I am putting this here...

...so that I remember to talk about it as soon as I can rip myself away from the lady's team blog, Blog Sisters, where I continue to add members at a rate of one an hour. I'll be back as soon as I can.

where am I?

I have started or joined so many blogs in the last four months, I'm not sure where I live anymore. It's disorienting, the discussions I'm having, or those having me. Here on allied, I talk about jeneane-centric stuff, observations, stops along my journey, my blog friends, you know. Things.

But I didn't have this place at first. My first blog was Gonzo Engaged. This is where I launched into the world of blogging, five months ago, under the wing and watchful ear/eye of RageBoy, as I chronicled my journey through his book, Gonzo Marketing: Winning Through Worst Practices.

When I got to the end of the book, I wasn't sure what to do with Gonzo Engaged. In his usual psychic kind of way, Chris emailed me, as I wandered my way through the Index of Gonzo Marketing, boring the crap out of readers. He said, "I bet you're wondering, what now?" He was right. I was wondering just that. So I reviewed Blogger's "Team" feature and used it to open Gonzo Engaged up to others interested in discussing gonzo marketing and business as unusual. Today we have 27 members, and the discussions remain lively.

Next, I wrote this article about what it's like to work from home, raise a child, blog, and generally live in a hyperlinked space: The Hyperlinked Mom. At first I kept it a private blog. Then something I was discussing with David Weinberger made me click the "public" button. But, truth be told, haven't posted on that blog since I wrote it. I guess I should make it a page off of allied or something. It's just kind of sitting there out in blogspot land right now. Child of allied.

Even after the "what do I do with hyperlinked-mom?" question, I guess I still wasn't satisfied that I was spread too thin. I started a blog with our four-year-old daughter, Baby Blogger. That one is fun. Probably the most fun. My best hope for keeping it up to date is sitting on our bed with my laptop while she's in the tub making up some of the most amazing songs and adventures I've ever been privileged to hear.

Somewhere along the way--after babyblogger? before?--I decided to join Frank Paynter's blog sandhill trek where we discuss any number of oddities, including Frank's oversized dog Fang, who is prone to eating lizzards among other things.

Now, I've decided that the women of the blogging world need a place to hang. To feel free and unencumbered. To talk about things that interest us and might either frighten or bore the menfolk silly. Hence, Blog Sisters.

Have I forgotten any?

So, now that I've evolved into a multiple personality blogger, I'm finding something odd. Even with all of these homes, I feel homeless. My stuff is strewn across five or six friends' houses. Where'd I put my fricking hairdryer? Which way is the bathroom? Don't they have whole-wheat bread here?

Not that this is a bad thing. Perhaps a necessary evolution. I will either land someplace I needed to be in the first place, or come right back to where I started from. Either way, I think I will be happier for having taken the trip.

But this night?

I'm still looking for my hairdryer.

multiple personality disorder

In an effort to split my attention in half yet again, I've started a community blog for ladies called Blog Sisters, where men can link but they can't touch. Women of the blog, join us there. Men of the blog, link and learn.

comment2?

In a self-posted blog comment on his own Chris Pirillo blog, Chris wonders aloud, "Hey, what's it called when you post a comment to your own blog?" Interesting and playful question. Is it a comment, or is it more like an answer, or an interjection, or maybe a comment2? Ah well, I'll leave it to those better at blogging terminology than I am.

And Chris, if you grab the Ramen Pride, they have a new "roasted chicken" flavor that rocks. The cheapest and saltiest meal on earth at Target this week--just 16 cents each!

This is why I love Kalilily

From Elaine's blog, an inspired reflection on a moment of meaning shared with her son. I look forward to looking back on memories like this one with my cherished babyblogger one day.

"Remember, b!X, when we marched on the Pentagon to protest our government’s involvement in Guatemala? That hot summer day among those thousands and thousands of banners and signs and sweaty chants for justice and peace? You were only about 9 years old and you got a bloody nose just before we got to the Pentagon, and dozens of people appeared with ice and kleenex and advice on how to stop it. And we sat in the shade on a little hill to eat our lunches and wait to see if that other bunch really would “levitate” the Pentagon, as they promised they would."

Mr. Dvorak, I Beg You to Lose Your Computer...

In my critique of Dennis Mahoney's recent take-down of the amateurish writing in blogs (earlier today), I agreed with Mahoney on something he says: "The advice ‘write only what you know’ increases the likelihood that you will know the same things forever.”

