It ain’t easy bein’ gone.

Yes, PRS was offline for almost a week.  To be a bit more specific, the site down, as in, The White-Screens-No-One-Reads Down.  That stinks, but at least everyone knows there is something wrong.  (I’d like to thank the Legion of Peeps three of four folks who write to ask me what’s up.)  Shortly after the site went down, I put on my Sorry-Ass – Techno-doofus-begging hat and wrote to Craig asking if he had any idea what was going on.

Given that nothing was awry with his site, he initially figured that it was probably just another day over at the madcap Laughing Academy hosting company.  After the problem persisted for a bit longer, Craig sent me a short e-mail suggesting that I go over to the Domain Guys and change the names of the servers from one mix of letters, dots and numbers to another mix of letters, dots and numbers.

Wanting to feel my techno oats, armed with my new mix of letters, dots and numbers, I dug out my customer number and password to the Domain Guys site.  When I arrived there, I spent a late-night hour searching around for someplace where I could insert my new mixes of letters, dots and numbers.  No dice.

I had hit techno-rock-bottom.  Yo, Jimbo.  The guy took the time to tell you where to go and what to do, and you still can’t get it done.  Hell, Jimbo, when it comes to cyber-stuff, you’d make a steaming pile of horseshit seem brilliant.”

The next day, I returned to the Domain Guys and, with unbridled fury, I searched around until I found the place that was ripe for the insertion of my magic mix of letters, dots and numbers.

I plugged them in and hit “save”.  Bravo!!  Fat City!!  Hell, I even got an one of those e-mails from the magic person who sends those things telling me that I had successfully inserted the new mix of letters, dots and numbers.

The site appeared!  ”Jimbo, you’re a regular Bill Farookin’ Gates.”  Sure, the comments didn’t work yet, but the Magic Domain Guy’s e-mail said that it could take 48 hours for things to take hold.  One of my favorite bloggers openly rejoiced at the reappearance of the site.  My rejoicing ceased when I realized that I couldn’t get to the magic place where I write the stuff that even more magically appears here.  This was even more frustrating than seeing the The White-Screen-No-One-Reads, because the site in its pitiful non-updated state was there for everyone to see, leaving the few stalwarts who stopped by to wonder whether I had packed it in, caught a case of the epizoodic, or, worse yet, thrown the sixes.

About then I was reminded of an old episode from one of those black and white TV shows such as The Twilight Zone or One Step Beyond.  Specifically, I recalled the episode in which the main character, played by Joseph Cotton, was in a car wreck, and when he was pulled from the wreck he had no apparent vital signs, and everyone assumed he was dead.

Of course, he was very much alive, but he couldn’t move – not even an eye blink. And, he couldn’t speak.  (Remember, this was fiction.)  The TV viewer could hear the people speaking around Cotton, and could hear Cotton’s thoughts becoming ever more panicky as those around him were talking about him as if he were a corpse.  The viewer could hear his thoughts, ”No, no, no!  I’m alive!  Can’t you see that I’m alive!  I just can’t speak, dammit.” Finally, when they were about to prepare his ass for burial, someone noticed a tear forming in his eye, which resulted in him being descended upon by doctors and his being saved from being buried alive.

I never got around to weeping over my online paralysis and my cyber-inflicted silence, but I still felt a little like that guy.

So, last night I heard from Craig.  It seems he had the unmitigated Moxie to be out of town for ten days making a living, when he damned well should have been sitting by his computer to take care of my pissy problems.

As you now know, he had to convert the site to WordPress.  Wanna know why?

It was because my site was literally spammed to death.  The truckloads of spam I was receiving triggered all the Movable Type spam zapping shields (a technical term), which showed up on the radar of the Merry Men at the Hosting Company.  Accordingly, in a display of their boundless customer friendliness, they flipped the switch on the site.  I figure if the hosting business craters, these guys have a future in used car sales.

