By now my brain had switched gears and I was ready to do a humor site. Humor wasn't new to me. I had done my own cartoon strip for my high school paper. In college, I had had a high old time with humorous graphics and illustration, along with my true love, fine art. Not to mention, I'd done my fair share of gluing shoes to the floor, smearing Vaseline on doorknobs, hoisting underwear up the flagpole, and carrying of the roommate's bed out to put on top of the breezeway. Of painting the breaker-box covers with naughty little cartoons in the middle of the night. (It was artfully done.) Of putting Easter-bunny ears and a basket of eggs on the statue of John Wesley. (The dean of students just smiled ~ he was an old friend by then). It hit the morning papers. We had no idea someone had called them. The reporter was highly amused. The college president, much less so. I don't think he ever did get over it. Later he crankily accused us, the art students, of stealing a statue of a little boy with a thorn in his foot. We didn't. Or at least I didn't. That's real vandalism and theft. I don't go in for that. You know, that college president and our dean of students retired the year I graduated. I don't know why.
Bugbones, a fun site. Our new theme.
Oh, the perils of bugbones...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I wanted elegantly themed pages of subtle colors and artistic backgrounds and loads of images. But I accepted Webmonkey's advice and designed my Bugbones page to conform to something less than state-of-the-art technology. Users were running obsolete dinosaurs, said Webmonkey. That meant Windows95 and 8-inch monitors and 19kb dial-up modems. If broadband was around, nobody I knew had it. In fact, it was all I could do to understand the definitions of these terms when I ran into them. What's DSL? What's broadband? I tore up my keyboard up trying to get an answer to these questions. I knew what a modem was: the thing inside my PC that made a horrid screechy sound when I clicked the Internet icon. A modem sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard, and if I was lucky, I got a growl and hiss that told me the hookup was complete. It's not a friendly sounding thing. Perhaps we should have taken that growl as an omen that the Internet did not want us. But we ignored the screech and growl and waited the slow, slow wait for our browsers to load. As for my page design... I had no trouble, beyond mere thoughts of rebellion, to restricting my layout to stay within the limitations of dial-up modems and 8-inch screens. That's what I was running. It was all I knew.
The perils of Bugbones.
The perils of Bugbones.