plight of the web artist
december 6th, 2000

I was going to do something useful and constructive this afternoon, I 
really was. I was going to print out a long list of Final Exam Probability 
and Statistic examples, go out and grab a bite to eat and Kroger, and sit 
down in the cafeteria with my little notebooks and study for my exam 
Saturday. But this computer will not let me access the ETSU website. At 
all. So, for once, I actually have a valid excuse for writing in my 
journal. Wonders never cease.

I finished my Laurie Anderson project, if you want to take a look. I have 
a little bit of editing I need to do, and it doesn't work very well with 
certain older browsers, particularly Netscape's (due to the stylesheet 
issue, I know, I know) but I'm going to try to shape it up in some sort of 
coherent order. Anyway, I'm thoroughly exhausted. I've stayed up to the 
wee hours of the morning these past three nights working on this stuff 
(since, you know, in my chronic procrastination I had to pull all of my 
brainstorming together in a few short days) and now I just want to go 
crawl under a rock somewhere and sleep for a couple of days. Instead, I'll 
get coffee. I still have half a million things to do.

My kick-ass modern/postmodern lit professor wandered onto my site and 
ended up reading a lot of my journal entries, which was kinda embarrassing 
and kinda cool at the same time. He was curious to know if I ever felt my 
privacy was invaded, if I ever felt it was dangerous to broadcast myself 
over the web in such an open-hearted and free way. Honestly, I'd never 
really given the matter much thought. Is it dangerous? My only concerns 
with my site have centered on people I already knew - never on that vast 
sea of strangers that could wash up on my cyber-shore. I have an average 
of 11 people a day glancing at my site. I could name at least that many I 
know personally who might have some interest in what I have to say. And 
five of those hits are probably me, anyway, checking my own site in my 
obsessive-compulsive manner to make sure it's all still there, and it's 
all still working, and nothing from the dark and murky underbelly of the 
internet has gobbled it up and left nothing but crumbs.

Because that happens sometimes. Just ask Alestar.

I don't know. Backtracking a bit, I think my Laurie Anderson project 
turned out pretty good. My professor has scrutinized my writing and 
continues to encourage me to edit and re-edit, and it makes me feel good. 
I hate it when people are condescending and too afraid to tell you what is 
wrong with what you are writing. I know I have talent as a writer - now I 
want to know what's wrong with it so I can do better. Writing is about the 
only thing I can really handle criticism on - people ought to take 
advantage of that! ;) So, at some point this weekend, I'm going to spend a 
couple of hours in an open-stare glaze, identifying all my dangling 
modifiers, and refining my site so it sounds better.

There are problems with the design itself, however, which is disturbing. 
I'm a stubborn bitch when it comes to my design (Just ask Dust - though 
I'd argue that he's just as bad as me!) I have a vision, and I don't want 
it tampered with, dadgumit. But, you know, on a similar note, cohesiveness 
is something a site needs, as well as straightforwardness, and the ability 
to at least look half-way decent on *all* browsers. So I'm going to tackle 
a little of the less finer points this weekend, too. And I've been offered 
a small (yet paying) job of designing a site for a small tattoo/occult 
shop in town. Which could mean very good things.

Maybe I'll actually get a webdesign buisness off the ground. Maybe I can 
make a good sum of money working at home and move to the mountains and 
just play with JavaScript all my life. Or maybe I'll become a famous 
writer, published in the Norton Anthology, right alongside DeLillo and 
Anderson and Alexie.

Or maybe I'll just get off this damn computer and go get something to eat