January 24, 2004

Remember HR Pufnstuff?

This was a weird show. Remember? I remember it. Thing is, I was telling Jenna about it last week, remembering the feeling of watching Pufnstuff--a mini acid trip for kids in my day--and then I found a copy of the movie at the library today--oh witchiepoo, where have you been, babe?--so tonight we're hanging out watching HR Pufnstuff, and it's as weird as I remember it.

And for old time's sake, the theme song...

H.R. Pufnstuf, who's your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, can't do a little, 'cause you can't do enough

Once upon a summertime
Just a dream from yesterday
A boy and his magic golden flute
Heard a boat from off the bay
"Come and play with me, Jimmy
Come and play with me
And I will take you on a trip
Far across the sea"

But the boat belonged to a kooky old witch
Who had in mind the flute to snitch
From her Vroom Broom in the sky
She watched her plans materialize
She waved her wand
The beautiful boat was gone
The sky grew dark
The sea grew rough
The boat sailed on and on and on and on

But Pufnstuf was watching, too
And knew exactly what to do
He saw the witch's boat attack
And how the boy was fighting back
He called his Rescue Racer Crew
As often they'd rehearsed
And off to save the boy they flew
But who would get there first?

But now the boy had washed ashore
Puf arrived to save the day
Which made the witch so mad and sore
She shook her fist and screamed away

H.R. Pufnstuf, who's your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, can't do a little, 'cause you can't do enough

Ending Theme Lyrics:

Whoa, I got, you got, everybody do got
Someone who cares by the name of
H.R. Pufnstuf, where'd you go when thing get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, well, you can't do a little 'cause you can't do enough

BB on everything.

That treat we know as Burningbird has some fabulous photos and prose up today on everything from New England to Lipizzoners to Crapflodders to an ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend. Sweet.

...and all that jazz

George has two new columns up at All About Jazz. Enjoy!

January 23, 2004

I asked jeeves

I asked jeeves tonight how I could get rich quick. I need to be rich, specifically, by mid-April, at which time it appears I will have a certain bill due that could do me in. I had to live on what I made after getting laid off last April. Lo and behold, time flies when you're living a couple projects at a time. And well, there's nothing in the old nest egg. So, I thought maybe Jeeves would have some ideas.

Anyone know about this survey taking stuff? Sounds easy enough for some extra cash. Sure sign it's bullshit, huh.

Perhaps I could become a con artist.

Dag. I don't live in Boston, or maybe I could be an anti-racism trainer. I'd bring in lots of funk, talk about what President George Clinton has done for this country (before he got arrested for pot possession) and stuff like that. I'd make up a snappy slogan. "Racism Sukkks." Something like that.

There must be something.


consumption cut in half for 2 days

I am ready to embrace the current dadministration's decision to invade mars. Not because I care one way or the other, but because I'm fantasizing about being on the rocket ship, around all that glorious white smoke. I picture myself riding underneath, sucking the burning snow-white smoke right out of those big rocket exhaust pipes. Let me bathe in rocket fuel, run inside the fading cloud puffs, walk the stream of smoke for miles, an endless tight rope.

To come down, it took a whole bag of Lindt Milk Chocolate balls, the ones in the red foil; ask for them by name.

I'm not talking about two or four. I'm talking a whole bag. I can't seem to stay awake. I am drowning in fine chocolate. And I don't care. I would have more, but they're all gone.

I'm fussy about my chocolate. Usually I hate the expensive kind. I like the milky kind, like the old Nestle bars in the red wrappers (not crunch, smooth) that I can't seem to find anymore. Like Dove milk chocolate. To me, no other candy bars are worth the effort it takes to chew them. Don't like brownies. Don't like chocolate ice cream much.

But oh lord, those Lindt balls tonight.

Lindt's milk chocolates are the closest thing I've found to my favorite childhood chocolate, which I also can't find anymore.

Ice cubes.

Do you remember them? Can you find me some? They were wrapped in foil, little squares of chocolate, and the dime stores sold them cold, out of the freezer, you'd take them home and put them in the freezer, and when they melted in your mouth, you were transported. Simply transported. Liquidy milky chocolate that plays with your tongue and toys with your teeth. WHAT MORE IS THERE?!

