As instant as technology makes life seem, sometimes it leaves more “?” in its wake than we humans expect.

I am in the throes of moving this wowaboutlife blog from one platform to another… going from TypePad to WordPress… and wow! what an undertaking. All my images have been replaced with “?” until I can relink… Every. Single. Image.

The Easy Part:

Before I began, I did the research, via Google, natch, reading heartfelt warnings from earlier pioneers who’d made their way through sleepless nights, mazes of code and missing data. Did I heed their advice to turn it over a cyber-wizard? Of course not! After all, their war stories were ancient history from 2009, with the worst tales going far back in pre-history to 2005.

Confident in 2010 that our super-modern technology would serve me well, I embarked with nary a quiver, trusting that all my data would move over without a snag.  TypePad and WordPress have made it amazingly easy to manage the process. Click in your blog’s “Settings” panel on TypePad and they happily Export a compact little .txt file to your computer. After you download WordPress 3.0.x to your host/server, you click again in “Tools” and choose Import to add the plug-in for TypePad , then point it to the file you have on your computer, and it uploads quite speedily.

All the text arrived safely, if a little out of sorts, with pages being converted to posts. No biggie to copy and paste and create new pages.

The Tricky Part:

It turns out that both the pioneers, and even TypePad’s warnings were true: Images will not transfer, period. I can see how difficult this would make life for many people, who may have linked to images living on Flickr or elsewhere. It is absolutely necessary to re-link after that fact. If you don’t know where those images are now, you are out of luck.

I did  get sort of cyber-punked though.

Weirdly enough, when I ported over my other blog (www.wowaboutbusines.com) the images went along for the ride from TypePad to WordPress. I was pleasantly lulled into admiration for this new super-transfer process. All those images, so shiny and sweet to see,  linked just right for their first week on WordPress. Then mysteriously, all the images vanished in a blink, to be replaced by the dastardly “?” boxes. Oh, the cyber-gods can be cruel.

For me, re-linking is just a time consuming task, since virtually all my images are my own art. I’ve got to relink about 200 or so. I’m okay with this, because in the process, I get to add alt tags and description for each one, which is just peachy for SEO purposes. Hooray!

Of course,  I may have to admit I’ve become a lot geekier than I realized. Yet these days, what artist or writer worth their salt can escape the world of keywords, alt-tags, meta-data, software platforms, and other such esoteric code?

Anyone who’s looking to leap from one blogging platform to another, has to make a choice. Hire a pro, if you’ve got a huge library of blog images to transfer, or hate the tekkie part of blog geekery. For the rest of you hardy souls, make it a Relinking Festival… and no champagne until the last link is reconnected., or you may get lost forever in cyberspace.

So why am I going through this, really? I loved TypePad’s many custom features, and the ease with which I could choose type and formatting variables. However, WordPress has won the SEO war, and web experts I’ve surveyed consistently see real ranking advantages to the WordPress platform over TypePad or any others, despite end-user popularity. Technically speaking, it is much easier to add a WordPress blog to an existing web site, or use one as a stand-alone site, as well. I am guiding my clients in this direction, too, so it makes sense for me to be there. It’s icing on the cake to lose the monthly service fee, too.

Over the next couple of weeks I will gradually replace all my own “?” broken links with images… enjoy!

— Diane A. Curran

Vulnerable. Mysterious. Fragile. Courageous. Inspiring.

Art, and sport, and the human tragedy, interweave their realities in the opening hours of the Winter Olympics tonight in Vancouver.

Olympian Nodar Kumaritashvili practiced, working hard to be the best he could for his luge event, mere hours before tonight’s opening ceremonies. His dreams within reach, his willingness to train beyond known limits, catapulted him not to glory, but all too swiftly to infinity, and the eternity beyond our comprehension. Nodar’s death, too shocking a reminder that sport is not about glory, but about aiming toward accomplishment with all the risk this requires.

Nodar’s star shines newly in that expansive sky, above that breathtaking landscape, within that magnificently diverse blend of cultures and warm-hearted people that is Canada. This is Nodar’s Olympics now, so fittingly dedicated as such.

