"Got URL?"The Worry and Wonder Of Websites

If you have a website, you probably struggled through its birthing process from concept to reality. You can take comfort that you aren't alone. Your pain is felt by many, myself included, agonizing over such questions as: What design should I use? Should I use a template or should I go with code (.html, that is) and carve out my own layout? After all, there's something to be said about being the master of my own destiny even if it is with baling wire and bubble gum. Then again, maybe I should just hire it all out. How much could it cost anyway for the basics about who I am and what I'm peddling? And what's all this fuss I hear about content anyway?

These are just a few of the questions facing those pursuing an identity on the worldwide web. Consider for a moment what drove your website decisions about both the design and content? Did you hire a website designer to help chart your course in cyber space? Whether "designed" or home grown, to what extent was the cost a factor in your website decisions? Either way, are you satisfied with the outcome? And if you had it to do over again, would you follow the same path? What would you do differently? I'll start out. Feel free to chime in about your own experience.

Relatively soon after I got into the writing game (meaning at the point when my mom told everyone from her beautician to the pharmacist that I was writing poetry), I began to feel the push toward having a website. Actually, it was more like standing on the edge of Niagra Falls with a cheering crowd behind me yelling, "you don't need no stinking barrel!" Way back in those days (meaning about four years ago), I knew nothing about websites or how to design them; or, truthfully, what to put on them.

I began with a very basic (we're talking two tin cans and a string here) "website" offered by AOL using their "AOL hometown" template. My content was minimal--mostly a little background information about me (the poet, remember?) plus what I was working on currently and a list of two poems I had published so far. The AOL template offered four or five colors, a few "header" themes and about three text boxes to key free-form text into.

Needless to say, it was a modest website. But when I finished, I thought I had indeed arrived in the cyber world. The only problem, no one knew I was there which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing. But at least if someone asked me, I could beam with pride (OK and maybe a little smugness) and give them my URL. Hey, I was nothing if not pure coolness. I mean, I could totally imagine myself in a TV ad: "Got URL?" "Well, duh! Yeah, I got URL!"

Oh, and did I mention my URL was 43 characters long and included most of the letters in the English alphabet, three carefully placed Chinese characters, half the symbols across the top of the keyboard and six forward (not backward) slashes. Come to think of it, the URL actually looked a lot like the inside of those cartoon bubbles when the speaker is really, really mad.

And I'm sure it was for security reasons that whatever was keyed into the URL line could not be copied and pasted in the event of a keying error. That is, it had to be totally rekeyed from the beginning. Needless to say, I didn't have a lot of visitors to my website.

Yet, imagine my panic when about two years later, AOL announced via message that they would be eliminating their "website" feature in 30 days. Assuming ALL CAPS meant they were serious, I immediately followed their suggestion to save off my content, which I dutifully did in a Word file (with a hardcopy backup of course). Then, I sat site-less for nearly a month until I mentioned my dilemma to a cyber-savvy friend.

With great patience and forebearing (both biblical concepts), he showed me the basics of website design using .html code. I must say, after mastering my AOL URL, I actually found .html fairly easy. He also talked me through the drafting, editing, saving and uploading steps required to take my "design" from an idea sketched out on my local computer to an actual website on the worldwide web. And the rest, as they say, is history.

My website is still pretty basic but it is evolving, much as roads and highways evolved from horse trails and wagon paths. I figure I'm basically at the two-lane, gravel road stage, including the occasional one-lane bridge. I've heard there is something called "css" (cascading style sheets) out there. But I'm still a long way from taking my site from two-lanes to Interstate.

Feel free to check it out if you wish at http://www.billkirkwrites.com ---which is, by the way, a URL I can actually remember. Any and all critical comments and suggestions are appreciated.

The Smell Of Success In Dollars And Scents

It has been said any successful author must be deeply committed to the three "Ps": Promotion, Promotion, Promotion. Well, today I had an epiphany about the latest sure thing in the promotional game. Forget the press releases, book signings, school visits, social networking, virtual book tours and lawn signs. To clearly establish your identity and boost your bottom line, the path has suddenly become clear---get a fragrance.

Apparently, the word is out. After all, pretty much anyone who's anyone has one, from celebrity veterans to those barely more than kids. If you are a celebrity (or if there are those who think you are), a fragrance is almost de rigeur. And it matters not if you are a singer, actor, reality star, model, clothing manufacturer or even a sports figure.

