Tuesday, July 19, 2005A Sad Use Of An Afternoon
I think my car is dying. I was driving her up to Midtown today to have lunch with a friend, and about halfway there she began making a dreadful grinding noise -- it came and went (though never stopping completely) -- but otherwise she continued driving more-or-less normally (though a bit on the warm side.) As I was passing through a less-salubrious part of town, I decided to make the attempt to get where I was going; a mile or so from my destination, she began making a second dreadful sound of air being released at high pressure. My poor baby -- I fulfilled my promise to her that I'd get her to 200,000 miles (surpassing it, as of now, by 1,928 miles), but it looks as though she won't get much further than that. My guess -- pointing out that I'm no mechanic, but that I have a good record of correct guesses where automotive problems are concerned -- is that the difficulty lies in the transmission. Given that this car has travelled 200K on its original clutch, that wouldn't be surprising... dunno how the air sound fits into that, though. I could easily be completely wrong. But at this point, the repair would need to be very minor to be worth the expense, and that didn't sound like any minor repair.
More as things develop -- hopefully the loss will be mostly sentimental; transport-wise, the timing could possibly not be better. In any case, I'm now in midtown at the Co-op, whiling away the afternoon until someone comes to take me home -- and that gives me time to write a rambling post that I've had in my mind for a while now.
One of the fringe benefits of having a relatively-unknown blog on the web is that, over time, it affords you a sidelong view through the window on humanity's soul. Between SiteMeter and Google, I know exactly what brings about 75% of my random visitors to this blog, and that can be both moving and alarming.
For example, given that the word novena appears in this blog's title, I get a lot of visitors looking for novenas to address their assorted personal problems -- novenas to find love, novenas to find friendship, novenas for sickness, novenas to find a job, novenas to conceive a child, et cetera. I've always figured I must be a disappointment to those people -- I offer absoluely no advice on any of those subjects (if I had anything that worked, I'd have used it myself by now.) I've even considered compiling some novenas and setting up a separate page, just so I could give these aching souls something for their trouble. But, in spite of the nom du blog, I don't know nothin' about any novenas.
On the other end of the spectrum are the disconcerting number of people who come here based on the other half of my blogname -- "sister" -- combined in various ways with assorted words that usually include "fuck" (which I admit I use fairly frequently), as well as "young," "ass," "pussy," "shaved," and once, "dog." Now, I'm not shocked -- I devoted my teenage years and young adulthood to making myself so jaded about these things that it now takes an exceptionally high degree of perversity to actually shock me, and obviously I can distinguish between blameless fantasy and guilty action -- but where I feel bad about not giving the novena people any good results, I'm rather proud that the incest crowd leaves here empty-handed. (I give the "monkey cocks" people the benefit of the doubt.)
Inbetween these poles are all the people who come looking for assorted things, many of which I've actually mentioned and/or linked to: the Lcpl. Boudreaux sign generator is popular; I get a lot of hits for this picture, and I got more than half of my total hits for this picture; and I get far, far too many hits because of one negative mention of Winx Club. But the hitmaker that both gratifies and annoys me -- gratification in the way it boosts my hit count, annoyance that it gets more attention than any of the posts into which I actually put some thought and care -- is Archie the 84-pound baby.
So I want to say this once and for all: there is nothing substantive on this blog about Archie the 84-Pound Baby, nor Archie the 6-Stone Baby. I mentioned "Archie the 84-Pound Baby" once-- in reference to the poor quality of television, not even saying anything about the poor kid himself -- but that's it. There's nothing to see or read about Archie the 84-Pound Baby on this blog. Okay?
Oh, and the "fuck sister" people can fuck off as well. |