So, Yeah...

Happy 9th Birthday to my blog and to the Class of 2001. You know who you are. ;-)

In other news, I passed two people on my mall walk today. That's a record!!!

Jenna said: "Mom, I think I see a muscle in one of your legs!"

Run and tell THAT.

You will not fricking believe what I'm into now...

mall walking.

ftw? yes, mall walking. Who knew that an entire counter culture existed within your suburban mall from before 8 a.m. until the "real" shoppers arrive at 10:00? I know!

Here's how it happened:

felt like death
decided to try one more time for life
started walking
decided to walk a 5K in the fall
got cold in Atlanta
looked for inside, closeby place to walk
went to mall
found 50 other people walking there
askd how long a lap around was
started walking
still walking.

That's pretty much it.

I passed my first elder mall walker today. I have been left in the dust by ladies who have to be approaching 100 and men with walkers. But not today; today was a mighy day. I passed one of them.

I'm comin' for them and they know it.

just wait.

It Takes an iVillage to Raise a Child

I once had a little baby girl. When she was just a few months old, some of you held her. On her 5th birthday, a boatload of you, my blog friends, filled our living room with boxes from this cool online store called amazon-dot-com. We still have the scooter, Denise Howell. When she got her tonsills out, you sent her get well emails. Frank Paynter you bought this-n-that from her fund raisers. Elaine Frankonis you made her a hat. Margaret B. Adam you took on the task of hunting for Nessie for her in Glasscow. When we took her to SXSW, you built lego houses with her, Halley Suitt -- and Auntie Kat Herding, you know all about the phone talks ending with, "Tell Jenna Uncle RageBoy says Hey." On Sept 30 she turns 13. And my Web of friends, you are the village it takes.

ze frank is always worth it.

I come back here because Ze Frank is always worth coming back for.

He has created yet another cool thing among the many cool things he has created (cool things at a loss these days among the blogs), young me now me reuniting people's past and present selves within a given instant.

My favorite.

And some of Ze's favs.

As I just visited home, flashes of scenes from my childhood are just settling down. And school starts tomorrow for our middle-schooler. So many reminders of time's fleeting ways.

i woke up

I just finished a bowl of pasta the size of which is against (probably) every health rule existing, including the old-fashioned food pyramid which I hear is all wrong now.

Mind you, I don't eat pasta very much anymore because I listen to what they say about carbs. Or I try to. Except I'm half Sicilian. And telling a Sicilian not to eat pasta to avoid carbs is like telling a beagle not to bark to avoid annoying the neighbors.

I compromised though. I put butter and grated cheese on it. Does avoiding tomatoes get me any points? Or the fact that I used low-carb noodles? With all that butter and cheese, they didn't taste low carb at all. And I hardly missed the red sauce.

People underestimate the power of butter.

And to think that last week I was on a health kick. Walking even. Got up to 2 miles in a day - I think that's a record for me. The last time I walked 2 miles in a day I was 14 and on horseback.

But here's the real thing.

I saw my house today.

I mean I opened my eyes and SAW the condition of the house. Not just the minor points of disrepair, or even the major scuffs and holes and wear and tear. Not just the molded carpet edges or the spider webs (web is too gentle a word - brick-and-mortar maybe?).

I don't mean I saw a mess. I mean I witnessed the neurotic letting go of things, the dissociation from one's surroundings that happens when disrepair in the mind allows denial to obscure what the eyes see.

Did I mention 2009 was a Real Bitch? Yeah, it almost took us down. But we hung onto beams by bloody fingertips while the walls around us collapsed.

If that kind of thing continues, it can get you into big trouble. (I'm talking inpatient.)

Maybe it was Jenna's neighborhood friend, who followed us into the house for the first time today. I always find myself only seeing what "they" see when "they" first enter. "They" are strangers -- people who don't "not see" what I don't "not see."

But I saw. Everything. Everywhere.

