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Excerpt From Autobiography: First Friend

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag, Deep Thoughts on June 2, 2016 at 12:52 pm

Because my eyesight is diminishing so fast, I will take the easy way out and of the requests/suggestions  for a blog post before I go completely blind I will cut and paste (and comment) on an excerpt from my Autobiography.

I began writing my autobiography shortly after my mother died in 1993, as a catharsis really, a way to heal and come to grips with my childhood and all that baggage most of us who have not had great childhoods carry around with us. Now,  23 years later, there is a lot I would change in this book. (for one thing I would finish it)  But perspectives change over the years and you see things so much more clearly if you allow yourself to be honest with yourself. Every life is a story. Mine may be different, but no more important than any other human being’s.

 

[EXCERPT FROM AUTOBIOGRAPHY]

 

My first memory of being alive is sitting in a playpen outside
our house in Oklahoma City. My mother was stooping over her
garden, her dark brown hair tied up in a bright blue kerchief. I
was playing with my favorite squeeze toy–a small pale yellow
rubber duck; turning it, manipulating it, tasting it. I remember
my shoes–white sturdy Buster Browns; scuffed on the toes and tied
with a double knot, for I was prone to remove them at any
opportunity. I was staring at them as I rhythmically raised my
foot and vigorously slammed it down on the un-padded bottom of the
playpen. I was fascinated by the noise, as it reverberated off the
side of the house and the bottom of the playpen shook and vibrated
with each kick.

I glanced up at my mother. She was humming, absent-mindedly;
some sweet innocuous tune–possibly a hymn; and just behind her I
could see a woman crossing the street, a small blonde child perched
on her hip. She stopped and spoke to my mother for a moment. My
mother wiped the dirt from her hands onto her jeans, leaving long
red streaks from the Oklahoma clay down the front of them. She
pointed over to me. The woman brought the child over and sat her
down in my playpen. I began to cry at first, afraid of this new
person, but then the little girl picked up a toy from the floor of
the playpen and began to quietly examine it. I picked up my own
again and resumed my thump-thump-thumping on the bottom of the
playpen. The little girl began to hum. No tune this time as my
mother had been doing; but one note, deep and continuous except for
a short pause occasionally as she caught her breath.
We did not speak, because except for a few simple words like
“Mama” and “Daddy”, neither of us knew how to talk yet. Instead
we played, side by side, the afternoon sun warm and soft on us, and
our mothers gossiped as my mother tended her garden. I know that
I shouldn’t remember that far back, for surely I could not have
been more than two, but I do, and the memory is bright and vibrant
and when I think of it I can smell the flowers and feel the
sunshine on my face.

*****

The little girl in the playpen was Jeannie Rogers. We called
her Jeannie-Rogers, just like that, first and last name, kind of
smooshed together. She was a pretty little girl with blonde hair
and big blue eyes. Her skin was fair and clear, in sharp contrast
to my own red hair, brown eyes and freckled face. She became my
best friend all through childhood. We were considered the
“oddballs” of all the kids on our block, the perfect targets for
extensive teasing and cruel pranks. They now call it being a nerd.
Neither of us was very athletic; I was pretty klutzy and accident-
prone. We were both besieged by a plethora of childhood phobias-
–Jeannie was afraid of all animals, she said– because a squirrel
ran up her back once. I lived in mortal fear of bugs. This alone
was grounds for automatic banishment from normal kid-dom, add to
that Jeannie’s humming and my red hair and chubby-ness and we
couldn’t win. We were excluded from a lot of the group activities
that occurred daily on our street—hide and seek, tag, red rover
and dodge ball; but after awhile we didn’t care; we made our own
fun, and had a sort of pact which included a mutual animosity for
all those kids on the block that spurned us.
Our neighborhood was chock-full of children; at least two in
each house. This was most likely because we lived on the same
street where the elementary school was located. It was a
developing middle class urban area between Oklahoma City and Moore.
The houses were small, 2 or three bedrooms and no more that a
thousand square feet of living space inside. Most of them were
half brick/half painted siding or totally brick. When we lived
there it still felt like we were partly living in the country,
because there were still farmers and ranchers within walking
distance of our house. There were lots of empty lots around to use
for ball games and fort building. Today the area is still
thriving, the houses bought by the same type of people my parents
were 30 years ago—first time home owners trying to own a piece
of the American dream. All the country is gone, though; the
surrounding area has been filled up with fast food restaurants and
shopping malls.

