Anyone need a NEW VAN?

There's a one week special on this one....
Hurry hurry! vroom vroom!

Thank you one and all

From those who wrote her emails to those who sent presents, Jenna thanks you all for making her fifth blogday so special.



More Pictures Here.

Jonathon does a garbage plate

Jonathon Mays recently enjoyed a Western New York classic dish: the Garbage Plate. Made famous at legendary Nick Tahous, a Rochester late night cult classic, the Garbage Plate can be seen eating Jonathon here.

Jonathon's on a business assignment in Rochester. And now, as if he had nothing better to do, I've sent him off on a food assignment to visit our favorite Rochester eateries (do not mistake this for "arteries," which are will be hardened by the time Jonathon finishes his assignment.) Should he choose to accept the challenge, he is to visit Mamasans (say hi to Bea from Jeneane and George Sessum in Atlanta), where he must try the fresh vegetarian spring rolls (fresh, not fried) and the chicken or vegetarian coconut noodle soop, and maybe some Pad Thai.

Then he's off to Schaller's for a burger on a hard roll (through the garden). The hot sauce in Rochester has meat in it. Don't miss it. Unless you're a vegetarian, which, I assume by your knowledge of Nick Tahous you are not. Jonathon's not done until he samples an order of mixed wings at Country Sweet. He has also been instructed to try a Rubino's sub. Or, he is so instructed now.

There are some people you could squeeze some money out of while you're there--some folks who owe George. But I don't suppose you're there to do that kind of business.

(and if you are, let us know!)

Happy Dining Jonathon!

unfamous quotations

I refer you to the Book of Gary (turner dot net). Yes, our favorite wily UK-er has done it again. Gary's latest brainchild is Unfamous Quotations (first edition) featuring the oft-underestimated and unsung wisdom of bloggers round the world. Now's your chance to contribute to history--don't miss out!

The BlogSisters Get a Facelift

Thanks to Web Doctor Andrea Roceal James, the BlogSisters team blog got a groovy face lift. Check it out, join, comment, discuss.

Nice job, Andrea--and thank you.

where I was a year ago...

what I was blogging about....

"These interconnected 'places of voice' are not the communities we see today on Amazon and in other over-designed pre-fab online subdivisions, but instead real communities, with potholes and assholes--just like real life."

"Passive yields to Active. Eyeballs to Voice."

"I'm scared about the Rageboy™ thing. Not your rageboy (no trademark here--I'm using it generically-notice the lower case), but the variation of rageboy you think we all have. How can I keep writing nice things about my coveted 'blue chip' clients--and usually 'as' one of my clients--if I admit to having a ragegirl inside of me. I can never ever acknowledge her."

"Interactive reviews… write as you read… experience the book. Does a product exist for this? Read the book in the right hand column… Record your thoughts in the left… Somehow you co-write and revise what you are reading… giving it breath beyond the paper page. Continuing the voice--adding new voices to the author's voice… Then, we can merge this co-thinking, co-speaking, and co-mingling of ideas into a creation of its own. A daughter publication. And, the cycle could start again. Think of where we would end up--so far away from, and yet I suspect so close to, the original piece."

"I am canceling my subscription to EGR--that man is a lunatic. He's got me talking all kinds of crazy."

(Oh and one of my personal favorites...)

"How about these 'guidelines,' for all of the mightier-than-thou Internet publication hacks who gave us grief over the last three years:

-Don't patronize and piss off industry professionals who work for your publication for free--providing most of the stuff your readers pay you for.

-Don't fill your publication with so many lame ads that it makes your magazine 600 pages thick and you have to start publishing it twelve times a month, you greedy fuck.

-Don't look like an idiot when no one is buying ad space anymore, you have to layoff half your staff, and your magazine is now 3 pages and comes out twice a year."

From the RGE Archives.

Uh-huh. I knew it.

Something told me that Tom Matrullo would become obsessed with GoogleFight. Heh. If Tom's mastery of "this vs. that" teaches us anything, it teaches us that war is hell, and small wins big. Well, you'll get my drift if you check out Tom's interesting hour (day? couple days?) on GoogleFight.

A note about fair fights--Some of you with rather not-so-unusual first and last names (cough cough--one Gary Turner comes to mind...) need to put QUOTATION MARKS around your whole name when you decide to pick on someone. It's not fair for you Turners of the world to ride on the coat tails of Ike and Tina. Not when the Sessums and Marek Js of the world have to go it alone.

And? Wanna make somethin' of it?

happy anniversary to me... and gonzo

one year blogging anniversary for me today. eeeeeeeeeeeee!

