A couple of weeks ago I took the early morning train up to Dublin to renew my accidentally expired passport. The US Embassy in Dublin is open for approximately 3 hours each morning, 4 days a week, so this meant getting on the very first train from Cork and I still barely made it before they closed for what is presumably a 21 hour lunch.

Entering the compound one might politely describe as The Ugliest Building in Dublin was a very bizarre experience. In the US, I’m used to armed police on the streets, metal detectors in schools and heavy security at shopping malls. In Ireland, none of that happens. So it is extremely disconcerting to find ones self in Ballsbridge, entering an already freaky compound through something that very closely approximates airport security complete with uniformed guards, a metal detector, an x-ray belt for my handbag, and the requirement to leave both my phone and my nail scissors at the checkpoint. I spent more than a moment wondering if I was being shielded from a potential hostage situation or actually be taken hostage.

Neither event came to pass and everyone was exceedingly nice, from the guards to the cashier to the lovely French woman who helped me complete my application. My new passport was required for our mortgage paperwork, so I was anxious to get it back as soon as possible and minimise any delays. When the form asked for my email address, I provided it willingly so that the consulate could have one more way of contacting me if there were any issues.

There was no opt in/opt out checkbox and no disclaimer or fine print of any kind, so I naturally assumed my email address would be used only for purposes pertaining to the application on which I provided it.

Today, three days after the prompt delivery of my shiny new passport, I received an email from wardendublin@state.gov - something long and rambling to do with absentee ballots and Minnesota. Here it is in all its spammy glory:

First of all, I have no idea what they’re on about, nor do I care. I have never lived in Minnesota and doubt I could locate it on a map if challenged to do so. I have certainly never voted in Minnesota, and voting information specific to Minnesota is irrelevant to me - as it is to every other US expat in Ireland who is from any of the 49 states not named Minnesota.

Second of all, and far more irritating, is the following:

• I have no idea what this list is. It is not identified in any way in the footer. The sender, likewise, is unidentified.
• I did not ask to be on this list, and at no point was I told that my information would be used for what amounts to federal spam.
• Most importantly, there is no mechanism provided for me to opt out of this list now that I’m on it.

I am, to say the least, irate. I have an immediate need to drop someone’s trousers and hand out a suitably painful, lesson-instilling spanking. I am absolutely positive that this practice must break a US or EU spam law, and I am old and crotchety and spoiling for a law suit.

I don’t want to write a letter to some dusty office in Dublin, Brussels or Minnesota; I want to haul someone into court and beat them up for their pocket change, because I am exactly that pissed off.

So tell me, dear interpipes, who do I sue? Seriously.

I’m sad to report in a follow up to my review of the Most Awesome Phone Ever that the mobile version of The Sims 2 has proven, on extended play, to be a huge but limited pile of poo. The limitations come from the very small mobile file size of the game, which means that you are restricted to one property, a cycle of just five jobs, no clothing or decorating options, and a set number of property extensions and goods you can buy. Pretty much the only unrestricted activity is the amount of sex you can have, and hooboy, have I been having a lot.

Here’s the thing: there’s not much to do in The Sims if the number of items you can purchase is limited to 10 and you’re chained to your own property. All you can really do is go to work, come home, and go through the normal routine of trying to keep your Sim fed and in dry pants.

This leaves a rather copious amount of spare time. And the only way to make time pass more quickly in The Sims is by shagging. Literally: you shag, the screen blanks, and three hours passes by in an instant.

In a desperate effort to escape the incredible tedium of the idle suburban life, my Sim leads a complex and free wheeling existence in which she married Ben, had an affair with Lorna, divorced Ben, and married Susan but lives with Ivan. You’d think two relationships and all the sex that goes with them would be enough to keep the girl occupied, but every day she comes home from work and places a booty call to Ben, the enamoured ex who just can’t say no, simply to get the day over with sooner.

Playing this game is like an extended re-run of my 20s, except without the booze, drugs or rehab.

