Since we've been talking about blogs in my online group lately, I thought this article might be interesting to anyone just now sticking their toes into the bog -- uh -- *blog* pool.
I subscribe to the SiteProNews newsletter, and I actually read most of the articles. Sometimes they contain information I have the ability to use. Sometimes they just give me some goals to work toward.
http://www.sitepronews.com/archives/2007/mar/16.html
"How to Create Your First Blog" (by Donna Gunter)
The title of this article sounds embarrassingly elementary, but the artictle itself is filled with information that might be good for even the experienced blogger to take into consideration.
When I started my first actual blog, I called it an online journal. It was a LiveJournal account, courtesy of my daughter Eve. I experienced some heavy-duty writer's block and froze up. I still have the account, but I don't think I've posted there in... years. It was sort of like when I joined the "serious" writers in a class at WKU as a dewy-eyed seventeen year old. (One class in, I panicked and dropped the creative writing class.)
Now I'm not quite as scared. The experience-hardened, mean-looking, carnivorous fellow creative writers aren't criticizing my looks and/or age, belittling my views on life, or chewing up my work.
At worst, my blog may get ignored. But sometimes people find it while searching for something we have in common. They often click through to my store after reading what I've written. How cool is that?
I'm bookmarking Ms. Gunter's list to remind me what to keep trying to do with my blogs.
Then I'm going to take off with the creative writing for Painters Bluff. -- They don't allow those writer types from the WKU class there.
Besides, now *I* have been published, too. Take that, you old meanies! :Þ
(Wow. This post was so much fun, I'm blogging it, too.)
Lorilei
http://lorilei-tees.com
Friday, March 16, 2007
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Adventures in Lorileiland
Bleah. I am sooo glad tomorrow is Monday! You must keep in mind that actual weekends are busy days for me, and Monday and Tuesday are my weekend.
My son Paul had army reserve drill this weekend. He drives to Nashville very early on Saturday and Sunday morning, on drill weekends, coming home at night. So I was all prepared for working without him at the track on Saturday night.
But before I could get my money and login to my machine, just before 5:00, my phone rang. (It's the Nokia ring, like Allison Dubois' on Medium.) Since I almost never get calls on my cell phone, especially when I'm at work, I felt anxious. It was Paul calling.
His car was losing power going up the long hill between White House and Millersville (Tennessee) on I-65. I told him to pull off the road in as safe a place as possible and I'd come get him. One of my assistant managers agreed with my plan, and I left.
Outside, the wind was blowing almost sideways, hurling giant fluffs of snow that, thankfully, were not sticking to the ground. But the sun was dropping, and so was the air temperature.
Rather than go back to exit 2 for gas, I headed down 31W (running nearly parallel to the interstate) to the first Portland exit to get gas before continuing south. Wow! The gas had been $2.249/gal at the Franklin (KY) Flying J at exit 2, but it was even worse, $2.379/gal, at the Portland exit. So I put in just $5 worth (slightly over two gallons) and got on I-65.
The Kentucky/Tennessee line is a bit north of the 121 mile marker. Paul confirmed that he was at the bottom of the 104 exit ramp, on the shoulder, so I would have to drive to the next exit past him and turn north in order to be on his side of the road. So I drove to exit 98, Millersville.
I could say several mean things about Millersville, but it wouldn't be nice. However, I may drop one or two of them into this story at some point. I'm only human.
Paul was wearing his work uniform. They used to call them BDUs or cammis, but now they have another name. They are kind of an urban camoflage print. He also had his brown combat boots and his wool hat. His blue eyes were rimmed with redness, showing evidence of his long day.
Okay, I'm his mom. I have to show him off a bit. (Isn't he cute?) This is a pic of him inside a tank, when he was still regular army. (He has shaved off the mustache since then, too.)
Anyway, back to my story.
We called for roadside service to come tow the car. The car had been smoking from under the hood as he pulled over, and Paul was afraid the head gasket had blown.
We took a quick side trip to one of the exit 104 truck stops to use the restroom and get something to drink before returning to the stalled car. Naturally, we had to drive back to exit 98 to get to the northbound lane where the Grand Am was parked. The 98 exit has to be one of the worst intersections of 31W and I-65 which I have ever seen. There is one lane for you to turn left, one to turn right, several options in each direction, and too much traffic trying to get into too few places. Whenever I come home from Nashville, I avoid the right lane in that vincinity, because traffic waiting at that intersection is usually backed up into the interstate -- yes, into traffic that should be flowing about 70 miles an hour.
Okay, I have to say it. I can't resist. I once commented on the fact that Millersville was starting to get some actual buildings, because it used to be one giant trailer park. That isn't entirely true, since there have been lots of tiny houses for years now. But when I used to deliver Domino's Pizza around White House in 1998, Millersville was the kind of skanky area to deliver to. Most of the places in White House and Goodlettsville were quite upscale by comparison.
