Jennifur: An Internet Baby

"Creating Baby Names, One Domain at a Time."

--From Jennifur.com

Question: What's the difference between a $xx,xxx domain and a $x domain?

Answer: one letter "e" morphed into "u."

Domaining is a crazy business that I still stumble around in, but one thing I have learned: one letter in a domain name can make a huge difference in its monetary value.

It's no secret: I would love to own Jennifer.com, but unless I come into a large windfall and a willing seller, that will never happen. Moreover, the .dot-tv people are holding Jennifer.tv ransom for $500.00 a year. I would be willing to pay a one-time fee of $500.00, but I can't see paying that much yearly for what is basically a vanity domain.

Thanks to my parents, I'm fortunate in that I have a great first name that I love. Unfortunately, during the early 1970s, millions of parents also named their daughters "Jennifer," resulting in an annoying glut of rugrat Jennifers who eventually grew up and are now in their mid to late 30's and making their mark in the world.

And then there's Jennifer Lopez, Aniston, Garner, Love-Hewitt, etc., so the Jennifer domains, in all Top Level Domains (.com, .net, .org, etc.), are highly prized and priced.

So, as they say, "Get over it."

Back in August, I stumbled upon this article; some domain-savvy parents are selecting names based solely on domain availability. Being somewhat new at this domain game, I thought it was an amazing concept, for when I was growing up, parents wanted to name their children after parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc. and/or a name that they liked.

But in an odd sort of way, wanting to give one's unborn child a solid web presence is a form of legacy and an act of love--we all want the best for our children, and the gift of a personalized domain is especially important these days and will probably be extremely important in the next 20-30 years and beyond.

Basically, if you don't have a web presence, you don't exist.

One hundred years from now, domain names may be passed down from one generation to the next, so JohnQDoe.com might be willed from father to son or grandfather to grandson. More young women with personalized domains might decide to hang onto their birth names after they marry, and, perhaps, even pass their birth names (and domains) to their daughters and granddaughters.

It's definitely a brave new world.

So what's all this got to do with Post Foetry? Not a whole lot, except this: For the past few weeks, I have been kicking around the idea of writing an internet story or novella about a child who has been named "Jennifur" because this first-name dot-com domain was available.

I have already written Chapter 1; if you wish, you can see for yourself at Jennifur.com.

So now you know the full answer to the question posed at the beginning of this post:

Jennifer.com = $xx,xxx

Jennifur.com = $x

But perhaps my minor creative endeavors will help to build some traffic for Jennifur.com.

In any case, it will be a fun and interesting experiment in domain-building and writing rough-draft creative work directly on the web.

On Achieving Happiness: Acceptance, New Direction, and Attitude Readjustment

Recently, I discovered a charming website called Rate Your Students (RYS), a place where academics, both the privileged and unprivileged, can come together and bitch about the unfairness of having to put up with college students one level above, say, a peanut butter sandwich and conniving colleagues who would torpedo one's tenure-track career.

This post pretty much sets the tone of RYS.

Boo, hoo!

Personally, I'm having a great semester--though it helps having only one class. My students seem engaged, respectful, and smart, so I look forward to going to class and engaging in our literary discussions. Yesterday, I yanked a few unsuspecting souls from the class, and we did an impromptu (and unrehearsed) reading of Susan Glaspell's Trifles (1916), a proto-feminist play. They were all good sports and did an amazing job. In fact, one young lady did such a fine job of delivering dialogue that I encouraged her to consider trying out for one of our college productions. Last semester, I had a full load (four classes), and I have to admit that even then I had a good semester--not perfect, but when one has 75+ students, one is bound to end up with a few slackers.

I'm just overall happier these days.

How can this be? I'm still on the lowest possible rung on the academic ladder--the next step down is called "out." Thus, my situation is, at best, tenuous. I should be wailing and gnashing my teeth, but I'm not.

For one thing, I don't have time to whine. My domaining enterprise, albeit profits still hooked on life support, takes a long time, and I'm still low on the learning curve.

Also, while jumping into a new profession can be confusing and frustrating, it's enriching to stretch one's mind in a totally different direction; I learn something new every day, and that is satisfying and fun, especially when those AHA! moments come.