The most frustrating part is that there appears to be literally no way out of this existence. The Sims is a game without end; there is no goal beyond continuation of life, but in the full game play version, when you get absolutely sick of a character you just cannot stand to play any more, you can always find a way to kill them off.

The traditional method for simicide is to remove all of the smoke detectors from the house and wait for a house fire. I am, however, far more vicious and impatient than that, and my preferred method for killing annoying children and irritating spouses is to chuck them in the pool and take away the ladder.

But on the mobile version, there is no death. You can starve them, cut them off from all human contact, and leave them in a puddle of their own waste, and they’ll still get up the next day to cheerfully face a brand new morning at Guantanamo.

Suburbia is hell.

I’m aware of the fact that this is an ironic weekend for this to have happened, but my work computer has officially keeled over and died. This is doubly ironic given that I was vaguely aware all was not well in Computerville, and just yesterday procured an enormous USB stick so I could back up my current projects folder.

Sticking the USB key into the computer? Is what finally killed it.

This is apparently a malady stemming from peripherals. It started with an increadibly troublesome printer that would freeze my entire system with each communication attempt to or from the PC, and finally ended in a blaze of absolute nothingness with the aforementioned USB issue.

There is a long day of mountaineering level rescue attempts ahead of my husband, but I am not terribly hopeful that this is going to end well. And on the off chance that this story does have some kind of happy ending, it is unlikely to be a quick one.

The real issue, however, is that all of my current projects in progress for all pending clients are locked on that dead hard drive. Even if this all gets sorted by the end of the long bank holiday weekend, a forced vacation during repairs is going to mean an enormously crunched work load, even if this event doesn’t mean starting completely from scratch for every single project.

Fortunately, I thrive on disasters, so it will all come good one way or another.

Unfortunately, if I promised you something this weekend, it is unlikely to appear. I will look at everyone’s deadlines, reshuffle in order of deadline priority, and get everything out early next week. When I know what the production schedule looks like, everyone will get an email from me so we can be sure nobody is being pushed to a new deadline that isn’t going to work for them.

I am, of course, very sorry this has happened and will do everything possible to make all of the pain mine and virtually none of it anyone else’s.

The last irony is that of course, I do have a back-up system in place. I back up all accepted layouts, all production designs and code, and every iteration in between. What I don’t back up is the 32 versions I go through before I send someone a suggested design. It just happened to work out that right now, I have about six clients in this awkward pre-production phase.

And yes, you can bet that the new computer system, in whatever incarnation, will involve a nightly, if not hourly, new back-up routine.

The internet takes a lot of crap for being all about pornography. My general response to this is that the market gets what the market wants, and it should come as no surprise that naked people like other naked people. I have zero problem with online pornography as an industry, and the proliferation of everything from college call girls to phone sex workers doesn’t bother me in the least. You work it, honey.

What does bother me is whoring by people who are not, in fact, paid sex workers.

You may be surprised to learn that the most recent example of this is near Bantry, not generally known for being a red light district. A local hostelry is running an online contest which you enter by linking to them in your blog with a particular Google keyword phrase. They are, in short, gaming Google. They don’t want your opinion or your love; they want your inbound links to improve their search engine rankings.

I don’t have a problem with the suckers people who “entered” the contest by writing about Glengarriff Lodge. I have a problem with Glengarriff running a competition that is transparent, blatant link whoring:

You write a blog post which links to our homepage using the term Luxury Self Catering. In the same blog post you link to one friend who you think might be interested in the competition.

The thing is, it looks like a neat place and is touting itself as eco-friendly and sustainable. They could get legitimate links and an authentic viral buzz off of that. I can think of at least ten places with high Google rankings that would cover this joint if told about it, deliver better Google results for a very competitive keyword phrase, and not piss off half the blogsphere in the process. Or - hey! - they could actually optimise their site for search engines, with, say, page titles and stuff.

So, I’m with CrankyPants on this one.