That's one of the reasons I referred to Millersville as Redneck Central, as we watched Nascar Wannabees zoom past us. I later ammended the name to Redneck Alley, after an unfortunate Thoroughbred by the same name.
The tow truck driver found us and loaded the car on the flatbed. We led him back home, to the garage where the car will be worked on Monday morning. Then Paul and I headed back to the house. I called the track, thinking surely they wouldn't ask me to come back in at 7:30 at night. I was wrong.
So I changed into a warmer coat, since it had become much colder. I stopped at Flying J on the way and put $20 worth of gas in the car. It was running on fumes, again, after my 71 mile excursion. When I reached the track, it was 8:00. We closed shortly after 10:00. Meghan and Kayla had made tons of tips. I worked two hours and had made about forty cents in tips. {{sniff}}
Since Cathie is currently stationed in Iraq, her truck was at my brother Bobby's house. Paul will be driving it until he is able to drive the other car again. I'd let Paul use the Honda, but the manual transmission would be hard on his knee. He reinjured his knee during the previous drill weekend. He's off his crutches now, but still using an elastic knee brace. More about that at another time.
Fortunately, Paul didn't need me to wake him Sunday morning. Bobby and I had brought the truck over after work Saturday. I took Mom to church and got ready for work. (Hadn't I just left there?)
In addition to khaki pants, a turtleneck, and my black KD ranch polo shirt, I wore a green velour zippered hoodie, and a festive bow in my hair. Why? you may ask. Because it's March 4th, less than two weeks before St. Patrick's Day, and Kentucky Downs was having its 2006 Christmas party Sunday night after closing. Woo-hoo!
Yes, it is a bit late. We had the 2005 Christmas party in February, last year.
I'm recommending that we wait until Halloween 2008, for this year's Christmas party. We could hold it on the third floor, and wait to see if any actual ghosts show up....
Life at KD is too weird, to say the least. I'll skip over most of the details of the six hour shift. There were some odd occurances, but now is not a good time to get into all that.
Paul didn't stop by for the party. He has class in the morning, and he needed sleep. Bobby had to work security till 3:00 AM. But I did attend the Kentucky Downs party for over an hour, and I hobnobbed with coworkers for a bit. The two major pasttimes promised to be (1) dancing to (or watching others dance to) music and (2) drinking. There was food, but it was mostly food that was guaranteed to set my digestive tract on fire.
I don't drink, and I don't care for the popular mix of music. It was being played by Scooter Davis, a sort of famous area deejay. There was a strong possibilty of bouts of karaoke, as well.
It was a bad sign when I oohed over the beginning notes of the Beatles song "Let It Be," and after only one verse, Scooter turned it off in favor of some 80s-90s-esque crap. It was like no one could understand how THAT had ended up on the speakers. (Incidentally, this is no reflection on Mr. Davis. He was the one who brought the Beatles along. Apparently the bar-huggers gave my heroes the instant thumbs-down and told Scooter to stop playing that kind of music.)
"You're going? Already?" others were asking me as I began making my goodbyes.
"I have reached my Fun Quota for the night," I said with a grin. "I've had all I can stand."
So I came home, talked to my mom, fed the dogs, took out the trash, made something to eat, and got online.
Ah, now this is my idea of fun.
Party on, dudes!
My son Paul had army reserve drill this weekend. He drives to Nashville very early on Saturday and Sunday morning, on drill weekends, coming home at night. So I was all prepared for working without him at the track on Saturday night.
But before I could get my money and login to my machine, just before 5:00, my phone rang. (It's the Nokia ring, like Allison Dubois' on Medium.) Since I almost never get calls on my cell phone, especially when I'm at work, I felt anxious. It was Paul calling.
His car was losing power going up the long hill between White House and Millersville (Tennessee) on I-65. I told him to pull off the road in as safe a place as possible and I'd come get him. One of my assistant managers agreed with my plan, and I left.
Outside, the wind was blowing almost sideways, hurling giant fluffs of snow that, thankfully, were not sticking to the ground. But the sun was dropping, and so was the air temperature.
Rather than go back to exit 2 for gas, I headed down 31W (running nearly parallel to the interstate) to the first Portland exit to get gas before continuing south. Wow! The gas had been $2.249/gal at the Franklin (KY) Flying J at exit 2, but it was even worse, $2.379/gal, at the Portland exit. So I put in just $5 worth (slightly over two gallons) and got on I-65.
The Kentucky/Tennessee line is a bit north of the 121 mile marker. Paul confirmed that he was at the bottom of the 104 exit ramp, on the shoulder, so I would have to drive to the next exit past him and turn north in order to be on his side of the road. So I drove to exit 98, Millersville.
I could say several mean things about Millersville, but it wouldn't be nice. However, I may drop one or two of them into this story at some point. I'm only human.
