some little bird

so a 'little bird' (what people tell me when i ask them wtf) told of my laptop mac-switching plight and my upcoming birthday (my dad didn't wanna name me Nina June for nothin) and SUDDENLY my paypal account is FLUSH with FUNDS that are going toward a MAC book as soon as I can patch in the rest of the dough, and I cannot COMMUNICATE in mere pixels how overwhelmed I am at the support from more than a dozen of you--each of whom I would like to name, but I know some of you are funny about that, so it puts me in a predicament, how dare you--OMG!

I am not sure how to say thank you to the nth degree, but thank you to the nth degree.

NONE of you had to do this, some of you can't afford to have done this, and many of you did anyway. I don't know what to say.

I really have had trouble lately about what I'm doing here. Not a new story. Many of us are struggling with why. I had lost a lot of faith in the net over the whole KS afffflair, and a lot of faith in what I'm doing here, how much I should be here, where HERE is anymore, and what any of us are doing here.

No big secret that.

It's not the Generous Contributions that have restored something in me. It is the show of support from all of you--some of whom I didn't think even knew I was still around, or whom I assumed had writ me up as being some kind of Really Mean Kid unworthy of further time, love, or readership. Or maybe that was me doing that. Either way.

I'm turning 45 Saturday and this thing--this being here--there is still something to it.

Thank you more than I can say for showing me that even with all the noise, our hearts can still cut through.

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Razer Sharp on Blog Sisters

Helen Razer has been on Blog Sisters as long as I can remember. Like a lot of the posting members there--yours truly included--she doesn't post there all that often, but when she does, woooohooo it's ALWAYS wonderful and cool and day-changing. It's what blogging used to be before it was coopted by U.S.ian Web2.o zealots with few chops and even fewer clues.

Wonderful writing case-in-point -- today's Blank Paris, in which Ms. Razer explores the Meaning of Life and Love in a pixel-driven collage of absurd current day rating mechanisms--from Paris Hilton to trans fatty acids.

I give you the start here. You'll have to go read the rest.

In every life, about a handful of Truly Significant moments are collected. These, unless you’re easily given to joy upon opening stationery catalogues eating spaghetti, polishing brassware et al, are wrung from events broadly agreed to be drenched in emotion. Births, deaths, marriages and all their variants and relatives from illness to ignited love provide the stuff of big moments.

You will recognise these moments for their potency. Within these instants, some sort of emotional coin is dropped. A new mechanism is activated and, slowly then suddenly, your insides creak and you’re changed for good.

When you care to peruse your album of rare and remarkable moments, you will almost certainly find these were built in the immediate company of life, death and affection. You may also find that this record is slim. This, truly, is the way it should be. A life too well-punctuated by high drama and joy is a life drained of meaning. Unless, of course, you’re Namoi Campbell.

I suspect that I’m quite fortunate to have collected a few such moments for display and ready reference. My internal emotional directory contains a select hit list at the top of which is an “I Love You” closely followed by an “It’s completely operable”.

Occasionally, however, I find myself eager for the inclusion of new moments.
Like a brooding tween hepped up on a dissatisfying diet of Emo and trans fats, I find myself idly hoping for bad-ass, life changing emotional action.

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