December 17, 2005
I'm older now.
The difference is I can't remember who says what anymore.
But recently I read some big so-and-so talking about how lame Skype is because it can't scale to support the enterprise.
Well clue you in mr. i forget who you are, THAT'S THE POINT. It's all about what Doc said recently and I can't find that either, but he was talking about how consumers are mislabeled as such and what if the tools and bandwidth exist to make every consumer ALSO a producer, which is not only the promise of the Net, but the way I've been living from the same king size bed for a few years now, and suddenly we many of us are becoming -- in our uninstalled-from-corporate-enterprises mode -- as much producers as consumers in our SOHOs and THAT's where Skype matters to me, because I'm talking globally to Really Smart People for free and we've already swapped some strategies and documents and just wait for what else.
Call me sometime. We'll talk.
In the meantime, Mr. Skype Hater, whoever you were that I can't remember, you don't even get it. And I don't know what So-Big-Enterprise you're working for, but just for the record, Skype works fine in MY enterprise, as long as I turn Cops down while I'm cranking out my deliverables.
And a wishlist or three over there wouldn't hurt either, eh fellas? What say you guys bring that joint back to life?
In the mean time, happy birthday season Cameron, Ruairi, and Sawyer.
It lasted for four or five hours, then was gone as fast as it came? How the heck did I catch that little number? Glad it's gone. (hope it's gone.)
Okay, for real? I don't lisp. At least not like I do on a headset mic. What am I doing wrong. Do I need one of those "puh" "puh" sound sheild thingys the professionals use? Or perhaps I just need to get my TEETH OUT OF THE WAY.]]
thee ya later.
December 15, 2005
"There are two sides to every development story." -- Dana Blankenhorn on the new Infill Ordinance in Decatur, GA.
"Why is Microsoft wasting money copying what someone else is doing, when it could be using that money doing what no one else can?" -- Dana Blankenhorn on Corante
From: My Friend Whose Email Address You Don't Need to Know
Sent: Thursday, December 15, 2005 2:37 PM
To: Jeneane Sessum
Subject: Hey there
Did you know that when you Google on Hold the Pickles, Hold the Lettuce, your name comes up first?
I feel honored to know you.
Hope you are doing well --- Rick.
These are the moments that make me proud, PROUD I SAY, to blog, to have ever blogged.
The Net is good.
All part of the service. ;-)
December 14, 2005
AKMA, If you weren't authentic, you wouldn't still be blogging these many years later. Authenticity can't be inferred in a moment, but over time.
Plus, I've met AKMA, and the AKMA who blogs is very much the AKMA who talks to you and loves his wife and kids and gives sermons from the alter (is that what it's called still--i don't know--it's been a while).
I had the SAME discussion by phone with David Weinberger (HI DAVID!) the summer before last, because David is also a careful writer like AKMA, and David was going through what I thought was a more-careful-than-usual period (he was attending a lot of conferences at the time when I was beating my anti-conference drum) and I wanted to push him to bristle it up some in his writing, and why wasn't he talking about how much he likes the indoors and stuff, well those weren't my exact words, but at that time, David used this very same characterization of the way I write/post/blog, and to be honest it sort of pissed me off, but not until later after I thought about it.
And it pissed me off because David was right: I blog fast, I'm spontaneous... and it felt to me like a synonym for careless but honest... And again, David didn't USE these words, they were basically my interpretation of what he meant by my spontaneous form versus his more tightly-edited form.
Is it academic writing versus poet writing?
Is it business writing versus conversational writing?
I don't think it has anything to do with authenticity. I think it has to do with style.
So I start asking myself--how am I getting this reputation of being a 'spontaneous/careless' blogger? Is this because sometimes I pop off, and sometimes I take some personal/professional risks in saying things a certain way to whoever I think should hear it? or is t because I write right here in the blogger window and I rarely have time to spellcheck or edit before I post? Because I swear? And would I care if David and AKMA both said "YES" to these questions?
Or is it the simple fact that I'm so busy doing what I do for a living that if the writing I do in my blog were to become the same level of "careful" client writing I have to do OUT THERE (to earn a living), that I WOULDN'T TAKE THE TIME TO BLOG AT ALL?
Or is it all of that. Probably. And more.
For the record, I used to believe in getting personal in this space. You haven't seen me say that in a long time. Today, I don't ADVOCATE writing personal stuff on your blog. I DO advocate going to that place of memory or pain or joy or whatever moves you (like, actually changes the expression on your real-world human face), and writing FROM that place. Not necessarily about it. Those are two different things. The distinction is important, especially as the blogworld has transformed from a community of kin to a world of strangers, some of whom will be glad to meet you, some of whom will be out to get you.
THIS post was the edited version of the comment I left at AKMAs. That's pretty much how I work in these here blogs. Write it, publish it, fix it, publish it, write it, write it, write it, and so on. I'm basically talking to you in words. I'm not writing about stuff. At least most of the time.
