O Blogger, Where Art Thou?

So I have this absolutely luverly post, all ready to go up. Totally spent from our two days in Louisville, and 6 hours in the car, I got home and wrote it and started trying to post the pictures at 8 last night. And Blogger said, "No, no, I'll take your writing, but I can't put your pictures up." So I unplugged everything and restarted everything and still Blogger told me no.
I got up at 5 this morning and, in between packing for our trip to Chicago (we leave at 10 AM today), and getting the kids up and dressed and fed, I tried about ten times to post pictures so you'd have some Chet Baker while I'm gone. And Blogger said No. Downstairs, Bill was trying, too. Bill of the Birds is image-free, too. Imagine our frustration.

Having a blog is like having chickens. You have to feed it and care for it and make sure the raccoons don't get to it at night. You have to BE THERE. So when you keep up your end of the bargain and you're standing there with a bucket of chicken scratch, and Blogger won't even let you open the coop door to feed the flock, it is v e r y f r u s t r a t i n g. Hear that, Blogger? I know you're free. Maybe you're trying to get me down on my knees, pleading, "I'll pay ANYTHING! Just take my pictures of Chet violating a Barbie Doll!"

There's a phoebe perched on the roof, and I can see his tail bobbing. Hello, Spring!

If a Chet/Barbie blog entry appears, you'll have Phoebe to thank. I showed her how to post pictures today. Maybe Blogger will wake up before she gets home from school, and she'll be able to post. Maybe there is a gigantic computer terminal somewhere in Blogville that has finally melted into a puddle of stinky goo. Blogger may be at capacity. Who can say. All I know, is that when it works, it's wonderful, and when it doesn't, it ain't.