Tag: Spaff

    The Rise and Fall of LiveJournal

    This is a post from my blog, which is (mostly) no longer available online. This page has been preserved because it was linked to from somewhere, or got regular search hits, and therefore may be useful to somebody.

    Once upon a time, accounts on blogging site LiveJournal were precious commodities indeed – the site gave out invites for its members to use, but there was no public sign-up page. I got my invite in the autumn of 2003 thanks to sasahara (Account active 2003-2009) from the IRC channel that I frequented at the time.

    LiveJournal was the ‘in’ place to be for angst-ridden students like myself, in the dim and distant pre-MySpace past. We were all there; it was our network before Facebook came along and crushed all other ways of swapping awful memes with your friends.

    If I recall correctly, on our first encounter, squirmelia (2001-2011) asked for my LJ handle before I was asked for my name. (Though seeing as that night was also my first encounter with eldritchreality_ (2004-2011)_ and charon47 (2001-2010), and my first trip to The Dungeon, that recollection may easily be in error.)

    As the place where we bared our hearts for the world to see, there were good and bad times aplenty, all pasted up on the internet – though in the case of the most intense drama, it was locked down for only certain groups of people to see. I recall having “Everyone except X” groups for all three of my University crushes, plus the girl I ended up with.

    The LiveJournals we created for characters in a roleplaying game, like my own Kotori (2004-2005) are still there. And aside from an in-character Remus Lupin blog (2003), eldritchreality and I are still the only LJ users to express an interest in combat magic. We spammed countless quizzes and memes together, organised dozens of parties over LJ; my friends and I.

    Good times. And yet, in a few short years, it has become nearly irrelevant.

    10% of those people I was friends with on LJ have properly closed their accounts; 90% of the rest stopped posting long ago. 20% of the groups I was a member of are closed, 100% of the rest are silent or beset by Russian spammers. 19 of my friends have their own blogs elsewhere. And I irritate everyone I’m sure by syndicating my own posts from my blog to LJ with the accompanying hook link to direct people back to my site.

    Scrolling back as far as I go in my LiveJournal friends list turns up a grand total of 10 people still using it, of which 8 post only unprotected entries which I could easily pull using an RSS feed.

    Which leads to the conclusion that LiveJournal is taking up its space on my toolbar and in my brain in order that I stay in touch with two people – both of whom I interact with more on Facebook than LiveJournal anyway.

    Sad as it is to see LiveJournal wither and die when once it was our companion through our angstiest years, I think it may soon be time to declare it over. Like all technology in our century, it ends not with a bang but with a whimper, simply rendered archaic and irrelevant by its successors.

    Like tears in rain, and all that.

    A Farewell to Marmablues

    This is a post from my blog, which is (mostly) no longer available online. This page has been preserved because it was linked to from somewhere, or got regular search hits, and therefore may be useful to somebody.

    May 1998, half a lifetime ago. It was my 13th birthday, and my parents – no doubt annoyed by four years of me messing with the family computer – bought me my own. It had a 333MHz processor, 32 glorious megabytes of RAM, and most exciting of all, a 56k dial-up modem.

    With Microsoft Word as my co-pilot and under the ever-watchful phone-bill-monitoring eyes of my parents, I discovered the delights of owning my own website. It had it all, oh yes. Giant background images, a different one for each page. Animated GIFs. Background MIDIs. Frames, <blink> and <marquee>. Web rings to click through, and Tripod’s banner ads inserted at the top of every page. It was called “The Mad Marmablue Web Portal”, and it was exactly as horrendous as you are imagining.

    A few years later, a chronic lack of smallprint-reading led me to buy it a ‘free’ domain name, only to receive a scary-looking invoice a month later. In the end my parents sent the domain reseller a letter explaining that I was a dumb-ass kid who shouldn’t be trusted on the internet, and that was that. But at the age of seventeen, in possession of a Switch debit card, I found a web host who would set me up with a domain and 100MB of space for £20 a year. “marmablue.co.uk” was born.

    Today, it died.

    I shouldn’t feel sentimental about jettisoning an old unused domain, particularly not one that harks back to the late-90s animated GIF horror of the Mad Marmablue Web Portal. But it was a part of my youth, the place where for the first time I could put something and anyone could see it. It was where I took my first steps with HTML – by ripping off other websites, naturally – and in time, it was where I first learned JavaScript, PHP and SQL too.

    I will miss it. But if I sit very still, and very quietly, I can still hear that horrible 8-bit MIDI rendition of the RoboCop theme tune. So maybe I won’t miss it all that much.