When it comes to PC Magazine's John Dvorak, I amend myself. I wish he would stick to writing about what he knows. He doesn't know blogs. He doesn't know marketing. And he's not a technologist's technologist either. I could write a week's worth on what John doesn't know, but since that's just what dorkvak wants, I will slip into silence, hoping he follows me there.

For more on the topic, see the people I love kissing up to:

RageBoy
Doc Searls
David Weinberger

Now, I must go wipe the shit off my nose.

Mr. Mahoney, I Beg to Differ...

In a recent article on A List Apart, Dennis A. Mahoney gives his take on why so many weblogs today are boring and not worth the clicks it takes to get to them. His answer--they are badly written. He also offers advice for bloggers who want to become more readable contributors to the cyber dialogue. As I understand it, the article is an attempt by Mahoney to offer positive suggestions to offset the complaints he’s levied on 0format.com.

Simply put, I disagree with Dennis, especially with his basic premise: that amateurish writing in the blogging community is a bad thing. He says:

"Amateurs are writing as they’ve always written. Self-consciousness, self-doubt, awkwardness, and overcompensation are perennial hallmarks of the beginning writer. The reason today’s amateurs seem more profoundly un–profound could be a simple matter of exposure.”

Let me start by admitting this: I am a “wordaholic.” I've made my living at writing and editing since 1982, and I’ve come across the range of writing talent (and lack thereof) over the last two decades.

I'm not sure whose weblogs Dennis has been reading, but they must be different than the ones I’m reading. It makes me wonder, are we on the same net? For my part, I’ve come across astounding “amateur” writers in my blog travels—folks who didn’t know they could write, who still don’t think they can write even though they’re doing it every day, and who today put my blog to shame. The words they choose are inspired by emotion, not by years of study in the finer workings of grammar. Their thoughts are free from corporate confines, usually for the first time. They are expressing what’s meaningful to them—from cat shit, to divorce, to Linux—in a way that’s meaningful to them.

And I can’t get enough.

Mahoney points to the lack of “gatekeeping” as a reason why we are burdened with poor writing on the net:

”There used to be impenetrable gatekeepers. Now, CNN roundtables, documentaries, independent films, MTV, and the web—which has no gatekeepers in most countries—are broadcasting every poorly crafted phrase and half–cooked idea imaginable. Patience, readers. All is not lost.”

Message to Dennis: Nothing’s lost. Everything is found.

Give me every poorly crafted phrase and half-baked idea. And then give me some more.

I want to get lost and stay lost--lost in the world of possibilities, of mining gems from this fertile online playground. I want to be the first to find the amazing, and then share it with everyone I know. I want to unearth ideas, not good sentence structure. I want to read all of the asides, all of the streams of consciousness. I want to ride those streams as they wind and intersect with others and find amazement in those intersections.

And, call me strange, but in the constructs of blogging, I’d rather read this (Mahoney’s example of amateurish writing):

”I know this is a cliché nowadays, especially after 9/11, but I live in New York, which is much cleaner and safer now because of Giuliani, who really ought to be president after handling the crisis so well, and I know I’ve had some issues in the past with the mayor’s handling of the NYPD in regard to African Americans and his war against art involving sacred religious icons and feces (hello!? freedom of expression!?), but when all is said and done, New York, as maybe the best example of the ‘melting pot’ etc. etc., is a great city, especially when it starts getting warmer and people go outside more, like around March or April.

…than this (Mahoney’s example of professional writing):

New York is magnificent in spring.

Much of the advice offered in the RULES section of the article is helpful. I’m not sure Mahoney’s rules are necessary, but they’re helpful. I don’t agree with his advice to discard the first person (“I”) when possible. After all, if we are “writing ourselves into existence,” as David Weinberger says, then it’s hard to throw ourselves aside in favor of “good” writing.

I do agree with Mahoney on a point he makes toward the end of his article, and one he makes nicely: “The advice ‘write only what you know’ increases the likelihood that you will know the same things forever.”

This is sound advice for bloggers. Blogging is exploration. Good blogging is not always writing what you know about—often it’s writing about what you don’t know, what you can’t understand, the mysteries that have been tugging at your shirt sleeve since you were a kid. Uncover those, and I’ll read you every day, I don’t care how few periods or how many commas you use.