It all started years ago when White Diamonds was announced by Liz as she stepped through a doorway, backlit in brilliant white. Since then Cher, Mariah, Hillary Duff, Britney Spears, Heidi Klume and even Tailor Swift have added at least one signature fragrance to their endorsements. The speed of the fragrance juggernaut boggles the mind.

As a case in point, a couple months ago, soon after the latest celebrity wedding, I was passed at high speed on the Interstate by two purple clad semi-tractor trailers apparently filled with fragrance bottles branded with the recent bride's name. I could hardly believe my eyes; well, except there was little room for my eyes to notice anything else on the road, what with the rapidly moving image of a 40-foot female form plastered on the side of the trucks.

Instinctively, my foot mashed down on the accelerator in a vain attempt to keep up---for safety's sake, of course. Quickly thinking ahead, in the event I got stopped for speeding, I had already worked out my defense. "Officer, it was defensive driving pure and simple, to keep from suffering image-induced whiplash as those eye-popping images sped past me." Sure, it's lame. But in a crisis, you gotta go with the hand that's dealt you.

Female celebrities aren't the only ones hawking perfume. Imagine my surprise when I recently learned that even Derek Jeter has a fragrance. But, come to think of it, most of his teammates have long been aware of the post-game locker room fragrance after pretty much any baseball game, especially games that go into extra innings. And believe it or not, this evening as I watched the latest celebrity news (although it pains me to do so), an ad for Justin Bieber's fragrance line broke into the programing with an urgency that rivaled a test of the National Emergency Warning System.

The take home message? To up your promotional game, add a fragrance to your branding tool kit. And no worries about accusations of vanity. A fragrance with your name on it is even better, especially if it's the French version of your name.

So, what does this all mean for us average folk? And by that I mean those of us without dollars and scents. You know, those who have been working in the trenches, including we authors who have made almost enough from our book sales to afford a starving writer's seven course meal: a "take and bake" pizza and a six pack.

Well, for one thing, we would help the economy by putting more fragrance makers to work. No doubt the manufacturers of blown glass collector bottles would be hiring thousands, not to mention the assemblers of all those little plastic screw tops with push-down misters. And just think of all the new fragrance domain names that the hundreds of newly hired domain name protectors would have to protect.

The smell of economic recovery is clearly in the air. Why, I can see the makings of my new promotional campaign coming sharply into focus: glitzy designer fragrance scratch-and-sniff cards tucked inside each one of my children's picture books, followed by late night guest appearances on The Fragrance Chanel. Then, to top it all off, a splashy ad on one of those multi-story digital-image screens in Time Square will announce GUILLAUME Pour Homme.

Yeah. That sounds a lot better than Eau de Bill....

A Self-Portrait In Rhyme

Hard to believe the last two months have flown by with virtually no writing. But my blog stands before me with my last entry on October 2. So, before November totally escapes, I'm offering this short rhyme as a self-portrait. It will also be the Rhyme of the Month on my website for December if you care to drop by in a couple days. Cheers and Blessings.

A Self-Portrait
By Bill Kirk

What you sees is what you gets;
A happy life with no regrets.
S'ppose there could be one or two-
But hardly more than just a few.

There was that time I smoked a pack
Of Camels in the barn out back
At grandpa's farm-and I turned green.
But since then, I've been strictly clean.

And who knew sake mixed with beer,
Would make my vision so unclear?
Going down, it tasted fine.
But later? More like turpentine.

Once I bought some swampland, too.
What a deal! I had no clue.
At last, we sold it ten years later-
Never found that alligator.

Rubbed some blisters; skinned some knees.
Got stung by some wasps and bees.
Gained some wrinkles, lost some hair;
Won a few bets here and there.

Found true love along the way-
Thank my lucky stars each day.
A life well-lived without a care.
And blessings? Yes, at least my share-

What you sees is what you gets;
A happy life with no regrets.
S'ppose there could be one or two-
But hardly more than just a few.

Fall Weather Collection

Every year about this time, the weather starts to go all wild and wacky in the Sacramento Valley. Last week the temps tickled the 100 degree mark; today we are struggling to make the low 70s and rain is on the near term horizon.

But Sacramento is not the only place where weather can be unsettled this time of year. Recalling the many other places I've lived, whether the southeast, north central, east, or southwest, changing weather patterns are on the weather menu all over the country. In North Dakota, they say if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes. And it's still hurricane season until the end of November.

Just for fun, here's a short collection of weather rhymes to kick things off for fall. Maybe one or more will ring familiar wherever you are. Enjoy.

