I’ve been up since 3am trying to fix two servers that decided to go down at roughly the same time.

Completely unrelated issues; just like buses… you wait forever, and then they both come at the same time. Well, I haven’t had an issue like this in over 3 years — and then it happens to TWO separate machines at the SAME TIME!

If you couldn’t access this site for a few hours, that’s why!

Well, that’s why God invented coffee. Large pint-sized mugs of coffee. For days like this.

For the computer geeks out there: Damn the Internet, UDP and script kiddies with nothing better to do. DDoS attacks are so damn brutal.

After getting all too serious on the subject of religion yesterday, I thought it’d be a fun idea to run off tangentially and talk about everyone’s favourite topic: kiddie porn.

I should probably cease the sensationalism and just tell you what I really want to talk about: the current fad of teenagers sending naked, or very revealing, photos of themselves to other people. It’s even garnered its own portmanteau word: sexting.

Sexting is the same as texting, only… sexing it up a little, either with a photo, or even a little video clip! People have been doing it for years now — God knows I’ve received my fair share of dirty SMSes over the years (even some very naughty photos from angles that to this day I can’t work out). The problem is, kids have started doing it too; really young kids. I’m talking about 9 year-olds taking photos of themselves in just their underwear and sending it to a friend. More worryingly they’re being sent to boyfriends and girlfriends too.

If you don’t find that idea worrying enough, it’s also quite common for children to upload photos to social networking sites like Facebook, MySpace and Bebo — these kids just can’t get enough!

The reason it’s come into the media spotlight is because these images could be considered offensive, illegal material. If a girl sends a lewd photo to a friend of theirs, their friend could technically be arrested on the grounds of collecting child pornography. If their friend then goes one step further and uploads the image to a website, or sends it to other friends, they are then distributing child porn! This is an even more heinous offence, an offence which can land them some jail time, and a juicy entry in the sex offenders register.

A recent report found that 10% of all imagery and photography involving under-age children is self-produced — and that startling fact was from a child protection agency that has catalogued more than 9 million articles!

The risk here, as always, is that kids don’t know the potential harm that might befall them. Long-gone are the days when children were hardly ever let out of their parents’ sight. Long-gone are the days when innocence and chastity were virtues to be extolled above all others.

But most importantly, long-gone are the days without computers and mobile phones. They are undoubtedly the root cause of the problem, and the reason I am so interested in this ‘outbreak’ of self-manufactured kiddie porn. Computers are so infinitely powerful; they put so much raw, unrefined power at our fingertips that it must come as no surprise that uneducated use of them can result in alarming situations like this.

We, as a population, know so little about just how much a computer enables you. In just 200 years the world has gone from being immensely huge and undiscovered to infinitesimally small, with every nook and cranny inspected and exposed — because of computers! Just 20 years ago you would’ve had to wait 5 days for a response to a query by mail. Today you get antsy if you have to wait more than 5 seconds for Google to return the correct result.

Kids, normal, non-prodigal kids, must surely be unaware of the self-inflicted risks they are introducing by taking photos of themselves. How can they possibly know the risks when the normal source of such  information, our parents, aren’t any wiser? In the past, parents knew what dangers their children could expect. Those potential dangers changed slowly — from poisonous plants, to motor cars, to getting into a car with a stranger with a lolly pop — so slowly that parents could easily keep a tab on developments.

Fast forward to today and it’s simply impossible to keep up with all of the possible pitfalls that your children might unwittingly stumble into. The parents don’t know, the kids don’t know, and I would bet that even the security services are playing catch-up most of the time.

I’ll leave you with this hypothetical situation (although it’s probably not all that hypothetical…)

A young girl sends an older boyfriend a naked photo of herself. The boyfriend uploads it to the internet (not maliciously, perhaps just to another male friend, who knows). Then, an online predator finds the image which helpfully had a filename that matched the girl’s real name.

This predator is only a couple of steps away from finding the girl’s address, checking out her home on Google Maps Street View, analysing the apparent security, the number of cars outside, if there’s a fence or not and… well, you get the idea.

The Internet is a predator’s haven; for your sake of your children, or your friends, tell them to value their little, still-innocent bodies a bit more.

Say hello to Eric, my 13 year old blind cat.

He’s blind because of very high blood pressure, which detached his retinas or something. We tried medicating him but it didn’t seem to have an effect, so for the last 6 months he’s been coming to terms with being blind. From what I can tell, he operates on some kind of sonar — he mews pathetically, and then waits for someone to respond, and then walks towards that person. That’s basically what he does all day: meow, human meow, walk, sit on lap, purr. His whiskers stop him from bumping into things, though he does get confused if people stand on his normal patrol route — he walks straight into them (which is very funny, and I will try to photograph it!)

He’s actually mewing outside right now, lost in the middle of our huge garden, wondering where the house is… Perhaps I should call him…

Anyway… enough about Eric. I’ll tell his story one day — about how he ran away for 9 years, and only recently returned to us! — but not today.

TODAY… I am launching another competition. This is probably mostly of interest to other bloggers, but ‘Internet Power Users’ might also be interested. What am I giving away?

FREE WEB HOSTING!