Olympian Nodar Kumaritashvili practiced, working hard to be the best he could for his luge event, mere hours before tonight’s opening ceremonies. His dreams within reach, his willingness to train beyond known limits, catapulted him not to glory, but all too swiftly to infinity, and the eternity beyond our comprehension.

Nodar’s death, too shocking a reminder that sport is not about glory, but about aiming toward accomplishment with all the risk this requires.Nodar’s star shines newly in that expansive sky, above that breathtaking landscape, within that magnificently diverse blend of cultures and warm-hearted people that is Canada. This is Nodar’s Olympics now, so fittingly dedicated as such.

And what a magnificent Opening ceremony it is!

How generous to welcome the Olympians into the stadium early, so they may be honored and enjoy the ceremony themselves.

How respectful to honor the Aboriginal people and First Nations of Canada before moving forward in time to its modern cultural diversity that embraces bilingualism.

How breathtaking to see the artistry that blends intimacy with spectacle in the music and song and poetry and dance and videography that presents us with the vast beauty of Canada.

How deeply touching to hear the beauty of K.D. Lang’s voice sing “Hallelujah,” soaring with pitch-perfectly understated power and magnificence.

The brief mechanical hiccup during the torch lighting serves only to remind us that what is about to unfold in the medal competitions remains ever unpredictable, as true sport always is.

Let the Games begin!

— Diane A. Curran

Let’s do the math. If a picture is worth a thousand words, and each of the 4 collages below has close to 50 images in them… then does that count as a two hundred thousand word extravaganza?

Yikes! Can I quit writing now?

The online virtual world gets curiouser and curiouser every day, with waaaay more to occupy us than the old crash-bang virtual combat games. Thanks to Facebook, I found Polyvore.com, and became immediately addicted, as the site warns.

Luckily, Polyvore only gets about 3.7 million unique visitors a month, so we’re in no danger of becoming a nation (or world?) full of fashion-forward Henri-etta Matisses. But if we did, they’d make the world a prettier, hipper-looking place, for sure.

You are invited to take a gander at four of my recent collage “sets,” which follow.

The site says it’s all about fashion… but what can I tell you? FInally, a kind of virtual shopping habit that neither empties my bank account, nor fills up my house. And, this is way more entertaining for late summer fun than watching those political collages that pass for “town hall meetings” these days. And in answer to the question you ‘ll probably all have: Belgian Tevuren puppies, and sorry, no, they’re not mine

— Diane A. Curran

• • •

• • •

• • •

• • •

• • •

Okay, I’ll bite! The online competition to load every aggregator, blog resource or social network with as many ways as possible to keep you captive just gets wilder and shinier everyday. Twitter had the micro-blog field pretty much to itself in the public’s eye, but the dog-pile has just begun! Online giants Facebook and Huffington Post just rolled out more new social tools.

Now TypePad’s in the mix, as I am sure WordPress and Blogger are, too.

With one click today, I’ve been offered a new toy. TypePad’s “Blog It” widget can be added to your browser toolbar, presto! — no configuration necessary. Of course, you need to have a TypePad blog. You can upload and share photos, videos and stories, easily adding comments if you like from practically any digital device, 24/7, if you want to give up sleep altogether. Keep reading for the link to check it out…

I am so not gonna chew on this like a puppy, but I may gingerly bat it around like a curious cat, just to see what it can do.

Meow!

— Diane A. Curran

P.S. Here is  the scoop on “Blog It” in TypePad’s little intro message, which popped up when I clicked yes to add, and it posted this directly to my blog as its first mini post:
Blog as you read, without leaving the page. Post videos in two clicks, including YouTube, Vimeo, Hulu and more. Automatically share your favorite photos, including Flickr, Photobucket and more. Quote your favorite sites in seconds, and look good doing it. As simple as sending an email. They have released a beta version button to drag your Bookmarks or Favorites Bar:Blog It (Update: check the changes now that this has been live for a year or so.)

via www.typepad.com

There are too many virtual toys keeping us mesmerized!

