FIGHTING BLOGGER vs TECHNOLOGY

The fighting blogger is more than stirring things up.

It’s responding to problems, not making problems.

When the problem is technology, the fight is on.

What is the current technology problem? DNS propagation.

DNS = Domain Name System.

 

The Domain Name System (known as DNS) is a system used to convert a name (like www.google.com) into an IP address (like 192.168.2.1).

These addresses are used by computers to communicate with each other on the internet.

Most people find remembering names much easier than numbers, so DNS makes this process easy.

 

So that’s the easy part?

My fight started with upgrading storage since I use so many images.

To do that I upgraded my service on BlueHost.

After that boomerpdx went into hibernation.

Me: Hello, my name is David Gillaspie. I own and operate boomerpdx.com and my site is down.

The first call was helpful. My agent scoured the world known to them and discovered my upgraded service included this:

WWWW.BOOMERPDX.COM.

No server in existence will recognize the extra W in the World Wide Web. Was it fixed? Did I have my website back?

No.

But I still had hope while my agent said DNS propagation would take time.

Days passed and the second call showed more interesting developments:

My domain name was pointed to the wrong server.

I waited online while my new agent sorted things out. Did it solve the mystery of the disappearing blog?

Three days later I called to see how things were going since I had blogging time to fill.

Everything was good on their end, I just needed to be patient.

To help out they gave me whatsmydns.net.

I saw a map showing twenty-seven servers around the world.

After I entered my address I learned that boomerpdx is live on ten of them.

One in North America, one in Russia, six in Asia, two in Australia.

How can I be a short-changed fighting blogger?

 

DNS Propagation In Real Time

Propagation may be fast, it may be slow.

It could take 48-72 hours.

Here’s the problem: I’m a daily writer, a sit down and get it done kind of writer.

My aim is 1000 words a day, give or take.

With that extra time waiting I did other things.

One of them was joining a Writer’s Digest memoir class for feedback from agents.

I’ve ignored my cancer memoir long enough.

I sent my work in, 2500 words of opening, and got very useful notes in return.

In between writing sessions I checked on the blog.

No blog. Still propagating.

Today it clicked. I saw my long lost website, clicked a title and got a 404 error message.

So I googled 404 and discovered it was on my end.

Restart, empty cache, and I’m back.

After checking my DNS propagation I’m left wondering why I’m not listed on any of the other servers around the world, like Europe.

Will I need another upgrade to crack that ceiling? I hope not.

Will I have to call bluehost again? Probably.

In the meantime, here’s a section of memoir.

 

Fighting Blogger Says Watch Your Mouth

My yearly physical with Dr. P. showed none of the killer heart disease or diabetes in my family tree. A few weeks afterwards I saw my neck grow on one side. It had to be from my dedicated weightlifting regime. I’d had a wrestler’s neck back in my high school all-American wrestling days and now it bowed out like that. On the left side.

I rubbed it idly one night at the kitchen table. A good feel-around revealed muscle and a bump. For the tons of lifting I’d done for moob, or man-boob prevention, I ought to have muscle, but a fucking bump? On my neck? Elaine saw me pushing it around and zeroed in like a suspicious detective.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

It’s always cute the way she sounds when she thinks she caught me up to something. I try and sound guilty just to go along since I’ve got such a clean marriage record.

“Not doing nothing,” I said. “Why?”

“What’s this?” she asked, focusing on my neck.

“What? What’s what?” I said.

Since we first met she’s looked for things to fix. I’ve been a mother-lode.

“This bump?” she said, her eyes narrowed to a laser focus. There’s no way her laser focus could heat my neck, but I felt something warming up.

I turned away. If she couldn’t see the bump we wouldn’t have to talk about it until I was ready. I’d be ready to talk after it went away on its own.

“It’s a bump,” I said. “Probably a puffed-up lymph gland. It happens.”

We’d been watching one of her English murder mysteries. From the corner of my eye I saw her shift the serious detective work to me. I faced her with a tolerant look; I knew what was coming. Life with a doctor was always a choice to act, or not, on every new development. In sports the biggest question was if you were hurt, or injured. It was a badge of respect to overcome hurts and injuries. Would a lump be any different?

“You need it looked at. How long’s it been there?” she said in her doctor voice. It’s the voice I heard on the phone when she talked to patients and colleagues and labs. It was her authority voice of experience instead of a cooperative voice of marriage. I had a special voice, too. I’ve developed it over thousands of blog posts on BoomerPdx.com. It’s what makes ours a special relationship.