I host websites — that’s mainly what I do to make money — and so I thought I could host one more: YOURS! This is your chance to win some free web hosting, managed by yours truly. What could you do with this offer of free hosting?

• A self-hosted blog! Wordpress or Typepad, or something else entirely — this is your chance to have a blog that’s fully under your control. Custom designs, funky widgets… anything is possible with a self-hosted blog!
• Lots of web space! Maybe you want to host some MP3s of your own music, or images for your blog layout, or funny cat pictures — now is your chance!
• A personal domain name! You could also buy a domain name (www.yourname.com) and use the web hosting I’m offering to set up a website.

Most importantly, for the technophobes out there, I’ll help you set things up. Show you the ropes. Get you started.

How do I win?!

Unlike my previous contest, this one’s really easy. You just need to leave a comment of any kind.

What’s the catch?

To win, Eric has to like your comment. I will print out every comment and place it on the ground around Eric — he will then choose the winner by sitting, laying or chewing one of your comments. Obviously, if you tell me an awesome story, it’ll be quite a big piece of paper. If you just leave a comment with ‘Pick Me!’ it’ll be quite a small bit of paper, and less likely to be sat on!

Perhaps, if you’re enterprising, you could send me your own comment on a postcard imbued with the smell of cat food or catnip?! On the offchance that Eric isn’t completely blind maybe he would be drawn to a particuarly loving, heart-felt comment? Or a colourful drawing in Paintbrush/Photoshop of a lovely female cat?

Of course, I will photograph (or video) the entire ‘decision-making process’, ala American/Pop Idol. I might even dramatise it a little for your viewing pleasure.

You have a week to enter this competition and I’ll remind you throughout the week with cute photos of my blind cat Eric.

This competition is open to everyone, though I’m sure Eric will respond better to regular readers of this blog, as I’ve told him all about you guys — he’s a great listener. Feel free to tell your friends about the competition, though you might want to keep it to yourself to increase your chances of winning…

Imagine that scene in Rocky. You know which scene I mean — the training one. Dancing, prancing, skipping and shadow boxing, the famous fanfare perfectly punctuating and accentuating each of our hero’s moves. Only it’s not a a boxer, and it’s not a punch bag. It’s not Stallone — it’s Eric, our runty-but-lovable blind cat training for his big day — the day that will soon be upon us — the day when he will choose a competition winner.

Though blind and old, Eric still wakes up every morning and attacks the world with gusto! Since I told him about the competition on Friday he’s eaten almost nothing and hardly slept. Every time I go down to the living room, he’s there, pacing around, practicing his paper-sitting skills. He can hear the page-turning of my book from 60 paces. At night, when I’m in bed reading, he comes scurrying upstairs, flying headlong into my bedroom door. Thunk. I should probably sleep with my door open…

Being blind, he doesn’t even have to give up when the sun sets. When other cats are moseying on home for dinner, strolling through the cool, evening air, Eric is still there, pacing, choosing the right piece of paper to chew.

The problem is, despite his passion to please, and nail his first ever ‘job’, he’s simply not very good at it. In fact, he’s just fallen asleep between a pink and white piece of paper.

I’m going to set some basic ground rules, to make sure the decision-making process is fair and just. I also need some redundancies in place, in case he fails to choose a winner.

The Rules

1. Eric will fast for 24 hours before the event. To heighten his senses, Eric will not be fed for the day preceding the event itself.
2. Eric will be kept in solitary confinement for 24 hours before the event. Again, to improve his sensory response, Eric will be kept in a small, locked shoebox before the event begins. To pick the right winner, Eric will need to be truly honed in to his sense of touch: his whiskers and the pads of his feet. His sense of smell and taste will be heightened.
3. All entries will be no larger than 10cm square. Some particularly enterprising individuals have sent me entire essays detailing why Eric should choose them. I’m impressed, but it goes against the spirit of the thing, damnit! I’ll just print it out in a tiny font, double-sided.
4. Gnawing will be accepted. If Eric fails to sit on a piece of paper, gnawing a piece of paper will also constitute a ‘victory’ for that competition entry.
5. Sit or shit, it doesn’t matter. After much thinking, I’ve decided that defecation would also constitute ‘conscious cognitive choice’ as far as picking a victor. You all know how picky cats are about where they do their business, so if Eric poops on your paper, you’re a winner!
6. If sitting, shitting and masticating fails… In the event that Eric fails to choose a winner (by falling asleep, for example — sleep doesn’t count, it must be a rational, coherent choice by Eric — not apathy!), the comment closest to Eric will win.

I think that just about covers it. May the best man or woman win (and go and enter the competition, if you haven’t already — it’s a quick and easy way to score free web hosting!)

Oh, and because I just love to indulge the few of you (OK, the majority of you) that just dig cat photos, here’s Eric relaxing after today’s rather grueling trial run.

It’s probably best if I leave you to interpret the photo.

Only 4 days left to enter the competition!

Hello! This is Eleni of RPG Called Life doing a guest post for Sebastian. The story behind why I am doing this guest blog is long and complicated, but luckily it is the story this post will tell. Given the nature of the story, this post might almost fit in with Seb’s series about geeky guys–something like “How to seduce a geek over the internet”. The geek in question, of course, is our own dear Seb.