I'm no longer defined by a certain standing in academia because I have made my peace with the fact that I am now a "true" adjunct: one who comes to class, does her job (well, I hope), and then leaves and pursues her real job. As a result, I am a better teacher because I have left any residual bitterness behind.

Also, I have finished I, Driven: memoir of a teen's involuntary commitment and am in the process of shopping it around. There, too, I have decided that I will not be defined by what the establishment publishing industry thinks of me, and, thus, my work. These days, there are too many options open to writers, including self publishing and/or blogging it (with adsense plastered on each page). The establishment publishing industry can twitter all they want--see if I care.

Lesson learned: always have plan "B" in mind--and maybe even plan "C."

Now, about Post Foetry. I don't have the resources to turn this into a true investigative site. I'm basically one person with limited energy and funds.

My call for team members has fallen flat. Evidently, writers are very fearful folks who are afraid of rocking the literary boat (even anonymously), so good folks do nothing while contest fraud continues. So be it. Sometimes one learns best in the school of hard knocks...

Of course, for better or for worse, I will continue to post here. I will continue to speak out against literary contest fraud and warn the naive and young, but I'm not going to dabble in investigative work.

I'm just going to post what I think about various topics in the publishing industry, so feel free to view this blog as Bugzita/Jennifer's form of literary masturbation.

Don't worry, be happy.

Jennifer, Bugzita, Ms Domainer, Ms. Siegel

Jorie Graham's New Yorker Poem

Recently, I had dinner with a BIG NAME POET who said The New Yorker is a place where major poets publish their worst work.

At the time, I didn't think too much about the remark, although I must admit that, overall, the typical New Yorker poem leaves me scratching my head and wondering who selects that obscure and bland stuff. I just chalk it up to my own differing tastes and let bygones be bygones. Besides, the New Yorker cartoons and articles more than make up for any deficiencies in their poetry, so I continue to subscribe.

However, Jorie Graham's poem "Later in Life" (August 6 issue) is astounding in terms of its mediocrity, rambling qualities, wordiness, painful length, and strange structure. I'm much too weary to deconstruct this poem for this small audience; the poem itself makes me tired. I'm sure that if Bugzita or some other unknown poet submitted this poem, it would have been buried in the bottom of the slush pile.

I hadn't read Ms. Graham's poems before and felt somewhat obligated to see what all the buzz has been about, but without having to pay for the privilege. I must admit, I was expecting better.

"Later in Life" simply doesn't pass my BS meter, which I had to use often when I taught creative writing. IMHO, it reads like a bad undergrad poem. The poem spans two pages in the 8/6 issue, much too long for a mediocre poem.

If anyone wishes to defend the poem and/or analyze it, feel free to e-mail me and I'll post it here. Maybe I have missed something.

On a cheerier note, the same issue of The New Yorker published an informative article by Michael Specter titled "Damn Spam," and outed the inventor of this marvelous wonder that clogs our mail boxes daily: Gary Thuerk. In 1978, he figured out a way to send a mass email to members of a network called Arpanet. He was trying to sell a computer system, which he did, to the tune of a cool $20 million. However, most of the members of the group were outraged that the sacred internet would be used for commercial purposes.

What a hoot.

Wouldn't you just love having Gary Thuerk's email address?

Finally, MAJOR and shameless self-promotion: I set up a web page with an open letter to agents and publishers regarding my memoir I, Driven, now finished. I'm also going to try the old fashioned way, but last night, as I was checking out a domaining blog, I got this brainstorm: why not find a generic domain name and put my promotional information on it? Amazingly, some great generics having to do with memoir were available and just ready for the plucking (for cheap), so I grabbed several variations. For now, you can see how I have used one of them (I'm still a bit slow with creating web pages):

www.NewMemoir.com

This domain name was parked on Sedo for less than 24 hours and received three browser type-in hits, so I decided to pull it and DO something with it--that's my goal for all my parked pages; I just need to find the time without devoting my entire life to creating web pages. But this one felt important (at least personally).

My next goal is getting a synopsis page up, but first I have to write one up--I hate the promoting part of writing a book.

My other memoir domain names are safely parked on Sedo, making next to nothing.

In closing, I, Bugzita, may be slipping slightly over to the dark side in my domaining endeavor.

Best to all, even Jorie, who should be writing better poems.

Bugzy