Apr 30, 2008
Photo: Facelift powered by Snotty.
Two hours later, and I'm still sitting at my computer; I feel like my eyes are peeling and my brain is melting. No, I'm not doing crystal meth (again? you ask)--I'm trying to fix The Vomitorium. Getting content on the blog was my first priority; now that I'm 60 posts in, I'm starting to work on the brand. It's easy to pick the first template that comes your way; I chose Minima, which is Blogger's default template, because I knew I'd be changing it later, so it didn't matter what it looked like in the beginning. Now, with peeling eyes and a melting brain, I finally care.
It seems fun, designing your own blog, or creating a page that represents who you are. And in theory, it is fun. Choosing your favorite colors are fun, and finding a font you love can be fun (except for a nerd like me, because I find most fonts to be monotonous and disappointing). Designing a blog includes those things, but it's not "fun" for someone like me. I just want to take a photo of what I want (which is in my mind only), and then throw it at my computer monitor, where it will miraculously turn into my new and improved web page; that isn't how it's done, though. There's a lot of back and forth between different tutorials, note taking, constant music changing (I need FOCUS music, the kind that makes me *focus* and not dance around my kitchen--so don't listen to Gotan Project, Hot Chip, or Massive Attack while doing this, because they will assist you in nothing but failure), refreshing my HTML skillz (an all-day process, I assure you), reading through a thousand lines of code looking for just one thing, saving-saving-saving-losing data, image searching, frustrated shrieking, hunger pangs, and giving up. Since it will take me at least two more hours before I give up (and beg the Esq for assistance), I figured I would take a break and detail how incredibly frustrating this is for someone who never uses the math-science-logic side of their brain, which is left, or right, or whatever.
This page had better look crazy awesome by the end of all this. Or, I might end up in a bathtub filled with my own weary blood, one never knows. That's a nice thought. Being in the bathtub, I mean--minus the fatal, self-inflicted wounds.