Be All That You Can Be - Digitially, That Is

Oh, no.  Not again.  I just spent hours and hours and hours that I can never recapture reading stuff I don't understand.  Why do I search the technology topics?  It's worse than looking at Cosmo before going shopping for a bathing suit.  I feel so hopelessly unfit, unfashionable and uninformed.

I love having a computer - specifically a laptop - that I can use to for fairly simple tasks.  I generally only have a few tabs open at any given time:  Facebook, AT&T (email), Accuweather, Ebay, Craigslist, and RealClearPolitics are my most frequently-visited sites.  I know that's boring but I'm just being honest.

When I need to know about something boring, particularly about computers or technology, I search the question or topic, and read until I find my answer.  Then I close the window and go about my business.  I'm rarely curious enough to go surfing around once I've found what I was looking for.  I squander enough time chatting on Facebook and dreaming on Ebay.  God help my children when I look up something about the Norman Conquest or anything else interesting to me on Wikipedia; I start link-hopping and lose track of time.  Last time I did that those poor girls didn't bathe for a week - I got very caught up in the bloodbath at Hastings and the Plantagenet succession.  So I have to keep my "surfing" to a minimum if I ever want to get anything done.

Turns out, this is the wrong way to be on the Web.  Especially if you want to build traffic to your own site, like my blog.  I should be interacting more at the sites where I find interesting stuff.  I am supposed to introduce myself everywhere I go, being sure to drop lots of hints about what I buy, where I live, my areas of expertise, etc., while I visit.

That's exactly the sort of indiscriminate information-sharing I've been trying to steer clear of and teach my children to avoid.  But it is the number one piece of advice for increasing readership.  One of the articles I read suggested registering at 10 new sites per day.  What?  By the time I do that, I've used all my allotted writing time.  Do I really have to flirt openly with 10 websites per day to get noticed?  Really, I'm just not that kind of girl.

But this is the advice I keep getting from Google searches like "get my blog read."  As poorly-crafted as that search term sounds, it netted about 2,760,000,000 results in 0.19 seconds and yielded some amazing articles with tremendous potential.  Problem is, they are over my head.   I enjoyed the initial pleasantries of "21 Tactics to Increase Blog Traffic,"  by Rand Fishkin (click here to leave my whining and read his article), but it quickly became a how-to for the cyber-savvy, which isn't me.  It's not that I can't understand the vocabulary, acronyms, charts, graphs or suggestions.  It's just that the thought of going to all those sites and registering and interacting with lots of strangers kind of scares me.

This article, and the other six I read before I was overcome with temporary pupil vibration and scrambled brain wave syndrome (the dreaded TEPVI/SCRABRAW syndrome - warn you loved ones!) desperately want me to become more connected to the Web via a multitude of helpful social networking sites.  To get maximum exposure, I need to be on Twitter, LinkIn, StumbleUpon, Pinterest and Reddit, in addition to Facebook, which already helps me waste an enormous amount of time daily.  How am I ever supposed to get the laundry done if I have to go 'round to all those places all the time?

And then there's the content.  Well, I write what I want to write, so there's no getting around the fact that my topics may not be from the top-tier buzzwords.  But all the experts say that, if the writing is good, all you have to do it drop in a few keywords so that the SEO (search engine optimization) machine can do all the work to get you found by millions of readers.  Um, sorry...does that mean I need to title all my blogs including the word "Kardashian?"  That could actually be fun, and I may give that a try one of these days.  I'll bet traffic would double if the title also included the word "affair."  How about this one:  "I Think My Husband is Having an Affair with a Kardashian."  I think I'll try it and see what happens.

So I have to join a bunch of online country clubs and special-interest groups, then I have to use subliminal tricks to embed my otherwise-innocent text with search-worthy terms.  I also have to let Google do some analytics and tell me all about you, my readers.  I have only twelve followers and only average around 20 visits per day (need to post more), but somehow Google can extract meaningful data from that traffic.  Google can tell me what other sites my readers visited, suggesting topics that may generate more interest.  Even with my tiny bit of traffic, Google says I should have advertisers.  Those must be some pretty desperate companies, if they want to advertise on the blog equivalent of "Current Trends in Telegraph Communications."

