Response-able

I’ve been spending a lot of time training Dingo Girl lately, with mixed results.  She is smart and learns quickly.  She enjoys learning new things, but after she’s learned something new, when you give her the command she looks at you like, “It was fun learning that, but don’t expect me to just do it every friggin’ time you snap your fingers, be-otch.” I’ll write more about this later, but the biggest problem is with Dingo Girl’s response times.  She’ll do something, especially if there is a treat at stake, but don’t expect for her to rush about it.  Yeah, she’ll come, but she has an itch she has to scratch first and maybe she wants to check to see if there is anything in the garbage can along the way. 

You may have noticed, if you’ve been following this blog, that the blog itself was experiencing this very same problem.  You would innocently point your browser to asiwassaying.com and then your browser would wait and wait and wait.  The website would eventually serve up the page, but it had an itch it had to scratch first and maybe it wanted to check to see if there was anything in the garbage can along the way.  In the time it took the page to load, you could have prepared and filed your taxes.  On a particularly slooow day, your refund would have already arrived and you would find yourself with enough time to lounge on a sun-drenched beach in Antigua sipping umbrella drinks and checking out the cabana boy before the first As I Was Saying pixel hit your screen.  This site is undergoing improvements and the first one I wanted to address was response time.  If you are like me I truly feel sorry for you when it comes to cyberspace, you know the angst any delay brings.  If a page doesn’t load within .2 nanoseconds after I click on a link, I twirl my hair, gnash my teeth, and bemoan the fact that valuable seconds of my already jam packed day are being sucked up by the cyberspace gremlins.  The option of backing away from the computer just does not exist.  I am convinced that whatever is on the other side of the computer screen fighting to make its way through is absolutely vital to my existence.  Vital! 

But you, dearest readers reader Mom, will have to wait no more. 

Did you notice the speedy response time today?  Did it impress you?  Did it make you happy?  Did it make you want to add As I Was Saying to your Google Reader?  If so, take a second, add me to your Google Reader and then come back and I will tell you how Mr. Dingo saved the day and how my old web host is now on my shit list along with idiots who wear Uggs in the summer, Rachel Ray, and people who unwrap hard candy during the tearjerker scenes in the movie theater.  (Oh, if we ever meet again, “Mr. I’m Too Manly To Cry During The Notebook But I Happen To Have A Brand New DVD With Me That I Am Dying To Open,” I’ll show you what it feels like to be a Twizzler.) What was I saying?  Oh, add me to your Google Reader.  Go on, I’ll wait.

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Mr. Dingo is not only a superfantastic cook, my own resident comedian, and the Dingo household late night, torrential rain, blinding snow, stars are not in alignment dogwalker, he’s also my very own personal IT guy.  Yep, all of the knowledge but none of the khakis with white socks and black shoes.  A few days ago when I started to receive emails from you gently notifying me that Social Security would be defunct by the time my page loaded, I asked Mr. Dingo to figure out what the heck was going on.  He said that it had something to do with [insert technical computer jargon here that I don’t understand even though Mr. Dingo explained it four eight twice] and our web host.  He contacted the web host via email because we all know trying to get in touch with a live customer service agent these days is like trying to squeeze into those chic winter pants you bought last fall that were so comfortable in the dressing room.  Their website promised a response within 24 hours.  Two days later, two whole days later, we still had not heard back from them.  When we figured moving at the speed of a garden slug was their standard operating procedure, we switched web hosts. 

The transfer has not been without its own adventures.  My posts did not transfer verbatim.  The punctuation apparently decided that it liked the old web host better, especially the commas and the periods.  With all the pausing and stopping they do, they found nothing wrong with the old ways.  So instead of ellipses, apostrophes, and em dashes, you saw ¤, ×, or ð.  No, I wasn’t trying to send coded messages.  There are no fragile vials filled with doomsday secrets; there are no creepy robed men; there is no flabby Tom Hanks in a bad toupee.  It was merely a freaky transfer issue that has since been resolved through my meticulous attention to detail and the magic of “find and replace.” So far, the only other issue we’ve encountered was brought to my attention by Lunanik from Secrets of a Black Heart, who emailed me to let me know the comments weren’t working properly.  Thanks Lunanik!  Your blog name to the contrary, your heart is not so black, merely a shade of cerebral grey.  Now, if I can just get Technorati to feature me on the front page, all will be fine in the world.  In the meantime, comment away, folks!  Comment away!