And tonight I was transported, I tell you. By those little red balls.

Tonight I thought I was the only freak on the planet who remembered Ice Cubes, craved them even. Then I checked Google and saw that there's a whole retro candy market. And a quick look at chocolate health facts tells me my Lindt balls might even be healthy for me.

Sweet justification.

The net is magical that way, isn't it?


So I decided to cut down today. Way down. Stopped at the drug store and checked out the different things available to help you quit. Never tried any before. Always cold turkey. But that's not so easy once you have a kid. Got to keep your senses about you. Can't lose your wits.

So I picked up $49 worth of gum. I dunno. Something like penance.

Was afraid of the patch. Direct line to the bloodstream and all. I don't understand it. Why not a valium patch? So you won't give a damn? Or why not sodium pentathol so you can just tell the world you have no intention of really going through with this, so forget about it.

thought of all the bad things it does to you.

had one on the way home.

got home, did other stuff. Tried to work. Got afraid of the gum. Afraid to unwrap it. It comes with an interactive CD that I was pretty sure I didn't want to see.

had one.

made more coffee. Did some more work. Coffee. Work.

had two.

went to sleep. Slept for almost four hours.

woke up feeling dead. Is this what it will be like? Thought if I had one it would help.

had one. Didn't help.

got jenna, took her to get her hair trimmed. She had a blast. Special conditioner, getting to sit under the dryer. Girls are lots of fun for moms.

had one.

got dinner, came home, played around, got jenna ready for bed, set up her bed tray so she could draw for a while, then laid down with her while she fell asleep.

leg pains. oh god this hurts. my stomach hurts. my thighs--owwwwwwwch. ouch! wtf!--twitch twitch. youch! arrrrgh.

still no gum. afraid of the gum.

why? still want to have a few more.

had two while on the phone.

feel like a rowboat in sludge.

feel like sludge.

will have one and then sleep.

January 22, 2004

How'd I miss this one?

Thanks, Mike, you made me laugh.

And in this post, you made me catch my breath because I thought it was beautiful:

Sometimes, when I'm driving alone at night, I still see the face of a girl that I had in the truck with me once. We were going somewhere to have fun... talking and laughing, listening to the stereo. I can see her face bathed in the green glow of the instruments, and it's almost like a part of her is still there, riding with me. It's a sad thought though, because I know that she'll never be there again.

But then I looked at the penguins and started cracking up again.

One more note about politics (ick) then back to your irregularly scheduled programming

Deanies, take a look at this Edwards guy, and women voters especially, take a look at his interesting wife, Elizabeth. A recent article by Georgie Anne Geyer from the 16th discusses feminism and the 2004 election. A snippet:

Elizabeth Edwards, the outspoken wife of hunky Southern senator and trial lawyer John Edwards, for instance, is known to be most candid, whether giving forth on education or on critiques that, to many, she looks older than her boyish-looking husband. "I don't want to walk around and hear people say, 'Oh, look, there's John Edwards with his mother,'" she said recently.

Elizabeth Edwards' forthrightness does fit into the patterns of contemporary feminism. She is there with her man, but she is her own woman with her own ideas, her own jokes and her own digs at her critics.

As I said in my previous post, I liked Elizabeth's post over on the Edward's site. We'll see if she does more of that.

More importantly--there is no other Democratic candidate running who can make a dent against Bush in the South. None. Certainly not Dean. He can't win here--he blew it even before the confederate flag and rednecks comment. If the Democrats have the slightest chance of nudging Bush out, they must win the South.

Kerry can't win here. Dean can't win here. Clark can't win here.

But Edwards could.

January 21, 2004

Now we're talking

The potential U.S. First Lady Edwards is penning her own posts and is not afraid to have comments turned on.

The children were still asleep on the pullout sofas, and he picked up his lazy wife (I got to sleep in until 7), kissed the children, and we went (with our nieces, Laura and Jordan) to Top Value Foods, an African-American owned business for a Martin Luther King event with Representative Wayne Ford, who, I have to tell you, gives one heck of an introduction.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. The lady is blogging. And pretty ballsy, considering the current state of the Dean fiasco.

Stavros, get her an invitation to the party forthwith!

