Joining the Club
What has confounded me in blogging is that I can't figure how to get noticed. That's rather basic. I'm just stuck.
Now Google has gotten into my blogging business (however small). I love Google. Feel that they do smart things. Are a boon to the Web.
But I've spent a few hours just trying to sign in. I've been unknown. Someone else is me, so I can't sign in. I'm already known, so why am I trying to create an account?
These are some of the messages I received. And in the help section there is not one answer to my problem/question.
Obviously, after a few hours - and I just hate missing television - I somehow have logged on. Have no idea how or why.
This is all very embarrassing.
When I was 16, I worked at the same dairy as my father. I delivered milk to Jewish summer camps. The children came from Baltimore to Pennsylvania's Blue Ridge Mountains.
What was great about the job was two-fold: it got me in shape and it freed up my afternoons to sit at the Country Club pool and turn the darkest color of my life by roasting for hours every day. A day of rain rarely slowed me down. Lemon juice turned my hair surfer blond. I was quite a sight.
The Pool Club members were mostly actual members of the Country Club. You see, my parents did not belong, so I was really an outsider, permitted to join to help pay for the chlorine. The women and kids were all kind to me, but we all knew that I was not one of them.
Here we are again. Google is club that would welcome me, if I knew what I'm doing. (The metaphor is that I don't play golf.) So I have no idea how to get anyone to read a blog that I may write. Sometimes I really do have something to say. And say it rather well, I think. Well, I've been told.
I was invited by one of the owner's of a summer camp to serve up ice cream sundaes on one night. It was fun. The kids alternately devilish and adorable. This was an all girls camp.
The evening came to an end and one of the owner's, a Florida retiree type with teased red hair and an overly made-up, kind face approached me. She said they all wanted to thank you me for my entertaining presentation of the sundaes.
She said, "You may have a sundae."
It's not fun being on the outside looking in. Looking through the metal fence surrounding the pool. Being the Christian boy delivering milk for Jewish children. I just wasn't one of them. I felt, though, that in the city, they all may have felt like a minority, with all that it entails. They deserved six weeks in a spot that was theirs and where the milkman was an outsider.
Now I'm really standing on the outside of a chain fence looking inside at Google.
And I've tried to Google an answer to my problems to no avail.
Wouldn't it be a kick in the head, if ask.com has the answers?
But I won't swim in any other pool.
posted by lvuback1 @ 12:04 AM
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