I'm also supposed to offer to guest-blog for some of my favorite bloggers. Unfortunately, the few I read are huge and mega-successful, like Confessions of a Pioneer Woman.   I expect that'll go over big.

Dear Pioneer Woman,

   I really love your blog.  You make me laugh and cry.  I love the pictures of Charlie.  Now that you have a bestselling cookbook and and a bestselling biography, you are probably tired of writing.  Plus you are just so busy being Pioneer Woman, it's probably a drag to have to stop and write about it all the time.  So on that odd day where you are hungover or there's a brush fire that your whole resourceful family spends hours and hours putting out, I'd be glad to step in and throw together a blurb so you can have the day off.  Just let me know.

Sincerely,

Michele Arnett

Composing a letter is easy compared to some of the suggestions.  One tip is to add a link to my blog in my email signature.  I've been trying to figure out how to have an email signature since the first time I noticed how my husband's emails always end with the same long jumble of information, like his job title and three phone numbers, which I already know.  I'd like to have one of those cute signatures, because I write and answer a ton of emails (since I don't text and no one else I know talks on the phone).  I could add a nice signature and include my blog link, so that innocent, unsuspecting people would spend hours distractedly reading my wit and wisdom, thus increasing my traffic and making me more attractive to paying advertisers, like the Vienna Sausage people or perhaps a foot fungus treatment.

Naturally, every article suggests using design features that make your blog look professional.  I definitely need help in that department. (I wonder what the experts would say about the picture that used to be my header - me asleep on the chaise, with a book and 3 dogs on my lap - not very professional...)  My daughter keeps asking me to let her redesign my page, and I know I should let her work her magic.   I try adding gadgets (see the survey on the right sidebar) and changing around pictures, but it's really not my thing.  I'd rather be writing and let someone else be my style consultant, you know?

Below is Suggestion #20 from the article I mentioned.  See if this makes any sense to you:

 Many of you likely have profiles on services like YouTube, Slideshare, Yahoo!, DeviantArt and dozens of other social and Web 1.0 sites. You might be uploading content to Flickr, to Facebook, to Picasa or even something more esoteric like Prezi. Whatever you're producing on the web and wherever you're doing it, tie it back to your blog.

I thought most of these sites are for photos, videos and artwork.  Why would a writer have a profile on YouTube?  I thought that was for funny dog tricks and the secret cameras at WalMart.  Anyone who has seen my blog knows I am no photographer.  What on earth am I going to do for YouTube?  Produce a how-to video for making cushioned clothes hangers?  And what is a Web 1.0 site?  Clearly, I'm doomed to be trampled in the frantic race of ever-improving technology, just as surely as the pony express was trampled by the telegraph.  Woe is me.

So I think I'm going to hang up the idea of expansion/improvement/modernization.  I don't think I'm a multi-platform kind of blogger.  I don't think I'll be doing any guest-blogging gigs.  I don't think I'll subscribe to weekly updates of search terms and traffic vector/trajectory reports.  I think what I'll do is keep writing about what strikes me as interesting, without regard to Kardashians, Eli Manning or The Voice (popular search terms - can't hurt).  I'll keep working on my novel, which is going in crazy directions without my permission.  I'll remain a low-tech kind of entity, and allow the potential for advertising revenues and millions of followers to pass me by, because I'm too lazy and/or too scared to jump into the cybersphere with both of my virtual feet.

I'm just here, writing my schtick.  I won't waste any more time reading articles when I have no intention of following the advice.  Either people find me or they don't.  Right now I'm just like any other old. unremarkable hardbound book on the shelf, dusty with few signs of handling.  Hopefully one day I'll get moved to the nightstand.

To your health!

Take this simple test to see if you are ignoring important symptoms of an unpleasant, inconvenient but essentially non-lethal condition:

If you suffer from:	Then you may be afflicted by:
Headaches	Metabolic syndrome
Fatigue	Compromised immune system
Trouble sleeping	Sleep apnea
Weak bladder control	Fibromyalgia
Thinning hair	Color blindness
Low sex drive	Heartbreak of psoriasis
Uncontrolled weeping	Reduced liver function
Sinus blockage	Chronic fatigue syndrome
Hairy back	Hormone imbalance
Bad posture	Seasonal allergy syndrome
Dry eyes	Food addiction
Seasonal allergies	Epstein-Barr syndrome
Weight gain	Low T
Upset stomach	Old age

All you do is match the normal imperfections of the human condition on the left, to the serious-sounding condition or syndrome on the right.  Warning:  some symptoms are linked to all the conditions, so it may look a little messy when you are done.

