A Rain of Frogs

I’ve been working on this massive new version of the community site I administer. It’s been a huge job, given my less than elite PHP coding skills, but it’s also been a hell of a learning experience.

I wish I were more motivated to get it done, seeing as it’s been months and months in progress now, but what can you do. It’ll get done when it’s right.

What I’ve been finding, as I work on this project and talk to the members of the site privately and publicly about what they want out of the site is that they are not sure what their needs are, and even if they are, it’s often up to me to decide what and how to do.

Which is fine, I guess. Except when the whining starts because I’ve done something they didn’t like, or did it in a way they don’t like. I guess I might be looking at it wrong, since it’s their site, not mine, and I should probably just give them what they want.

Problem is, I can’t just do that. I have definite ideas on some of the things I’m working on. I’ve looked around the net and seen the same user interface and usability errors made on community site after community site, seen the same basic design (albeit with “skins”, a term which apparently means “I changed the colors”) based on the same piece of software, with the same basic services offered.

I want our site to be different. Not the same as everyone else’s. I want everything to have a point, I want services which enhance the experience and usefulness of the site.

What I really want is to balance this desire to be different, to push the envelope, with the habits of our members. It’s a tough trick.

The new site’s a long way toward done. I know for a fact that we could well lose people because the features aren’t implemented in the way that everyone else is used to, and I know others will be upset with the way things are. Others will stay, and complain quietly. Maybe a genuine few will be able to adapt and might actually like the new ways.

I’ve asked, and most of them didn’t offer much in the way of creative thought. I’ve done the best with what’s done so far, and I’ll continue to do my best with the rest. I’ll stand by me design decisions, and if they prove wrong in use, I’ll examine them and make them work better.

It’ll be done soon, and then maybe I can start working on making the site a place to actually visit.

There is NOTHING in the world I hate more (except maybe brussel sprouts) than ironic misappropriation of cultural icons. Like Hillary Duff in a AC/DC shirt. An AC/DC t-shirt does not Hillary Duff a rocker make. Or something.

This has been a test of the emergency venting system. In the event of a real emergency, cyanide capsules would have dropped from the ceiling and a light would have guided you to the nearest emergency exit.

We now resume our regular exploration of my psyche.

Ever heard of genderhacking? Go on, google it. When a man pretends to be a woman, or more rarely a woman pretends to be a man online, it’s called genderhacking. What a great word.

I just read a really interesting article on the phenomenon. It goes through some of the associated psychology, specifically the reasons why a man would pretend to be a woman online, and interestingly, some techniques for flushing out genderhacked individuals.

The usual suspects arise in the article when looking into the reasons for genderhacking. Men “exploring their feminine sides,” attention-seeking, investigation of male-female relationships, opportunism in online game situations, latent homosexuality and transsexuality all come to play.

How boring.

I may not be a psychologist, and I don’t even play one on the ‘net, but I can tell you a thing or two about genderhacking.

I spent two and a half years as a female on an exceptionally busy and quite famous technology site. It started off innocently, as an off-the-cuff decision to assume a female role in hopes of more rapidly obtaining the information I was looking for. And it worked; my research was very rapidly concluded, within a matter of weeks.

The problem was that the female personality became just that, a personality. Not a persona I could slip on and off like a mask. It is tempting to say that it was addictive, being that other person, and maybe it was, but it was much more than just that. The female personality demanded attention, and attention she got.

Skeptics will choose this point to cry foul, that it was still me just pretending. The psychologists among you might be wondering about mental illness, schitzoid events. Maybe he just went mental, the lay people might say.

But no. The female personality was (and is, to me) real. It actually became easier to be her online than it was to be me. I invested her with much of my creative energy and talent, and as she grew and blossomed, as all personalities do, she demanded more and more energy of me.

It almost became frightening. It’s like this secondary personality was slowly crowding out my personality as she grew. She made friends online, became a central figure on the website, and actually became relatively well-known on related sites throughout the internet.

Meanwhile, I was getting more and more drained. I’ve only got one soul, or whatever you want to call it, and suddenly it was fueling two personalities, one of which was rapidly growing out of control. I slept less, I became lethargic, but she became more and more creative, more and more…real. My soul was wearing thin.

And then the crash came. Maybe I did it myself, maybe it just had to happen eventually. Whatever. Someone found out and challenged me privately. Told me to come out, or they would.

It was hard. I had to let her go. I had to come clean to all her friends. People she had got to know and who had got to know her. I had to tell them I had been lying to them for years, that she wasn’t real. It was hell.

I was miserable, but I did it. Better they hear it from me than from someone else. I told them. Most called me a freak, a pervert, a monstrosity, and I’ve never heard from them since. One even told me I was worse than a child molester, which I never understood, since the female personality had never been much more overtly sexual in nature than any other “real” woman online.

The female personality was exposed, and died a quick but excruciating death. With her went all the talent and creativity I had vested in her – or she had taken from me. My soul was a lot less thin, but my mind was a lot more empty.

I still miss her. She was like a best friend, and it felt like betrayal to kill her. Some of her friends have since become my friends, and some have even said they like me better than her. That’s cool. I know those people, and I value their friendships more than I can express.

I’m still upset about the others. I know I hurt them, and I accept their right to feel betrayed, but it still hurts me too. Every time she is brought up on that tech site, it starts off a flurry of questions, answers and accusations which dredge up the good times and the bad times I had with her.

