Blackout Love, Doggerel Stove
Friday, Aug. 22, 2003

I�m just now getting over my blackout envy. I so envy the people in NYC who were in the blackout. And I know that more than NYC was involved, but, really, compared to the importance of NYC, who really cares if some farmer in Ohio wasn�t able to watch Oprah.

And that�s the key to why a blackout here would rock. We all have cars. Heck, I commute 15 miles each way to get to work each morning. And only go through two traffic lights each way. I own candles, a fake mini-Moroccan lantern, and have bought lots of books that I�d like to read.

And the days are long and I can always make a stuffo entry on my Palm (yeah, I�ve got the snazzy, folding, full-size keyboard.)

One really nice side effect of the NYC Blackout is that it�s got all the bloggers talking about cool gizmos. In fact, it helped me find a blog about gizmos. Gizmodo.com. From there I found that what I really need is one of those micro flashlights which with only a AAA battery will power an LED as bright as a small sun for four to ninety hours. Or something like that. Next time I post my perpetual gift list you�ll see (unless I decide it�s stupid and remove it, like I did for that �American Devil� T-shirt.)

And speaking of blogs, one which shut down for a while since her co-workers knew who she was is back. I�d link to her, but you never know if her hairy boss is out there surfin� me up. So I�ll wait. What�s odd is that of all the names in the world, she chose the name Wendy as her new Anon name. But who am I do judge, I name myself Nick Postwood. My real name is Phyllis Madden. And yes, Phyllis can be a guy�s name. And no, no one ever made fun of me growing up because of it.

Another blogger that I read, and have recently added to my list of about ten that I do, did something odd compared to what I�d expect. While in the last few months he has written almost solely about gadgets and the blackout and whatnot, he posted some poetry.

I don�t read poetry. Not even award winning limericks. If someone wanted to hide a message from me, they could incorporate it into some doggerel and put it right in front of me, tell me to read it, and I�d never find the hidden message. Even if they really pressed me to read it. Then I�d just look at the paper, maybe looking at the end of each line, thinking, �Sea, me, name, same, enough, stuff, gray, today, made. Folks, jokes (groan), fat, at, new, do, away today, made. Man, that just plain sucks.� In fact, those rhymes were from the poem that doggerel master Mighty Geek posted.

Some of you may be saying, �Oh, you can�t judge horrific doggerel without reading it.� It�s America, bub, try and stop me.

If I had to name a Poet, with a capital P, that I like, I�d have to say Alanis Morissette, since she doesn�t rhyme. If I was forced to pick one who did, I�d pick Emenem. At least he freaks around with the meter and does little loops of rhyming, like Shakespeare did with vowel sounds often. And, frankly, Shakespeare is a hack, crap, writer.

Of course, this is all just my opinion. But, I�ll let you in on a little secret�I�m right.