So, in order to bail my sorry, spam-busted ass out of a jam, Craig broke his ass (and is still breaking his ass) to switch PRS to WordPress.  Now, all I have to do is figure WordPress out.  For all you geeks out there, going from Movable Type to WordPress would be like changing shoes, but for me this is like being dropped into the middle of Moscow and trying to find the shithouse.

It ought to be quite an adventure.  Stay tuned.

I can’t thank Craig enough for his infinite patience and friendship.  By now, I owe him a truckload of beer.

I’m going to be presumptuous and hijack Jim’s blog for a moment.

Of necessity, I’ve converted PRS from Movable Type to WordPress, and it seems to be about 95% back to normal. Of course, we’ll be finding glitches as we go. Please let us know if something doesn’t look/act/feel right.

If you are reading via RSS, you’ll have to readjust the URL for the feed.
The finishing touches need to be put on the sidebar, including the resurrection of Mr. Blogroll, as well as a few other items. Everything else seems to be hunky-dory.

I’ll let Jim fill you in on the gory details. It’ll be far funnier if he tells it, trust me.

The suspense is killing me. Will Katie Couric make the move to CBS to take over Dan Rather’s gig?

Actually, this doesn’t even nudge the needle on my “Give a Shit” meter”..

Did you realize that in a few short hours it will be 2 minutes and 3 seconds after 1:00 in the morning, and the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06. I’ll bet you didn’t.

If it turns out that it slips by without your having noticed, don’t worry. You can catch it again in 2106.

Thanks to Marolyn for this important bit of information.

The following bit of make-believe was inspired by the things I have been reading in the news.

It started out as just another workday for Tom Armstrong. He arose at the usual time, showered, shaved, combed his hair, brushed his teeth and got dressed for work. He headed down the stairs for his daily blood pressure pill with OJ. As usual, he’d buy coffee at the nearby convenience store and sip it during the forty-minute drive to the office.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward the dining room, and he saw a rather dirty looking stranger sitting at his dining room table drinking a cup of coffee and reading a foreign language newspaper. The man appeared to be in his late twenties and was in need of a shave. And, he was drinking his coffee from Tom’s favorite weekend coffee cup.

The man looked up from the newspaper and said, “Good morning,” and Tom stopped dead in his tracks, simultaneously frightened and angry.

Tom: “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

Hector: “My name’s Hector. There’s some coffee left. You want some?”

Tom: “How did you get in here?”

Hector: “I was going to come in the front door, but you’ve got a good lock on it, so I went around the back. Man, you need a better lock on that door.”

Tom: “You broke into my goddamned house!”

Hector: “Yep. Sure did, Bro.”

Tom: “Well, get the fuck out – NOW!”

Hector: “Sorry, Bro. We plan on staying.”

Tom: “What do mean ’we’?”

At that point, a very pregnant equally grubby-looking, overweight woman entered the dining room from the kitchen. She was eating a sandwich.

Hector: “This is my girlfriend, Maria. Maria, this is Tom Armstrong.”

Tom: “How do you know my name?”

Hector: “I read your mail, Bro. You pay some pretty hefty property tax here, Tom. I’m not surprised; it’s a nice place. By the way, your next quarterly payment was due a week ago. You don’t want to fall behind on that one.”

Maria: “Hey, don’t you have any skim milk? I had to drink whole milk, and I’ not supposed to drink whole milk. You didn’t even have the two percent kind.”

Tom: “Listen, I don’t give a shit who you are, where you came from, or what kind of milk you’re supposed drink. I do give a major shit that you broke into my goddamned house, and I want you to leave now.

Hector: “Sorry, Bro. I already told you: we’re staying. We were living in a shitty place, and, what with Maria being pregnant and all, we decided it was time to move to find a better life, so we came here. We’ve already put our stuff in the downstairs bedroom. Did I mention that Maria’s having twins?”

Tom: “Look, I don’t care if Maria’s having a friggin’ litter of kittens. You can’t just break into someone’s house and refuse to leave. Now, get the hell out of here – both of you!”

Hector: “No way, Tom. In fact, on the way here, we stopped at the emergency room to have Maria looked at and to make arrangements for the birth of the twins. The doctor and the hospital will be sending you the bill.”