I just found another one on Technorati, the search engine that specializes in searching blogs.

They’ve got a lovely widget that will track whichever keywords you want, and it generates a geeky little chart you can add to your blog. You have to be a member to get it, but joining is free.

While playing around with how to use it, I was delighted to discover that each week, over 350 posts contain all three of the words that make this blog’s name, “Wow About Life.”

That sounds to me like an awful lot of positive thought percolating around the ol’ Internet. Happy serendipity, I say.

You can look at my little Keyword Chart with the link below (or click my Go & Do page link above if you want to take the scenic 2-click route to get there.

Keyword Popularity for “Wow About life”

I love that it will automatically update itself  each week.

Yikes! Brainiac, you’ve come a long way since the days of Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn’s epic battle in “The Desk Set.”

Please excuse me now… I’m scooting away to have some fun creating more virtual charts. Toodle-oo.

— Diane A. Curran

Good ol’ HuffPo points to a fascinating article with this title by Jeanne Bryer on LiveScience.com

Apparently there’s a growing body of research that investigates the verbal, mathematical and social skills of dogs. According to the article, the average dog’s vocabulary equates with a 2-year-old, but they’re even better at math-y stuff (at a 3- or 4-year old’s level) and they’re as cool as teen-agers in the social skills arena.

(Read about dog smarts here.)

What I want to know is, what is that in dog years?

• If we translate, using the classic 1-to-7 ratio, does that mean Man’s Best Friend has the language comprehension of a 14-year-old?

Considering that age 14 is just about when most teenagers begin adopting the grunt and mumble approach to communicating with parents, I could be persuaded.

• And if that same formula tells us that dogs are actually as adept as any 21-28 year old mathematically speaking, shouldn’t we be employing them in a wider range of jobs than the ones they already have?

We know dogs love being busy. They’ve proven themselves admirably adept as Guide Dogs, Firehouse Staff, Detectives, Bomb-Sniffers, Security Officers, Circus Performers, Magician’s Assistants, Professional Athletes… I could go on and on. But are we missing a Golden Retriever Opportunity?

Maybe we should enroll our best-and-brightest dogs (that would be Border Collies, natch!) in specialized math studies programs in physics, chemistry and rocket science? They might be able to get us out of the doldrums with our own space program, after they get their degrees.

After all, dogs love exploring where no man has gone before. Maybe a Ph.D. Elite Dog Team could find the intelligent life on other planets that’s so eluded us humans. Doesn’t this shed new light on why they love howling at the Moon? Ahh-Oooow?

• As far as social skills go, dogs may hold the elusive secret to the Fountain of Youth!

Let’s figure human teenage years as roughly 13 to 19. Because what 20-year-old thinks they’re still a teenager, eh? Multiply this in dog years, and dogs have the collective social experience and intelligence of a community ranging in age from 98-years-old to 133-years-old.

How many humans live that long, with the zest-for-life that your average dog has? Wow! I mean, Bow Wow!

(To interject just a smidgen more math into the picture for my canine readers, if you adjust the 1-to-7 ratio slightly downward as a dog ages, a 15-year old dog is still equivalent to someone at least 73-90, depending on which of several popular formulas you use.)

No wonder we see so many dogs dragging their owners out for twice daily walks! They are just trying to teach us poor, decrepit, addle-brained adults the secrets of longevity! Arf! Woof! Yippee!

When we read the news headlines on any given day lately, a lot of people shake their heads at the havoc we humans wreak upon each other. “The world is going to the dogs,” they mutter.

Well, that’s just backwards. Maybe we should look to the collective social seniority of dogs for inspiration in these Dog Days of Summer. After all, dogs have shown an amazing capacity for patience, tolerance, devotion, and compassion, in their role as Man’s Best Friend. Those social skills are more powerful than just a quick sloppy dog kiss.

Imagine if dogs ran the summer Town Hall meetings lately plastered all over the news?

There’d be a lot less yellin’ and cussin’ and snarlin’ and mobbin’. With dogs in charge, we’d have way more Frisbee, and relay races, and picnics, and happy smiles. Maybe even find some new best friends! I’m just sayin’.