Paul was wearing his work uniform. They used to call them BDUs or cammis, but now they have another name. They are kind of an urban camoflage print. He also had his brown combat boots and his wool hat. His blue eyes were rimmed with redness, showing evidence of his long day.
Okay, I'm his mom. I have to show him off a bit. (Isn't he cute?) This is a pic of him inside a tank, when he was still regular army. (He has shaved off the mustache since then, too.)
Anyway, back to my story.We called for roadside service to come tow the car. The car had been smoking from under the hood as he pulled over, and Paul was afraid the head gasket had blown.
We took a quick side trip to one of the exit 104 truck stops to use the restroom and get something to drink before returning to the stalled car. Naturally, we had to drive back to exit 98 to get to the northbound lane where the Grand Am was parked. The 98 exit has to be one of the worst intersections of 31W and I-65 which I have ever seen. There is one lane for you to turn left, one to turn right, several options in each direction, and too much traffic trying to get into too few places. Whenever I come home from Nashville, I avoid the right lane in that vincinity, because traffic waiting at that intersection is usually backed up into the interstate -- yes, into traffic that should be flowing about 70 miles an hour.
Okay, I have to say it. I can't resist. I once commented on the fact that Millersville was starting to get some actual buildings, because it used to be one giant trailer park. That isn't entirely true, since there have been lots of tiny houses for years now. But when I used to deliver Domino's Pizza around White House in 1998, Millersville was the kind of skanky area to deliver to. Most of the places in White House and Goodlettsville were quite upscale by comparison.
That's one of the reasons I referred to Millersville as Redneck Central, as we watched Nascar Wannabees zoom past us. I later ammended the name to Redneck Alley, after an unfortunate Thoroughbred by the same name.
The tow truck driver found us and loaded the car on the flatbed. We led him back home, to the garage where the car will be worked on Monday morning. Then Paul and I headed back to the house. I called the track, thinking surely they wouldn't ask me to come back in at 7:30 at night. I was wrong.
So I changed into a warmer coat, since it had become much colder. I stopped at Flying J on the way and put $20 worth of gas in the car. It was running on fumes, again, after my 71 mile excursion. When I reached the track, it was 8:00. We closed shortly after 10:00. Meghan and Kayla had made tons of tips. I worked two hours and had made about forty cents in tips. {{sniff}}
Since Cathie is currently stationed in Iraq, her truck was at my brother Bobby's house. Paul will be driving it until he is able to drive the other car again. I'd let Paul use the Honda, but the manual transmission would be hard on his knee. He reinjured his knee during the previous drill weekend. He's off his crutches now, but still using an elastic knee brace. More about that at another time.
Fortunately, Paul didn't need me to wake him Sunday morning. Bobby and I had brought the truck over after work Saturday. I took Mom to church and got ready for work. (Hadn't I just left there?)
In addition to khaki pants, a turtleneck, and my black KD ranch polo shirt, I wore a green velour zippered hoodie, and a festive bow in my hair. Why? you may ask. Because it's March 4th, less than two weeks before St. Patrick's Day, and Kentucky Downs was having its 2006 Christmas party Sunday night after closing. Woo-hoo!
Yes, it is a bit late. We had the 2005 Christmas party in February, last year.
I'm recommending that we wait until Halloween 2008, for this year's Christmas party. We could hold it on the third floor, and wait to see if any actual ghosts show up....
Life at KD is too weird, to say the least. I'll skip over most of the details of the six hour shift. There were some odd occurances, but now is not a good time to get into all that.
Paul didn't stop by for the party. He has class in the morning, and he needed sleep. Bobby had to work security till 3:00 AM. But I did attend the Kentucky Downs party for over an hour, and I hobnobbed with coworkers for a bit. The two major pasttimes promised to be (1) dancing to (or watching others dance to) music and (2) drinking. There was food, but it was mostly food that was guaranteed to set my digestive tract on fire.
I don't drink, and I don't care for the popular mix of music. It was being played by Scooter Davis, a sort of famous area deejay. There was a strong possibilty of bouts of karaoke, as well.
It was a bad sign when I oohed over the beginning notes of the Beatles song "Let It Be," and after only one verse, Scooter turned it off in favor of some 80s-90s-esque crap. It was like no one could understand how THAT had ended up on the speakers. (Incidentally, this is no reflection on Mr. Davis. He was the one who brought the Beatles along. Apparently the bar-huggers gave my heroes the instant thumbs-down and told Scooter to stop playing that kind of music.)
"You're going? Already?" others were asking me as I began making my goodbyes.
"I have reached my Fun Quota for the night," I said with a grin. "I've had all I can stand."
So I came home, talked to my mom, fed the dogs, took out the trash, made something to eat, and got online.
Ah, now this is my idea of fun.
Party on, dudes!
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