Merit

Educators hate the word “merit.” It messes with their messianic belief in their omnipotence.

Nostalgia

As I’m going over the old RSS feed (or a blogroll, as it’s more commonly called), I’m remembering the times where all these 1,300+ blogs were alive. 90% died since then. Many of them were bullied out of existence. Many more were eaten by Facebook (which is pretty much the same thing. There is no controversy inside an echo chamber.)

RSS

OK, so I’m over the death of stupid Feedly. I have uploaded a new app created by some Russian fellow (they’ve got to know how to write code, at least, right?).

I’m using this as an opportunity to dump all of the feeds I’m tired of (all 1,348 of them. No, really. That’s the actual number) and only add the ones I like. I’m currently left with Mike, Z, Prosedoctor, Cliff, Kenan Malik, Ars Technica, and American Conservative. But I just started 3 minutes ago.

P.S. And https://xykademiqz.com !!

#Feedly Update Is Horrible

I have no idea why every single good thing that exists online is destroyed beyond recognition within a couple of years. It’s a mystery that I haven’t been able to solve.

For several years, I’ve used Feedly as my news aggregator. And everything was fine. Then yesterday, they updated the app, and it’s horrible. It lost all functionality. You can’t access links without visiting each individual website. Everything jumps around ridiculously. The fonts stink. Everything you want to do takes five steps where it used to take one. And the worst part: there is no search function. That’s it, it’s gone.

This is unbelievable crap. I use this app a dozen times a day. And now it’s unusable. I hate this.

Fuck you, #feedly. I’m putting a hashtag in hopes that the company’s PR department notices this on Twitter.

Marital Conversations

The reason why I have no compassion for the lady whose husband tells her about his day is probably that I have to employ the methods of the Spanish Inquisition to make my husband tell me about his.

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?” I once asked seeing him wince.

“It’s been hurting a bit.”

“When did it start?”

“Well, it’s mostly since the accident.”

“Which accident??”

“It was icy on the road on Monday, so I lost control of the car and went over the railing.”

“OMG!”

“Oh, it’s ok, the damage to the car is minimal.”

“Forget the car! Are you hurt?”

“My shoulder hurts a little.”

“You need to see a doctor!”

“I have. She says I’ve got a dislocated shoulder and need physical therapy.”

“You need physical therapy!”

“I’ve already been twice.”

“Why didn’t you tell me???”

“I didn’t think it was very interesting.”

“Wait, was that the same Monday when you spent two hours telling me in great detail what Vovan Japan [a Russian YouTube personality] said in his last 56 videos?”

“Yes, but Vovan Japan is interesting. He lived in Japan.”

“He didn’t live there with me, did he?”

This was two years ago, by the way, so he’s fine. I’m just giving an example of what I go through to drag information out of my husband.

The Book I Hate

Are there books that you, folks, absolutely detest? I don’t mean anything political or ideological. Obviously, we all detest Mein Kampf or The Art of the Deal (no moral equivalence implied.) But here I mean regular books you hate without any reference to politics.

For instance, I have carried all through my life an unabiding, passionate hatred for Antoine St. ExupĂ©ry’s Little Prince. And it’s not only because I’ve heard and read online literally dozens of victims of all kinds of egregious domestic abuse justify staying with the abusers by proudly quoting this (evil, disgusting, crappy, I hate it!!!) little book. The whole pathetic, whiny tone so beloved by manipulators of all sorts gets on my nerves.

NYTimes: Terms and Conditions for Telling Me About Your Day

I don’t know if it’s supposed to be funny but to me it’s kind of scary. The worst part is that people think it’s OK to present this infantile, pouty persona to the world because everybody is supposed to find it super cute.

I can very much imagine an 8-year-old girl writing such a memorandum to her Daddy. But an adult woman and her husband. . . that’s icky.