The Host[ess] With the Mostess

After a four-hour saga involving more internet jargon than I ever cared to translate, mild to moderate profanity, one million “what do I do now” Google searches, three live chats with Bluehost techies, five Bluehost FAQ video viewings, one phone call to Bluehost, one unwanted run-in with an architectural firm, one irresponsible Tweet, and three pieces of homemade pizza, I have created a new blog hosted via Bluehost.

Not only that, but I have also installed WordPress so that I might continue to use it (but on an independent URL), and have transferred all of the existing Eight Days a Week posts over to the new blog.

Whew.  As I mentioned in the irresponsible Tweet: I think I need a hug.

(So far only Ruby has offered.  I showered today and everything.)

I would love to be able to share my newfound blog hosting wisdom with you fine people, but unfortunately, even now (a half hour after completion) I don’t think I could walk someone through what I did.

What I can tell you is that blog hosting was more difficult than I thought it would be. The pros claim hosting can be done in 20 minutes.  Ha.

Another thing I can tell you is that when I was in the thick of things–and by thick I mean nearly in tears because I didn’t understand what an FTP Account wasBluehost really, really came through for me.  Their website contains dozens of step-by-step how-to videos and a live chat service which allows you to receive instant answers from knowledgable representatives. It’s obviously too soon to speak to Bluehost’s long-term reliability, but I would definitely recommend them as a host based on their solid tech support.**

They even responded to my despairing Tweet with genuine concern.

Here are three additional links I found helpful, especially during my preliminary research:

http://www.fannetasticfood.com/how-to-start-a-blog/

http://www.paulryburn.com/blog/how-to-start-your-own-blog-part-2-decide-where-to-host-your-blog/

http://www.theblogbuilders.com/blog-setup-video-tutorial/

As for the new blog: It will be a week or so before I make the official transition over.  It’s in need of some scrubbing up and tricking out before I show it to the world.

**Note that I am not being paid by Bluehost to promote their services.  Nor do they know about this post.  I am simply happy with their services and wish to share the joy.

Between Books

I apologize for the quiet week posting-wise.  I blame it on being between books; I began one, discarded it, began another, discarded it.  I knew I wanted to read something, but couldn’t figure out what.  I spent a great deal of time staring at my bookshelves, and the rest of the time watching mindless YouTube videos and scrolling through Pinterest.  I was generally listless and uninspired and only wanted lukewarm broth with noodles when lunchtime rolled around.  You know the feeling.

Last night I finally settled on one: The White Forest, by Adam McOmber.  It’s ethereal and mysterious and Victorian (three of my favorite qualities in a novel) and it’s just exactly what I’ve been craving.

Today, thank goodness, my productivity levels are up again.  I woke up at a respectable 10:00, put on some flannel, cleaned my room while listening to This American Life, and went out into the 53-degree world with blissful purpose.  I mailed a care package to Amy, who is homesick over there in cheesehead land.  Mom and I visited Ojiketa Regional Park to check out Art Blitz.  Then we went to Sunrise River Farm for apples and apple bread and apple butter.  And I tried to scratch a donkey’s nose.  He tossed his head away, disgruntled that I hadn’t brought a food offering for him.  I guess I see his point.

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Magazine Reading

I’m a genuine licked-thumbs, gum-snapping, eye-rolling, foot-jiving magazine skimmer.  I read books to savor them.  I read magazines when I’m too tired for that kind of concentration: I read magazines for the blurbs.  The “Oprah’s Favorite Things” section of O Magazine?  The little “Did You Know” tidbit boxes gracing the margins of InStyle?  They’re my weekend Shakespearean sonnets.

That being said, when I actually sit down and read through an entire magazine article, it has to be exceptionally interesting.

I read this article last night in Runner’s World, having tried to skim past it first, and then having been pulled in regardless:

http://www.runnersworld.com/runners-stories/bret-dunlap-discovered-running-and-it-changed-his-life

Photo credit: Holly Andres

Photo credit: Holly Andres

Even if you, like me, hardly pretend to be a real runner, I think you’ll still find it poignant and inspiring.