One of the TV shows that Seb has made it clear he watches is the new Joss Whedon series Dollhouse. He likes the show, though not nearly as much as he likes its star, Eliza Dushku. You may have noticed a series of “Dushku Day” posts over the past several Saturdays in which he inserts strategic screen shots of her and gushes about how sexy she looks, the words typed out by his drool as it hits the keyboard. But even we girls can see how she’s attractive: beautiful features, lovely brown hair, well-toned body, sexy outfits. And she’s all the more attractive to geeky guys because she’s the star of a sci-fi show. It’s a bit frustrating, really. How is a girl to compete with the likes of Eliza? Most of us can’t really compete with her, but we can use her to our advantage–her, and her socks.

Let’s go back to the March 27 episode of Dollhouse and Sebastian’s post about it the following day. In his post, Seb raved about the socks Echo (Eliza Dushku’s character) was wearing and, more importantly, the way these socks in combination with her cute short skirt showed off her legs.

In the post comments, Seb’s readers debated what these lacy accessories covering Dushku’s legs should be called–tights, pop socks, hosiery, fishnets, over the knee socks, knee-highs, leg-warmers, pantyhose, and stockings were all suggested. Thanks to an Entertainment Weekly column that allows readers to write in and ask where clothing or accessories in a movie or TV show come from, along with a reader named Kelsey who was just as intrigued by Echo’s socks as we were, I found out exactly what these mystery accessories were. They were “snuggly pointelle” over-the-knee socks sold at freepeople.com. Unfortunately, the ivory socks that Dushku wears were out of stock, but the black ones were still available. The conversation between Sebastian and me in the post comments can be summarized as follows:

Me: Hey, I found those socks!
Seb: How about I buy them for you so you can take pictures and then I can ogle at your legs all day!
Me: Um… sure.
Seb: On second thought, I’m too cheap.
Me: Fine, save the money for someone you’ve actually met; I’ll buy them for myself and take pictures.

[Journalistic integrity is something that happens to other people. I'll let the libel go... because of the next photo. -S]

My luxurious, long, soft, shimmery socks arrived in the mail soon thereafter. Now that I had the socks, I had to keep my promise to take some pictures of me wearing them. But what should I wear with the socks for my “photo shoot”? Truth be told, I had neither skirt nor shoes to go with these socks, but these items could be obtained. The question was, what does Seb like (in addition to Eliza Dushku’s legs)? Let’s see… geekery, short skirts, pointe shoes, and the color pink. Using my pointe shoes solved one of my problems, so all I had to do was find a pink miniskirt, and then I was all set.

Prior to my photo shoot, I sent Sebastian a teaser photo with just the socks and the pointe shoes hanging on the back of a chair. Quite innocent, really. He responded–and I quote–”Are yoou tryin’ to seduce me Misses Rawbinson…?” The only proper response was this:

Would you like me to seduce you?

[This was possibly one of the best emails I've ever received. -S]

I think he rather liked that. Whetted his appetite, and it got the ball rolling for me. I had already decided my outfit would include the socks, a pink miniskirt, and pointe shoes. But what poses could I do to display these accessories? What would most get a geek’s attention?

One way to seduce a geek is by playing into his geeky fantasies–in this case, by mimicking Eliza Dushku. In the opening credits of Dollhouse, there are two clips in which Dushku is wearing the (ivory) socks. In one, we see her legs as she walks into a room, dropping her coat on the floor behind her. In the other, we see a close-up of her legs as she rests one foot on a low table and pulls up her sock, and between her legs in the foreground we see her looking out from a mirror in the background. These two photos are my attempt to recreate these clips. The latter was considerably more difficult, since I don’t actually have a mirror and my nascent Photoshop skills can only do so much.

“la la la la la, la la la la la…” (Dollhouse theme song)

[Watching the intro to Dollhouse will never be the same, thanks Eleni. -S]

Another way to get a geek’s attention is to show off your own inner (or not so inner) geek. Here, I model my xkcd shirt (the “I’m not slacking off, my code’s compiling” shirt that’s supposed to raise your programming and swordfighting skills to 18). Because geek girls are awesome, right?

If all else fails to entice your geeky mark, you can always pull something less geeky and more basic…

So there you have it, my crazy geeky photos. Seeing as Sebastian’s birthday is coming up next week, I guess I can call these photos my birthday gift to him. Hope you like them! By the way, Dollhouse’s exciting season finale airs tonight. It’s going to be a good one!

[Best birthday present... ever. -S]

Following on from the rampant, run-away success of last week’s column, I now bring you three more fresh and exciting problems for me to sink my teeth into. Only this week there’s a twist — I’ve invited the eccentric Mr. Apron to also offer his… alternative… point of view on the questions I’ve been sent this week. There’s a chance he’ll get his own column here on this blog, but let’s see how this goes first…

Dearest Sebby,

Can I ever compare to Katee Sackhoff? She’s so hot. Maybe I should just give up and hand my boyfriend over to her now. Of course I probably make better cakes than her, but I think he’d probably still be happier with her.

Please lavish me with your opinions o’ great geek,
Apollo’s Dad Is Sexier

Seb

Well the good news is that Katee — Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica — isn’t conventionally beautiful. There’s certainly something about her though — that rough, craggy exterior that only occasionally breaks open to reveal a soft, supple interior; much like an armadillo, really. By the end of the final season of BSG she also has an attractive element of mystery — what is she?! — something, let’s face it, you can probably never compete with.

