about having too much time on one's hands.  This is the problem with blogs.  Sure, they allow people to explore their creativity and perhaps break news stories deemed too provincial or controversial for the major news outlets.  But all too often, blogs become nothing more than platforms for the autistic ramblings of cranks and crackpots, obsessed with minutiae of no interest to anyone beyond a handful of head-shaking friends and relatives.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy working on an essay about comma usage in the works of Cormac McCarthy.

[DIGRESSION: Just read that last sentence to WOS, and she said that Cormac McCarthy might be interesting to some people.  Possibly, I said, but I doubt many people are interested in his use of commas.

[ADDITIONAL DIGRESSION: But they should be. EOAD]

[WOS said "Oh, I see what you're saying."  Then, I realized that WOS thought I had said, "comma usage AND the works of Cormac McCarthy," so I apologized for my mumbling.  WOS then said that I'd better make sure I pronounce it clearly in the blog. . . . Yeah, I know.  EOD]

At any rate, this made me realize that there is a vast untapped reserve of material out there--all kinds of things that people encounter on a daily basis that can be itemized, analyzed, reviewed, or reviled.  If people will read a daily blog about crossword puzzles, what WON'T they read a blog about?  The periodic table of elements?  The serial numbers of bills in my wallet?  License plates?  If I want to capitalize on this whole interwebs thing, I need to start branching out.

So. . . .I am thrilled to announce my FIRST second blog, or, as WOS says, the blog you've been waiting for but didn't know it: The Daily Numeral.  (Yes, I know it sounds like a newspaper published on "Sesame Street," but still. . . ).  Every day, I will bring my adoring fans. . . .a NUMBER!

Yeah, that's all, just a number.

(You mean, like, lottery numbers?)

No, just a number.

(I don't understand.  You mean a lucky number?)

If you think it's lucky. . . .

(But--)

Oh, just click the link.  And tell your friends!  I'm telling you, this'll give that Huffington woman a run for her money!

By the way, it's "ASTA."