Happy weekend!

Rite of Passage: Subaru Edition

Yesterday, I believe I utterly cemented myself as a liberal.  And perhaps more importantly, as an adult.

I bought my first car.  A dark red (I refuse to say ‘maroon’) Subaru Outback.

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What was adult wasn’t necessarily the writing of the check, the shaking of hands, etc.  It was the haggling.  Mom and Dad informed me on the way to the lot that haggling was normal when negotiating used car purchases.  My throat felt dry all of a sudden.  As much as I appreciate a good argument, mine have been restricted to classrooms as of late.  Don’t get me started on Virginia Woolf, but when it comes to the value of automobiles, I hardly know what to say.

Of course, the very first place we looked had a Subaru.  Of course, it was far out of my budget.  And of course, when I suggested a lower price, the manager came out of his office and tried to bully me about it.  Maybe he could tell that I’m young and inexperienced and decided I would be easy to intimidate, but the more he rattled on about how he has to make a profit (how dare I mess with that!) and how much mechanical work he’d put into the car and how–good Lord–could I think of turning down the three-month warranty, the angrier I became.

And when he handed the list of work done to the car to Dad and not to me–“I’m sure he knows more about this than you”–I had had enough.

I told him we would keep looking.

At the next lot, we spotted an Outback right away.  It was a little older than the last, but the price was right.  I test drove it twice, heard lengthy descriptions from the salesman, and read over its history.  And then I signed the papers and agreed to come back with a check.

I’ve got my Monroe Crossing “I’m a Bluegrass Fan” sticker all ready to apply to the bumper.

Doings

Not one to fail to wring every last drop of ‘weekend’ out of the weekend, I have done the following in the past two days:

1. Hosted a game show (see previous post)

2. Watched Mad Men with my gentleman caller (we’re on Season Two now, and although still enthralled, we both continue to be disgusted with a) the amount of smoking everyone does, b) the sexism, c) the infidelity, and d) the terrible parenting exhibited in almost every episode by Don and Betty Draper.  Was an entire generation like this?  I certainly hope not).

3. Made the most delicious chili in the universe with the g.c.  It was an easy enough recipe, but we had to take a twenty-minute break in the middle of cooking because I feared I was going to perish from the combination of eyes burning from onion and throat burning from jalapenos.  I think at one point I was sitting on the linoleum with my eyes pressed against my arms, seeking reprieve from the fumes wafting above.

4. Watched my third favorite movie of all time (You’ve Got Mail) with the commentary turned on because I know every line anyway, and because I was missing Nora Ephron and wanted to hear her insights.

5. Did two loads of laundry.

6. Cleaned the kitchen.

7. Painted my fingernails.

8. Practiced with my intramural volleyball team.  Scraped up my knees diving for the ball without kneepads.  Also fell on my butt a few times, an anecdote I’m including just in case you were beginning to think that I’m some kind of intense, Misty May-esque player.

9. Am just now settling in to do some studying.  No class tomorrow, so this isn’t a complete act of procrastination on my part.

Going to heat up some leftover chili.  Enjoy these last few blessed hours of weekend!

 

Johnny Cash Trumps Grumpiness

Typical of Bag End, I can only guess at what’s going on downstairs.  I was reading for 1950s History, poring over Nightmare in Red as if watching a Soap Opera (I am convinced that the Red Scare and The Days of Our Lives are equally ridiculous), when the music began.

It took me a while to recognize the song, but eventually, through the foot-stomping and clapping, I picked up the notes of “Folsom Prison Blues,” played amateurly on someone’s acoustic guitar.  Yes, friends, there is a party downstairs.  There is homemade curry.  There is folk music.

Somehow, even though I’ll have a mountain of reading to do tomorrow, even though they’re not exactly my friends, even though they’re positively drunk, I cannot bring myself to go tell them to keep it down.  Not when they’re singing Johnny Cash.

They’re singing 4 Non Blondes now.  I’m officially going down there to join.  Talk to you tomorrow.