My tip to you, like most style gurus, is to accentuate on your strong traits. If your hair is ruddy blonde — bleach it! Heck, even if it’s not, bleach it anyway! If there’s something about you that your boyfriend really likes, work it! If he likes the dirty, greasy, raw look — who are you to deny him that pleasure? If all else fails: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Smother him in baked goods, spread yourself eagled on the bed, covered in nothing but crumbled pieces of meringue and Chantilly cream.

For further advice, please send me a large slab of chocolate brownie.

Apron

Dear Katee Wannabee,

I must not watch enough television– I had no idea who this bitch was.  I had to Google Images her and was disappointed to see that, even with the SafeSearch filter turned off, there were no money shots anywhere.  I disagree with Sebastian on the matter of her beauty, intrinsic or otherwise.  Am I the only one who’s noticed that her left eye is all weird?

Then again, Wannabee, I guess your boyfriend isn’t spending too much time staring at her left eye.

Can you ever compete with her?  No.  Can you bash her in the leg with a lead pipe?  Well, it worked for Tonya Harding, but I wouldn’t recommend it.  Look, seriously, all you can do is put out more.  Five, six times a day if you have to.  Sure, your boyfriend will be thinking about Katee Sackhoff each and every time, but at least you’ll be keeping him busy and off Google Image with the SafeSearch filter off.

I disagree with Seb also, (sorry, mate) that you should alter your appearance by bleaching your hair to satisfy your schmuck boyfriend but, if you do decide to do that, I think you should then shave it all off and mail it to Katee Sackhoff.  That’ll teach her to be sexy.

Feel free to mail me brownies or whatever, too.

Dear Dr Sebby!!!

How the hell do I get an audio player to work on my blog? I think it involves converting MP4 files (like I know what that is) to MP3 (which sounds slightly familiar).

Or I need to know the “location” to something? Basically I want to play 99 red balloons on my blog and I don’t know how!!!

HELP ME NOW PLEASE!!
- Distressed Blogger

[I stripped out lots of punctuation, but I felt the three exclamations and ALL CAPS had to be left in -S]

Seb

I assume you mean the, um, German classic by Nena? I’m not sure how I feel about helping you spread German propaganda, and I’m sure my counterpart Apron will have something to say about that too. Fortunately, I will see past any prejudices I might have and fulfil my Hippocratic oath.

• It sounds like you need to start by converting the MP4s to MP3 by using a program. There’s a guide on how to use it, but it looks fairly self-explanatory: drag music in, click convert, enjoy your new MP3s.
• Next, you need to upload them to the Internet. This is slightly trickier. Start by registering at DivShare and then following the prompts to upload your MP3 files. When you’re done, you should have a link across the top of your browser window — you can either use this direct link in your MP3 player of choice, or click the link, then ‘Embed/Sharing Options’, and use their MP3 player (it’s up to you).
• If you decide to use your own MP3 player (which it sounds like you already have set up?), you then place the above link (http://www.divshare.com/download/something-123.mp3) into the embed code, and voila!

(If you have no idea what ‘embed code’ I speak of, there’s a great YouTube video that’ll walk you through the entire process, if you can put up with some kind of hideous English/Indian/Chav/Something?? accent.)

Apron

Dear Distressed,

I’m so sorry to hear that you’re having issues with playing music on your blog.  What a serious bummer.

Here’s a thought: instead of trying to snazz your blog up with music to distract your visitors’ attention from the fact that you have no meaningful content, why don’t you try to focus all the energy you’ve exhausted trying to figure out how to set up an MP3 player on your blog and put some of that effort into the actual writing?!

Now there’s a novel idea, isn’t it?  A blog with words.  That people read.  If people want to hear music, they’ll open Pandora [We can't use this in Europe any more, very sad -S] in a different window and listen to music while they read your blog.  If you want to share the music you love so much with the rest of the world, make us mix tapes, you hopeless romantic, you.

Your blog is also probably rife with exciting graphics and YouTube clips and pictures of cats wearing stupid hats saying “I Can Has Cheezburger?” isn’t it?

Jesus Christ.

Monsieur Seb,

I have a bit of a tricky one for you, one that I think might not have a right answer, but I’ll give your ‘Ask Me Anything’ a shot!

I’m in love with my brother’s girlfriend, or at least I think it is love. She’s 3 years older than me, but that hasn’t changed matters. I don’t think my brother knows, but he must be at least somewhat suspicious. I guess he just trusts us enough that he hasn’t entertained the thought of his girlfriend and me flirting.

But yeah, the problem is: she also likes me. We kissed last week, in the living room! Stupid, I know, and my brother came in after we’d finished. We both had the most telling, embarrassed faces. I don’t know how long we can keep it up. Should we elope to Vegas? Haha. His girlfriend has told me she really likes me, but she’s not sure who she likes more… Aaaargh!