After all, Dog spelled backwards….

Next time around, vote the Puppy Party! Their slogan? “Smart enough make each day fun!”

It’d be a big ol’ love-in. Heck, I’m willing to give it a try, even though I’m a card-carrying Cat Person. Can’t we all just get along?

— Diane A. Curran

3. As they morphed into oddly perfect crescent shapes, I watched the globular blobs, pondering their true intentions…

4. But I’d dawdled just a millisecond too long. They made their move, and I took off running for my life! They ripped off their masks… to reveal… their inner snow flurries!!  On a sleepy August eve in Southern California?? This could not be right. Perhaps H.P. Lovecraft had been their mentor? Aaarooughh…

5. I ran in serpentine formation, until I saw a friendly Moon pop up over the horizon. Early, yes, but what great timing. I turned my gaze upward, ready for her cool Eclipsing comfort…

6. “Alas!” the delicate Moon screeched, as a Tall Beacon of Glowing Horror slammed into view. No Good can come of this I thought, as I noticed 2 new critters enter stage left. (My right, your left, depending on whether you are one of the those mini-beam critters, of course.) Ahem…

7. The Tall Beacon of Glowing Horror chased me now, dripping the strange red & yellow tubular Licorice Strands that could only mean one thing: I was being chased by a Vampire!! Drat!!! So much for grocery shopping. As I turned tail and galloped off, I saw an opening. So I made my move…

9. Oh no… the Licorice was melting, and yet another Vampire Glow was heading my way. Despite the Horror trapping me from all sides now, I was mesmerized by the particularly beauteous Ecliptic Sunset. Cor Blimey! It was purty enough to dazzle even my cell phone’s low-res lens. I sensed with a shiver that my cell phone and I were doomed…

I could see it in his tearful, bloodshot eyes. He didn’t want to go to the Auto Graveyard anymore than I wanted to get bitten by a Streetlamp in a Vampire Costume. I flagged him down.

I leaned against his battered fender and spoke to him of reinCARnation. If he’d been a good ride, he might come back as a Hybrid, or even an Electric Bus. He’d be doing his part for the environment by making the Ultimate Sacrifice.

Somehow, even the Vampire Beacons of Glowing Horror gathering ’round were enjoying my tale. Suddenly, they recognized the Clunker as one of their old late night gang! They used to sing a cappella together on Ventura Boulevard, 25 years ago today.

Nobody noticed me slink away under cover of the Rising Full Moon. They all were too busy revving engines, and screeching with blinding light, strong enough to pierce the time-space continuum. Having a jolly good last Toot in the parking lot… just an average L.A. Monday night.

— Diane A. Curran

The Circus we know as The Nomination Hearings for a new member of The Supremes is in full swing.

Due to the demands of fine oratory, we have a series of Rotating Ringmasters, working the crowd into throes of ecstasy over the main attraction.

In this Limited Special Summer Engagement, the parts, bit and pieces, of the Ringmaster will be played by none other than our very own Toxic Assets! That Greek Chorus of Oratory, The Senators Themselves!

Like any good circus, this one has its Peanut Gallery, replete with rabble rousing, crackerjack-comment wielding folks who snuck in under the Big Tent Flap of Free Speech. When these Peanuts get too unwieldy, the Balcony Carneys boot ‘em out, so the rest of the rapt crowd can stay focused on the official Circus below.

There, in the floodlit Center Ring, is what we came to see. The High Wire Act!

Ms. Sonia Sotomayor. Legendary Lawyer. Jurist Prudence-par-Excellence. The One-and-Only Wise Latina ever nominated to The Supremes!

See her in person! After weeks of hot rhetorical anticipation! What better timing than the Dog Days of Summer, for the Rabid Dogs of Partisan Patrimony to question her Temperament!

Will Sonia wobble? Will Sonia fall?

• Who cares that Sonia’s every magisterial opinion is marked by copious research into legal precedent?

• Who cares that her professors, mentors, colleagues and associates see her as a model of judicial behavior and dedication.