*****

I never saw a school bus till after I left elementary school,
the population of kids in the surrounding neighborhood was enough
to fill the school. We were all roughly the same ages. That is,
for one child in one house, there was a counterpart in another
house down the way. For me, this was Jeannie Rogers.
She always hummed like that. Like she did in the playpen. One
long monotonal note, almost a growl; a sort of guttural humming.
Always when she was concentrating intensely on something. I didn’t
mind the noise. In fact, I spent so much time with her, that I
suppose after a while I just didn’t even hear it anymore; but the
other kids did, and they would tease her about it all the time.
She would be intently drawing a picture, or writing, and sure
enough, it would start: hmmmmmmmmmm…gasp…hmmmmmmmmmm. The
other kids would yell, “JEANNIE! Your motor’s running!” She would
cringe and stop.
I could see the teasing hurt her, so I began to listen for the
humming when we were together and I’d nudge her before the kids had
a chance to yell. She’d look over at me and smile.
Eventually she learned to control it, or maybe she outgrew it,
but anyway it stopped.

*****

I almost always played at Jeannie’s house, my own house was
full with just my siblings and myself, and my father didn’t like
us contributing to the already ear-splitting din by bringing other
kids over to add to the noise after he got home from work.
Besides, he liked to spread out on the floor in front of the T.V.
in his boxer shorts and T-shirt and my mom wouldn’t let him do that
if there was company in the house.
I think Jeannie’s parents preferred us playing at her house,
anyway. My dad and Mr. Rogers didn’t get along. There’s a story
that’s oft repeated in our house of the time Jeannie and I were
arguing about something (I might have hit her, although I don’t
really recall the incident that well) and Mr. Rogers took it upon
himself to protect his young’un and came stomping over to tell my
dad a thing or two. It has to be explained here that Mr. Rogers
was a tall and lanky—truly a “Mr. Rogers” kind of fella (He
reminded me personally of Mr. Green Jeans on Captain Kangaroo).
My father, however, was a large burly rough looking take-no-crap-
offa-nobody guy. I used to think his hands were big enough to
crush somebody’s head in one if he had a mind to, especially when
they came flying over the front seat of the car aimed at the pack
of unruly children ducking in the back seat. Anyhow, Mr. Rogers,
puffed up and ready to kick some butt, confronted my dad in our
back yard where my father sat (apprised by me that a recent fight
with Jeannie had escalated to the point that parents were now
involved), calmly sharpening a machete. My father, it is said,
merely looked up calmly as Mr. Rogers approached, machete gleaming
in the sun and said “Can I help you Bill?” whereas Mr. Rogers,
deflated totally at the sight of my father and the knife, backed
out of the yard saying “No Mr. Burns, can’t say you can.” till he
was safely back in his own yard. This incident didn’t change
anything between Jeannie and I. We made up, and continued to play
together long after, the incident totally forgotten between us; but
not our parents.

*****
I always thought Jeannie’s parents were a little over-
protective, but this too may have been just because mine were
sometimes so grossly neglectful. On the fourth of July, for
example, Jeannie’s dad always brought out an old galvanized steel
bucket filled with water and a large pair of pliers when his girls
lit off firecrackers. When they encountered a “dud” they had to
wait an inordinate amount of time after the thing had failed to go
ka-boom, and then gingerly pick up the offensive firecracker with
the pliers, hold it arms length away, walk over and place it
carefully into the bucket of water, like some junior bomb-squad or
something. The unbelievable thing was, they were only allowed to
light off lady-fingers!

*****

MY family on the other hand, (and in particular, my brothers)
were notorious for dangerous and destructive acts of firework-
sabotage in the neighborhood. My brothers were Black-Cat
demolition experts. They blew up anything that could be even
remotely construed as exciting or interesting if it went BOOM.
They had Roman Candle and pop-bottle rocket wars; aiming the things
at any unsuspecting kid unlucky enough to cross their path. My
brother Paul would light and squeeze lady-fingers between his
fingers. When I asked him what they felt like when they went off,
he said calmly “like a red ant sting.” (My bug-fear kept me from
trying it out, myself) Paul would go out the next morning and
painstakingly gather up all the duds and empty them of their unused
gunpowder, he’d then light the little piles and quickly stomp on
it so it would blow up under the heel of his shoe.
So we would sit and with smirks on our faces watch the goings-
on at the Roger’s House with great amusement. Even today on the
fourth of July when we have a dud, someone will say “Get a bucket!”
and we’ll all bust out laughing.