My theory is that if it's called a syndrome or condition, the name was invented by a drug company to sell a product.  Once something is isolated as a specific symptom or set of symptoms, Friendly Farma Inc. can name the "syndrome" and develop an expensive treatment plan.  Catchy names, unpredictable spelling and acronyms play a large role in selling these new ideas to a sickly, whiny public.

(NOTICE TO WHINY PUBLIC: Please hold your fire. I'm not talking about true diseases or chronic conditions here.  This is innocent humor commentary and at least I'm not calling you a hypochondriac to your face.)

I've always thought that we are much healthier than commercials, magazines and drugstore shelves would have us believe.  However, it really started to bother me when our prescription drug plan changed significantly this year (along with our regular health plan).  This meant the Eric brought home lots of reading material to acquaint us with the new guidelines for dealing with doctor visits, approved prescriptions, payments, coverage limits, and other engrossing information.  Normally I'd just skim it and hope Eric would forget to quiz me, but the approved medications list caught my attention.  For some reason, it was a pretty short list.

How could that be?  I can't watch one hour of news without being regaled with the miraculous powers of Cialis, Lunesta, Abilify, Lipitor, Rogaine, Pradaxa, Nexium, Crestor and Plavix.  Doesn't my insurance company want me to benefit from the improved quality of life made possible by extensive research and testing on the part of the altruistic drug companies?  Well, of course they do.  They just don't want to pay the drug company prices, particularly if I'm not willing to either.

It seems our insurance company has recently decided that they only want us to take cheap drugs that prevent life-threatening conditions or regulate chronic conditions.  My blood pressure medicine and Eric's blood thinner are on this list.  They must want us to take them, because they are free (as in $0) on our plan.

But what about all those other drugs the pharmaceutical firms spend so much time and money advertising to the decrepit, whiny populace?  Why do they go to such lengths to make me want them, convince me that I need them, if my insurance company won't pay for them?  This seems patently unfair.

The lady on tv with the horrible toenail fungus stays quietly at home with the shades drawn.  But after a 30-day course of Phlizzerak, she's seen strolling the streets in broad daylight, smiling broadly at no one and everyone, stiletto sandals showcasing her beautifully healed toenails.  Why should she get to be happy because of a drug, while I have to suffer without it?

What about the couple who bump heads while they are working on some home-improvement project?  Do they get in an argument about his clumsiness or her inability to tell a crescent wrench from jackhammer?  No!  They magically appear in his-and-hers porcelain tubs, sweetly holding hands across the short distance that separates them from conjugal bliss.  And is this beautiful moment the product of years of hard work to develop their sense of humor, a climate of forgiveness and an understanding of one another's unspoken love language?  Not hardly.  This moment is brought to you by Schtiffenhaut Laboratories, makers of Xerdella, or some other nonsensically-named product designed to make you feel that you, Mr. and Mrs. Humdrum, are not living life to the fullest because you don't take this drug.

I'm not calling out Big Pharma for their profits, or Big Insurance for their cost-cutting strategies, or Big Marketing for the ads that do their best to create a need.  No one entity has forced one individual to buy one pill.  But the cooperative system of those three, working in tandem, is expertly designed to target the individual psyche, which is perfectly capable of evaluating its own situation and judging its own needs.  But does my psyche act on facts, or does it just want the tubs and stilettos?


I love spicy, hot, dangerous food.  Thai and Indian foods are my favorites.  If I suddenly found they gave me stomach problems, say, acid reflux that keeps me up at night, would I stop eating curries?  Probably not.  Commercials have been telling me for years to pop a pill before I engage in dangerous eating, so that I can enjoy my meals without interruption by the obvious symptoms warning of the damage I'm doing to my stomach.  Take an OTC acid reducer so I don't have to change my behavior or make a personal sacrifice - no-brainer, right?