• Who cares that her statements are remarkably even-toned despite the yapping tone in which Senatorial questions are barked her way?

• Who cares that a broken ankle is not enough to keep her from her appointed rounds?

• Who cares that her Judicial ascent was initiated and blessed by none other than Bush 41?

We know, wink, wink, nod, nod, that she cannot deny what she really is!

A woman!

By very nature temperamental, as any four-square man can tell you.

Let the pillorying… that began in the ever-responsible press… be brought to high dudgeon now, in the Main Tent!

Here come the Dancing Elephants, braying so much louder than any Stubborn Donkey in circuses past. They’re Elephants; it’s their Patriotic Duty.

The Stubborn Donkeys have that little clown car, oh boy! We hope their act will bring at least a laugh or two as they all jump out in standard chaotic fashion.

The Peanut Gallery eagerly awaits the Donkeys’ newest clown, one mister Senator Franken. But Franken disappoints the crowd, raising nary a laugh with his first official yodel. Something about missing Senator Kennedy. Grrr, the crowd mumbles, what happened to his wacko sense of humor?

• • •

But enough with the Sideshow.

Will Sonia melt?

Will Judge Sotomayor earn her passage into The Supremes?

If I were a betting man, and I am not, I’d look to one of the Official Oddsmakers for a clue.

Yesterday, none other than the Elephantine Senator from South Carolina, Lindsey Graham, tipped us off:

“Unless you have a complete meltdown, you are going to get confirmed, Graham said to the amusement of those in attendance.” (read more from Sam Stein of HuffPo here.)

In a rare fit of candor, this Senatorial Asset even admits this Circus is all about politics. But that does nothing— not one thing— to stop the performance.

We paid our money, we wants a show. If we’re gonna have a Circus, let’s see if any of the Assets shout loud enough, or long enough, to make Sonia the Wirewalker fall, grandstanding broken ankle and all. Or at least melt.

Because if we did not have this to distract us, the Assets might have to get back to the 3-Ring Circus of saving the Economy, and the Environment, and kicking around Health Care. We all know that ain’t gonna happen this July.

Not in this Peanut Gallery of a town.

Go Sonia!

— Diane A. Curran

P.S. This just in… apparently Senator Franken hasn’t entirely lost his sense of  humor, as he demonstrated later while juggling dead mics with the Ringmaster General. Whew!

4th of July fireworks always get me thinking about patriotism.

It started out hot, as hundreds of families gathered, but by the time it was late enough, and dark enough, we had to wrap ourselves in blankets. Chattering teeth and chilled bones were an easy price to pay for the thrill of a few big booms! and aahs! as we hooted and howled with glee to the modest, but satisfyingly loud display.

We knew from minute one that the big Revolution began in our neck of the woods, and spent many a Sunday afternoon tromping around near the Minuteman Statue in Concord.

Heck, we could still see bullet holes in Arlington’s Jason Russell house, and after school we walked the same routes where the opening skirmishes of 1775 took place back when Arlington was called Menotomy.

Does Patriotism = Politics?

Patriotism back in Boston wasn’t something I heard people chest-thumping about. You grew up with it in your bones. So we didn’t wear it on our sleeves.

Visiting the graves of those who fought, and seeing where they lived, made a permanent imprint on everyone I knew. The pilgrimages weren’t fancy, but several times a year, we found ourselves walking those leafy trails.

Talking politics was as natural, and almost as frequent, as breathing.

Oddly enough, with a dyed-in-the-wool Democratic Dad and Puritan-rooted Republican Mum, politics was one of the most civilized forms of debate in our house.

Presidential Elections were a time for canvassing to get out the vote, but local elections were just as important, neighbor to neighbor, in a town so proud of its Town Meeting form of government.

American history was ingrained in our early school curricula, but in 9th grade, Civics class was on the agenda.

Two topics made a huge impression on me, though I was too busy miming cool to let on:

1. To lift itself out of the Depression, the U.S. put social programs into place to feed starving people, give them work, and build a safety net, so personal poverty would never cripple our people again.

