All right, I'm fed up.

I know I have a lot of readers who don't comment. I also know I have a lot of readers who aren't lj-users. Many of them email me frequently. Some will occasionally contact me out of the blue and mention that they've been reading for years. It's a bit surprising, but not really: it's a public website and I've learned over the years that people like the way I write. Unfortunately this doesn't mean they like me, but I can live with that.

There are frequently phases when anonymous commenting becomes more prevalent. I don't know-- I'll come up top for a weird search phrase and acquire several odd readers, or the like, and in the ensuing months they'll all decide to fix my life's problems by leaving cryptic, poorly-punctuated comments, often containing hostile and poorly-considered advice. This happens a lot. I don't ban anon posting because there are a number of good anon commenters and I'd hate to lose them.

But I'm sick of doing IP lookups to figure out whether this anon person is the same as that one. Sick of it. I like to know who I'm talking to-- I don't require much, often just a letter, but I need something. It's only polite. It doesn't have to be a real name.

So I have a new anonymous comment posting policy. It's been in place for a while, but I thought to be fair I had better make it official, and now I have an enforcement bit of it. I've always asked people to leave a name; now I'm simply not putting up with people not doing so anymore. I see no reason to keep frustrating myself by trying to reason with people who aren't interested in reason. So I won't.

ANON POSTING POLICY:
Anonymous commenters MUST SIGN A NAME. It doesn't have to be their name. It does have to be the same name every time. IF YOU DO NOT SIGN A NAME (or initial or identifying symbol or whatever you feel is cool), YOUR COMMENT WILL BE DELETED UNREAD. Yes, I am going to be mental enough to look first for the signature. If it is not signed, I WILL NOT READ IT.
I am sick of people leaving comments and me having to do IP lookups to figure out whether it's the same person I was talking to before. Cut it out: It's annoying, and this is MY journal. Things that annoy me don't fly.

If you are too chicken to have a conversation, that is, letting me know if you've talked to me before, then you're not worth my time. Sorry. This is my journal after all.

house of itching

I have these bug bites all over one breast and on my side where the bra band goes. Big, ugly, red bites the size of pencil erasers, extremely itchy.
Z, meanwhile, has developed a superficial allergic reaction, most likely to some new soap he bought. He's got tiny bumps on his skin, like a prickly heat rash, and last night was driven so crazy by them that he put a pair of socks on, pulled up as far as they'd go, then put a second pair on his hands and pulled them up all the way (so he couldn't scratch), and then, he tells me, found yet a third pair of socks with the toes blown out (I do laundry, but I don't darn socks) and pulled them up over his knees.
So we're both Solarcained and calamined to within an inch of our sanity, but of course, to no avail: itchy stuff itches no matter what and all you can do to stop it is stop thinking about it, but of course, it's impossible to ignore it. Urgh. I actually have quite a severe bruise on my left breast where I snuck into a corner at work and itched myself so violently I pinched the flesh. The pain was a welcome distraction, but now it's just made the whole scene that much uglier, what with the red bumps and the black and blue. ...
Not to mention that spider bite on my bicep is still visible as a large faded brown bruise. It's weird and ugly. But at least it doesn't itch.

That's really all I have to say about that. I was going to say intelligent things about money math Z did yesterday, and various ruminations upon similar situations, and something excited about the upcoming weekend, but I don't really have any attention span to devote to it. I'm just going to sit here and concentrate on not scratching itches, for the moment.

i ain't hit the brakes since i bought this car

on car ride home was listening to Marah's Kids In Philly. You know, I should go out and really actually truly buy that album. Tho' I'm not really sure where to get it. Good stuff.
my heart is a saxophone solo
from a third-story window
just before dawn

I got my ass kicked again today. Jesus. Slightly better-paid this time, though.

Short sample conversation, taken while I leaned breathlessly on the back of a chair as I took an order.
customer: Sure is busy in here.
me: yeah, place isn't big enough for all the takeout customers who want to sit down.
customer: [places order]
me: there's probably a 45-minute wait on food at the moment-- the kitchen's really backed up. is that ok?
customer: pff, we're not going anywhere for a while. Just bring us more beer.
me: i take it you're delayed? where you folks trying to get to anyhow?
customer: we were supposed to land in Newark and they diverted us to-- hey, where are we anyway?
me: are you serious? [all grim nods around the table] Crikey. You're in Buffalo.
customer: Buffalo where?
me: Buffalo NY.
customer: Ohhhh, right, that Buffalo. Hey, we should get some wings. Do you have wings?
me: Ten in an order. Hot, medium, or mild?
customer: Hey, make 'em hot. You only live once. Never been to Buffalo before.
me: The hot ones are good. I guess you should enjoy it while you can.


The incredible thing, by the way, is how many people truly honestly do not know why they're called Buffalo wings. And these are usually people who are here on purpose.
"Hey, you just call them wings here. Why is that?"
"Um, because we invented them."
"No way! Really?"
"Um, yes. Why did you think they were called Buffalo wings?"
"..."
"They're made from chickens, in case you were wondering."
"Um... I knew that."
"They were invented down at the Anchor Bar on Main St., about 30 years ago."
"Really?"
"Well? Why did you think they were called Buffalo wings? They're made from chickens."