The only good thing I can say about the Glengarriff campaign is that while they are prescribing the single phrase you need to link with, they are not telling you what to say. So, I can tell you that I think this Luxury Self Catering campaign at Glengarriff Lodge sucks, and according to the contest rules, that’s okay. Since I’m interested in what Eoghan McCabe thinks about this campaign, I guess I’m officially entered. Fair enough.

The same good thing cannot be said about ebuzzing, who spammed emailed me this morning to let me know they’ve setup shop on the corner of Hollywood and Vine:

ebuzzing allows bloggers to earn good money by writing about things they actually like, and even to define their own price for doing so. They browse ad campaigns posted by advertisers, create content for their blog discussing things that they genuinely wish to highlight and are paid for each article.

This kind of pay-per-post scheme is not new, and as long as the company running the service has a policy in place that requires the paid posts to be flagged as such, which ebuzzing does, I generally don’t have an issue with it. In this particular case, however, there’s one little catch: they have to approve your blog entry before you post it.

We will not censor content nor pass judgement on the quality of an article you’re publishing on your blog. But we have a duty to guarantee our advertisers the consistency and integrity of their campaigns and to see to it that the briefs they issue on ebuzzing are interpreted correctly. So it is incumbent on us to evaluate whether a post is within the framework laid down for the campaign, includes the necessary elements (eg links to advertisers’ site) and conforms to ebuzzing’s general editorial policy.

Call me cynical, but I’m reading that as “we can’t censor what you write on your own blog, but we’re probably only going to pre-approve and pay you for things that our client has asked for, namely positive blog entries.”

I’m not sure which of these two practices is more odious. The only thing I do know is that I have a lot more respect for the people whoring themselves to the almighty dollar than I do for the one’s whoring themselves to the almighty Google.

I spent yesterday writinga lengthy blog entry over at LuckyOliver on Why I Will Never Use Creative Commons Images. I’ve expounded at length over there as to why I think Creative Commons sucks in practice, even though it’s a fine notion in concept. Nevertheless, I do realise that Creative Commons is widely embraced. So leaving all bitching and moaning to once side, I thought it might be useful to share some of what I’ve found in doing light Creative Commons research, and note some thoughts on good practices if you are a Creative Commons user.

If you’re releasing images under a Creative Commons license, it’s important to note that the attribution portion of the CC license may simply state:

You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor.

If you don’t specify anything, you’re leaving yourself open to the interpretation that no attribution is required. In fact, unless you specify that you want a link back to the original, a link arguably doesn’t even have to be used:

If you are using a work licensed under one of our core licenses… then the proper way of accrediting your use of a work when you’re making a verbatim use is: (4) the Uniform Resource Identifier for the work if specified by the author and/or licensor.

To avoid this, you need a Creative Commons Attribution Statement (something that as far as I can tell, does not currently exist anywhere) that specifies how you want to be credited for your work. So, if you’re releasing CC images on your own site, create a Creative Commons Attribution page that’s easily found; if you’re just uploading to Flickr, then use your Profile page for your statement.

My statement would read:

Some photographs on this site | in my Flickr stream are released under Creative Commons license, which requires attribution. If you wish to use my work under the associated license, images should be attributed to ©Sabrina Dent with a link to or URL of http://www.sabrinadent.com/(or your gallery page or Flickr profile or whatever you prefer) provided. While not required by the license, I would appreciate it if you could let me know when and how my images are used.

That should cover you for both web and print, so it’s a start, at least.

If you’re using Creative Commons images, one thing you (and virtually everyone else) may have missed is that Creative Commons attribution not only requires a link/credit for the original creator, it also requires a link to Creative Commons license being utilised:

You also need to provide the Uniform Resource Locator for the Creative Commons license that applies to the work, together with each copy of the work that you make available.

While I’m a fan of the idea of Creative Commons, I generally find using Creative Commons to be a ginormous pain in my arse for this and many other reasons and I usually just cannot be bothered. But among people who embrace its use, I think there’s a real need for best practice documentation and some user friendly How To posts. We’re failing on both the creator and the user end to understand how Creative Commons works, and more importantly, the additional steps we need to take individually to make the licensing valid and keep the system valuable.