Help me, Sir Seb!
In Love And Confused, USA

Seb

There’s definitely no easy solution to this one, sorry. It happens to us all: we fall for the forbidden fruit, the fruit that’s all the more ripe and tasty because someone else has already picked it. It’s like someone has already certified the fruit ‘highly tasty’ and you just gotta have a bite. It’s more commonly seen amongst adults as the ‘wedding ring’ syndrome — married men especially get chased a lot by women seeking a nice man!

Your situation is all the more complicated because it sounds like you’re still living at home, so your brother’s girlfriend is always about the place — no doubt you’ve caught her in pyjamas or other revealing clothing too…?

But to the resolution: first, you should try and forget all about her. Your brother got there first and she says she likes him. That’s the obvious solution. Without knowing the details of your brother’s relationship, it’s hard to say whether you should chase or let go of the girl — if she’s not happy with your brother, or your brother mistreats her… perhaps it’s worth chasing? You’re both young, and if you really love her, go for it! Unless this girl is the love of his life, of course, in which case, forget it.

No matter which route you take, you will have to talk to your brother sooner or later — preferably before he actually catches you doing something dishonourable, so you should probably start with that!

Apron

Dear In Love (Though Probably Not),

I’d love to know how old you are.  From the tone of your letter, I’m guessing you’re fourteen.  Son, you have to be old enough to drive before you can “elope to Vegas” and then you have to be old enough to get married.  As far as I know, the only people in America who can get married at 14 are the Amish, and they have enough problems.

Sebastian, I can’t believe you’re advising this kid to talk to his brother about this– what’s wrong with you? [Sorry, call it my 'inner belief in all things good and proper'... -S] First of all, Americans don’t “talk” to each other, about anything.  They text each other.  Second of all, this kid’s older brother is probably some square-jawed, Neanderthal, knuckle-dragging high school senior who will bury his hockey stick inside this kid’s head at the mere mention that he’s got the hots for his girlfriend.

I’ll bet she is pretty fucking hot, though, isn’t she?  Tank-tops, little shorts all rolled up at the waist, too, I’ll bet.  Mmmmm…

Which brings me quite neatly to the solution to your little problem: it’s this crazy new thing all the teens are doing these days.  It’s called: masturbation.  See, friend, you don’t have to fuck every chick you think is attractive, especially the one who happens to be attached to your brother’s midsection.  You think she’s hot?  Great.  Jerk off while thinking about her.

Problem solved.

P.S. Don’t you love how Sebastian and his fellow Brits write “dishonourable” and “pyjamas?”  Cute!

This week I created some buttons that, if you have your own blog, you can put in your sidebar. Hopefully you find one of the two pictures inoffensive enough to have on your blog. If not, I should have one of me in a doctor’s jacket and stethoscope next week, which should be quite pleasing to those few girls out there that like their men in uniforms… Now, on with the show!

Dear Dr Moses, Parter of the Seas,

Is it true that you can’t go swimming until half an hour after eating or is it a myth? If not, why not?

- Naturally Buoyant from Boston [Perhaps I should provide a way of uploading photos to accompany questions... -S]

Now this is one I’ve always wondered about! First, the kind of exercise is irrelevant — running, cycling, swimming — they are all equally bad after eating! This is because your body requires a lot of energy to digest food. Your stomach and intestine require a lot of oxygen, and thus blood, to successfully process your meal. But if you exercise, oxygen is required by your legs and arms, and heart — and there’s only so much oxygen to go around! That’s when your muscles cramp: your leg muscles spasm because they’re not receiving enough oxygen.

The problem with swimming in specific is: if you have cramps in your legs you might drown. Cramps while running or cycling are obviously not as dangerous (unless you face plant the curb).

Also worth noting is that if you must swim after eating, eat something light — fruit or carbs. Fats and proteins are harder to digest and require more time (and energy) for your intestine and stomach to process completely. You should probably wait 2 or 3 hours after a big, fatty meal before swimming.

Apparently there’s also a rumour/myth that you can pass out from swimming after eating. It’s not impossible, but it’s much more likely to be caused by some other physical condition: a fever that raises your body temperature so high that jumping into cold water causes shock, and thus making you pass out (and then drowning!). Your body temperature goes up a little after eating, which is probably where this rumour comes from.

Dear Seb,

I have a blog stalker!

He leaves epic comments on my blog and is overly touchy-feely when we chat online. He hugs and kisses and…  he’s just too nice, creepy-like. This has gone beyond just ‘Mr Nice Guy’ and it’s freaking me out!

I think he’s made of marshmallows and vaginas [Beautiful imagery -S]. I can tell he’s a total Mommy’s boy, and he’s overly emotional.  He annoys the hell out of me, and though I’ve blocked him because I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s smothering me on the internet, he sends me emails every day saying he loves me and misses me. LOVES me?

I’ve had about four conversations with him, during which I found myself leaning back in my computer chair, gasping for breath as I felt I was being suffocated with false affections… WTF do I do?

Sincerely,
Smothered in the States

I think this is a problem that many bloggers might’ve experienced, or may experience one day: the scary commenter that both makes your skin crawl and drives other commenters away. The chat and email situation is another thing entirely — you can block his emails, don’t forget, just as you’ve already blocked his chatter!

But the blog stalking, well, that’s potentially a whole lot more sticky. If he’s as benign as he appears, you probably have nothing to worry about — but stalking is the kind of thing that starts off as a flight of fancy, a mere crush, but quickly turns into something a whole lot more sinister!