I just wonder about our ancestors who didn't have access to 20,000 square feet of cures for every ailment, real or imagined, in the form of the ubiquitous Walgreens, CVS and Rite-Aid stores that seem to be everywhere these days.  I know there were snake oil salesmen, bogus treatments, home remedies, hypochondriacs, faith healers and leeches in our medical history, but did our forbearers spend so much time worrying about their body and its complications?  Did metalsmiths stay home from the forge when sinus pain and pressure cost them a good night's sleep?  Did pioneer women neglect the milking when PMS struck?  Did the laborers who built the transcontinental railroad complain about a sensitivity to MSG in their gruel?

It doesn't seem possible that I can be just 4 or 5 generations removed from hardworking people who put in 16 hours of labor on an average day, only to lay down on a bug-infested straw mattress on the floor - yet I travel with a special pillow or I "can't get a good night's sleep."  Really?

I think we've been had.  I think we are all much healthier, stronger and more capable than the product peddlers would have us believe.  I think if we all just sent the dollar equivalent of one month's hair care or bowel regularity purchases to President Obama, he could use that fast cash to pay bills, instead of raising the debt ceiling.

The Red Bag of Splurge

When it comes to dressing for the day, there are two kinds of women:  those who like to create a different look every day, with ever-changing hairstyles, make-up to match the demands of the occasion, jewelry to match their outfit. shoes that look fabulous irrespective of practicality or comfort and all the perfect accessories to complement that day's look;

and then there are women who consider showering to be a major accomplishment and matching clothes a gift to the world.

Can you guess which group I fall into?


One thing all the women in the first category seem to have down to a science is the process of constantly changing purses.  This is beyond my comprehension.  I must have been absent on the day Miss Priscilla Wolfwhistle, the headmistress at the Lower Alabama Academy for Charm and Comportment, explained the simple procedure of transferring 9 lbs. of purse contents from one envelope-sized container to another, every single day and for every occasion.

Since I don't need to invent any new ways to lose my checkbook or a very important receipt (for returning those misguided Daisy Fuentes jeans to Kohl's), I tend to use one and only one purse all the time, and keep my purses until they begin to dry-rot, or nesting rodents chew a large hole through the bottom.

And in keeping with my general lack of fashion sense, my purses are usually of the utilitarian persuasion.  Total strangers have been known to walk up to me at the mall and tell me where the purse stores are.  Yes, a purse that does the job I need it to do is generally an ugly purse.  And after several decades of fighting it, I finally decided to own it...just own my hideous taste in purses and stop trying to be purse-fashionable.  I got rid of a large tote full of cute, unworkable purses and resigned myself to being the girl with the embarrassing purse.

Which brings us up to summer 2009.

I was at a flea market in southern Alabama, where I found a huge, Mrs. Howell-sized pair of red-framed, dark-lens sunglasses,  They had a mockup of the D&G logo on the side, and sold for $5/pair or 3 for $10 (gotta love a flea market).  I quickly put them on, found a mirror and ascertained that they made me look like a younger, slimmer Kathleen Turner and verified that they would stay on my head even if I'm rocking out to "We Got the Beat" at 65mph.  That was the only pair in that style in red, and I snatched them up at full price.

Of course, my kids were mortified that I would show up wearing gigantic red sunglasses and acting like I was all that (well, I was), but I was delighted with my purchase.  Camille wasn't fooled by my Grace Kelly act, and asked if the D&G stood for Dollar General, but I was too thrilled with my purchase to do anything but ground her for life.

For once, remembering my proper upbringing, I decided I needed a purse to match my sunglasses, which were still weeks away from breaking.

The next day my mother and I graduated from the flea market to the Waterfront Rescue Mission Salvage Store.  Bargains abounded there!  As I entered this fragrant establishment, I glanced across the store and caught a glimpse of red fibers in a large, rectangular shape hanging with a collection of truly ugly purses; my heart skipped a beat.  Was I about to find the fabled fashionable, functional purse?  What had I done to deserve such a rare gift?

