Boring is what this is. This is that I am going to tell you about the boring upkeep of this site, but keep in mind that when I say boring, I mean for you and not for me, because I get a crazy joy out of niggling over one pixel this way or that.
As you may have noticed, I did a bit of a re-design on this site. Again. I couldn't help myself. I started reading about sidebars and their organization, because I keep coming across websites with atrocious structure. Nothing is more frustrating than when you are trying to send along a thank-you to some sweet internetter who wished you good cervical health, and they have either buried their name and e-mail at the bottom of a sidebar underneath a button declaring their, at best, tenuous relationship with another website, or they have left no evidence whatsoever of what they wish to be called and how to contact them.
To be fair, I turned a stern eye to my own sidebar on the left, which led to me turning a stern eye to my whole website, and then BOOM! I blew it up. It is going to take me a few days to hammer out all of the finer organizational details and wrestle with The-Beast-Otherwise-Known-As-Internet-Explorer, who doesn't like some of my work, the jerk, but this is basically it until I blow this place up again in a fit of obsessive nit-picking.
While waist deep in my clumsy style of manual code work and photoshopping, I came across my beloved dodo, who has now taken up residence in the masthead once again. If you were around these parts three years ago, you might remember this myopic, caffeine-enhanced, egg-laying extinct bird. The dodo's glad to be back.
The Collection of Spectacles and the Cockroll
The Palinode turned to me the other day and asked: What kind of heterosexual marriage is this when the wife has 61 cocks to her husband's one?
Post Office Box
I rented out a post office box for the Palinode and I. It is silver and small and has a brand new lock, and now I have the cutest little set of shiny keys attached to my key ring.
When I was a kid, I only saw post office boxes in the movies and in the little, pink cement building on main street in my grandparents' small town. As a child's brain is wont to work, I came to think of them as being both glamourous and vintage nostalgic, and when I would imagine myself visiting a post office box, I was part 1940s hood, part paperback writer with an Olivetti under my arm, and part lipsticked starlet darting her eyes anxiously through a fishnet veil to see that she wasn't followed.
Now, I have one for my very own. Although I am sure that Canada Post has some rules regarding the limitations of my post office box ownership, I want to outfit it with a faux leopard lining and miniature disco ball and maybe some scarlet microsuede on the door. It'll be far out.