Searched my site for the word "blog." Copied and pasted parts of the abbreviated returns displayed on the first couple pages


I've never actually met the man
seen him in three dimensions.

Dream a little blog with me.

waxing and waning.
I've figured it out.
Not me alone.
You know.
But I think I figured out
the problem with the planet

Have your mute button ready.

My Dear Jenna,
I was reading
through my archives,
the posts that I've written here
I noticed something
that made me very sad.

There are days
when they should take
my laptop away.
this is one of them.
before any pain medicines
hit my veins, I wake up.

Between fits of laughter,
I think I heard him say something like,
He asked
me to keep an eye
on his blog.

Okay. Well.
There's no telling
where your blog will wind up.
So. Then.
I have
a confession to make.

I hate feeling like I have to blog,
when I don't feel like it,
that the blog takes time
away from my family,
that blogging doesn't pay
that I have to blog so often

Still others are mere copies
of what we hear
on cable news
and talk radio,
which, in my mind,
is a waste
of good blog space.

Think about going
to the grocery store
Find anything else to do
Blog Stop blogging
Get off the fucking couch
Get car keys and purse
Walk down the steps.

But the blog tugs at my pant leg.
Comeon, baby,
blog some more.
say something else.

CLASSIFY THIS: "weblogs are like snorting coke off the bellies of teenage hookers." --STWC

So I gotta D+ today in getting along well with others.

Guess what. I'm doing the right thing. And you know how I know? Because I'm going to a PARTY!

And it's a wondercchickenparty, yes a wonderchicken party, and a wonderchicken party don't STOP!

Come on, come over. Go read Stavros TWC this minute. If you never read another post in your natural briefcasecarrying life, read this one.

You want to know what a weblog is? Risk.

Blogging IS risk. If you have $omething riding on blogging, $omething hanging on the words of others besides your soul and sweat and tears, then you lose. You lose. You aren't a blogger.


Risk it.

Otherwise this place becomes another safe, sanctified institution, controlled, where top takes control and voice takes a seat at the back of the bus.

And no one's allowed to turn it into that.

No. One.

Stavros took me back, today, to what it means.


And it couldn't have come at a better time.

If we had a web museum, this post would be there. This should be required reading. Link to it. All of you. Anyone with a fucking soul left in your body, link to it.

At least, Go. Read.

It was, for a while, as if we were all fans of the punk, you see, together out there on the floor, drenched in sweat, pogoing, hurling beer cans, singing along, not really caring which band was up on the stage, just loving the hum and the throb and the tribal feeling of it all. Now it feels as if many of us have become fans of various specific bands, or have started our own and are struggling to gather our own crowds, or have decided to just keep it in the garage where it belongs, and damn having an audience. We don't have time to go to each others' gigs anymore. When everyone is in a band, there's no one left to watch the shows.

Let him tell you.

STAVROS on weblogging then and now:

The weblogging gangs of old, the ones I felt a part of, well, they still are loosely bound, but the threads are so thin now that they are almost invisible.

It's only punk rock, but we like it.

I had, at the age of 18, though, not yet discovered that there were tens or hundreds of thousands of others with the same sorts of unpleasant societally-discouraged aberrations, and they'd been gathering together and making this mad, loud, ramshackle, gloriously angry music for years already.

STAVROS SAYS, "These people will destroy your soul. Classification is for insects" THAT'S WHAT STAVROS SAYS.

Weblogs are a party, damn it, and sometimes they're publications too, or instead, and sometimes they're diaries, sometimes they're pieces of art, sometimes they're tools for self-promotion, sometimes they're money-maknig ventures, sometimes they're monuments to ego, sometimes they're massive wanks, sometimes they're public services, sometimes they're dedications of faith, sometimes they're communities. Always, they are a public face, one chosen and crafted to varying degrees, of the people who write them. They are avatars, masks, or revelations of our deepest selves. They are political or philosophical, merrily inebriate or sententiously sober. Do not listen to those who would tell you what they are not.

Look for your teachers among the thorny trails and pricker bushes, people.

Although its public face may suck pretty bad for a while, and you may need to dig a bit deeper to find its soul, there will always be those in the Fields of Blog who will tell you what they really think, and some of those will move you while doing it, regardless of how well they write. And they'll do it without having to look over their shoulders. 'cause it's a fucking party, pops, and you're invited.