    RABIES, Six Years On

    This is a post from my blog, which is (mostly) no longer available online. This page has been preserved because it was linked to from somewhere, or got regular search hits, and therefore may be useful to somebody.

    Somehow, against all odds, a party we threw in June of 2005 to celebrate the graduation of Racheet and Andy turned into a regular yearly event. This, for spaffy self-indulgent reasons, is its history.

    RABIES 1
    RABIES, a horrible backronym of “Racheet and Andy’s Big Incredible Extravaganza of Summertime”, came at what was the end of my second year at University. Andy and I cooked what was to be a sit-down meal for 18 specially-invited guests, and would have been just that if we’d had enough chairs and tables to seat everybody. In practice most of us sat on the floor and served ourselves buffet-style from food on the two big tables we’d borrowed from the Games Society.

    There was suspicious vegetarian stuffing, an experimental recipe all of our own. There was Christmas pudding (what better time than June?), there were swordfights in the garden under the blazing sun, and there was performance of the worst lemon fanfic we could find on the internet.

    It marked the closing of a time in my life that was saturated with the company of so many friends – a time I knew would soon be gone, but RABIES was always about forgetting that for a day.

    It was, with the possible exception of the day I proposed to my girlfriend, the happiest day of my life.

    RABIES 2
    If the first RABIES marked the end of a year of friendship, the next marked the end of a year of drama. So much fell apart in the nine months that preceded it, yet by the end, by the time June and RABIES rolled around, much was fixed again.

    2006 was the graduation year for many of us, myself included. We spent days trying to figure out another suitably horrid backronym involving everyone’s initials, but in the end gave up and declared it “RABIES 2”. Racheet and Andy were both still in attendance, so it didn’t seem too much of a stretch!

    Out of necessity we relocated to a different house and the sit-down meal became a barbecue, a change that was to define all future events.

    RABIES 3
    RABIES 3 was a turning point for me. Having graduated and moved away, I was coming back to Southampton just for the party. And having not spent a great deal of time in my old University town that year, RABIES had moved on a generation. It had become adopted by the Games Society as a society event, attended now by freshers that everyone else knew, but I had never met.

    I had no imminent leaving to forget that year. But as a father-to-be with a brain full of all the stress that entails, I suppose it helped me forget about that for a day – pretend I was back at University again, with a child’s carefree existence away from what my life had become.

    RABIES 4
    As the now increasingly inaccurate RABIES 4 approached, a thread appeared on the Games Society forum asking what on earth “RABIES” stood for. It dawned on me then: they don’t know who Racheet and Andy are. Three years had passed. Those graduating that year could have spent three whole years of University life in the time since we’d said goodbye to those two.

    RABIES 4
    And when I arrived, people clustered around me, asking how I was, bemoaning how long it had been since we’d last met, asking how my job was, how my son was. I was old.

    New traditions were born here – the location moved once more, though the barbecues remained. It was here that the dubious tradition of “Shirtless O’Clock” was born, and where our fondness for fire staves and poi blossomed into fire-swords, fire-chucks and the fire-naginata. Truly, it was a new generation of drunken recklessness!

    RABIES 5
    The fifth RABIES continued in a similar vein, with alcohol and barbecue and fire aplenty. We also ventured deep into the hedge behind what was by then known as the House of A (and E), no longer the preserve of Gemma and Tallulah and the Chemistry students of the once-glorious Extreme Breakfasting Society. Beyond that hedge we found all kinds of bizarre things. We emerged bearing them, but we emerged changed people.

    RABIES 6
    And now, RABIES 6 has been and gone. Five years have passed since Andy, Mark and I first sketched up a guest list of the friends we’d like to invite to a sit-down meal in honour of their graduation.

    The attendance these days tops 40, and the hunt continues for ever larger back gardens in which to hold it. Nothing short of 20 pounds of mince and 40 sausages were bought for the barbecue, and outdoor tables groaned under the weight of drinks bottles piled high.

    And oddly, things have come full circle, for Andy is graduating again this year, albeit in a city far from us.

    I am the last of what we called the Soton Kiddies to still be in attendance at RABIES; the only person to have been to all six. I don’t organise, these days, and I am barely involved with the cooking.

    And I wonder, at times like these, how long RABIES will continue.

    Will I still be going when I’m 30, five years from now? Did we create a tradition that will last the test of time, still happening every year 10 or 20 years from now, when no-one remembers any of us, and RABIES has become an acronym for something else entirely?