I again agree with Mahoney in his recommendation that bloggers get personal.

”Readers crave your anecdotes and stories. They really do. So give ‘em the whole megillah. Instead of, ‘The party was a riot!’ or ‘I’m depressed today,’ carefully explain why. Elaborate. Parties and depression are perfectly good writing subjects. The Great Gatsby, for instance, has plenty of both.”

I suppose my biggest problem with the article is this: I just don’t see this level of writing lameness that Mahoney asserts is rampant in the blogging community. What has stunned me all along is the lack of lameness, the overwhelming brilliance of so many people. When I click close on my browser at the end of the day, I wonder, “Where the hell did all of these smart people come from? And where have they been?” They aren’t professional writers, but they are becoming professional thinkers. And that’s even better.

In his conclusion, Mahoney advises bloggers to pay attention to their readers:

”No matter what your audience size, you ought to write as if your readership consisted of paid subscribers whose subscriptions were perpetually about to expire. There’s no need to pander. Compel them to re–subscribe.”

I advise you differently:

Write like no one’s there. Write like everyone’s there. Write as if you have no audience, because you don’t. You are part of a conversation. You are completely and perfectly free to explore, to not care, to lose yourself in conjecture. You are free to destroy notions you’ve always had. You are welcome to challenge me and everything I thought was true. You are advised to listen, to reflect, to engage.

And then, when you are done with all of that, do it again tomorrow.

This blogger's got some scruples, huh?

Gonzo or bonzo? You decide. Tony Pierce is selling links from his blog on ebay.

What is it worth to you to get rock stars, hot chicks, political pundits, brainacs and nerds to go to your site simply because I link to it?

I guess you really can buy anything on ebay.

Tom Shugart Starts Blogging!

Check out our newest addition to the world of blogging. I'm honored that Tom credits me with helping him leap the blogging chasm. I'm glad I could assist, but the truth is, he was blogging in his head and his emails all along. Welcome Tom!

allied goes ad-free

for your reading pleasure.

what i sound like sick

wanna hear how I sound sick? wondering who's this baby blogger I'm always talking about? Gary caught us on tape! For a 40 year old who usually gets an "Are your parents home?" when I answer the phone, I can't believe I'm admitting this hard-smokin' loud-singing voice is mine. :-)

And no, that's NOT me below.

come hither "evil ones."

okay. I'm scared by this.

And Golby Steps Forward for a Solo

It's a behind-the-scenes look you won't want to miss. Oh, and the next time a good book comes out, let's toss a coin and see who sends a copy to Mike, so's he doesn't end up in the slammer. This is what he has to deal with:

“Christopher Locke. L-O-C-K-E," I said, spelling it out for the brain-dead numbskull on the other side.

The phone went down, I heard a clacking keyboard, and the phone was picked up again.

“No, sorry, never heard of him.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous. “The man has published three books, one of which was one of the Harvard Business Review’s books of the year.”

“What business review?” came back the moronic voice.

Bouncing Bombast with Marek

Marek blogs me back about Bombast and takes it further out...

"I make love to the world and the world loves back. It loves back and I am home. This life. This planet. This language. These faces. This house. These shoes. This Century. These stubby fingers. This shaved head. It's all of it and all over again falling in love with the world and I disappear my resignation and I am home. This day. Right now...."

Yes, Marek. Here, all of us one, we make it better, not because we are linked all sloppily together like this, but because we've been connected, and in connecting, have morphed, have transformed one the other.

Who is Golby now? Who is Tom, or Gary, or you, Marek? Who have you become?

Yes, we have become.

We are the ones who used to not think twice taking out the garbage Sunday night, twisting the bags tight, thinking it's a shame all this trash is going to the landfill, oh crap I forgot the fish stinking up the fridge, and will they even take this in the morning, or is it too heavy, and how likely is it I'll be picking all this same shit up off the driveway tomorrow after the bag gives way?

What used to matter, fill time, moments, doesn't anymore. Now there is a world to get to. Now we aren't just talking to ourselves. Now we are falling in love with this world, faults and warts and undeniable insanity, all over again, and because we love, things matter again. Finally. Things matter.

Things matter.

You matter, you mad fucking hatter.