But Jeannie was my best friend. We had our own games and
activities geared to our “weird kid” mentality. We liked to write
stories. We both were “early readers”… I began at three,
practically as soon as I could turn the pages of a book by myself.
Mrs. Scarberry, a fat, jolly-looking woman who lived right next
door to us had a brand new set of World Book encyclopedias that I
found fascinating. We had a Colliers, but the pictures were better
in the World Book, and it was put together nicer, I thought.
Besides, Mrs. Scarberry was always cooking something…most often
this was cookies, and if I stayed long enough, I usually got the
opportunity to sample a few. I spent many afternoons sitting cross-
legged on her living room rug, some massive volume spread across
my lap, totally engrossed. I would occasionally get up, my finger
carefully marking a big tough word that Nadine (Mrs. Scarberry)
would explain to me. Eventually she got sick of my interruptions
to her kitchen activities, I suppose, and taught me how to use the
dictionary. Then it was katie-bar-the door! I read anything I laid
my hands on, stopping frequently to look up words I didn’t know.
So Jeannie, who shared my love of books and words would sit with
me for hours and make up stories, write them down, and later we’d
reread, edit and modify them depending on our mood that day.
Sometimes we wrote about our dolls, usually the exploits and
escapades of Barbie and Ken. I do not believe Mattel would have
approved of most of our story-lines about their most infamous
couple, even at a young age we both were aware of the difference
between men and women and had the rudiments of sexual activity down
from exposure to various stray cat and dogs in the neighborhood.
Even though Barbie and Ken were far from being anatomically
correct, their love affair was a lot more torrid than the
manufacturer’s intended.

We also wrote about the kids in the
neighborhood. Anyone who had teased us that week were usually
targeted to be killed in a most hideous and painful manner;
sometimes their parents and siblings with them, if we were so
inclined. Occasionally the parents would be spared, only to thank
us for saving the world (and themselves) by ridding it of their
obviously evil, ill-conceived offspring. My particular favorites,
though, were the stories we wrote about a tiny family that lived
in Jeannie’s bottom drawer. We even cleared out the drawer and
filled it with an elaborate array of dollhouse furniture and
“finds” —pretty rocks from the creek, bottle caps, empty spools,
baseball cards. We then acted out the stories before-hand in hours
of “just pretend” brain-storming, and then we wrote them down. The
stories became quite adventurous as we had the family invade other
rooms of the house; wrecking havoc in the kitchen, or in Jeannie’s
sister Myra’s room. Myra was a natural target for our little
family’s adventures–she being a sort of self-appointed leader of
the teasing brigade that terrorized Jeannie and I. Usually our
little family would sabotage her room in some way to cause
embarrassment or minor harm to Myra and her snotty friends. In
actuality this never occurred except in our imaginations as her
mother never let us have free rein of the house. Jeannie’s Mom was
a slightly overweight, kind-faced, jovial woman; who reminded me
of the television Maid Hazel, only with dark hair. She adored her
two daughters, and doted on them. I adored her. She was so
domesticated and sweet; and always had time to stop what she was
doing and listen to our tall tales. I had an awful habit of saying
“Guess what?” before anything I was about to say, and she broke me
of it by replying “Turkey’s Trot.” anytime I started out that way.
Later, she would be Jeannie and I’s Blue bird troop leader, and
she taught us to cook, (“The Number One Direction of every recipe
is WASH YOUR HANDS!”) and do crafts and all sorts of fun things
with us. She always had an idea of something we could do when we
would come in and say pitifully, “We’re BORED!”

*****
She was a neat-nut, her house was spotless and she was always
in a state of perpetual motion trying to keep it that way. I loved
the way Jeannie’s house smelled…like washing powder and fresh
air. My own mother wasn’t the housekeeper Jeannie’s mom was by a
long shot. My mother married my father when she was barely 15.
By the time she was 24 she had already given birth to all five of
us kids. Neither she nor my dad were adequately equipped to keep
pace with our reign of destruction at our house. But it wasn’t
just that we were so unmanageable, it was that she was grossly
unprepared, and my father just expected her to know these things
innately, after all, in his view it was just part of being a woman.
I grew up knowing that the chores of women and men were clearly
designated. Men were revered. Women waited on the men and their
main job was to take care of them, to ease their burden. Later
this idea would screw me up totally as the world changed and I was
suddenly expected to think independently. I wanted to be
independent, but there was always this Donna Reed character
screaming to get out. He didn’t have the capacity to teach his
child bride what he thought she should already know.
Anyway, Jeannie and I would “just pretend” all morning and once
the story we were working on extended past the reality of her
bedroom, we would lay back on the carpet, hands behind our heads
and spend the rest of the afternoon in “what ifs” with Jeannie
playing stenographer for our musings.
At night as I lay in my own bed I would think about our tiny
family’s adventures and happily drift off to sleep. I truly wished
sometimes that I lived in her bottom drawer.

