70s-child: Dear Blogger:

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Dear Blogger:

This is just a little note to tell you my opinion of your new interface that you're forcing upon us all. I've seen your new interface, and quite frankly I don't like your new interface. Your old interface was simple, easy to use. Your new interface is awkward, and hard to navigate. There's nothing I like about the new interface, and from what I've heard nobody else likes it either. I don't like the font colors we are forced to choose from: no longer will I have my awesome avocado green colored font. I was not able to find how to save the html of my site's template. Also, to view the new interface, I have to log into Blogger through Google chrome. It doesn't show up on my AOL dial-up. I resent that. I implore you to let us all keep the old interface if we choose. This is America. We're supposed to have freedom of choice. You're taking that away, and for that I will always be resentful. I may no longer love you as much as I did in the old days, when you were nice and easy to work with. You may even lose me one day. Please re-consider this awful new interface that you're making us adopt, or even better just get rid of it. And maybe even demote the web designer that designed it and give him a desk job instead, or maybe give them a job in the mail room. Don't do it just for me, do it for all of us.

Thank you,

Joe

Don't expect much out of me for a quarter:

As a kid, I never got an allowance. That's something my folks weren't into. They were very generous with me, I never lacked anything, and usually when I asked for something they'd get it for me, but an allowance just wasn't going to happen. In '76, just before my folks split up, dad decided to give me a "job". It was sometime in January and the weather was pretty brutal, so he told me he'd pay me a quarter if I'd open the garage door for him when he got home so he wouldn't have to get out of the car and open it himself. We lived in a split level house (a raised-ranch), and the garage was in the lower level. The very first night, I was watching TV and I heard him pull in and stop at the garage door. I didn't want to leave my show, and it was pretty cold down there in the garage, and I was rather warm and cozy and comfortable sitting in front of the tv, so I basically ignored him. He honked. He honked again. And again. And again. Finally I heard him open the car door, open the garage himself, pull into the garage and slam the door shut. The way he slammed the door, I could tell he was angry and that I was in trouble. He came upstairs and just looked at me. Let's just say I lost my job that night, which didn't really bother me. A QUARTER??? I didn't get out of BED for that kind of money...