# Notice (Oct 19/05): So ends my stay here on Blogger. This morning Google implemented an anti-spam 'feature' that forces me to answer a challenge phrase when I want to post to my own blog. No notice of the change, nothing. Worse is that it doesn't even work! I type the phrase, submit, "An error occured", post deleted. Damn you, Google. Chances are I will revive my blog somewhere else, sometime soon. I'll post the new coordinates here as soon as they become available. (BTW, I'm unable to post anything to my RSS stream, so I'd appreciate it if readers could spread the word and ask people to take a look at this notice)

Update (Oct 19/05, ~noon): After a frustrating few hours (and not just trying out alternatives to Blogger), I've decided that this is a good time to take a break from all this. A day? A week? Who knows. But I need to step away from it before I pass a heavy magnet over the whole mess.

Update 2: According to this post, the reason I'm seeing the CAPTCHA (challenge phrase) is that Blogger has classified my blog as spam. Thanks. User for five years and now I'm spam. I searched the Blogger site, but there is no mention of how to get the spam flag turned off. There is also no way of contacting anyone at Blogger. Wow. Spam they say I am, so spam I must be. Maybe it is time to take a break.

Your name is finally called, along with the name of the 'Genius' who will be assisting you. You walk down the line at the Bar to Brian. Brian is a short, cross-eyed troglodyte, whose attempt at a hipster 'do, nose ring, and smug, self-assured demeanor do little to hide the fact that he's clearly thrilled to have access, for the first time in his life, to an unending supply of technologically retarded women he can simultaneously punish and save.

You set your iPod on the shiny counter. You've been waiting almost three hours. 'So, the wheel is, like, stuck,' you begin. 'It's been kind of slow since I got it.'

Brian smirks and holds up a hand for silence. 'Wait, wait, wait,' he says in the same tone your tutor used on you when you were twelve and you asked if dogs in France barked with an accent. 'What's your name?'

You're slightly taken aback and a little annoyed, but this guy holds the keys to a new iPod, one that hasn't been dropped multiple times and continuously pawed at during long subway rides. You tell him your name and smile tightly.

'Well, I'm Brian,' he says magnanimously. 'What can I do for you?'