There, that should save a lot of time for some people.

PS: penises again.

I almost clicked the opt-out button, but I think I’ll just leave it on and enjoy knowing that I have a small hand in skewing their statistics.

(By the way — if you click the “x” to get rid of a Facebook ad, when they ask you, “Why don’t you like these adverts?” if you select “Other,” you get a text field in which you can write ANYTHING YOU WANT. ANYTHING!)

Google allows us to edit our advertising categories to make sure we’re being targeted correctly. Facebook wants me to fill in a survey “to help us show you better adverts.” Everyone wants to figure out the best way to monetize every pair of eyes by gearing the ads as precisely as possible. My question is this: How many people really care? Frankly, I’m not concerned about whether I’m getting the “right” ads or not. In all the material about marketing techniques that I’ve seen, the common assumption on the part of the marketers seems to be that we take this game as seriously as they do.

The “right” ads? Please. The “right” ads are the ones that don’t make noise, get in the way of what I’m trying to read, or suck up all the bandwidth with silly Flash animation.

I’m OK with the opt-out policy. By “OK,” I mean “resigned to the fact that marketers will just try to find more ways to get more information regardless.” Yes, they should let us know what they’re doing and why — no one likes to be spied on. Then again, many people already suspect that they’re being watched most of the time anyway.

In a sense, though, “privacy” may have to be redefined. We enjoy many benefits of living in the information age, and we can’t assume that we’re somehow above becoming part of the information stream simply because we see ourselves as unique, deep-thinking individuals. Not that we aren’t individuals (most of us, anyway), but we’re also cogs in the machine.

We can be both. We can also click from a bodybuilding site to an online astrophysics document repository to a Vimeo collection of raw sewage videos to beedogs.com and let the demographic specialists sort THAT out.

I had the comments turned off for awhile, since I got tired of wading through all the stupid spam.
But some of the spam is…special. I’ve grown to love a few of you spambots like my very own brothers. (I don’t have any.) You’re kind of charming, in a not-at-all-normal way of being charming little Mister Spammys.

So I turned the comments back on.
I missed you guys. Come on back! I’ve got cake.

Don’t give me the sheepish “I’m so pretty” look when you come out. That might work on daddy, but I’d run over you AND your daddy with a dump truck at this point if it would help me get in the bathroom stall sooner. Come on, Powderpuff, move it.

AND — while we’re making potty talk, we need to discuss these seat protectors. If your perfect, precious, germ-free butt-skin can’t touch a toilet seat, fine, but that doesn’t mean that your perfect, precious, germ-free finger-skin can’t pick up the butt-skin cootie-infested tissue and put it in the trash. ‘Cause when you leave it lying on the seat, I have to pick it up for you, and somehow, that’s just doubly gross. Fucking princess. (Dear Long-Suffering Janitors — THIS is why there are boot prints on the toilet seats. Not because we’re getting up to some kinky shit in the stalls. Just because we have to kick these germy princess-butt-tissues down into the bowl with our feet.)

And don’t look at me like that — no, I’m not going to spend all day washing my hands.
Why not?
BECAUSE I DIDN’T GET PISS ALL OVER THEM.
What the hell is wrong with YOU, hand-washer? Didn’t your mom teach you to do it neatly? Gross.

If any men would like to offer a counter-perspective of what men are doing in the bathroom, I would welcome your viewpoint. Also, can I use your bathroom? I promise not to look. Or point.

Chips! OOh, chips! I like chips. Let’s see…

The copy on the back of my Salsa Verde Doritos:

“Experience that BALLISTIC Doritos (Brand) crunch as it UNLEASHES an explosion of salsa verde heat and intense flavor in your mouth!”

Holy-Jesus-god-almighty, no! The last time anything Balls-y unleashed anything that exploded in my mouth, I bit down really hard and the screaming went on for days.

Never mind; I want Froot Loops.

‘Cause no, you don’t qualify for the helicopter air-lift rescue squad.

And bring something to eat, too, or you might just have to eat your poodle-dogs.

It’s not that I don’t have anything to say — I just keep forgetting to say it. And, my, but this blog needs rennovating.

Currently listening to: Shoutcast Stream http://74.63.47.82:8302/

Recent work:

• The Synergy Training Center website! (Phase I)
• Stuff for Second Life. Check out the Road Construction Set — I’m damned proud of that.
• Revising and updating the class lists for the Alchemy and Math Departments at Grey School.
• My new Zazzle store!

As far as daily life goes, I keep thinking of clever little quips that should go in here, and promptly forgetting them.

What?