And mostly, happy anniversary to everyone who participated with me in the early and later days of the Reading Gonzo--Engaged team blog.

(Rumor has it that the PAPERBACK edition of the book responsible for launching the RGE blog is shipping any day now... rumor has it you ought to buy the thing if you haven't. rumor has it cousin Vito might pay you a visit if you don't. All rumors and speculation, of course.)

How d'ya like me so far? Here's to year two.

gary double dares ya

Gary Turner says he can kick your butt. Meet him behind the baseball field over at GoogleFight.

just when we were getting tired of hearing ourselves not saying much...

There are some amazing weblogs I've come across recently thanks to others in this circle of friends who are linking to them. I would credit my circle friends for the links, but I've been hopping around so very much tonight that I don't know how I got to where I got! Nuff said. Check these destinations out...

Resident Blog, a team weblog of women residents in their journey to becoming our docs of the future... Tired, worn out, stressed--they STILL find time to blog. Amanda has a particularly moving account of her work in the NICU and more...

"In the process of writing this I have drawn 15 ccs of spinal fluid off of an indwelling reservoir in a baby with hydrocephalus, I have been to the cesarian birth of a beautiful bellowing baby girl whose mom is trying to stay off of methamphetamines in an inpatient drug treatment. Her friend held the baby close to her face behind the curtain and her sparkling blue eyes teared up as she said "Wow." Then, I tried to intubate a tiny 1 1/2 pound baby whose O2 sats were in the 40s. I didn't make it and I handed the blade over to the senior resident who finally made it on the third try. We peeled off our gloves and our hands were all pruney from sweating. My senior's headed to bed- I'm on the first shift and there's folks over in labor and we're likely to be called any minute for some deliveries. I've got clinic tomorrow post call and have put in an 81.5 hour week by midnight tonight."

I didn't see permalinks, so scroll down and read them all--it's worth it.

Another fast rising blog of interest is The Homeless Guy, which chronicles the challenges and warmspots of a homeless weblogger in (I think) Nashville.

There's also excellent writing on HotMud.

This from there:

"He arrives. He looks good. One of the great injustices since the trouble began is that he's looked fantastic. And I don't. The pain goes straight to my face and lodges there; anyone can read it in the tension around my mouth, which is constant, and in my eyelids, which are always slightly swollen. In pain, he shines. It's inexplicable and enviable. It makes me feel ill. It makes me long for anesthetic. I pretend that my mocha contains codeine."

Nice stuff... dat's all for tonight. I'm on the hunt for more. When I get sick of hearing myself write, I always go look for new blood to add to my blogroll... widen the circle... toward one world... one peaceful world.

Down for the Count

I took an uppercut from Tom Matrullo who whooped me on Google Fights, but I KO-ed Halley Suitt in Round Two.

Thanks to Scoble for the link!

a rainy night in georgia, and it feels like I'm bloggin' all over the world.

Shelley's got me thinking--again. In today's post she made me feel nostalgic in a way I've never felt before. Not more or less intense than regular nostalgia, but compressed for sure.

I remember the days Shelley is writes about. They were what, six months ago? In blogland it seems like ten years ago. Jokin', jivin', jawin' on the tele, everything was upside down and sideways but somehow just right. Are we saying, "Those were the days, my friend?" Well, for now, maybe I am.

Looking back. Shared History.

Shared agony, ecstacy. hurt. laughter. With you, Shell. About those days.

When George was in Hong Kong, me here with Jenna, the telephone inviting long talks with Marek, Shelley, Halley, Gary, RB, Tom, Elaine, and crew. They helped take care of me, supported my journey into therapy and soul searching. Jenna wasn't even in pre-K yet. I was working full-time. I hadn't told my parents they were alcoholics yet. So much is different now.

The world in blogtime.

And so I go further back.

And I realize that a year ago Monday (Oct 7th) I started blogging. I signed onto blogger with Reading Gonzo--Engaged after spending a week engrossed with a review copy of Chris Locke's Gonzo Marketing. The infamous RageBoy and I had exchanged a few emails before then. But I never imagined the guy would be our daughter's Uncle when I sent him that MS Word document last October--a document in which I'd been journaling my reading of Gonzo Marketing. He wrote back and said, "This would be just right for a blog, or two, or three." I took him at his word. Still do.

For me, this is where my life among bloggers began.

Gonzo Engaged lived a pretty full life, as its archives attest to. But of late, it has waned in popularity and postings. Many of the bloggers Locke inspired, some of whom started blogging right then and there on the Gonzo team blog, are now focused on their own weblogs and team blogs, me among them.