There’s a lot of resources on the Internet about dealing with real-world stalkers, but very little on the topic of blog stalking. I would suggest you take sensible precautions:

• Blog under a pseudonym — You’ll still have a problem here if you’ve given your full name and location in the past, but this should at least stop the ‘opportunist’ predators.
• Self-host your blog — If you host your own blog (WordPress or TypePad, for example), you have a lot of control over who reads your entries. You can always turn your blog ‘private’ too, but that’s admitting defeat, and you shouldn’t suffer at the grubby, spindly hands of a stalker!
• Change your address/contact details — This is the best real life way to escape a stalker too! Think about changing your blog and/or email address. Again, this is letting the stalker win — sucks.
• Contact his/her ISP — If you have their personal details (which is likely, considering they have probably made contact), you can probably contact their Internet provider and have them suspended for harassment. This isn’t a simple task though and you should probably contact the police before you try to do it yourself!

If all else fails: send him a photo of a hairy, fat trucking type that can’t see his own penis  — claim that’s what you really look like, and that pretending to be someone else is your method of escaping the daily grind.

Seb the Biologist!

Quickly, I don’t know how long I’ve got to live!

I’m swallowing and hence withholding burps; am I going to explode?!

Hiccup,
Suck ‘n Blow in the South East

No. You might fart more though, which could be embarrassing. Stop being a damn drama queen! (This was actually sent a few days ago, so the person that sent it might have exploded before reading my soothing words. In which case, I guess I’m partially to blame…)

Ask Me Anything is turning into an Internet phenomenon! My cute little buttons are turning up on blog sidebars all over the net! My inbox is almost full to overflowing with fun, tricky, geeky and out-right disturbing questions. This week sees the (popular?) return of The Apron, at the behest of one of the anonymous submissions. Remember, if you have anything to ask, ask me. No ‘Sebby In Doctor’s Jacket’. Sorry, I failed!

Dear Bearded Wisdom Dispenser [Bonus points! -S]

Is there any fail-safe way to give a cat medicine? Specifically pills, since the liquids are much easier to force-feed.

My cat nearly died of kidney failure and was sent home on two meds. Then he wouldn’t swallow one of them (for one pilling only!) and had to be re-admitted to the hospital and sent home on FOUR meds. He hates me and I feel like a terrible overlord every time the medicating-by-force hour rolls around.

PETA would be shocked to see me in action, shouting at him and cramming things down his throat! I have tried EVERYTHING: wrap him in a towel, coat the pill with butter, dab butter on his face to make him lick it off and swallow, blow in his face, stroke his neck, prise his jaws open and throw the pill down his throat… even a pill gun! Which is guaranteed by the vet, and yet still the little bugger keeps figuring out ways around my tricks.

As he gets healthier it gets harder and harder to get him medicated! His latest method involves working up so much drool that it literally pours down his front, and washing the pill out in the flood.

What do I do with the little @#!%?? Despite the hell he gives me, I do rather like him and want to make this easier on BOTH of us. Heeeelp!

Entertaining the thought of a home-made fur coat,
Scrawny-but-surprisingly-strong Brunette

Well… kudos for trying so damn hard to help your cat! I think I would’ve given up long ago and simply got a new cat — I’d do the same if I had a troublesome baby too. I guess that’s why no woman has agreed to have children with me yet. Hm. Anyway… This is going to be tough, as you’ve tried almost all of the conventional methods — and even a few highly creative unconventional ones! (Did you photograph your cat covered in butter…?)

There are a few other things you can try though! From easiest to hardest:

• Pill pockets! You can actually buy kitty treats that you can slot the pill into! How cool is that?
• Hide it in his food? You don’t mention it, but I assume you’ve tried hiding the pill in his food? Some experts suggest using a different kind of food that they’ve not had before, so that they won’t know you’ve tampered with it. Best use whole pills, not powdered, so you know how much (or little) of the medication has actually been consumed.
• Dissolve the pill. If all else fails, dissolve the pill into a little water or the juice from a tin of tuna. Then inject it into the cat’s mouth with a little plastic pet syringe (which you can probably get from your vet).

Notice how all of these methods don’t involve holding the cat down (or tying it up in a towel? you cruel mistress!) So hopefully the cat should still be your friend afterwards!

How on earth can ask.com which I have never installed/used hijack my browser?

Better still how the hell do I rid myself of the devlish blighter? Thought I’d consult a master before I go downloading random “fix” software willy-nilly. Thus far I have run Ad-Aware and Spybot and cleared cookies but to no avail

I didn’t surf any porno sites, honest,
Obviously Female from Dakota

Browser hijacking is horrible! You were right to start with Ad-Aware and SpyBot, both of which are usually very good — but not always capable of resolving and removing everything! You’re a bit lacking in details, so I’ll start with the basics and go from there: first, are you sure Ask hasn’t just become your homepage? Are you using Firefox or Internet Explorer? (The solution will vary wildly dependent on which browser you use!)

It might be as simple as resetting your homepage (Tools -> Options -> ‘Main’ or ‘General’ and just set the homepage to Google!) or it might be something a whole lot more gribbly.  A little searching suggests that the main Ask.com hijack involves using Firefox, so I’ll just assume you’re using Firefox…!