Oh who the hell knows.
LOVE YA AKMA AND DAVID AND SHELLEY AND FRANK AND ALL OF THE REST OF THE ROMPER ROOM GANG!! :-)
she keeps asking about the body vs the soul and where is his skin and where is the real Gil and where is Diva and where is...(insert the name of every other person/thing she knows is dead here, including Martin Luther King, Jr.)
a mother's gift isn't exactly changing the subject, but diverting the conversation toward an area of the topic that's just a bit right from where it might be headed. we learn this because our children like to talk about Very Deep Things just when they are about to go to sleep, putting mom in a precarious position--either tell a happy lie so everyone goes night-night with dreams of faries and ponies; tell the truth and expect to be up 2 more hours clearing up the aftermath; DIVERT THE CONVERSATION down a parallel path so your child doesn't know you're not talking about what they'd like to be talking about so that everyone can lose sleep.
Tonight i used the many colors of coral in the sea to steer us away from the 'where is Gil's skin and where is Diva and when are we going to bury her ashes' discussion at 10:30 p.m on a school night.
Last night George called me on the cell to let me know that Gil, our beloved Beta Fish, oh hell, I mean one of Jenna's live-pet menagerie, was looking pretty limp. In fact, not good at all.
Gil lives on Jenna's dresser in a divided (tank? beta triangular holder? whatever) with another beta named Speedy. Gil came first. Speedy second. Jenna has had Gil for over a year, longer than the dreaded hamsters but not as long as Bando our almost-six-year-old dog.
I don't think a year is very old in beta terms, but I don't know how old he was when we got him at the pet store, and it's actually pretty old according to The Sessum Household pet life expectancy these days, considering the dozen hamsters who were eaten by their mother, and the one really nasty hamster who, err, ran away.
Once we got into the house last night, I told Jenna we'd better go see Gil, that he wasn't doing so well--he was sick. She cried as we separated him out of the divided tank into a smaller cup so he wouldn't have to work so hard to eat, or, um, move actually, and because That Internet said to separate a sick fish from sharing water with any other fish, lest they catch the bird flu or fish flu or something.
I suggested as gently as a mother can that Gil looked pretty close to being gone and that maybe we should send him back to the ocean, down the toilet, set him free like Nemo on that current of intercoastal water fun, to which Jenna replied, "MOM, THAT WOULD NOT BE NICE--HE IS ALIVE AND YOU CAN'T JUST GIVE UP ON HIM!" After which I felt a little bit crummy, but I'm telling you the fish was pretty much dead.
Jenna talked to that sad limp fish in that little cup for a good while. She said a prayer before she fell asleep that God would take care of Gil and make him better, and then I sort of set the stage for the Good Lord by mentioning that EVEN IF Gil didn't get better, he sure had a good life on her dresser, with all the beta food he ever needed, and with all of those colorful stones, and a friend to stare at through plexigass in Speedy, and what more could a beta want.
And then she prayed, through tears, that, well, if by some chance Gil didn't make it, she might find another good pet, not to REPLACE Gil or anything (she said this), because he will always be in her heart (she said this), but to let her love another pet. To which I said, Jenna if you're talking about another dog you can forget it, but sure we can talk about another fish, and she said well that was a good thing at least until she's 9 and can get a puppy (which is something she got in her head one day no matter how many times I say where did you get that idea) and we both thanked God for all the good health in the rest of the family, except for poor Gil, amen, and she fell asleep.
She comes home in an hour and a half.
Gil's dead at the bottom of his cup.
One of my favorite parts is where Ken Shafer says, "BubbleShare rocks. Really. It rocks." But that's just me. ;-)
Thanks for the news guys, now get someplace warm. Like inside!
December 13, 2005
worst thing you could do to a racist is go to his church, stand next to his daughter, sing the songs better, know the word better, and exclusively talk about america as if its your home and has been for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years longer than him.
watch him smile when you talk about africa, cuz thats where he wants you.
keep your koofi.
pass the turkey.
read the bible.
f old santa
and the kwanza
and the reign deer
and the pooh bear.
and the sleigh bells
and the dead trees.
get on your knees
thank the savior
wrap your presents
say your dumb prayers.
The last phone call they make will be to rich Austrian-American who a few years ago decided he should be governor and make such decisions about whether people should live or die. Apparently he can be trusted to make the right decisions. He spent a few days reading the case, and he’s now qualified to decide if the case of a prisoner on death row was fair or not. Even though everywhere there is evidence that the cases are anything but fair and properly carried out. Case after case have appeared where lawyers and judges and trials were botched and flawed, and yet they keep killing people anyway, believing they’ve carried out justice.Americans know that no one can read hearts, except for God and the Republican Party.