And in the swill of an empty bottle.


I will post later though.

in the mean time see shelley, misbehaving, mamamusings, and rageboy for context clues.

and stavros too.

but more about him later.


--zardatha, the badass witch of the south.

January 20, 2004

Halley Sees

This is just wonderful, Halley. I'm so happy that you see and that you will tell us more and more stories. I'm so happy for that!!

monkey boy, is that you?

You don't want to. But you just have to.

Microsoft's got a job with his name on it.

Ballmer, for old time's sake.

my word of the day

click me.

Predictions for blogging from 2 yrs back

Having fun searching my site tonight. oh the simple joys of blogging. When we were rounding the corner, coming out of 2001, I made some wildass predictions for 2002. Well, they didn't all come true exactly as I planned, but some were pretty close:

Some iteration of instant messaging and chat functions will merge with blogs for folks to talk amongst themselves--taking 'blogback' to the next level.

--now known as Joi Ito's IRC channel.

More idiots will begin blogging, annoying the hell out of blog pioneers and increasing the velocity of insult hurling.

--I cop.

Doc Searls will announce the first blogger wedding mid-year, when friends who met blogging decide to tie the knot. The conception of their first child will be bloggerized. RageBoy will be all over that shit.

--Well, at least the first part was right. Still waiting for part two (or else send me the link).

More celebrities will jump on the blog bandwagon.

--Holy cow, just take a hop over to my favorite campaign blog to see how far we've come down that road.

RageBoy and Winer will go at it again, likely using biological and chemical weapons this time. There will be no winner, but lots of memes.

--Does "that asshole dave winer" ring a bell?

Corporations will get wind that employees are blogging during work hours and issue anti-blogging policies.

--Check. And even fire bloggers (or the more popular option, send them to lepper colonies).

Smart companies will get wind that employees are blogging during work hours and imagine the possibilities.

--Well, there's always 2005. But seriously, I'm sure some have. Leave me a link.

A major motion picture will feature a character who blogs. The character will be a psychopathic alcoholic intellectual head case. The part will be offered to Jack Nicholson, who will turn it down because bloggers don't get cute chicks.

--shhhh. i'm working on the novel. shhhhh.

Some company, somewhere, will take Gonzo Marketing to heart and underwrite some blog, somewhere, somehow. Please.

--see above. shhhh.

Community blogs--or "party blogs" like Gonzo Engaged--will grow in residents and in numbers, morphing into their own form of blogging. These forms will separate from one-man blogs, which will lean more toward journal and journalism than community.

--Oh boy, that's a loaded gun right about now. No comment.

David Weinberger will stop blogging again, only to start again in 2004.

--My crystal ball must have broken. David's STILL going strong! (...you see, you kind of had to be there. when david started blogging again, he had this funny award he gave himself for being the winner of time between posts or something... anyway, it was funny. This was before his template was all about oranges and browns...)

That wraps up my psychic abilities in a nutshell. All in all, not too shabby I'd say.

January 19, 2004

tracking our legacy

That's right, you see that big google tool bar up there? well, I don't know fancy code, and I don't know any other way of doing this without the google toolbar--which I don't think all the folks who come here have--so I'm putting a big-ole "search this site" box at the top of this blog. Do you like it?

I do.

Last week, folks were remembering the post I had about the blogger's place in the woods I once wrote about--a year and a half ago now? more?--but there wasn't an easy way to go find it. I don't have categories for my posts. I don't have fancy archives. And when I look at my archive page now, it feels impenetrable. Lots of dates, but are dates what make what I've written important? No. Not for any of us. Its what we said, to whom, when, why, and the state of the state at the time.

Now, the next time I want to remember that place in the woods, I just search up "woods" and "pond" (two memorable things from that "sweet world" post) using the simple-dimple site search up top, and I get what I was looking for, and more.

There has to be a better way, or a consistent way, for new bloggers and blog readers in general to refer to what us blog elders have written over the last two or three or four years. Can we encourage this? And if so, how?