Image: Three Cats ©ramseyarnaoot [cc]

Last night, my husband left the heat on before coming to bed, and I woke up this morning to find myself in the middle of the menopause.

“Wow, that was sooner than I expected,” I thought.

The bed was drenched, the sheets were drenched, I was drenched. I swam my way downstairs, made a cup of coffee, and promptly vomited it back up five minutes later.

“Oh God, watch me be up the duff,” I thought.

From menopause to pregnancy in 20 minutes. Never an auspicious start to the day.

Before anyone gets too excited, I am not pregnant. Or in the middle of menopause, for that matter, although I don’t think anyone throws you a party or buys you booties for that. I’m about to turn 36, and am entering the statistical sphere where one is every bit as unlikely as the other.

My only real concern is this. The last time I seriously hurled, it was shortly after eating a chocolate eclair. I proceeded to be sick approximately 24 times in the next four hours, and ended up in hospital with a severe and life-threatening case of appendicitis and peritonitis. I have not been able to eat an eclair since, despite the fact I know full well pastry was not the root of the problem.

After a particularly hard-core fraternity party in the 90s, I still have the same issue with Jagermeister 15 years later. To this day, the merest whiff sends me running for the nearest wastepaper basket. And after my recent episode of accidental drunkness, I have had to stop wearing the perfume I wore that night, because the smell just induces instant, gagging hangover.

I can live a happy and fulfilling existence without babies, I can waft through life without Anais Anais, and I can make it through the rest of my days without eclairs.

I cannot, however, survive without coffee.

Contrary to appearances, I am not actually dead. This is a bit disappointing, on account of the fact that I look fabulous in black and had planned to dress accordingly for my own funeral. On the plus side, I can put off that particular shopping trip, which is always a bonus.

On the minus side, it’s all gone to shit in the past week.

For a start, I have walking pneumonia or something, which is never going to be a barrel of monkey fun. Unless the monkeys are also smoking pot. I, however, am smoking menthols. Medicinally.

Second of all, I have insomnia brought on by working with clients across not one, not two, but three different time zones. My body is currently under the impression that I am 22, can pull all nighters for days without end, and am living in LA. Where it is midnight, and not 8 AM.

Finally, I have hit The Slump. This happens about once every two or three years. Normally when a client comes to me for a design, I get a picture in my head of how to bring their needs together under a cohesive design, sit down, and churn it out. The actual churning part can be very time consuming, but I am fortunate to have a high batting average in this, and usually get it right the first time.

Every once in a while, the picture never solidifies. I sit down, I open my graphics program, and get precisely nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Bupkis.

When this happens, it is horrifying. Particularly if you are my husband. Because unless you come bearing cigarettes, coffee or design inspiration, I pretty much just want to be left alone in my hell hole to quietly, repeatedly bang my head against the same wall. And even if you do come bearing design inspiration, I am very likely to tell you that your idea is terrible and COULD NOT POSSIBLY WORK and then perhaps cry until you go away.

So, I’ve been an exhausted, sick, frustrated, mean treat of a woman to live with for the week.

While I am prepared (and somewhat embarrassed) to admit that I occasionally fail in my professional capacity as a designer, I am at this point comforted by the fact that in this instance, it’s due to a really craptastic client brief. As in a non-existent one. I’m prepared to let myself call this one a case of “You gave me nothing, now it’s all I got.”

And as if the past week wasn’t enough, my husband will now divorce me for quoting U2 lyrics.

Please join me in a BINGO adventure as we score MOLI.com on their PR ability, commitment to transparency, crisis management rating, and customer service skills.

Believe me, even I am getting a bit bored with how shit they are at all of this, and I regret that this post will only be of interest to venture capitalists, DEMO attendees, TechCrunch readers, Valleywag whores, users of Wikipedia, members of social networks, people in PR, people in marketing, people in communications, and those who want to see how MOLI.com finally responded to being caught astroturfing. A small audience, in other words.