It was lightweight, made of straw, and since it was summer that was socially acceptable.  It had longer shoulder straps, so the purse wouldn't chap my armpit, which was another plus.  And it was the perfect shade of my favorite color - three major selling points.  But beyond that, it was useless.  No outside compartments, no specialty slots for pens, cellphone, lipgloss, nothing but a wide open bag.  I visualized myself digging for hours to find my tape measure or a clean stick of gum.  How would I locate my cellphone if it didn't have it's own little pocket?  Where would I put my collection  of punch cards for various convenience store coffee programs?  How could I justify buying something just because I loved how it looked, without regard to the hours of misery promised by it's sheer impracticality?

Well, it was $3.50, so I figured I couldn't go wrong.  And I didn't; I just reloaded it for its third summer of service.  It's a great purse and I've somehow learned to live with its many limitations   From the day I bought that purse, people have commented about its cuteness.  Even today I received a compliment on this bag:

But like all good wardrobe workhorses, the red bag has seen better days.  I recently noticed some splintered straw near the bottom that will continue to fray with use and wear.  And just tonight, I felt a weak spot on the skinny leather shoulder strap that means it will soon give way under the excessive weight of the load, probably during a downpour in a parking lot when I'm running late for something.

Now I'm not going to throw red in the trash just yet, but I am starting to browse for a replacement.  As I thought about that possibility. I got to thinking about what a treat it would be to own a real grown-up purse.  An investment-grade purse that would become a family heirloom.  Reaching the half-century mark should be good for something...maybe I should treat myself to something like this:

Pretty but practical, made by Coach to last forever.  Unfortunately, the price tag caused every organ in my torso to try to leave my body through a nearby portal, so I kept shopping.  Unfortunately, since my definition of a grown-up purse seems to only include fine leather products, I quickly discovered that I don't consider myself worth the price.

Ebay was better.  Hours of browsing other people's castoffs reassured me that I can find something well-made and serviceable if I am willing to trust a picture, a paragraph and a 98.7% feedback rating.  This lovely bag had a $0.99 starting price:

but ended up selling for $131.50 (with free shipping) to someone who didn't think a maximum bid of $35 was a tad extravagant.  Oh, well.  I traipsed upstairs to look at my only good quality purse, a Liz Claiborne leather shoulder bag that Eric bought for me for our first Christmas as married people.

It's still in good shape and has lots of room, but with no compartments, it was usually glutted with random unnecessary crap which obscured the 5 things I always need to find (lip balm, eye drops, an ink pen, tweezers and my Splenda minis dispenser).  Thinking that a handy pouch for those necessities, plus a glasses case and a cellphone wristlet would solve my organization and containment issues, I pulled it down from the closet shelf and slung it over my shoulder.

Jeepers!  I forgot that the nicest purse I own is also heavier empty than my normal full purse.  With a full complement of neck and shoulder complaints (to make sure I feel every day of 50), carrying a heavy purse is a very bad idea for me.  What was I even thinking, wasting time on the computer shopping for a leather purse because I'm getting old?  What made me think I need a serious purse anyway?  I need the lightest bag with a touch of whimsy and pockets everywhere.  And I want it in red.  And to hell with the cost.  I'm worth a splurge now and then.  So where will this purse journey take me next?  I can feel you holding your breath for the following installment...

Fortunately for all involved, I remembered my favorite super-cheapo purse ever - a Vera Bradley ripoff from Dollar General.  When it started to fall apart, I attempted to sew it back together, but really, for $6.95 I wasn't willing to invest much time in repairs.  But that was the lightest, brightest, bag I could remember owning, and it had pockets galore.  I never really liked the Vera Bradley bags during the craze - some of the patterns and color combinations could induce LSD flashbacks.  But now that they are not the trendy purse style, would I be able to find one?  Did I dare to hope that the once-ubiquitous VB bags were still circulating on a secondary market somewhere?

Ebay to the rescue:

Doesn't that just scream "ME!"?  

And, in case you were wondering, an ebay search of "Vera Bradley purse" turned up a 23,786 listings, but only a mere 1,097 when I added "red."  I don't know if that resale quantity means it's SLY (so last year)  to carry VB in public these days (I should pay more attention to fashion).  Or perhaps all those claims of "RARE!" and "RETIRED" mean that supply is drying up and I need to make my move now, to own my piece of purse history.

I don't know, I don't care. It looks like the perfect next purse for me, and at a starting bid of $4.95 plus $5 shipping, I think I'll enjoy the chase.

Now it's time to find some new red shades.