 

Gonna Get All Up in Your Face A Tad

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag, Coffee Fueled Rants, Real Life on June 26, 2012 at 7:12 am

Everyone who knows anything at all about me, knows I am a News and Politics Junkie. I have been all of my life. From the days of my liberal-wide-eyed-ignorant-gonna-change-the-world Youth, to the adult, older and wiser about human nature and history liberty loving present day self.  I have, at times, on my old blog, voiced my opinion (and my dissent) but since moving over here to wordpress I have done very little of that. Indeed, I have kind of struggled with what exactly I wanted to do with this blog at all. Part of that comes from my initial difficulties of leaving Live Journal behind, as I had blogged there for almost 10 years.

But I like WordPress better, the interface, the ease of use, and I knew eventually the time would come when my writing creative juices would flow again and I would want to begin to speak about not only gaming and online activities here, but to also blog about my life and interests, as I had before. This past week I have had a plethora of thoughts in my head, that needed more than my usual pen and pencil journals that lay scattered in various corners of the house.

I do wonder at times if it is even possible for me to be completely open and honest and up front on an online blog, So much of who we are and what we do is hidden from public view. Then there is the idea of specialization. That a blog should have an overall topic. But that just  furthers the warped view of individuals as single aspect entities. In any case I am going to see what I can do about finally fleshing out longer and more substantial thoughts here on this blog, and use it for more than just one aspect of who I am.

Today is a library day for me. My bestest bud Jeannie is going to come over and we are going to 1. Go and vote. 2. Go to the Library. 3. Go to Lunch. Perhaps I will finally get some of my thoughts together and write later.

Stuff What Don’t Count

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag, Emporium Happenings on December 18, 2011 at 2:32 am

Tonight was the second time I have pulled out my voting signs to find that one had reset itself. I took these two screen shots:

Note that one sign has 7 total votes and the other 33. Both signs when I put them out the day before were around 27 or so total votes, and during the day one or both were voted on, but somehow one got reset to zero either by itself, or someone has somehow learned an exploit that allows them to reset another person’s voting sign. It also happened to this one:

I sent in a bug report on it. I keep pretty close tabs on total votes just for funzies, but since the signs are not working properly count this on an ever growing and never ending list of crap in There that does not work right, and therefore spoils the fun and use of said thing.

‘sigh

Money for Nothing and Your Kicks for Free

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag on December 14, 2011 at 7:00 pm

 

So, they tried out subscriptions yesterday (I happened to be online and apparently Bob3000 was the first subscriber. (It was sent out in a global message). Personally? I have already chucked 30 bucks into the hat. No clue now if I am a Sneetch or not—-

I know that MW apparently dislikes the Sneetches. I know I took advantage of this offer:

 

Way back in the day….Was this v1 Beta Lifetime? Who knows? Maybe I will keep a running total this time. I do remember by the end of Beta I had already spent something like 500 dollars. I am not a developer, have no talent other than the gift of gab and a love or writing, so it was all cold hard cash. I know quite a few people who took more out than they ever put INTO it. Yea, it was FREE FREE FREE….as MW is so very fond of saying.

 

I went in last night and today and added some time to a couple PAZ. YEA SPENT THOSE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR THEREBUCKS on time for the various PAZ I own and like to keep in my pocket. Kind of got Angela’s house together, and got the one I just call “The Shack” built, and my “Boudoir” all from memory! Got a bit frustrated and screamed out for all to not hear my chagrin and vexation!

One pet peeve currently is that I try to TP someplace, it says it is “full” and I finally manage to FLY there in my hoverboat, only to find it completely void of life. Wonder what it is full of?

I pity the people who are currently paying for zones no one can get to.

Ok, ok, on to the fun stuff…Here are some screen shots of various places I have been on my travels through There the past few days.

 

Looks like Kangaroo was either having a sale, or rebuilding. I went back later and apparently this was just him setting out stuff and looking at it while he did the rebuild.

Out exploring Comet, ran into this nifty place called Tumblin with Sum_Wun.

Chagall caught in the act of voting.

Carlybabe is amused.

Sum_Wun leaping over Clucky.

Falling on Tyr.