"Fog"

When I look outside my window,
And fog is all around,
There’s nothing I can see at all,
From tree tops to the ground.

"Rain"

Drip. Drip. Patter, pit.
Little drops of rain that hit
My umbrella. Under it,
I’m a perfect fit.

"Wind" (Haiku)

I can hear the sound
Of a soulful wind outside,
Blowing in the trees.

"Snow"

Crystal flakes go swirling by,
Falling from a cloud-filled sky.
Will they leave us like a sigh,
Or drift in snow piles ten feet high?

"Hail"

What’s that on my window pane,
Tapping with a Rat-A-Tat?
Cold has quickly frozen rain
Hail is falling, just like that!

In Remembrance of 9/11

There has been much said in recent days about 9/11/2001 being a day anyone old enough will remember where they were and what they were doing---another JFK assassination moment. However, I must admit the details have been strangely fuzzy for me, to the point I have had to reconstruct the circumstances of the day. Certainly there is much I do recall. But some of the most obvious details have eluded me as I reflect on that day ten years ago.

For example, which day of the week was it? Where exactly was I when I heard the news? How did I first find out about it? What was my life context on that day? Why aren't such bits and pieces seared into my memory?

It was a Tuesday. I know this because I have one of those circular 40-year calendars to tell me the day of the week for any date from 1995-2034. A little over a month before, I had started a new job as a manager in a research and evaluation unit in the Department of Social Services. My new office---and I actually had an office---was in downtown Sacramento, CA in the northwest corner on the 12th floor in one of two buildings widely known by State workers as the "Twin Towers".

The day started like most other work days. I was up early as usual---I like the morning quiet. Then the phone rang. Who could be calling unless it was a family emergency? In fact, it was my wife's mom two hours ahead of us in the Central Time Zone. "Turn on the TV! There's been a horrible air plane accident in New York!"

Still I was not registering the urgency of the call. Plane crashes are usually for the evening news, aren't they? But this wasn't just a crash, mind you. The plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York. You've got to be kidding! I remember almost immediately calling my closest high school friends in Dallas to share my disbelief about what we were watching. Secretly I hoped they would tell me this was all just another "War of the Worlds" mass hysteria hoax. It wasn't.

My wife and I sat watching, awestruck and helpless, yet mezmerized by the unfolding events three time zones away. Can't we rewind the movie reel and intercept those planes? How could this have possibly happened? Realizing there was nothing we could do but watch, that's what we did, as both towers fell, the Pentagon was hit and Flight 93 crashed in Pennsylvania.

At that moment we could hardly imagine how we could possibly leave the growing spectacle on TV. But by 7:00 a.m. our interrupted morning routine was beckoning somewhat impatiently as a full hour had evaporated while we watched the continuing news feed. It was past time to wake our grandson up and take him to school---he had just started First Grade the week before, still full of excitement about being a first grader. And there was a full day of work for my wife and me. She was in the middle of a pre-doctoral internship at Yolo County Mental Health and I had a full day of meetings ahead of me.

After making my way through the usual snarled traffic, the office routine sputtered all morning. Everyone was clearly distracted by the weight of the news, although we were disconnected inside our office spaces from any media sources of information about what was happening on the ground. Every news snippet coming in via phone calls from outside spawned a new round of speculation and shock.

Meetings were cancelled---I know this because my planner has all my meetings crossed out---and all but the most critical business was suddenly on the back burner or off the stove all together. A decision about about a multi-million dollar research contract got lumped together with the report about a broken copier. All was eclipsed by questions about how we would know our children would be safe if disaster struck our building. And all those seemingly mindless practice evacuation drills? They now took on new importance.

Then we wondered if there might not be something---anything---we could do individually or collectively to help. It was as if someone had stuck a stick in a giant ant hill and the entire nation was trying to sort out what to do next. Of course, there was nothing we could do for those so far away except to tighten things up our in own house, to hold those close to us dear, to reach out to distant family and friends and to share, even if only virtually, this common national tragedy.

In the years since the events of that day, we have remembered what it is we were doing and how we felt as individuals and as a nation. Now, ten years later, it is good and right that we once again take time to reflect or to do some particular thing to acknowledge our differences and celebrate the strength of our commonalities.



So, today, my Boy Scout Troop will retire several American flags whose service is done. In this small way, we will share the sacrifices made on our behalf, symbolized by the flags we fly. We do it to establish a clear bond between those who have no recollections of September 11, 2001 and those who saw it and felt it.

Always remember. Never forget.