It almost made me want to start picking up the mess. Except that every room seems to be a priority at once, and conflicting categories of messes confuse and confound me. How to get anything accomplished?

And so, I tell myself that it's ok. I will get there. I tell myself that today I woke up. And I saw what the last year was like. All at once. A wave. A cascading, overwhelming reminder.

And that's why I ate a half of a box of pasta.

With butter and grated cheese.

Which tasted really really good.

happy new year!

Seems like forever since I've been moved to post. It gets like that every now and again. So many Facebook gala events to attend, friend's need adding, people need help with their games, and besides, everything has been said already. You see your friends in chat. Twitter's faster, albeit vapid by comparison.

Before long, you find yourself having not blogged for a long time. And then if you're lucky, someone sends along some words of wisdom, some inspiring imagery, something that compells you back to the pixels from whence you came.

Such was the gift I received from the book of joe today, reminding me of the wondrous cultural diversity that makes the world go round.

And now? To the east my brothers to the east:






It's the "Pee Without Noise Stool." Because pee can be terribly loud.

My only question is, what's coming out of his face? Is that the sweat of sweet relief? Joy? Extra urine?

Are you glad I'm back or what!?

spreading the need around

If you have some spare change (or more), can you help Brenda out?

Brenda has been our waitress at Waffle House on Frey Road for the last 3 years. She is a wonderful woman who makes due on modest means. In addition to working at Waffle House, Brenda takes care of her mom, who has Leukemia and Diabetes.

When Brenda had a serious car accident a couple of weeks ago, their lives changed dramatically. She has no health insurance and no savings aside for this kind of disaster. She cannot get medical aid because she has no minor children at home. Brenda and her mother can no longer make ends meet.

Contributions from Waffle House patrons and staff paid Brenda's rent this month. Her fellow waitresses have pooled enough money for December's electric bill. Other than that, they have nothing, and she doesn't even know if she'll be able to go back to work doing what she does because one of her feet was crushed in the accident.

Current needs are:

$350/month - monthly rent
$800 - to get her car and possessions out of impound
$150 - utilities
$-Sky's The Limit-$ - medical expenses

THANK YOU for any help you can give!!!!

Getting Loss, Courtesy of Google Maps.

View Larger Map

missing

Not the cards
crafted by stubby kindergarten
thumbs, shamrocks and elves
remember the day
get well soon!
and see you monday

Not the bus ride home,
Not the brown paper sack
of St. Patrick's Day cheer
clenched like treasure in
one hand, the
star of the show
I take them
home to my sick father

Not the climb up the stairs
heels whisking
two steps at a time.

Not the "I have something for him,"
met on the top step to keep
me from the bedroom
can't reach the door to push it open.

Not the slow walk to my room
wondering
what?

Not the talk on my bed
Jesus God in Heaven
Not the no crying, the knowing.

Not the Edge of Night slicing
mid-day silence as I pick my fingers,
think about where they have taken "him."

None of that, no.

It is something less, the absence of,
the wrinkles in crisp bedsheets
missing his form,
the tautness of the groove
that hugged us there
"What's on tv?"

It is the first time I see the open
bedroom
so-stark-sun remembering,
caresses the antique poster bed
windows lifted to sanitize,
and the March wind
reminds me I am alive.
He is not.

It is the empty bed.

Allied Turns 8, And Bingo Was His Name-O.

Remember when blogs were where we hid our inside jokes? Long-winded jokesters and jesters swapping pixel spit. Word of click, her to him to me, the organization having no idea where we were or what we were up to.

Since 2001, they've followed the bread crumbs, and they're here with us, and that's a good thing. They're on blogs, on facebook, on twitter. We told them to get a clue, and they did. Careful what you ask for.

The mixed company of bosses and bossees is no place for inside jokes, so email becomes the new blog, and we share our inside jokes and happy Web findings the new old-fashioned way, five or six cc:s at a time. Everything old is new again, the music goes round and round...