It Came from Canada: A Review of The Bombast Transcripts

if you hear me in the silence
then am I real.
if you see me in the darkness
then am I music
to your music.
if your heart is empty
yet fills with joy
then are your colors
my colors.
-christopher locke


Hold on a second.
[Quick shake of the head.]
Doesn’t this guy write about business? What’s this poetry doing here?

“The solution is poetry.” That and other fundamental truths according to Locke and RageBoy—Locke’s cantankerous alter ego—are just waiting to slap you around the room as you read the team’s latest: The Bombast Transcripts: Rants and Screeds of RageBoy.

It’s safe. You can throw away that little postage-paid merchandise-return sticker from Amazon. Put the box in the trash. You may quite confidently expense this book through your place of employment. As a bonus, the book will give you the secret for appeasing the finance jockey who will undoubtedly email you upon receiving your expense report, asking what a Bombast is and who authorized its purchase.

But I digress.

Truth be told, Bombast is more than a business book. And you should know that before you agree to read it.

From “Eden to E-Commerce,” Bombast is the world in RageBoy time, a world designed to destroy everything you thought was so, and then lift you up with the possibilities. It is a journey that crosses every border, deconstructs every widely held notion, teaches as much about what it means to be human as it does about what it means to do business in a connected world.

For RageBoy, nothing is off limits:

Language, voice, media, bandwidth,
touch, madness, the Internet, work, love,
corporations, angst, mores, TCP/IP, music,
artificial intelligence, joy, ROI, dreams, lies,
HTML, 5-GL, change, excrement, rejection,
karma, chaos, fear, creation, paradise, belief,
disbelief, disestablishmentarianism, Elvis,
people, geese, broadband, patterns, walls,
space, fiction, portals, brand, astrology,
guilt, coffee, poverty, philosophy, tear gas,
eclipse, email, addiction, science, passion,
communism, capitalism, aboriginal darkness,
oriental light, power, magic, sin, politics,
pictogram, wanting, sex, P2P,
getting it, and getting lit.

This, my friends, is some serious shit.

I could take you through this browser-free read of Locke’s famed ezine, Entropy Gradient Reversals, step by step. But I won’t, because Bombast is best read without a guide.

So if I’ve intrigued you, good. If not, let me touch on my favorite part of the book and linger here a moment longer. At its core, Bombast has one simple and profound construct, one that RageBoy delivered in a passionate diatribe at a keynote address before 2000 people in Copenhagen:

“What is happening on the net is that people are falling in love with the world all over again.”

Holy cripe.

Did you get that? Worth repeating:

“What is happening on the net is that people are falling in love with the world all over again.”

You see, in the end, it’s not about the net at all. It's about what’s happening because of the net.

As RageBoy tells the good crowd in Copenhagen, we have been here before, with cave paintings, with bone axes, with mythologies and arts. All of these, so distracting in their own right, only tools--tools that help us fall in love with our world—again and again without end.

And that, in a few words, is the beauty of all of this.

Without end.

Tune in, turn on, stay tuned…

Find out what’s next – subscribe.

and while you're there....

Radical Suzuki would like you to check out this little number (click the next buttons to work your way through). tee hee.

Funky Radical World

I don't know if you've seen this, and heck for all I know it could be a meme past, but I'm on google searching up "radical" - yeh I admit it. How I got there, I forget, but it started with searching up pnemonia (which I spelled wrong and still think I'm spelling wrong), which led me to any number of frightening lung disease sites, from which I surfed unhindered into therapies and philosophies until I somehow got to "radical," where I found my jewel: Funky Radical World and if you've already been, then shut up and let the others enjoy it. Click around for a journey of wierd images and only sometimes English text.

Some renderings follow:



and



and, consider this--could I have put it better myself? No.

Angelic nudes wink bashfully as you gaze upon their exquisiteness.
Stylin' ladies show you what they've got on the dance floor.
This is the peach-fuzz fizzy delicious world of Radical Suzuki.
Step into the Funky Radical World!

happy saturday.

Heh + Heh

Dean Landsman has a good Lay cartoon and commentary in his DeanLand blog. He also emailed me some good song ideas for that string of Enron "I Plead the Fifth" copouts that I'm hoping someone will turn into a catchy little medley. Dean suggests:

"Take The Money and Run" (Steve Miller Band)
"Money" (Pink Floyd)
and...
Cheney and Bush are probably singing a Police song when they think about their buddies at Enron, "Don't Stand So Close To Me."