• Open up My Computer and navigate to: C:\Documents and Settings\YOUR USER NAME\Application Data\Mozilla\Firefox\Profiles\ — alternatively, you can type that address into Start > Run!
• There should be a folder there ending in ‘.default’. It’ll be called something like ‘ym0is63z.default’ — you want to go into that directory, double click it.
• Delete user.js and user.js.bak. That ought to clean things up.

To be honest, the number of hijacks that you could be afflicted by is probably in the hundreds, and I’ve only listed one way to fix it. If all else fails, have you tried Google’s new browser, Chrome? It’s not perfect, but it’s probably the easiest solution to your problem!

Mr Seb,

This morning on a semi-crowded subway car, I encountered a bit of drama when a man 20 years my senior fitted his way into a space between myself and another mid-thirties comely lady like me. After a few beats, I felt this man’s shoe at the edge of mine and then his bag fell against my calf. As there was an empty space this man had just vacated in order to wedge his way betwixt us two and furthermore, since I was in the space I occupied first, I felt no need to move an inch. Therefore, I politely inquired, “Excuse me, sir, would you mind your bag that is touching my leg?” He replied, “I have a bag and you have a bag.” (Indeed, he was showing his brilliance there as we were both holding bags.) Though in truth the ass did position himself near me, so he was actually touching my bag, I recognized my handbag was touching him, so I moved it away from him and repeated my inquiry. He then leaned over near my face and stated, “If you lost some weight, you would have more room.”

Seeing as how I was now dealing with a man-child, say about mental age eight, I responded in kind by saying, “I can lose some weight, but you’re not going to lose your stupid.” Now, I feel my response was adequate. After all, it elicited a boisterous shouting of the word “Porky” from the man on the train, who I might add was clad in a suit. (Quite the professional man, eh?) I definitely wedged under his skin. However, my reply certainly is nothing to send into the history books, and I readily admit that during the fog of my morning commute, I probably plagiarized it from some book or movie.

So here’s my question… [Finally, eh, after a truly Shakespearean/Herculean effort... -S] How would you have responded to the man had you been a witness to this subway folly? I’m also intensely interested in how Apron would have reacted. (I heart Apron.) Thank you (and Apron) in advance for your considered replies.

Regards,
Well Proportioned Lady with robust self-esteem, despite the lunacy of a deranged middle aged man during a NYC commute

Seb

First of all, congratulations on being the first Ask Me Anything that I haven’t had to modify in any way shape or form. Though flowery, your use of language was, I believe, apt. It took me right back to the Middle Ages when men would joust and duel to the death for the privilege of marrying and deflowering the finest of maidens.

As for advice… Do you mean, if I witnessed the situation as the well-proportioned lady in question (i.e. you), or if I was a chivalrous man sitting opposite and watching the sad little incident unfold?

This is where I should probably tell you that I have a bit of a ‘thing’ for busy train carriages. As I’ve already alluded to in my ‘Best places to have sex‘ articles, I do like trains. And busy trains really do it for me… … With that in mind, I give you my wisened advice: Sock it to him! Just scream something along the lines of Hey, stop touching me!, leap out of your chair and swing the aforementioned bag at him. There’s no way in this day and age that anyone will ever doubt the veracity of your claim — yay, feminism! — so there’s likely to be little or no repercussions for a dazzlingly protean display of ball-whacking  audacity in front of the other commuters.

However, if you prefer a more temperate approach, I’d suggest you simply ‘take it like a man’ and just take a photo of him with your phone. Then upload it to your computer, scrawl something rude across it with Paint, and put it on the Internet.

[What follows is one of the funniest things I've ever read... but maybe that's because it's 3am and I'm starting to lose it. -S]

Apron

Dear Big & Bouncy,

How would I have responded to him?  Um, I wouldn’t have.  I’m way too scared of getting knifed in the neck to start shit with obvious lunatics.  Especially lunatics in suits.  They’re known commonly as “Suitatics” or “Mafioso.”

The real issue here is not necessarily how I or anybody else would have responded– the real issue here is the whole confrontation.  Now, you say you love me, and I’m truly touched and flattered by that.  And, honeybear, I love you too, so I know you won’t mind when I tell you that both you and the suit-wearing dickhead were both behaving like five-year-old children on this particular subway ride.  So, maybe the guy shouldn’t have placed himself in between you and the other “mid-thirties comely lady,” but he did.  The last time I checked the New York State’s penal codes, standing in between two people on a subway isn’t a crime, even if there is space elsewhere in the car.

Right?  Right.

Here’s the sad, cold, hard, unpleasant truth of life: in subway cars, people touch each other.  To me, if I can ride the MTA from Brooklyn to Coney Island without enduring somebody’s finger in my asshole or their chin-zit on my shoulder, then I think I’ve done pretty okay for myself.  So his shoe was at the edge of yours.  So his bag was touching your leg.  Jesus Christ, you sound like a child in the back of the Oldsmobuick with your older brother on a family vacation to Hot Springs.  “He keeps touching me!”  “She won’t stop licking my seatbelt!”  “He keeps shoving his fingers in his eye sockets and rubbing the goo on my t-shirt!”

