Recently in Blogging into the Past Category
On October 27, 2002 I posted an entry about a Chevy Tahoe commercial. In it, the Tahoe ad execs used a kicky little poem that I couldn't get out of my head. It was the advertising equivalent of earworm, which must have pleased their client immensely. So tortured was I over the snippets floating in my head, that I tracked the whole thing down, posted it, and then promptly forgot about it.
Until this morning.
This morning, some guy left a castigating comment stating exactly what he thought of that poem. He broke it down line by vitriolic line, while at the same time putting his preferences for Fords out there in a fashion that was reminiscent of the Macs vs. PCs whoop-de-hoodle. What I can't figure is both the entry & the commercial are over five years old! You would think that he'd get over it by now, or at least moved on to ranting about hybrids & Vespas. I guess not.
Anyway, the comments he left weren't a direct slam on me, but made me wonder what I have in the back catalog that may engender future comment spew. I may bother looking, but I'll probably let it stand. It was what it was when it was, ya know?
That's the thing with having over five years worth of content. Most of it was a product of a moment, a reflection of its time. I want things to seem dated. I want past opinions to remain. I want my fascination with Netflix, Del.icio.us and Digg to seem quaint some day. I want the fact that I liked that poem to be there another five years. Else, what's a blog for?
Until this morning.
This morning, some guy left a castigating comment stating exactly what he thought of that poem. He broke it down line by vitriolic line, while at the same time putting his preferences for Fords out there in a fashion that was reminiscent of the Macs vs. PCs whoop-de-hoodle. What I can't figure is both the entry & the commercial are over five years old! You would think that he'd get over it by now, or at least moved on to ranting about hybrids & Vespas. I guess not.
Anyway, the comments he left weren't a direct slam on me, but made me wonder what I have in the back catalog that may engender future comment spew. I may bother looking, but I'll probably let it stand. It was what it was when it was, ya know?
That's the thing with having over five years worth of content. Most of it was a product of a moment, a reflection of its time. I want things to seem dated. I want past opinions to remain. I want my fascination with Netflix, Del.icio.us and Digg to seem quaint some day. I want the fact that I liked that poem to be there another five years. Else, what's a blog for?
Dad blames Mexican food for triggering Mom's labor and bringing a red-haired girl child into the world. It's not until much later that I discover I do, in fact, enjoy tacos. My love for tortilla chips was never in doubt.
A conversation between Dad and four-year-old cousin Timmy ensues in the waiting room. My name is settled upon. Forever grateful to Tim else I would be known to the world as Roberta.
It is assumed that some swaddling occurred at the hospital. That may be, but it wasn't me. I was too cool for swaddling. However, there were other babies at St. Elizabeth's.
NaNoWriMo