Of course it is all the Texas Two Step, isn't it?

Yes, Dean, I think it is. I hear that's how b'ness is done down in Texas.

Thanks Denise

for pointing to Sir David W. who does a great solo off Pirillo's Blogger Manifesto. We are hoping Sir David links to us. At some point again. For something we may say or have once said.

RageBoy's blogging again!

sick and tired

yes, that I am. Coming off steroids, antibiotics, and still sick as a dawg. But I've started reading blogs again, and the doc says that's a good sign indeed.

How fun would this be? Anyone going? I am hoping there will be some stuff for kids to do--I know Vegas ain't a particular kid-friendly place, but we'd have to come with babyblogger in tow, and after all, she is a babyblogger. If kids are welcome, I really think we'd try to do it. How fricking cool would that be. If you register your possible inclination to maybe perhaps attend, you get to see the others who've registered. Leave it to the cool cats a blogger.

I am up to nothing else right now, except waiting for master husband to return with pizza.

night.

I plead the fifth

Could someone string together all those Enron "I'll have to take the fifth amendmant" answers into a string and set it to music, like the Balmer "monkey boy" video? might draw quite a crowd, as memes go. I'm lame at this web stuff or I'd do it myself. What songs might we use:

You dropped the bomb on me
Another one bites the dust
Take this job and shove it

or maybe...

A simple question makes you look away
Your hesitation gives it all away
There's some protection in the way you move
If there's sadness in my eyes
It's coming from your lies

Hey little liar I believed in you
Hey little liar I believed in you
Hey little liar I believed in you
I believed in you
--Little Liar (joan jett)

Others guys??

the web site you never hope to start

I'm not sure what I think happened to this little girl, but the web site they've launched since her disappearence on 02/02 is a marketing marvel:

"Pat & Oscar's in Carmel Mountain Ranch
Will donate 15% of the cost of your meal to the
Danielle Search Effort
If you bring in a Pat & Oscar's Flyer"

...still developing. In the mean time, let's all keep our eyes open.

"With others if we must; by ourselves if possible"

Why do I still wish he would have won? Maybe because he's smarter:

"The evil we now confront is not just the one-time creation of a charismatic leader and his cohorts, or even a handful of regimes. What we deal with now is today's manifestation of an anger welling up from deep layers of grievance shared by many millions of people."

Can I have a recount?

The Blogger's Manifesto

Chris Pirillo has constructed his own Blogger's Manifesto (gee, that word's re-cropping up all over isn't it--thanks cluetrain guys), a list of 25 principles Pirillo blogs by. My favs on his list are:

8. You don't have to agree with everything I say.
9. I egosurf Daypop, Google, and Blogdex nightly.
10. I share what I want to share.

Nicely done, Chris. I want to think on this and maybe come up with a few of my own. Why don't you, too, fellow bloggers? Let's shoot for, oh, I don't know, 95?

Gary Turner Personifies Voice

Gary reads aloud his blog on voice today, as we all learn what he "sounds" like. I'm not sure if I can weave the scottish accent into my head as I read him from now on, but I definitely have incorporated the tenor and cadence of Gary's impressive spoken voice into my reading. See what the guy had to resort to when no one called him? THANKS gary!

Nerds Shall Overcome

Blogging empowers, brings confidence. I am who I say I am. Suddenly popularity is bestowed on the braniacs who missed being the life of the party the first time around (unless you were a young Chris Locke passing out your homemade jug of acid to the student body of the UofR and single-handedly changing the genetic makeup of western New York). Aside from those always-bold web personalities, many of us who make up the blog community (and the good folks at google) are just smart, really creative, unassuming, regular people. Not flashy... our messages are our meaning. It's not java script or flash intros that make us say "Ah ha!" It's good thinking, good writing, and good humor. We fight; we make peace. We joke; we laugh. We learn; we link. We create; we appreciate.

And you know, the Real World could learn a lot from us.

Learning

If I keep my self-control,
I'll be safe in my soul.
And the childhood belief
Brings a moment's relief,
But my cynic soon returns
And the lifeboat burns.
My spirit just never learns.
-From Genesis - In the Cage

Work hard to recreate yourself. Let yourself be new, brand new.

Uncountry

Understand
that everything isn't so,
it never was.

between the forms
and shapes
crystal clear moments
unfold.

where was I then
that I missed them?

hideous, dangerous
monster memories
swipe and slice
lion claws
that leave deep marks
in young flesh.