Maria: “Hey Tom. I have a shopping list here for you. You can stop off at the supermarket on your way home from work today to pick this stuff up. I need lots of fresh vegetables, fresh fruit, and some nice chicken breasts. Oh, and pick up a half gallon of skim milk. I told you I can’t drink that shit you have. I’ve checked your kitchen, and you don’t have the kinds of things Hector and I like to eat. I’ll give you another list tomorrow.”

Hector: “Oh, and while your shopping, don’t forget to stop at the store next to the supermarket and pick me up a large bottle of Tequila. Nothing fancy. Jose Cuervo will do. That bourbon you have just doesn’t do it for me, Bro.”

Tom: “The hospital and the doctor are sending me bills for your medical care? You want me to buy you groceries? You two are crazy.”

Hector: “We’ll also be needing some new clothes, but we can talk about that when you get home from work. Oh, and tomorrow night, try to get home from work a little early, because I have to borrow your car. Maria and I are going to visit some friends and we don’t have a car.”

Tom: “You’re out of your goddamned mind! That’s it. If you two sorry-asses are not out of this house in one minute, I’m calling the cops.”

Hector: “Cops? Heh! Go ahead, Bro – call ‘em.”

Tom: “OK, assholes. I’ll do just that. They’ll take you both out of here in cuffs.”

Tom dials the phone, while Hector returns to reading the newspaper and Maria makes another sandwich.

Fitzsimmons: “Police department. This is Sergeant Fitzsimmons. How can I help you?”

Tom: “Sergeant Fitzsimmons, this is Tom Armstrong. I live on 423 Oakwood Way, and I want to report a breaking and entering.”

Fitzsimmons: “A break-in? When did this happen, Mr. Armstrong?”

Tom: “Some time early this morning. They broke in through the back door?”

Fitzsimmons: “You said ’they’. Did you get a look at the perpetrators?”

Tom: “Hell yeah, I got a look at them. They’re here now!”

Fitzsimmons: “Oh … Are they demanding that you buy them groceries and stuff like that?”

Tom: “Yeah.”

Fitzsimmons: “Yep. That’s what I figured.”

Tom: “What do you mean, that what you figured? These criminals broke into my goddamned house. Send a car over here right now to arrest them.”

Fitzsimmons: “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Mr. Armstrong.”

Tom: “Didn’t you hear what I said? These people broke into my house! Isn’t that illegal?”

Fitzsimmons: “The thing is, Mr. Armstrong, something must be going on. We have had hundreds of incidents just like this over the past week.”

Tom: “I don’t give a shit. I want them out of my house.”

Fitzsimmons: “It is just not realistic for us to arrest hundreds of people all over town. We don’t have the manpower to do that. Maybe you can put ‘em to work and sort of let them earn their keep. How about having them cut your lawn and take care of your gardening? Quite a few people are doing that.”

Tom: “Are you out of your goddamned mind? The kid next door cuts my lawn, and my friend brother-in-law does my gardening.”

Fitzsimmons: “Yeah, but these two will do it cheaper.”

Tom: “Do you understand me? These people are in my house illegally. Waddya say I go upstairs, get my gun and shoot these two trespassers?”

Fitzsimmons: “Oh, I would not advise that, Mr. Armstrong, particularly if they are not threatening you with bodily harm.”

Tom: “This is bullshit!”

Tom slams the receiver down, and Hector looks up from his newspaper.

Hector: “So what did he say?”

Tom: “He said that there are hundreds of people in town who broke into houses just like you two assholes broke into mine.”

Hector: “You’re being pretty insensitive, Bro. Maria and me, we have our civil rights, you know.”

Tom: “Civil rights, my ass. You broke into my house. That’s illegal, and I want you and your pregnant girlfriend the hell out of here!”

Hector: “You’re going to be late for work, Tom. You had best be going. Don’t forget the groceries and tequila on your way home. While you’re at work, I’ll start moving the stuff out of your computer room. I figure that would be a great room for the twins.”