And Bingo was his name-o.

As the Class of 2001 (kevin, denise, frank, gary, mike, tom michael, who are we all again?) enters its 9th year of blogging, thanks to the call of our Gonzo Leader, the Karma to our Dogma, Rageboy, we keep plugging along, a post here and there, not like it was before, but not unlike it's ever been.

This is the email that started a band of merry goobers on the road to spewing more what-would-come-to-be-known-as-content across the Web than was ever really necessary.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Gonzo Marketing: Winning through Worst Practices
http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0738204080/entropygradientr
http://www.gonzomarkets.com

http://www.rageboy.com/blogger.html
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


"Do you remember a guy that's been
In such an early song?
I've heard a rumor from Ground Control.
Oh no, don't say its true.
They got a message from the Action Man..."

bowie - ashes to ashes - scary monsters


Valued Readers:

OK, enough is enough. This sedentary lifestyle is killing me. Time to
shake shit up again. Time for a little web action! Remember when we
just about brought down sixdegrees.com? If you've been on the EGR list
long enough, you do. The CFO sent me mail saying, "Who are you and why
are you doing this to us?" Or, just this year, how we, uh... sort of
"reorganized" Amazon's listmania lists? As a result, the following
query now yields over 900 hits.

http://google.com/search?q=site:amazon.com+gonzo+marketing+listmania

So here's the deal. I promised The Guardian...

http://www.guardian.co.uk

...that I'd write an article on weblogs. In fact, I promised its
computer editor, Jack Schofield, who's been on the EGR list forever
(sorry to out you here, old man; can't be helped). Problem is though:
what can you say about weblogs that isn't so vague and general that
it's hardly worth saying? Or worse, that hasn't already been said.
Better. By somebody else. Here's a good example.

weblogs: a history and perspective
http://www.rebeccablood.net/essays/weblog_history.html

Actually, what interests me most about weblogs is (you should forgive
the expression), memic propagation and amplification. And if there's
one thing that EGR (and by extension, or implosion, or somesuch, RB)
gets off on, it's... that's right, you guessed it: memic propagation
and amplification.

For this article, I spent most of yesterday (have to say Monday now, I
guess) talking to Dave Winer of weblogs.com (and so much else; who can
keep track?), and Ev Williams of Blogger, and Doc Searls of... well,
the now-infamous Doc Searls weblog. Doc doesn't call it memic
propagation, which yeah, I admit, sound like some Media Lab hack on
bad meth. He calls it "blogrolling." Coined the term, he did. The
analogy being to this American Heritage Dictionary definition:

logrolling - n.

The exchanging of political favors, especially the trading of
influence or votes among legislators to achieve passage of projects
that are of interest to one another. I've never done good things.

The exchanging of favors or praise, as among artists, critics, or
academics. I've never done bad things.

[From the early American practice of neighbors gathering to help
clear land by rolling off and burning felled timber. I never did
anything out of the blue.]

You know: your basic influence peddling comes to the web. When you go
to Doc's blog (which you'll see in just a second if you follow the
simple directions coming up any second now), you'll see what he means
by blogrolling. I've adopted this convention -- as have about 100,000
other bloggers -- on the All-New-Chapter-11-Dot.Com-Memorial-Redesign
of...

The EGR Weblog
http://www.rageboy.com/blogger.html

First note the DAYPOP search box (thanks and a tip o' the hat to Eric
Norlin; q.v. in the URL above). We'll come back to this presently.

Then note that Doc's site is at the top of the blogroll in the left
column. Place of honor cause he shamed me into this. Long story.
Anyway, click on that link and check his page. But come back here, you
know. Don't get mindlessly surfing around. We got work to do -- the
end result of which will put you on my list of bloggers. Maybe we need
to get procedural about this. Yeah, good idea. So here's whatcha do...