Um, yeah.  Get the fuck over yourself.

Seriously– if you had just endured his shoe touching yours and his bag touching your leg, you wouldn’t have made the totally unnecessary comment about his bag touching your leg, the comment that escalated this whole series of events.  And he wouldn’t have called you “Porky,” which I’m sure you’re not.  Now, was he in the right for doing that?  Certainly not.  He obviously wasn’t brought up by kind, egalatarian, loving parents.  And, if he was, he probably killed them and ate them the morning of this unfortunate subway ride– chalk his brusque comment up to a little indigestion.

I’m willing to bet that this isn’t the only instance of Subway Drama that has involved you, has it?  Honestly, if you’re going to live in NYC and ride the MTA every day of your life, you’re going to have to get used to people mashing your buxomness, stepping on your Nine Wests and breathing pickle steam down your neck.  That’s just the way it is.  And I tell it like it is.  ‘Cause I’m a 20 something blogger, and I’ve got snark leaking out of my ass, little bitches.  Don’t stand next to me on the subway, some snark might get on your skirt.

That about wraps it up for another week! Share my Ask Me Anything buttons around! (How smooth am I? Getting better at this self-promotion thing…)

I had a few personal questions trickle in this week, which I don’t mind, but they’re outside the scope of Ask Me Anything. Feel free to email any questions you might have though, or perhaps you might find the information you’re looking for on the ‘About‘ page. Alternatively, I might compile a few personal questions and post them all at once — but that’s getting awfully close to those list-style Internet memes that I do so despise.

Imagine for a moment a world where clueless people remain silent; where those without working knowledge shut up and listen. A society whose people, instead of making wild, uneducated stabs, feels compelled to investigate, question and probe. Consider a culture that actually cares about the damage caused by ignorance and prejudice, to friends and strangers alike.

* * *

Once upon a time there was authority. I don’t mean in the policing or juridical sense — Rome didn’t have police, you know? — I’m talking of intellectual authority. If you had a question about childbirth you went to see the wizened midwife that delivered both you and your mother into the world. If you were ill, your only hope was if the sawbones had seen a similar case, or had a beaten, weather-worn hand-me-down almanac that described how to use leeches effectively. Slowly though, over thousands of years, authority shifted to the written and printed word; the professionals remained masters, but they could not travel the world as quickly or as effusively as books. Information became available, accessible, free — and both culture and science surged forward as a result.

Society began to revere the written word. For some reason, ink impressed on paper in the shape of words and sentences have immense weight and meaning. What you read about giving birth is suddenly more true than the wizened midwife’s decades of experience. A book says the world is flat and, in your mind, in an instant, the world becomes flat. It’s magical just how much credence the written word is given — people will believe the craziest things if they’re written down.

Whoompf! Religion.

Blam! Newspapers.

Poof! The Internet!

Authority still exists — somewhere — but its voice is muffled, drowned out by a sea of disinformation; information that gets propagated as wisdom because we simply don’t know any better. That’s what old wives’ tales are incidentally: something your great, great grandmother once read, assimilated as truth and then forwarded it along through the generations. Does masturbation really give you hairy palms? Is thirteen actually unlucky? No.

And therein lies the problem: knowledge is power whether it is proven true or not. Fallacy, slander and gossip — it is all, from the (unfortunate) recipient’s point of view, working knowledge. You read some juicy little factoid about a famous celebrity and… it makes you feel good. Chances are it’s not true, or only partially so, but knowing that little nugget of knowledge somehow makes you feel enlightened, powerful. “A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on” Winston Churchill famously said. There is a reason people peddle in lies and half-truths. There is a reason why newspaper editors ‘add one’ to death tallies or run with unnamed sources. And that’s the other, far more tricky problem: lies, if repeated enough by any kind of authority — a priest, a mother, a teacher — become truth. Cold hard truth that, within a generation, becomes wisdom.

We’re all walking around with a lot of data that we think is true. It’s a survival trait: our nurture is like gospel. And that’s bad when it overrides our nature, our experiences. We feel qualified to dispense these false truths to others.

‘You must have something wrong with your head’ we tell our friends and loved ones.

‘You shouldn’t do that, it’s wrong, it’s bad’ we say to our girlfriends and boyfriends.

‘How can you believe in that?’ we say to our friends with a differing faiths.

Anyone that’s mastered a field or subject will know that it feels a lot like peeling back layers of untruth — Oh, so that’s how it works! — that’s all real education is. It fills in gaps and rewrites what we’ve known and worked with for years. But it’s not easy. It’s no simple task to alter your entire vision of the world just because an encyclopaedia or wise man tells you to. How long did people hold onto the fact that the world was flat? That’s why false knowledge and data will continue to propagate through generations. We’re stubborn bastards.

Next time, before you pass along a piece of information, think about whether it’s actually true or not. If you’re not sure, go to the library and find out what the truth really is. At the very least you’ll be doing the next generation and tomorrow’s civilisation a huge favour.

* * *

Please excuse my use of the African American vernacular — dis, to disrespect –  but it was necessary. It’s altogether more punchy than ‘Don’t go insulting what you don’t know nothing about.’

This isn’t finished. Next I want to tie this into religion, prejudice and ignorance.