It's frustrating to see cogent discussions come up on some of the newer, and very popular, weblogs without those doing the discussing referencing anything cogent from one of their more aged brothers or sisters. Instead it's a circle-jerk-link-fest among those involved. And that's cool, if that's what floats your boat. For the historical context of these discussions alone, though, I think we should start making the effort to thread conversations backward every once in a while, to give layers to our context by referencing some of the thinking that has already been done (and re-done) on a given topic. Otherwise the blogworld starts to sound like this:

"Blogging helps us connect with others in new ways; the blogworld is a web of connections built upon conversation."
"Blogging helps us connect with others in new ways; the blogworld is a web of connections built upon conversation."
"Blogging helps us connect with others in new ways; the blogworld is a web of connections built upon conversation."
"Blogging helps us connect with others in new ways; the blogworld is a web of connections built upon conversation."

Okay. That's nice. That's fine.

But why not see what those of us who've been around here for a while have said about it. Why not look back at some of our posts on women and blogging (gender issues), technology, PR, love, hate, debate, weblogging, whatever the topic of the moment is.

Just something I've been thinking about. In our race forward, I think we've forgotten--me included--to keep an eye on where we've come from and how our thinking and voices have evolved. To do that, we have to be able to track back in a larger and more meaningful way.

But I'll start with my little google search box, and take it from there.

Ever wonderful in your own sweet way

Hey, you, stay as you are.

January 18, 2004

you go, jimmy.

"hey, he called me," and "what invitation?"

I love Jimmy Carter. I was thinking earlier today, before I saw this, that if Jimmy Carter were king of the world, the real world would be like the blog world (once was), with everyone just talking things out like plain folk and solving what problems we could or agreeing to disagree and talk another day.


I googled carter on dean and found that Jimmy's been pretty consistent. That's because Jimmy's never been political, but honest. Those two things don't jive.

In a snippet from this interview, blogged on Clark's site, I'll grant you, Carter said this about Dean and the South--a topic that has been close to my heart. Jimmy knows:

MATTHEWS: And so what is your feeling about a possible Democratic nominee who voted against you?

CARTER: Well, Chris, I can forgive Wesley Clark, but my wife can't.


CARTER: So that's the difference.

(CROSSTALK) CARTER: But all I want to say....


MATTHEWS: That sounds like a deal breaker. That sounds like a deal breaker to me.

CARTER: Well, next year, as the thing comes to a close, whichever Democratic candidate seems to be the most likely to marshal the support to defeat George Bush next November, that’s the one whom I will support. Right now, of course, it does look like Wesley Clark--excuse me-it does look like Dean is going to prevail. But nobody knows yet what is going to happen when you get to the South, when you get to South Carolina and other places. I think Howard Dean has got a long way to go down there. After he made his unfortunate statement about pickup trucks and the Confederate flag, he called me and asked me my advice, which is not very good, perhaps, how to get out of that quandary.

And I'll bet you a pig to a penny that Jimmy said, back then, you ought to get your lilly white behind down here and see what not-vermont looks like. Then I'll tell you how to get yourself out of that jam. And I bet you a pig to a penny that Dean tucked that away in his politician's billfold like a fresh twenty. And as the campaign churns, it becomes, "Jimmy invited me--I had to go." Lying sack of excrement.

The best thing about Dean is is wife, and even she doesn't want to be around him much.

Something about AI and Self, or, A Mind is a Terrible thing to Taste

Dedicated to the Yo-Ho-Ho of JOHO, this post from RB today is exquisite in unwrapping the AI-Mind-Heart-Fibula connection and then throwing the wrapping paper all over the living room.

As I suspected I would, I loved David's response, especially where he calls RageBoy "sly boots."

What's not to love about that? AI can't love. But Chris and David can.

Mother Necessity

Shelley's a hurting unit, both from her physical fall and attacks by weblog-disdaining hackers. That just isn't fair. But she's out and about with her camera, which is one good way to fight back.

7th day

I'm not sure if she noticed the progression, or if it was intentional, but I like how Halley followed this post with these two.

She brought a little love into her day after all.

AKMA might agree?

Think of Halley tomorrow when you hear some silence in the blogworld during her eye surgery. I can't believe she won't be posting under anesthesia. Can you imagine the links we'd have to follow?

Anyhow, I'm rooting for you, girl.