My friend Stephen always had plenty of art supplies around his apartment, but when the doctors told him that he only had a year to live, he went all-out and stocked up in defiance. In classic Sprouse style, he didn’t simply buy a bunch of small canvasses to dabble on, but instead bought huge, six-foot-tall pre-stretched monsters. He was going to paint, and he was going to paint BIG. Sadly, he never got to finish them, and left behind a large stack of stark, white panels.
I’d been Stephen’s friend and assistant for roughly fifteen years, and was helping his family sort out his belongings after his death, when his mother offered the canvasses to me. She knew I liked to paint, and thought I might be able to put them to good use. All I had to do was get them out of the apartment, and they were mine....
Remember, you too can go to new blogs and read them. It's the strange and beautiful thing about life outside the aggregator!
Saturday afternoons I would pretend I had a stomachache and take a book with me into the bathroom and lock the door hoping my mother would give up on making me practice another four hours. Sometimes I would lay down on the bath mat and take a nap.
I loved music naturally, but hated so much being forced to play, and the long-fingered ears of my mother reaching into me from beyond the kitchen to tell me when I was out of tune or playing too slowly--she really was stupid in so many ways, not understanding that a student plays more and more slowly as they listen more conscientiously. Non-musicians do not realize that it takes much more concentration and effort to play slowly than it does to mechanically rip through notes.
My teachers felt sorry for me. But I wish that even one of them had had the courage to tell my mother to quit pushing.
I wanted to play beautifully for myself, but I wanted to play badly for her, to disappoint her, and to make her angry. I wanted to practice for myself in freedom from her constant criticism, with her in a different country, or dead.
December 12, 2005
BUT HEY, look on the bright side, that must mean they're looking for someone or something to replace him... HMMM... something to appeal to "mothers with young children..." HMMMM...
NANNY 911 GOES TO SIX FLAGS!
It's an episode in which little billy humps a clown's leg while sweet sally mae sets the funhouse on fire, and tommy hurls a ninja star from a moving roller coaster, scarring the ferris wheel operator for life.
Following Desperate Housewives...
Film at 11.
First, Adam Curry gets Dave Winer's RSS software credit in Business Week. Now Dave and I have had our moments, hours, days, years, etc., but what kind of nutjob wouldn't give Dave the nod over Adam on the tech side of podcasting? That's just bad reporting and I'd have to think some kind of bias.
Second Blogads and Henry Copeland are omitted from the NYT article on MSNBC's big blogad buy (that thingy you see on the sidebar; thanks Henry!). It's easy to forget now that advertising on blogs is a legit advertising strategy for BigBiz, and a sweet spot for BigBloggers looking to gang up, that Henry was there when it wasn't. And he takes care of the little guys too. Don't forget that.
So rewrite your versions of these stories at home with me, kay kids?
December 11, 2005
I contributed, but will I make the cut? Only Frank's hairdresser knows for sure...
Meg at Mandarin brought the question to life with this cool grafik.
She also gives a hint at how I answered the question--GREAT MINDS, BABY!
There was also a very cool but odd fashion show of very very TALL large invididuals dressed in rather odd funky fashions. I snapped some of the runway models for Frank.
There are also some of George and I as we decide which to send to SXSW for the brochure. Vote if you like. Or don't if you don't like.
Now, I need to recuperate.
I live vicariously through Shakespierce because I don't go to those kind of events in my old age. I'm an old married mom with an old married husband and a kid who talks too much who I love so so so so so so so. So we go to things like the annual XMAS Party and it's like we've died and gone to vegas, and for me, I get pretty excited about the baby sitter and buffet line.
Something changed between 19 and 43. I wish I could pinpoint when.
ha ha ha fricking ha.
So, when we got there, I was thinking in my glass-half-empty sort of way, KC & The Sunshine Band, great. I didn't like them the first time around. How much better have they gotten in 30 years?
But you know what? Old KC got himself some backup talent on stage, a kickass musical director from back in the day, and those folks put on a GREAT show. I mean, they worked their asses off. The horn section, rhythm section, guitarist, percussion, keys, and dancers, and KC working it as hard as he could, they all did an amazing job bringing new life to some, well, let's just say new life.
You want to see them move a little? CLICK HERE.
Of course we got to hear the hits, like shake shake shake... and get down tonight, and heck if i didn't forget KC ever did Babe (Babe, I love you sooo, I want you to know... that I'm gonna miss your love...)
ANYWAY I told George that even with my steady-eddie musical memory, some songs are stuck way way back behind my left lymph node some reason--maybe because they should say back there. Well, THAT's where Babe was. A song I forgot I knew and then instantly remembered where I'd put it.
So before you say, K-Who and the Sun-WHAT? you better lay back and appreciate determination, because KC's 55 now, and he's worked hard to rebuild what he lost and get by in this suckass business, so I'll keep Babe up in my mid-term memory for as long as I need to. For you, KC, and your sunshine band.