 

 

 

Bugs Get In When You Open Windows

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag on December 2, 2011 at 8:10 am

Yesterday I finally finished organizing my favorites into neat little folders. I only had three segmentation violations and sent them to Samsyn via the feedback@there.com address. He pointed out the line in the txt file to this non-geeky girl that showed they were actually memory leaks, which helps me to understand them a lot better:

Dec01/11:01:07.99477  988   Graphics:4  Texture creation format 0x15 (1024 x 1024) failed; hr = 0x8007000e (Out of Mem)

So if you see that line in a crashdump txt file after a segmentation violation just know it is the dreaded memory leak.

Despite the loss of the Fairy Tree bugs there are still a few “bugs that are now beloved features” in There, one that even gave me a little giggle when I arrived. My own bookmark is named “Unsittable Benches” and when I got there I saw this:

Needless to say I laughed my butt off. Apparently the person who owns the Zone thought it was amusing that these two benches are not able to be sat upon either.

I have another “bench” bookmark that I call “Jimmy Hoffa Bench” and it is somewhere in between not being sittable and being sittable.

I also got FRAPS to work, although I am going to have to relearn editing since the only video editor I have on the new laptop is Windows Movie Maker and It does not do near as much as my other video editor, alas. I may have to talk to my nephew and see what he recommends I use now for editing.

 

 

Fairy Trees and Bad Acid Trips

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag on December 1, 2011 at 10:46 am

Yesterday was filled with the rebuild of the Skybar. I am proud to say that it is again high in the sky over the Emporium and makes a nice jump. Unfortunately because I no longer have the “nudge” feature due to my newer laptop model doing away with such *cough* useful things as numpads, I was unable  to put a vehicle drop in the bar. Would be nice if you could set permissions in PAZ but we have been asking for that for years and I don’t see them getting around to that anytime soon.

I then spent a lot of time checking old “bug” teleports. Places where I knew there were bugs before, and were they still there?  Some of the bugs have been amusing ones, and most of us hoped they would just leave them in, since they had, in reality become “features” —Easter Eggs. I am sad to report one such Easter Egg that was beloved by me and many other people is gone. The “Tree Recursion” or as us non-geeky folks called it…”The Fairy Trees” are now just normal trees of  There, and the little Fairy Road is just a road. I stayed and ran the pathway several times for about 10 minutes trying to get the recursion to happen, but alas, I am convinced that it no longer exists.

Here is the Fairy Trees as they are in World Today:

(That is MxGirl22  jumping down the path) And here is a shot from a few years ago, when the Fairy Trees still existed.

You can see by my nametag in the first picture of the actual recursion that I am on my Risen Avatar, so this was around the time when my avatar died and they were working to ressurect her, so it was in the Fall of 2003 perhaps Early 2004. However I checked the recursion quite frequently, and know it existed when There went down in 2010, so I am thinking perhaps (and this is pure conjecture) That perhaps they fixed it recently when they “fixed a transparency problem”  (according to Michael Wilson’s blog) and broke the Groovy Bug. Here is what the Groovy Bug looks like in world now:

Personally I am calling it “The Bad Acid Trip Bug”. I was going to ask Michael Wilson if there was going to be a chance of a refund on it, since he stated they were not going to try to fix it, but a wiser than I friend assured me that there were actually people who WANTED it to be this way, and thought it was indeed Groovy, so I might make a deal on it selling it. Which is fine with me, since I need the rent money!

Speaking of rent money, MW stated in his last blog entry that perhaps Therebucks could be purchased sometime this week, so that means soon I will be able to rent the clubhouse. I was looking around at rents and was shocked at how much cheaper other folks get off on rent of houses, and me still with 20 bucks a month for my little virtual shack. I wish they would revisit the whole rent thing and quit charging 50 bucks for a glass of lemonade. Of course once I can buy some Therebucks, a REAL frenzy of PAZ rebuilding will begin.

Speaking of PAZ rebuilding, I was blessed to be in world when Snacks was in, and this time I did not hesitate to send an IM out to chat with him. Most of the time I wait, because he is usually building something , so the other night I waited too long and he logged before I could say hi! This time I got to go out to where he is building and chat for some time to the Marvelous Snacks!

I thought it was cute to see him in his old “Beta Testing” avatar look, and not in his Tuxedo. He was, coincidentally, puzzling over “fallen things” in his paz, his table was so deep under “water” from falling that the decorate tag could not even be found!  He commiserated some on my own “lack of a num pad, and therefore no nudge” issue, and I told him also my tale of woe over the Groovy Bug and the Fairy Trees. He is building directly under the “original sky paz” location, so if you have a bookmark to his first skypaz ever, you can literally DROP in on him as he builds.

