Hack.
To me, the journalist, it meant a reporter that wasn't really a writer. A few sales short of a fourth estate. That kind of thing.
To me, a media-influenced adolescent trying to lose her ingenue-ity, it meant the girl who flew high in the Charlie perfume ads, but had her wings clipped as an angel. (Try to figure that reference, youngun's.)
Hacked.
It was being ticked off (a la Beetle Bailey's "Sarge"), sweating one's way through a jungle with a machete, or being possessed by the thin perfume girl who later befell a wing-ectomy.
I now would never think of those definitions, first-off.
I have been hacked!
Apologies to those of you subscribing to my RSS feed or searching my post this morning--from either FaceBook or my website (www.JJJslc.com).
What was, I thought, a fairly good recap of a film I saw last night--"Money-Driven Machine," some of my own thoughts re: current health-care situation, and an anecdote (I know, ALWAYS an anecdote with jjj!) is now...
HACKED!
GONE!
ETHER-MACHETE'D!
WING-ECTOMIED!
At first, Sarge'd out, to be sure. I had spent about 2 1/2 hours writing the thing, and liked it. Then I spent time connecting with tech support @ www.TypePad.com (they are ON the motha and are searching things out to find out whatup!). I even checked in with my children, to make sure they weren't messin' with me. I did not TOUCH anything on my blog, to try to help preserve anything the tech-forensics squad would need. (It IS Tuesday night, after all.)
Sarge'd out...
But I went for a wonderful walk, late-night, just-now, wind my friend, cool my companion. And things changed: It is, really, a compliment to be hacked. To be read. To be loved and hated. Indifference is my enemy, and for the hacker to write "false" about my comments? Well, it meant that I meant something.
Being hacked is a compliment.
Just as being asked by the most beautiful girl on a Mexican vacation at Club Med to not go after a certain guy is a compliment.
Just as having some guy in Draper (probably a Republican!) jack my election sign look and feel is... a compliment. (Have you seen his signs? Well, they're green! WIth a big white letter on 'em! I will try to post a pic, sometime.)
Just as having someone plagiarize writing and pass it off as his own is... a compliment.
I meant something.
There’s a fragrance that’s here today, and they call it
Char-lie.
A different fragrance that thinks your way, and they call it
Char-lie.
Kinda fresh, kinda now!
Charlie.
Kinda free, kinda WOW!
Char-lie.
The kind of fragrance that’s gonna stay, and they call it
Char-lie.
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