Play One on TV

A few weeks ago, I began using Akismet to moderate the comments on this blog. Akismet is one of those “pass or fail” databases that scans all comments and allows or withholds the comment based on perceived spaminess. I’m not sure what sorts of voodoo it uses to determine spaminess, but so far it’s worked just fine, having protected you, my loyal reader, from approximately 35 pitches for Viagra, cheap home loans, or “hott sexx noww” (which seems to be an invitation from someone with a nervous disorder).

For some reason, this little spam net has also managed to snare my brother, Mike. Couldn’t tell you why, but the powers-that-be at Akismet have decided that my brother is a spam king.

As far as I know, he doesn’t even eat spam, so I’m puzzled how this is happening. And it’s not just at my site; he uses Akismet on his own blog, and it’s even catching him there. On one level, it’s nice to know that Akismet is robust enough to keep people from spamming not only other’s blogs, but their own as well. On another level, this is incredibly funny. (Sorry, Mike).

Fortunately, I’m able to review these “spam” comments before consigning them to oblivion. So if you’re upset that your automatically-crafted advertisement for Cheep Pr3scription Droogs isn’t being read, be content in knowing that I’m still reading it.

All this to say: if you notice that your comment isn’t posted right away, not to worry. All this means is that one of the premiere Wordpress anti-spam engines has decided that you’re an irreformable spammer.

Ugh. I have a stomach bug. Really kills my desire to do anything at all, especially sitting at a computer and writing about happy things.

I still love you guys. Just not at this particular moment…

Just a quick note to advise that any rumors of my kidnapping are completely false. I’m still alive; just incredibly busy this last weekend (campout, sleep study, audience with the Queen of England — you know, stuff.)

In the meantime, I notice that it’s now safe for Christians to walk the streets of Afghanistan again. Nice to know that I can occasionally be out of pocket, yet the world can work out these little problems by itself.

Or maybe not.

Sean Gleason would like you to know that there is no Dreamhost phone number. This isn’t a problem for me — Dreamhost representatives are downright chatty when it comes to emails, and they have provided me with fantastic service to date.

It’s just as well that they don’t answer the phone — I never learned to speak Californian. All I can manage is a few stock phrases, such as, “So, like, so where is the bathroom, dude? Omigod.”

As if you haven’t already noticed, I tweaked the appearance of the site. Just a teensy bit. I learned a little bit about CSS in the process, which is always a good thing for someone who supposedly works in software design and testing.

Enjoy the changes. Unless of course you’re browsing me on a Blackberry or some other device that carelessly discards color and formatting for something as trivial as readability. If this describes you, then live in the shame that my last two hours of effort were utterly wasted on you.

If you see some weirdness in the next hour or two, I’m messing around with some different looks to the site. The one I was using was a little hard on client PCs. Should be settled down in a bit.

Update: All done now. Much easier to read, no performance issues, no extra fiddly bits to eat up my time. Would that the rest of life would be so easy to order.

After a hiatus of almost two years, “Play One on TV” is back on the air!

And you’re saying, “who?” Don’t blame you a bit, son. Fame is fleeting, especially for someone who labored for the better part of one year to accumulate, at last estimate, six regular readers (seven if you count my mother). Those six (seven) people will recall my sudden burst upon the blog scene way back in 2003. Armed only with my wits and an old copy of Frontpage (a state that some would hardly call “armed”), I tossed out essays, commentaries, Top Ten lists, and rants against the evils of Pauly Shore worship. My goal: win the heart of my beloved back from Dave Barry.

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