Due to the fact that MOLI has racked up quite a few chits on their Bingo card, it’s a bit long. So in honor of Valleywag, who covered this story last night, “more after the jump.”

Read more »

It seems our Moli.com friend Hawk5721 is a true Moli enthusiast. He’s been running all over the internet telling people about it:

• Hawk5721 astroturfs on Digg, telling us all about Ron Paul’s new social networking site on… Moli.com
• Hawk5721 astroturfs on Techcrunch, telling us “If you are frustrated with Facebook yuo should try this site ww.moli.com. It rocks.”
• Hawk5721 astroturfs on GetSatisfaction, telling us that “they actually have customer service and help.”

They certainly do have customer service and help. Moli.com was very helpful indeed in tracking down the fact that Hawk5721 is actually Daniel DiFiore, Moli.com’s Director of Customer Service. This was ridiculously easy to Google up, given that he’s blogging at danieldifiore.blogspot.com with the username Hawk5721.

On his Moli profile, Dan is generous enough to offer his services as a consultant. It seems he’s worked with fairly notable clients like, err, the Rhode Island Film Collaborative.

On whose website he’s also astroturfed for Moli.com. Natch.

The guy’s got stamina, I’ll give him that. Unfortunately, since he hasn’t quite come to grips with that Moli.com “split channels between personal and business personae” Unique $30m Selling Point, we get to see just how much stamina he has, especially when it comes to doing Jello shots.*

Still, it was great to be able to track him down so easily on Moli.com. This whole social networking thing is awesome!

*Update: That image seems to have been removed from Dan’s photo album. No worries; I have a copy.

Previously | Moli.com Not Only Lies But Whores
Next Up | MOLI  fails at Internet Bingo

Shortly after posting my previous, less than flattering report on DEMO star and newly funded social network start-up Moli.com, a visitor named Hawk5721 made the following, contrary comment:

MOLI is awesome. Exactly what grown ups and business have been waiting for. No kids spamming. The only thing i got when i signed up was a few friend request which is a good thing.

This was suspicious for a few reasons:

• The comment was from a new commenter, and appeared very soon after posting.
• I’m not that widely read on RSS, and such a prompt reply screams “Google alert for MOLI.com” way louder than “dedicated Sabrina fan.”
• I don’t know, write for or cross paths with people with user names like Hawk5721. That is because this is not 1998 and I am not on AOL.

Wordpress, my blog software, records the IP address of every poster. So I asked my other half to look up Hawk5721’s PI address of 65.207.161.149.

You’ll never guess who 65.207.161.149 is. Oh gwan. Guess.

Why, it’s our friends at nat0.hq.moli.com! Yes, our friend Hawk works for Moli.com. Apparently that “signing up” thing he referenced was, in fact, signing his employment contract.

You know what blows my mind about this? You get $30M in funding, you get to be a DEMO wunderkind, you’re a start-up with great buzz, awesome momentum and a huge PR rush…

And the energies of one of your 55 employees is directed at fucking astroturfing?

Shouldn’t these people be out doing blow and drinking champagne off the breasts of nubile young lapdancers?

This is corporate suicide. It’s a PR nightmare when you get caught with your hand in this cookie jar. Astroturfing kills companies. It kills funding. Most importantly, it kills trust with your userbase. (You know, those people giving you their names, email address, postal addresses, and in the case of Moli, credit card details.)

Consequences for companies that engage in this kind of deciet are so dire that there’s an internet phrase for it:

“This will not end well givewell.”

That’s because founder Holden Karnofsky was removed from his position as Executive Director of GiveWell for doing the same thing after he got caught red-handed astroturfing at MetaFilter.

I hereby predict that Moli.com will not givewell.

Enjoy the rest of DEMO, Moli.

Update | Hawk5721 is Moli.com’s Director of Customer Service