Still, I wait. To see if Gonzo will re-ignite.

Blogs are funny that way.

So is RageBoy.

But when I look back at my first year of blogging, it seems like a lifetime ago.

Maybe that's because we're living in so many people's lives at once.

Do you think?

I remember when Gary launched the soon-to-be international phenomenon known as Blog Stickers, me saying, can I put one of those things on my blog? (Yes, I was the first.) I picked "Blog is a four letter word," bought up Gary's t-shirts and mugs, told him we'd just hit the new era of e-commerce, and shit, we kind of did, never forseeing Gary was just getting going with his insane ideas, hadn't yet experienced his Chukka Bar Incident; chalk chalking was just a glimmer in its father's eye, as was Baby Turner to be.

RageBoy was loving, then dying; now reborn. I've watched the metamorphosis, which has been incredible, and as real life as real life gets hundreds of miles away over wires.

Halley, Craig, Shelley, and now Doc, all lived in different houses. I feel like I've moved with all of them. Is that why I'm so tired? Halley, where'd you put my f-ing can opener?

Marek hadn't scared us yet with his traumatic hospital stay, Dave Winer hadn't either.

I was on Mike Sanders' blogroll and he was on mine.

The warbloggers were mere pains in the asses, not a full-fledged movement.

Blog Sisters was an idea that woke me up one night, nothing less or more, until... and then...

Elaine wasn't a grandma yet.

I hadn't met AKMA's amazing wife, Margaret.

So many things. So many things to have happened. So many things to have happened to so many of us.

And more to come.

Only one absolute: I feel blessed to be among you.

I am a mouth hanging open

Well, since Uncle RageBoy posted his plea to burst Jenna's brain with a bushel of presents for her five-year-old birthday, I decided to check Jenna's wishlist to see what was going on. I was dumbfounded by the outpouring of generosity--and really cool presents--that are coming her way. I called George over to my laptop and said, "Check this out!" We were stunned. No way, George said... I said, "See, I told you these bloggers are cooler than most of the real life people we know." Which, in and of itself is a rather odd statement, but, I know you all know what I mean. What we have is a truly amazing community of love unseen, of hope untouched, all the more powerful because.

And it's not just the presents--the good wishes from those who can't or choose not to jump on amazon and one-click Jenna a gift are just as sincere and meaningful, just as special and appropriate, and we appreciate them all. Please do know that.

I sat Jenna down at the laptop before school early this morning to read her the comments from Dean, from Frank, from Shelley, from all these crazy uncles and aunts she has yet to meet.

She was all smiles and giggles, and please know that you are all becoming household names around the Sessum homestead. That *can* be a good thing.

Thank you one and all... I'll keep you posted as the packages arrive--try to get some pics of our little darling in her glory.

put her back inside?

Five years ago this evening, we stared at each other, a lot.

We knew that the next day we'd have a baby, with ultrasound certainty, a baby girl to be exact.

Tonight, I don't know why, and I do know why, and either way, I mourn the end of my pregnancy. It's five years later, and tonight I am grieving over the loss of those nine months as if the last four years never happened.

Although my pregnancy was filled with plenty of peril--ultrasounds to track my multitude of uterine fibroids (many bigger than "the bean" as we called her then), office trips for episodes of sudden bleeding, and my own untold doubts about my ability to mother--it was also the most blissful time in my life. For a couple, there is nothing like a first pregnancy. You have one another's complete attention (which you never have again). You watch the miracle of creation take place before your very eyes. You learn what your mate is made of. You work together to complete the most amazing human task there is.

Having been married 11 years before deciding to take the plunge into parenthood, we were pretty used to being two. I relished those 9 months knowing that I should, understanding that nothing would ever be the same again. I took five or six baths a day, read every trashy novel I could get my hands on in the tub, loved my husband attending to my every need.

It really was the best of times. And it's over.

And maybe it's me being 40 and Jenna turning 5 that has me in this place where I'm afraid--very afraid--I'll never get to do it again.

I remember saying to George, one night in my 8th month, "Think about what we're doing right now--this minute. What will it be like to have another person here with us?" I couldn't fathom it. He said, "The house adapts; we adapt. She'll just be here doing these things with us."

And so she is. And I feel so blessed I am weak from it. And I am going to sleep.... to lie next to my baby for a while. Goodnight.

baby blogger's turning five tomorrow...