I have many more pictures and notes and this may be a two blog day, if I get around to sorting all that out in my head. Stop by the clubhouse, the yards are out, the skybar is above, (but no teleport via document yet, could not get that to work to save my life) And sign the Killroy in the yard!

Snarks and Sneetches and Men With No Britches

In Chihuahua Emporium Rag on August 17, 2011 at 1:08 pm

As I read Michael Wilson’s blog over the past few months, one nagging impression remained:

The guy is a jerk.

That having been said, he is the CEO of  There.com and I was willing to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, after-all, I do not always come off as the shining beacon of nice in text format either. And like Michael Wilson, my reputation in the virtual world precedes me, and is largely untrue. Unfortunately, most of what I have heard about Michael Wilson has been confirmed over the past several months, reaching its apex yesterday over something that should have been a relatively simple clarification to a billing question.

Despite being a Thereian for 7 years, I  never met the man in “virtual person” or otherwise. Never spoke to him, and have only recently had any email exchanges with him. (which were not pleasant).   He has a tendency to knee-jerk react to the most simple request and for me, came off as more than just a little paranoid.

 I am not a schmoozer. Just not my style. Although men like Michael Wilson seem to delight in them and work quite hard to surround themselves with them. The ratio of schmoozing to non-schmoozing comments on his blog is quite high. Ego-stroking seems to be the norm. It is also apparent from his blog and his interactions via the comments, that he has no respect for anyone that does not readily bow down to him as a king  of There and accept their role as peasant.  He responds to most everyone as if they are a cretin (unless he has received the correct amount of ass-kissing from said person) and despite his having been on the internet as long as he has, he seems to have the impression that no one but himself has any expertise in any profession or skill other than pulling toe jam out from between our toes and eating it.

So yea,  good with bad, yin and yang, I try to do that right? (deep breath)

He has done a good job via his blog in keeping people up to date with everything they were/are doing to get the There world up and running. (And I am not denying that this is a monumental task, not to mention a big fat pain in the ass.)  He is quite good at a power point presentation. So he makes up for some of his lack in social skills with his ability to identify and relate information in a concise and understandable way, albeit with a definite tyrannical flair.  He really missed his calling as an office manager.   He does have a sense of humor, a bit too heavy on sardonic wit than is my taste, and an overuse of  sarcasm.  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit”  or so they say. (ahem)  He reminds me of many of the people I knew in my dark cafe days whose mouths would run quite a distance away from their brains when given enough liquid encouragement.

In any case, I made the mistake (OH NOES!) of asking the Lord High Executioner  for a simple clarification about the state of the Life Time Memberships of  Beta testers, since some rumors were already going around in ThereIM chat. Also I wished to begin to plan out my personal costs for There.com once it was up and running.  Apparently this hit a raw nerve, because suddenly a post appeared on his blog about it and then….LET THE DRAMA BEGIN!

The post itself starts out with a completely demeaning title, and then goes on to make sure that anyone who DARES to ask about their lifetime account are just ungrateful pissants to be deservedly chastised. The comment section only furthers this as MW “circles his little brown noser’s wagons” and encourages others to get out their cyber pitchforks, tar and feathers, for all those who dare to “bite the hand that feeds them”

Oh…really?

Who exactly will be paying the bills here?

So is There a SERVICE  which we shall pay for, or is it a GIFT?

Who is the servant? The one paying the bills or the one receiving said payment?

Most, if not all of the people I have spoken with who were Beta Testers for There who have signed up again, have no intention of not paying to play. In fact, like myself, they reactivated with the intention of contributing cash (even though they are not obligated to) to help keep it afloat. Kind of a strange reaction by Mr. Wilson to treat his “Free for Life” people who returned as if they were some sort of scourge that he reluctantly has to deal with. The folks I know who reactivated come not with cash that is forced out of their pockets, but with the idea that they are contributing money out of pure LOVE of  There.com. Most of these people are the same ones who make up some of the best and brightest of the Developer Program, who have spent tons of cash over the years for their Funzones, homes, Paz, Neighborhoods, etc. And they fully expect to come back and do that all over again.

The fact that Mr. Wilson derides and chides them in his blog for asking for clarification of their accounts reeks of  bad business practice at the core. Welcome back…to There!

signed,

A “There Welfare Recipient”