“But she’s not real!” everyone exclaims.

She was, to me.

I’m feeling very introspective today, so if you’re not in the mood to walk down some of the twisty, marginally lit paths of my mind, feel free to skip down to the cartoon girls from yesterday’s rain.

I have always felt that I exist on the edge of greatness. Sure, most people are told by their parents from a young age that they are special, that they will be brilliant, famous scientists that cure the common cold or make space travel cheap, or find a better way to make lipstick, but that’s not what I am talking about. Most people grow out of that by the time they hit highschool.

I’ve always known that I am capable of amazing things. That sounds bloody egocentric, but it’s not intended to be. I know I am capable of greatness. There is nothing I cannot do for the first time and have a natural affinity for. Positively dripping with talent, I am constantly told. Disgusting, in fact, I’m told.

The thing is, I’ve never really felt inspired to do anything with all that alleged talent. Never inspired to explore music as a serious pursuit. Never driven to make something of my artistic abilities. Never really stimulated to make something of what I am told is a unique and fresh literary style, excepting the dabbling I’ve done as a reporter of Macintosh computer news and this blog.

Someone close to me, someone I consider very smart and observant, once noted that I am without a role-model. There is nobody in the past or present that I look up to, that I aspire to emulate. And it’s true. I’ve actually looked for a role-model in the past, in hopes that the act of emulation would somehow infuse me with a desire to achieve and accomplish. But I’ve never been able to find someone that I both admire and consider role-model material. That’s either a major condemnation of history from my point of view, or a some sort of deficiency in my mental process.

As I’ve noted before in these pages, I’ve slowly come to the realization that I have been idling for a significant (maybe as much as 75%) portion of my life. At the risk of again sounding egocentric, it’s like my mind is a very powerful engine governed by a complete lack of desire to do anything. To go about my daily life takes such an insignificant effort, and has for so long, that it’s almost as if I’ve forgotten how to put myself back in gear and just do things.

I’ve been told this is the dominant aspect of the classic Type B personality. And we live in a society where being an overdriven Type A personality is considered a fundamental requirement to success. As an aside, I’ve often felt that our society is seriously unbalanced and exhibiting a decided lack of foresight. Nonetheless, I feel that I should feel guilty about being unmotivated, about lacking the ambition to put all this potential into motion and stun the world.

I feel that way despite the fact that I also often feel that this whole thing is an exercise and really doesn’t mean anything. Does it really matter if I don’t collapse the waveform on this potential and turn it into something spectacular? One one hand, I don’t think it does, but on the other, I can’t help but think it’s what I am supposed to be doing.

More psychologically minded readers will raise the twin spectres of Depression and Dysthemia, and that’s a definite possibility. I do demonstrate several of the more noticeable symptoms of both, most obviously a lack of interest in things. I don’t suffer from the hopelessness or despair associated with depression, and while the jury is still out on dysthemia, I don’t believe I am so afflicted. This is not a call for armchair psychologists to offer analysis and therapy. Just a difficult observation.

When I think about it, I find I often feel that I am on the edge of great things, standing in the shadow just outside the empty circle cast by the spotlight of brilliance. Sometimes, when I am feeling metaphysical, I wonder if this is the “All Created Equal” clause coming into effect; 100 percent talent and 0 percent desire to do anything with it equals 100 percent just as sure as 50 percent and 50 percent or 25 percent and 75 percent do.

Interesting, to me at least, is that for the first time in my life, I am actively questioning this, and doing so with an open mind. Self-exploration can be difficult. It is hard to be honest with yourself sometimes, especially after years of sloth.

Following the fantastic success of yesterday’s rain, today’s has been cancelled.

Kidding.

Today’s rain is another question of great importance to the future of mankind and its role in the greater plan:

Who is the sexiest cartoon character?

Don’t say Jessica Rabbit (you can find pictures of her all by yourself). Seriously, take a look. Not that sexy. Intended to be sexy, but I was intended to be rich. Think about it.

There is Stripperella. Pam Anderson in ink. While there is a line of argument that will support the sexiness of Stripperella and Pam Anderson, they’re both a little skanky. In a yummy, salty sort of way, of course.

The girls from Totally Spies are hot, but the real queen of that particular genre is Diana Lombard from Martin Mystery. Same artists, I think. Same general appearance, anyway. Diana’s a whole lot cuter than the spy girls. Better hair.

There’s also the girls from Yu-Gi-Oh. Built like super-heroines, with legs up to their chins, waists small enough to put a single hand around and breasts so pendulous and gravity defying that its almost magical. It’s too bad they’re so gothic at the same time, since it detracts from the overall appeal.

Kim Possible, while more cartoony and less curvy than her counterparts mentioned above, deserves a nod as well. It’s not about her body though, its mostly about her ever-sexy mind. Mostly her mind, anyway.

Before anyone goes off half-cocked (or even fully cocked. Any cocked, really) about any sort of psychological issues associated with the sexuality of cartoon characters, keep in mind that these animated girls are intended to be sexy. Just like comic book girls.

For me, Jane, from Disney’s Tarzan movie is in the the top spot of my list. Entirely too much sensuality in a cartoon character, though I would be hard-pressed to explain exactly why. At least without requiring therapy.