Pleasure Notes

I must be a celebrity. How else can I explain having my very own Dooce moment this week? If I’m flexing with the kind of power Heather Armstrong can throw down, the world better watch out!

For those of you who were mysteriously without power in late August, 2009, or who have memories worse than mine (for which you have my deepest condolences), let me summarize Dooce’s story so you’ll then see how it’s now become mine…

A few months ago, Dooce had a little run-in with Maytag. Her washing machine broke. It was ugly. After many attempts to work through the normal, old-school channels to solve her problem, her frustration and helplessness reached a peak. She wrote about the situation on her blog and finally spoke up on Twitter. Since she’s kind of a popular gal in the blogosphere and has about a gazillion tweet followers, her angst-ridden cries were heard. Scandal, offers of free service as well as free machinery and, ultimately, a solution to her crisis ensued. Pundits were galvanized into action, lambasting her use of celebrity while praising the power of Twitter and predicting that any company without a social media presence would soon slide into the abyss of irrelevance.

Okay, I may have slightly exaggerated that last bit, about the prediction. Nobody actually said that. Out loud. But you know it’s true.

So, Dooce’s problem was resolved in the fall. She started doing laundry again. And everyone went on their merry way.

Until five days ago, when I morphed into Dooce.

On Wednesday of this past week, my blog went KAPUT. It alternately took FOREVER to load or screamed an alarming statement like “error: cannot connect to database server” across a stark white screen.

OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD.

Any blogger can tell you, losing access to one’s blog is like losing a child. Worse. Particularly if you don’t have a child.

I stared at my computer. I shouted at my computer. I pulled at my hair. I begged the loading gods, the internet gods and the WordPress gods. And I called my host provider, Go Daddy.

I called them on Wednesday. They said they were having a little problem with the server, but it would be fixed in a jiffy, and in the meantime I should use fewer images or talk to WordPress because my real issue might be there. I hung up, not at all convinced my needs had been met. I also deleted a few images and a video from recent posts. THE SITUATION DID NOT IMPROVE.

I called them on Thursday. They said I probably had too many plugins and I should just download another plugin, WP Super Cache, which would solve my problems. I hung up, frustrated that their solution to too many plugins was another plugin and still wondering why not being able to connect to the database server was my fault. I downloaded the plugin anyway. NO CHANGE.

I called them on Friday. I tried to be calm. I reiterated, word for word, the lengthy conversations I’d had the previous two days. I explained the actions I’d taken. I was put on hold. Then, they finally confirmed that Go Daddy was indeed having a server problem. And customer service had no idea when the problem would be resolved. Oh well.

WHA–?! This is when steam started seeping from my ears.

I warned that if the situation was not rectified, I would have to find a different hosting service. This was not an idle threat. I was ready to walk. Not a single person with whom I’d spoken, IN THREE DAYS OF PHONE CALLS, had expressed any concern or empathy regarding my predicament, conveyed any sense of urgency about finding a solution, or offered any compensatory terms for my loss of service. In fact, I felt like they’d wasted far too many of my cellphone minutes doubting me when I said the problem was on their end.

AND I STILL HAD A PROBLEM.

I asked if I could be switched to a different server. I was told NO. I would just have to wait. Sorry. Bye-bye.

I WAS DONE. To be perfectly honest, I was virtually in tears of helpless rage. That is not a good thing.

Then, I remembered Dooce. And, on a whim, I tweeted my total frustration and need to find a new hosting company. At the same time, I googled “best hosting sites.”

FIVE MINUTES LATER, MY PHONE RANG.

No joke. A long distance number. An area code I didn’t recognize. But I answered it anyway because I thought what if…

And HOLY GUACAMOLE! The nicest guy on the planet introduced himself – Alon, one of the Twitter dudes from @GoDaddyGuy. He said he’d read my tweet and had called because he thought he might be able to help.

AND HE DID! He switched me to a new server. He walked me through every step. He was kind and empathetic and respectful. He restored my faith in humanity, or at least in Go Daddy.

All because of Twitter, people. And, if you believe The Week, because I’m a celebrity. Pretty awesome, right?

Hee hee hee hee hee. xo

I’ve had a frustrating week. I’m job hunting and not only am I not finding what I want, I’m not even finding what I don’t want. But getting bogged down by depression, fear, resentment, or discouragement will only prolong the process. Instead, I’ve decided to focus on what makes me happy. Wanna join in the fun?

Can you think of three daily activities that consistently bring you joy?