Unlikely to untangle,
unending.
Understand,
can't you?

the wanting,
the waiting,
the hated
the hating
it was all a waste.

nothing from you
would have been better
than this.

Watching the Detectives

This one's a doosey. RageBoy talks of wearing patterns in the carpet of the local bookstore and begins to unravel the many mysteries that make him, well, RageBoy. And of course there's lots of that real smart stuff he's always saying 'bout Zeitgeist and synchronicity and triumphalism and such. Open dictionary.com and give this installment of EGR your complete attention.

Call Gary

Gary Blockstickers Turner has a great post today in his other blog further exploring the notion of "voice" in how we read one another's blogs. You know, the voice you "hear" in your head when you read these things, these personalities, these emoting demons of the net netherworld. Well all this time I read Gary as a cross between an excited Garfield and a resolved Eeyore, and it turns out he's more like Daffy Duck meets Sean Connery! Gary doesn't just stop there--he says this:

"For total authenticity in the future when you read this blog you can call my office voicemail number and hear my dulcet tones on (44) 1536 495482, if you call during office hours I'll likely answer it so unless you want to purposely embarass us both then call some other time. I'm on GMT here. Hell you could even leave me a message."

Gary, you freak, I love it! I am calling. Hey everyone, call Gary. Tell him you love him.

Bathing in Bombast

There is a lot to love about The Bombast Transcripts. Chris Locke's brilliant mind, incredible gift for story telling, mixed with his often damn-scary use of idea enhancing self medications, make for a wild ride through the worlds of business, art, love, loss, grief, and discovery. And I'm only half way through it.

What's taking so long? I've been re-reading a lot as I go along. It's a good idea to do this when you're reading Locke. Take any special passage--and there are a lot of them: The first read startles you, the second read brings forth an "Ah ha" (and often a "ha ha"). And the third read is special--it's for soaking in his ideas.

Here's one of my favorites, from page 72:

"What I believe about my writing -- sometimes, when it's not just flatulent exhibitionism -- is that it's a way to turn those headlights on myself. Not to shock anyone, but to cease ignoring, fearing, hating what I am. After half a lifetime doing that, one day fourteen years ago I stopped. And right before I stopped, I got truly angry. It wasn't anger born of fear, for once, but of understanding. Understanding how I'd been complicit with whatever it is we go along with, buy into, lay on ourselves and others constantly: the shameful guilty knowledge that we are licking our own secret wound in private, in the dark, and no one must ever see. No one must ever know."

This is what I've been doing with my blog. And perhaps what many of us bloggers are doing--turning the headlights on ourselves so we can start healing. Start living again, at first within the safety and almost-anonymity of the net. Here we can examine. We can practice. And we can fail.

We start again. We test the waters. Who am I now? And who might care? Start to reveal the wounds. *Speak* the pain. And when the message connects with someone, resonates with them, that very connection begins the heaing. The growing. The becoming.

In this process, I've had gut wrenching moments. Why is it all coming back to me now? Taking me on this personal oddessy? Converging and climaxing around painful memories and a present-tense that feels uncertain? Why is it all at once so painful and so thrilling? And why the hell am I so compelled to share it?

Because it is birth.

Creation, birth, rebirth. It's bloody and painful, it pushes you to the edge and jabs at you until you think it might be better to jump than to take the punishment a second longer. That's what I'm here to do, to give birth to myself, and to maybe do a few things better this time around. Here. With you.

Lessons

My friend Phyllis is telling me a story, my ear drips with sweat it's been listening so long. I hear a thud, bump, thud outside. Damn dogs are playing rough again. They never shut up. Gotta let them in soon. "Huh, he said what to you? No frickin way. Come on." Half hour. Hour. "It's not you. No, you need to stop calling him. Just stop yourself," I tell her. Like she ever listens.

My mind drifts, half listening I wonder where my husband is playing tonight. Somewhere in Boston. Another gig I missed. I wish I were there. Feeling like a band widow and that sucks.

"What? No, you don't call him. You forget him, Phyllis."

Think back to the night I met him. I'd been watching a long time, secret groupie. Daughter of a bassist, looking for the deep dark rush of the low end. Found him when I least expected it. Or he found me.

