It’s been an eventful week and I regret to say that even its last day has served me a nasty surprise. What’s with this block editor WordPress has been pushing on people?
Okay I had planned to start with something else but I need to vent about the block editor now. It took me ten seconds to find the “Read more” button because it’s not a button at all. I really, truly, madly deeply am too old for this shit. I do understand software companies cater to the needs of the majority of their users but do we really need all this? Do we? Honestly?
I will readily admit to being a sourpuss when it comes to software. I have readily admitted it half a dozen times here on this blog and I will continue to admit it just as readily twenty years from now. Change is good. It is good when something ends and something else begins, full of promise. It is good when people try to make other people’s lives easier. But change is not good when it is needless, when it aims to fix something that is not broken and when it is driven solely by an imaginary conviction that people want change every week. WordPress, I pay you for services and I’m not happy with these services right now.
Little C. and I saw it last Thursday, on the way to school. It looked a few months old and it was scared to be outside. We surmised it had been thrown out because there are monsters among us who would do that. Our problem was, we couldn’t take the cat home without telling Big C. The cat topic is a complex one in our family. He’s still mourning our last cat who died two years ago and we agreed to give him another year before we started talking about another cat. But here was this fluff ball, likely kicked out, breaking our hearts.
We got home. We talked. We shook hands on going to look for the cat the next day, after I dropped the kid at school (and did some work because Fridays are still work days). We took the cat carrier and off we went, Big C. and I, while Little C. was still at school. The cat, as anyone who’s ever had cats knows, wasn’t there. It had been there in the morning, the same place where we’d seen it the day before, on the concrete wall that surrounds a former royal residence and its park. It wasn’t there now, when we went prepared. So we went home.
Little C. was heartbroken, of course, so I told her we’ll go again, on Saturday morning. We’ll go early, I said, at the same time we normally pass by that spot. It has to be there at 7:30 am. Now, I speak about going to school as though it’s a block away but it isn’t. To get to the residence wall at 7:30, we had to leave at 7 and take a bus for about 10 stops.
Little C. was up at 6 and this tells you all you need to know about her desire to have a cat. When we got to the wall, the cat, you guessed it, wasn’t there. We waited. We called. It started to rain, which significantly diminished the chances of the cat appearing at all. We had to go home and we did. The rain soaked us up pretty well on our sad journey back to the bus stop.
The mission was unsuccessful. We never saw the cat again. It was quite sad because Big C., the anti-cat lobby in the house, even took the cat bowls from the garage, to have them ready for the new addition to the family. Little C. was sad because in a day she’d started thinking about the cat as her cat. The silver lining: we assumed somebody lacking an anti-cat lobby had taken it in. We wished it well. But now that the ice has been broken, I have reserved the right to grab the next sad furry reject and bring it in without consultations. And he knows it.
Some will wonder why we didn’t just take the cat and slap Big C. with the fait accompli. That’s not how we roll. We roll on the smooth wheels of mutual respect. If anyone asks me, and they don’t, I’d say there is a severe shortage of mutual respect in this world. We all insist that we are respected but are reluctant to respect others. It’s not that hard. Just treat others as you want to be treated yourself. You might end up with a cat, eventually, without any family drama.
I don’t often go to pharmacies, except for Vitamin C (prescribed by doctor because of weak blood vessel walls) and saline solution we use for nose rinses during cold and flu season. But Big C. for some reason brings home booklets he sees at pharmacies. It’s some sort of a hunting instinct because he doesn’t gorge on meds either. Last night, I leafed through one. And I was stunned.
Look, I know we’re over-reliant on drugs simply because there are so many of them and so many of them are available over the counter. Got the sniffles? Buy some Coldrex or, I don’t know, whatever’s the latest in fast symptom treatment. Me, I stick with chamomile tea, even though it’s the vilest thing I could ever imagine drinking*, because it’s cheaper, because that’s how my mother treated my colds before we had this massive choice of drugs, and because, in the end, it works. I’m not a herbal remedies devotee but I know what works, from experience.
That booklet I leafed through, then went back at the beginning and read through again, was full of supplements, half of them outright scams. There was a lutein supplement (and not a cheap one) “for better vision”. As someone who’s been treated with everything there is that claims to “treat” short-sightedness with zero effect for obvious reasons I wanted to get the person who had come up with this ad and the one who had approved it and gut them.
There were supplements for healthy joints (don’t know, might work) and a healthy prostate. There was something without a clearly stated purpose that contained not just probiotics but also prebiotics. Fascinating stuff. There were lice shampoos and hair loss shampoos. And then I saw the best of the crowd: an “innovative weight reduction product with — wait for it — 7D action.”
I know, I know, it’s just ad speak. But seriously, 7D? Have we degraded to such an extent that just the letter D stuck to a digit makes some product or another attractive or is it just ad writers who have degraded to such an extent? It would be nice if that was the case. By the way, the cheapest thing on the menu were valerian pills. There’s hope.
*Except coltsfoot. Coltsfoot tastes like the Devil’s piss. But it does wonders for chest infections.
One ring to confuse it all
She was panting as though she had really tried to push her way through a crowd. And she had remembered where she had seen the ring with the colourful stones.
This is how the last chapter I wrote in my thriller-in-progress ended. And this is how the next chapter begins:
WHAT THE HELL DOES THE BLOODY RING MEAN? HOW CAN IT SUGGEST THAT JESSICA IS BEHIND THE WHOLE PLOT?
Let’s overlook the oversupply of feminine personal pronouns in the last sentence of Chapter 9 for a moment (and the over- excess in this sentence). This ring I first saw during a cocktail scene and decided to turn into Chekhov’s gun on the wall has been bothering me since then. It is supposed to be a clue. But clues are only useful when the characters know how to interpret them and I’ll be damned if I know how to make them interpret the ring correctly.
As usual, the problem is with various characters’ motivation. The dreaded “Why would X do this?” has reared its head again and it’s an ugly head, believe me. Of course, it would be easiest to just kill the ring and move on in another direction but I want the ring to stay. I like the ring. I have big plans for the ring. The ring, in short, stays. And as I was writing this, pouring out my pain and frustration I had an idea that might work. See ya.
P.S. I got it! I beat the block editor. I cannot brag enough about it. All I needed was to go to Drafts and select the classic editor to continue with the post. That’s what I’m doing from now on because I see no button for a quick and easy witch to the classic editor. Why make it simple when you can make it harder, right?