Abstract: Turns out at least a third of my WP navigation maze is secretly shared with the maze of my bloging-neighbor, Ellis J Greblos.
We met yesterday, both of us shocked. I was tired and cranky, on Hour Three of looking for the entrance to my Dash-board, and following only mile-long dead-ends into ‘Your Douche-Bird’…dumb unusable shit like that.
Ellis, turns out that was his name, was equally exasperated, not having been able for almost three days to locate his ‘My Blog‘. But despite the understandable grouchiness, we had a grand old time sharing horror tales. Misery does indeed love company. Here are some miserable highlights:
Yes, now that I think about it, I did hear some noises in adjacent hedge-rows lately. Always too busy laying down the sunflower-husk trail markers to want to investigate, I’d chalked it up to the whirr of my hard-drive. Ellis, a truly likeable guy, had actually seen my red shirt once, even excitedly tried to find an Editor/Compose page to blog about it. In vain though.
One cool common-horror we discovered was that we’d both, independently been at the same stupid ‘The Back of Nixon’s Head’ admin-page. For me it was seven clicks (three right, four left) after leaving Marker 13. And for him, just the opposite, but from his Way-point Charley. And both of us had stopped a second and pissed on it!
Anyway, we sat and split what had survived from my lunch. The cooler I always bring on my exploring missions had been squashed into plastic shards when I dumbly stood on it to maybe, just maybe, get a look above the maze of hedges. Sitting there eating flat sandwiches, Ellis talked about the time he’d actually found the ‘Blogs I Follow’ gateway. There were even signs with one-line tidbits of Posts, but try as he might, the paths leading to the posts always led, circuitously, to yet another sign, this time with a half a paragraph. After a left and two rights. Usually. He’d even read enough of one post to want to Comment, but there was no break in the fence-line for that. Sadly, he spent an hour and a half even getting back to the Reader, which was now vacant. Yet the taskbar on his GPS laptop said ‘Done’. And he agreed: ‘Yeah, I’m done with this horse-shit for today’. By the time he even found the Log-off it was dead dark, and he’d navigated from the sound of his peanut-shells crunching underfoot.
Ellis’s face lit up with recognition when I started to recount the infamous ‘Drop-downs’ I’d tried to chart, then gave up. They were all kinda similar yet different. A wide space in a trail suddenly opened up and you stood there facing sometimes a dozen exits. They were labelled at random, usually with some in-house heiroglyph or other, and from bitter experience, over the months, I’d learned to simply turn around and try to go ‘Back? Lots of times ‘back’ led me back all right, to the same stupid clearing, but from one of the ‘exits’. Me n Ellis made a vow to piss on them on sight, in the future. Thus we would be able to tell, by smell, if one or the other of us had been there.
I could go on, of course. One of Ellis’ dysfunctional Editors was most likely shared in our maze-overlap. Not that either of us had any use for it. We’d both tried to use it in vain, writing screaming rants-against-the-system to no one listening, then never finding the exit for Publish. I once went through a 3-pound bag of sunflower seeds trying to re-locate my own rant. It was rumored to be in a ‘Draft‘, but, you know, inside the maze there’s precious little air moving, especially through that ‘long endless summer’ I wasted trying to navigate (and blaming myself in those days.)
We parted, each in search of his own ‘Log-in’ and just minutes later I heard the unmistakeable sound of…. a gas-powered hedge-trimmer. It stopped briefly, and I yelled: “Dat you, Ellis?”
“Nope.” he yelled back, “Great idea though! I got one myself, back in the garage. I’ll show this damn place who-da-boss!”
“Fine,” I told him “Tomorrow after work. And cut toward my distress flares; I think we supposed to call ’em ‘Likes’.”