Now two years later, we are married and in our first house together. Somethings don't change, like Phyllis and her man problems. The rest of my life is, and will remain, one guess at at time.

Finally she's done. We won't solve it on the phone tonight, but as usual, it doesn't stop us from trying.

"Okay, call me later." We always call each other later.

Upstairs I think, he must be back from the gig by now. I think I'll call. Lemme let the dogs in first, get ready for bed.

Nothing prepares me for the shock as I open the back door.

That sweet boy--the most lovable and intuitive of our two mutts--still and lifeless, a single link of his metal choke collar embedded in the fang of our problem dog, Ikea.

I stand there for what has to be a solid minute, bathing in the trauma. "NO!" I try desparately to untangle the choke colar from Ikea's fang. On the other end, Peanut flops lifeless. Ikea in a primal panic bolts and pulls, tighening the chain around his neck until I'm sure it will sever his head.

It doesn't matter. He's been dead for an hour.

These are the lessons we learn.

While we engage in the useless, the meaningless, the profound and often deadly is unfolding quietly just out of view.

now

If in running past, we miss that big something we should have crashed smack-dab into, who's doing is it? sigh. All by design. To fail to falter is my biggest mistake. Don't let yourself bleed half a lifetime before you look down and notice the wound. It's harder to heal that way. Cut, bleed, cry, rage, stomp, cuss. Do it all right then and there. Delay is nothing but false harbor. No one is safe. Let it wash over you. You are not safe. Accept it, feel it, know it, and push on anyway.

That is my job today.

Clinton Drops Da Bomb

On a related musical note, this just in from the Onion. Actually, it's not just in. In fact, it first appeared during that other little mid-east tiff we had, when Iraq succesfully dodged UN Weapons Inspectors, much to Mr. Clinton's dismay. But look how cyclical life is! This game plan is just as relevant today as it was the third time around. In fact, I'm going to have to run right now so I can fax it forthwith to the asses of evil for their consideration.

Every American should do his part. Funk on...

Get Your Funk On

If you've never seen George Clinton in concert, you should ask yourself why not. It's an extraterrestrialfunkified experience that is sure to delight. In the mean time, flip on over to the right nav bar, baby, because it's funky february here on allied. Listen to that slappin bass and groove on with yer bad self. Youssou N'Dour is a stretch for funky february, I know, but since we listen to him every day in the car, and our daughter can almost consistently tell you where "1" is on those odd-metered tunes, he deserves top spot this month.

n'joy.

Did you try too?

"The axis of evil." It kind of grows on you, doesn't it? That's why I set off to see who grabbed the domain name, figuring it would be gone, and it was:

Congratulations to johnboy, the proud papa of axisofevil.com, born January 29, 2002!

Helgeland, Clair John
johnboy@visi.com
2151 COMO AVE
SAINT PAUL, MN 55108-1807
US

If he puts up a site, let's hope he sides with good and not with, well, evil.

Oh, and b!x, you should know that assesofevil.com is still available. Hurry, supplies won't last!

Name Calling Among World Leaders Escalates
New insults take the form of Yo Mama jokes

film at 11.

the asses of evil

This from the one true b!x, who encapsulates the mighty one's state of the union in his latest blog:

Bush, Rumsfeld, and Ashcroft -- the Asses of Evil -- are asking these nations, begging these nations, to try something. Try anything. Hit us again. So we can wipe you off the face of the then-bloody Earth.

Madmen. Every single fucking one of them. Theirs and ours alike.

If it weren't so true, it would be hysterical.

This blog has gotten far too depressing. For me at least. Let me take a cue from my fellow blog chroniclers and summarize some of my more interesting findings this fine Friday. Let's run through them, shall we?

You got your everyday "lady nurses a monkey" story. What is there to say?

Craig at BookNotes is incredibley prolific. [ed.--I thought I remembered reading that he was the last liberal in texas, but on further exploration of his blog, I'm not sure where he's from, but his blog is indeed awesome.]

Doc's talking about Jackson Browne, and then gives us a disturbing hollywood update--Jeff Bridges sings?

RageBoy's back--He's going to the movies.

Helen Razer made me a really cool graphic for this blog, which I have to figure out how to incorporate, and I will.

I am completely digging Mike Golby's blog, and his human nature.

Marek hasn't blogged since his soul food for thought. You okay Marek?

I think this is b!x's mom.

That's all for now.