I remember five years ago, all the feelings of terror and wonder, knowing that the next day we would have a daughter. Scheduled c-section means you pick your baby's birthday--a weighty task not lost on me. September baby? October baby? The choice was ours, and we made it based on who we thought the best doctor for the job was. Turned out, he wasn't, but along came this beautiful spirit, powering her way into the world--she hasn't let up a day in five years. I love her so.



Jenna's Amazon Wish List

the big top

Pink cotton candy
on a rolled paper stick,
slick hungry fingers unwrap,
hurrying, taste sugar, melting.
Is that you? It is you.

So much so sweet
so long I've known
those eyes.

dare, I dare you.
come with me to
the big top
where carnival music
carries us back,
light hearted children
without scars,
just loose cotton shorts
that tie at the waist
tie dye tank tops
and a cool fifty cents
to burn.

Hurry, Hurry,
step right up.
don't be late
to the greatest
show on earth.

blog therapy

cold stone sleep feathers dust damp night
lantern stove light wood appear among
man woman betrayal dance leaving coming
going esteem shame blame run faster guilt
trance eyes closed thoughts come stories
undone swirling starts....
trigger.
stop!
blog.
this is how we heal
this is how we heal
this is how we heal
this is how we heal
this is where we heal.

Answer Song: Let Us Purge

Yeah, brother forgive me, Marek, I've consumed too. Consumed and watched others consume this poison culture, out there, not in here, yes in here too, skinning me raw, making me consume poison, the poison we're fed all our lives, from parents who consumed, and who consumed us, and now I am so full of emptiness, I need to consume some more until I have stuffed so much consumption so far down I feel very full of empty, and so then what do I do? I am power; I am unconsumption; I purge. I vomit sleek tall runway models and bulging musclemen from my gut, puke them on the floor, Disney soft porn drips from my lips, tastes sweet going down, bitter coming up. I shake from 4/4 rhythms in the key of C until bile bubbles up from the pit of my stomach, burns my throat on its way out, unconsuming sexy sleek brainless mindless realfakeworld people that fuck so good, drive shiny new cars that hurt my eyes. I am purging them, vomiting scrap metal and lingere onto my tile floor, a heap of consumption unconsumed, until I am empty but so full.

Thank you. That felt so good.

getting to know you

George is back home. Been busy catching up, growing, cloudbursts, sunbursts, living, transitioning into unto within whereas who knows. But mainly I wanted to say I skinned his blog and put some sound samples up. 'bout time someone round here did that. Now, if I can get a new pic and figure out how to put the permalinks in, Im'a call it done.

talk at ya soon.

search and destroy

There was, not so long ago, quite a dialog in blogland about anger. I'm trying not to focus on anger this 3:17 in the morning, when I should be sleeping, so much to do, so much to keep up with, and the plague of the locuses chirping away outside.

Instead I'm thinking more about anger's natural outlet: Destruction. There is, I think, no greater power than destruction. Destruction reduces creation. So, then, destruction is the natural enemy of creativity.

But still, there is so much I could destroy, I wouldn't know where to start. It's in my genes to do this. Family members have murdered business partners and been sent down the river for it. Lives and families have been destroyed. And in a covert way, on the other side of my of my family continuum, destruction is even more powerful because it is executed covertly. Many have died in my family, in my life, and not all by accident. In fact, even without a physical murder weapon, destruction has laid waste and left dead bodies strewn across upstate New York graveyards. Some of us are walking monuments to destructive forces. Give me a steamroller anyday.

So I look at my inherent ability, and inborn proclivity, to destroy and wonder why I don't do it. And I think, then, maybe I have done it, by trying to avoid destruction, thereby playing into its hands. And that makes me want to search and destroy all the more. The power surge I feel just thinking about unleashing my wrath is, well, pleasant. No, it's not disturbing to me at all. This may not be a good thing. What should I run over today, what should I reduce to rubble, and what should I save? Myself? Well, yes, there's that. No power surge in that though.

And yet, when the wave passes--the pure DNA based understanding that I could easily smash the tallest castle to dust with my mind, that my thoughts and the manifestations of those thoughts could so over power another human creation, that my strength of voice could leave another human being a drewling mass of flesh and not much more--oops, I got carried away there, sorry--as I was saying, when the wave passes, some odd sense of peace and joy take it's place. A greater understanding of all I've been so angry about. I jump to another level of understanding.

And I can't decide whether it's because I've resisted the urge (and in many ways have not been allowed) to destroy something, or because I've already exercised it here, in my blog/voice/mind and need not act it out. No matter how you cut it, destruction is a force we must keep in check, because when the whirlwind starts, self-destruction is often the end result of that large load of anger.