…And the Horse You Rode In On!: June 27, 2005

In which the internet bugs me.

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Lord knows I love my fanlistings to death, but sometimes they drive me up the wall. Between the form spammers, the I’m-too-good-to-link-backers, and the idiots who think California is a country, I spend most of my regular update days grumbling at the collective dumbth of the human race. Confidential to the fellow who thinks New Haven is a separate country: please buy a map. PLEASE.

And then there are the idiots who read my essays — no, “read” isn’t the right word; it’s more like “skim for the answer to whatever their homework question is” — and then expect me to either a) let them use my essay for their school paper, b) let them cite my essay, or c) hold their hand and find all the right answers for them. The e-mails are always abrupt, obviously designed to be sent to multiple site owners without bothering with personal details like names, and have a “please respond ASAP” tacked to the end of them, because the assignment is due tomorrow and they’ve just started the paper tonight. One person who wanted to cite one of my essays even demanded that I format the citation for him! The chutzpah! And let’s not even mention the fact that my FAQs, which are linked from every essay page, thoroughly cover the whole copying/citing/find-the-answers thing. If people would only read what’s right in front of them…

Of course, nothing beats the people who just take without asking — like this girl. At least she did try to credit me; unfortunately, she’s a little confused as to my name and URL. I tried to get in touch with her and tell her that I don’t mind her using the poem but that I’d like proper credit, but I couldn’t find an e-mail or commenting form on her blog. Sigh.

I’m in a grumpy mood today — the heat is boiling me alive, and the humidity is turning my skin into jelly. The neighbors in the next building have taken to grilling on their doorstep, which would be fine except that they use enough starter fluid to torch an elephant; the smell is so strong, it makes my eyes water, and I spend half of the day with my shirt pulled over my nose. And my right hand hurts for no reason at all, and I need to do laundry, and I finally found that dance music from the third-class party scene in Titanic (the dance music people are always looking for), but I can’t buy it off iTunes because I’ve reached my song limit for the month. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

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