What surprises me most as I addressed this question for myself is that I’ve come up with more than three things almost immediately. For the purposes of the exercise, I’ve adhered to the three item limit, but it’s incredibly reassuring to know that I have the luxury of CHOICE in deciding what to identify that consistently puts a smile on my face.

1. Meditating with my cat.
2. Steeping my morning cup of tea.
3. Slipping into my pjs at the end of the day.

Three simple, daily activities that I ALWAYS enjoy. They help me remember that no matter how frustrated I am with how any given day is going, it is NEVER all bad.

Isn't life just like a bowl of cherries?

So, what are three things that daily bring you joy?

Ma cheri Charlotte Gainsbourg,

Je t’adore! In fact, I’m currently obsessed with your new album, IRM. I must admit I had a wee tender for your father, Serge. Listening to his music made me want to smoke cloves and lounge about in velvet-covered wine cellars with beatnik intellectuals in a post-coital fog of bliss. Your songs evoke an entirely different, but equally delightful, sensation. Particularly with this album, and perhaps in no small part to Beck’s influence, I am transported to a far more sugar plum world. I daydream of skipping, spinning and dancing my way through fields of daisies and marigolds while Vaseline-covered lenses capture the essence of pure joy that flits through sun-baked skies like a mischievous fairy come alive with laughter. This is not nearly as scary as it may sound. I’m actually quite sane.

I simply love your music, and I strongly encourage everyone who has ears to check out your new album.

Sincerely,

-em

I’ve never offered a give-away before on Pleasure Notes, and I’m not even sure this officially counts, but I was over on Le Petit Pois earlier today and got very jazzed by this Five for Five meme. Wanna join in the fun?

Here’s how it works:

The first 5 people to leave a comment on this post will get something from me (a gift – yea!). But in return, you must do the same thing on your blog and make something for 5 other people. If you want in, copy this all into a post on your site and leave me a comment. The details follow, and the italicized bits are my modifications:

1. I make no guarantees that you will like what I make (though I wouldn’t bet against it, either). Whatcha get is whatcha get.
2. What I create will be just for you, made with love.
3. It’ll be done this year (2010) – and sooner rather than later.
4. I will not give you any clue what it’s going to be. It will be something made in the real world and not something cyber. It may be weird, beautiful, monstrous, or annoying. Heck, I might bake you a treat. Who knows? Not you, that’s for sure!
5. I reserve the right to do something strange.
6. In return, all you need to do is post this text on your blog and make 5 things for the first 5 people to respond to your post.
7. Lastly, if you are one of the first 5 people to comment here, I will contact you via email and ask for your mailing address so you are sure to receive your surprise!

What could be more fun than that?

“Lemon tree, very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.” – Peter, Paul & Mary

My father put my brother and me to sleep each night by singing us folk songs. Lemon Tree is one of my favorites in my memory. It always transported me to another time and place. I was reminded of it again when I came upon David Smith-Harrison some months ago.

by David Smith-Harrison

His intaglio prints are gorgeous and haunting. The silhouettes of the trees, along with the architectural details he includes in his pieces, capture the starkness and romance of the Mediterranean. Having lived in that part of the world for almost two years, I’ve left a bit of my heart on its dry hills and along its stunning coasts. Some day, I will live there again.

"Cherry Tree" by David Smith-Harrison

In the meantime, evocative art and literature sooth the yearning.

I reread Bitter Lemons, by Lawrence Durrell, if I wish to recall the feel of a uniquely hot sun against barely-shaded white rocks or the sounds of devout old women bent double in their black shrouds as they curse young men who flirt without shame. The autobiographical book may be set in Cyprus – an island to which I’ve never been, and recounts life in the 1950’s – a time about which I know only through history, but it perfectly captures a spirit that still hovers over much of small-town Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, and Southern Italy.

I visit the Getty Villa when I want to remember what it feels like to delicately brush away centuries’ worth of dirt to reveal a fully-intact amphora, a still perfectly polished gold coin, or the alabaster head of one of David’s extended family that someone chose to use as a suitable brick in an ancient wall.

And I gather lemons.

by mewtate/flickr

I collect a few fresh specimen at the Farmers’ Market and retreat to my kitchen to cut and peel them, seeking their sharp aroma ad happy when their scent lingers in the air and on my fingertips. I squeeze their juices into a steaming cup of tea that accompanies a gorgeously gooey piece of fresh baklava from the Armenian bakery down the street.

It is, after all, not so impossible to eat the fruit of the poor lemon. The task is not for the faint of heart, of course, but it is worth it. Funny, isn’t it, how much of life is both bitter and sweet?

"Lemons" by David Smith-Harrison

What do you do to transport yourself to another time and place? Where do you go?