Illuminations

Welcome to LiveJournal, the hosting site you are now visiting, and what for me has been little more than a bookmark to click on when I’m feeling all writey and such. But lately, apart from my usual bouts of financial panic and general self-pity, I haven’t felt very writey. I’ve been uninspired. So for the first time in approximately ever I hit the ‘Explore LJ’ tab on my homepage here. There, in the ‘Today’s Highlights’ window, was found an assortment of journals ranging from exceptionally low quality to special-class-spastic.

And they were the highlights.

Suddenly I worried that I might be, if inadvertently, That Guy who’s a little too old to be hanging so close the schoolyard without drawing the attention of the crossing guard.

Lordy. Is LiveJournal the MySpace of blog sites? And if so, why am I always the last to know the Hot v. Not of interweb neighborhoods? Who are these people whose concept of a journal or a blog or a whatever consists of posting intentionally blurry photos captioned with non sequiturs pecked out in TXT language and peppered with links that, once chased, invariably arrive at celebrity gossip sites skinned in neon pink? 

Earlier that day I had followed another link, one sent by a friend, to a site called DailyKoos, appearing to be also a ‘journal’ or, as they seem to prefer, ‘diary’ site and just about everywhere I clicked there was someone funny jabbering about something unusual; little to no drivel (or Hello Kitty graphics) in sight. Then again I didn't look very close and the place may be powered by professional writers.  But here? One could find more art and insight in a Jr. High scrapbook and less drool in a stroke ward.

Here, I came across one feature that was at least entertaining even as it hardened my suspicion that Illuminations might be looking for a new home soon: the 'Random Journal' button. Once clicked, this magic switch will flick you to someone’s journal, somewhere on this site, and where she stops nobody knows. But most often she stopped in Russia. Da. Rossiyskaya Federatsiya. Or Российская Федерация, if you prefer.

The strangeness of all the Cyrillic on offer was just setting in when, thanks again to the Random Journal button, I found an entry in English. Well, sort of. But it was understandable enough to impart some interesting information by way of a link to a story with a lead stating: “LiveJournal, the San Francisco-based arm of Sup, a Russian Internet startup, has cut 20 of 28 U.S. employees — and offered them no severance, we're told.”

The whole, sorted tale is here.  But unless you’re a fellow plugger on these same pages, it’s doubtful you care. Bottom line is I’m on a Russian hosting site. Who knew? You may have. As I said I trend behind the curve on web savvy and the Who’s-buying-Who in tech news one needs to follow to have any.

And unlike the majority of English-speaking contributors here, my Ruskie comrades may be quite talented, but as my foreign language skills are limited to asking for a beer in Spanish, French, Czech, Dutch and German there’s no way for me to know. (For a while, I could also ask for a beer in Chinese and insist on air conditioning in French, but that knowledge was purely tactical in nature and has since been flushed due to non-use).

Speaking of flushed, this getting to know my own web address occasioned in me some awareness of the tenuous nature of keeping one’s thoughts, photographs, even critical business and personal contact information in “the cloud.” It all feels so real, but it wouldn’t take much more than one major server crash for said cloud to earn its name.

Poof.

Then again, as we use sites such as this one for free*; other hosts such as FaceBook and Flickr and so on for free; provide content for free and access that content for free, it’s important to remember that we may ultimately get what we pay for.

Drift even the laziest glance to the right side of this very page and you’ll see how little advertising LJ has been able to attract lately. It wasn’t too long ago that you would have seen six or eight banner ads in that same space, most from major national advertisers. There’s no way for me to know what’s blinking over there at the moment you’re reading this, but I’m willing to bet it’s a blurt, maybe two, for LJ itself (the same way that TV and radio uses unsold ad space for self promotion) or for some nominal web store specializing in doggy treats or T-shirts.

So 'sup, Sup? If you’re so stressed you fired most of LJ’s US staff—with no severance and probably as much notice—will you simply pull the plug on all your contributors with equal nonchalance?

I seriously doubt anyone’s still reading this. Starting with an absence of writerly inspiration and ending up with a novella wasn’t the plan. In fact given the scarcity of unicorns, hearts and pinkness in this journal I sometimes wonder if anyone reads it at all (with the exception of The Daisy, of course. But my girlfriend reading my posts is sort of like my mom telling me how handsome I am; a compulsory kindness of dubious objectivity).

Here’s the punch line: if anyone out there knows how this material can be backed-up or perhaps even better, moved, please give me a shout.

It’s not like I’m under any illusion that my erratic key thumping is worthy of preservation for the wider world. I am very aware that I’m no Samuel Langhorne Clemens or even an Abigail Van Buren (thank god), but after so many years before its mast this journal has, for me at least, garnered some value of the emotional variety. And I’d like to believe that, someday, it will at least be there for those who might on occasion miss me.

There, whether they read it or not.


By the way, if there are any still-employed LJ moderators sniffing about, how do I order a beer in Russian?


Thanks, and udachi!