2. U.S. soldiers were welcomed as liberators by oppressed people, because they and even enemy soldiers knew the commitment to human dignity at the core of our efforts to try to practice the best principles of democracy.

After a childhood spent surrounded by the message of, and struggle for, religious tolerance, these two simple if rosy ideals made sense to me. They made me consciously proud of being an American.

• • •

My innocent, easy idealism was violently shaken when I heard the news as I hit the corridor after Civics class one afternoon: President Kennedy had been shot.

My best friend Jeanne and I walked in a shell-shocked daze past the Jason Russell house.

There were no words, and there may never be, to explain how that moment crushed all of us.

But we carried on, as our patriotism seared itself just a bit deeper into the fiber of our hearts. Silenced for a period, but never erased.

Patriotism and honest politics mashed together for me into the quiet, but unflagging commitment to ideals that I see caring Americans everywhere aspiring to, based on compassion, respect for others, and the impulse toward generosity.

Of course there are some pretty jarring voices pointing their fingers at Pointy-Headed Eastern Liberals (even those of us camped out on the Left Coast) as if we were lacking in genuine patriotism.

But I just watched a big beaming bunch of Bostonians celebrating Independence Day on the Esplanade on TV tonight, and they sure looked patriotic to me.

All I can say is, God bless America, my home sweet home.

— Diane A. Curran

Maybe the air in L.A. is just too thick with smog and fog and summer heat.

I notice the neighborhood moose community gave her wide berth today as she commandeered the microphone in her red hunting uniform. I don’t blame ‘em.

I do admire her savvy frugality in making her little red suit do double duty as fashion statement and media warning light.

Clearly, Sarah wants nothing more to do with the mean kids in the media…

Shame on those bullies who tag after her every word, forcing their attentions upon her, taking photo after nasty photo of her and her Doppelganger Todd, as they lovingly parade their gaggle of goslings, I mean kids, from venue to venue, state to state, country to country. To use one of her phrases, “Hell, yeah!”

• • •

How clever of Sarah to plaster her goodbye-you-won’t-have-me-to-kick-around-anymore message on her official Governor of Alaska web site, and sink quietly into the Wasilla summer sunlight.

Oh wait a second. Deja Vu! It was Nixon who skulked away after his own Checkers speech eons ago.

He lied though. We did have him to kick around, because he never really went away. Even after he resigned as Prez, he wouldn’t go away!

Eeek! Is Sarah gonna pull the same stunt?

Now calm down, everyone. Not to worry. She didn’t quote Nixon. She quoted General MacArthur.

With her usual grammatical flourishes, she finished off her razor-sharp, point-guard laced, break-neck paced announcement about quitting her Governorship with this reassuring statement:

“Take the words of General MacArthur. He said, “We are not retreating. We are advancing in another direction.”

I completely sympathize with her rattled sense of direction, what with Russia in her backyard, and Putin doing his regular fly-overs. She must have a heckuva hard time getting a good night’s sleep.

• • •

But gosh, I sure wish she’d used her finely honed journalisticrat skills to do just a tiny bit of Googling before she selected a quote from MacArthur.

I did. Just typed in his name, and up came dozens and dozens of pithy quotes from that most loquacious member of the military “Troops” she salivates over.

Here are a couple more things General MacArthur was fond of saying:

“Americans never quit.”

“Age wrinkles the body. Quitting wrinkles the soul.”

“I have known war as few men now living know it. Its very destructiveness on both friend and foe has rendered it useless as a means of settling international disputes.”

Too bad she skipped those three. I suspect the only other quote she may have read is the one we all know:

“ I shall return.”

Oh no. Will Sarah (and her ever-present Doppel-Gaggle) be spending a lot more time tromping around the “Outside” to battle the many forces of evil, her red combat outfit rousing the rabble?

You betcha! Assuming her veiled hint of more news to come is not of some dire legal entanglement, as a few salivating pundits speculate.

Whatever news she still has up her sleeve, watch for the Book! Watch for the Talk Show! Getcha wallets out, Outsiders.

Eeek… and Eeek again!

— Diane A. Curran