1) If you don't already have a weblog (and you want one), go hook
yourself up at:

Blogger
http://www.blogger.com

...or at any of Dave Winer's myriad make-yerself-a-weblog
options. Here's a particularly powerful one -- which I'm still
trying to figure out:

Radio UserLand
http://radio.userland.com

Better still, if you have a 12-year-old kid, ask the kid.

2) Register your weblog with DAYPOP by going here:

http://www.daypop.com/submit.htm

3) VERY IMPORTANT: add "RageBoy" (not that slimy fuck clocke) to
your main weblog page. Link him to the EGR blogger. You can use
something like this:

RageBoy

4) Send me the URL of your weblog showing evidence of #3, along
with three boxtops from any breakfast cereal made in Battle
Creek Michigan, and I will...

5) Stick your site on the EGR weblog honor roll.

That's blogrolling BIGTIME! Tell your friends too. Any number can
play! If the EGR Irregulars come through on this one, you should be
able to go back in a few days to...

http://www.rageboy.com/blogger.html

...hit the default DAYPOP search (i.e., RageBoy), and see how many
hits we got. Yeah: WE. Because, if you follow these directions
carefully and nothing screws up anywhere along this convoluted Rube
Goldberg maze of twisty little passages, you'll see...

YOUR NAME IN LIGHTS!

Then, because I'll also write this little caper up for The Guardian,
so will lots of *Limeys* see Your Name In Lights! (If you are a Limey
already, please take no offense; this is the way you *have to* talk to
Americans if you want to get anywhere with them. Trust me.)

So see? This way, we'll have produced a lovely little demonstration of
memic propagation for the whole world to marvel at, and we can all win
one for the Gipper. Even though there is no meme. And no Gipper, for
that matter. Which makes it a sort of empty-zen-hacker-bodhisattva
thing. One flash of light. Senseless beauty. Random acts of kindness.
You know the drill.

Of course, to be brutally honest, I'll get even more fucking famous in
the process, and sell a whole shitload more books. But that's OK,
right? You don't mind, do you? All for the best, really, isn't it?

I'm happy. Hope you're happy too...

Major Thom

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Suitable for framing, non?

Happy birthday blog brothers and sisters, keep the blogfires burning.

On Wednesday My Baby Turns 12

It's hard to believe that the sweet baby girl who was 4 when I started blogging is the tweenager who is turning 12 on Wednesday.

She was blogging at 4.
How many posts and permalinks have connected our years
our celebrations and fears
we hyperlink one to the next
and suddenly they begin to out grow us
move to a new server with friends
surpassing bandwidth we never conceived of
and I'm not even talking tech.

tough room, this place, these days.

BUT THEN, in those days, when we were all here together, not so spread out on the Internet's little intranets, THEN she was just 4, and she was wide open, always on 24/7 just like she is now, but with more questions than answers. And I'm feeling nostalgic for those times, and feeling thankful we put them in pixels back then.

Thursday, November 21, 2002

conversations in jenna's twin bed before drifting off to sleep

Jenna: Mama?

Mom: Hush Jenna--go to sleep.

Jenna: Can I tell you something?

Mom: Okay, go ahead but then close your eyes.

Jenna: When you drink water, it goes in your mouth, down your throat, past your potatoes, into your stomach, into your bladder, then it mixes with yellow ivy and comes out in the potty--right?

Mom: Pretty close, yes.

Jenna: Is that it--is it the yellow ivy that makes it yellow?

Mom: No I think it's vitamins and minerals and stuff.

Jenna: Are you sure there's no yellow ivy in there?

Mom: I don't think so, but that's a good idea, now go to sleep.

Jenna: Mama?

Mom: Sleep Jenna.

Jenna: When I was one year old, where did I sleep?

Mom: You slept in your crib, in here, in your room.

Jenna: But how did you fit in there to lay with me?

Mom: I didn't, honey. I sat on the rocking chair that used to be in the corner.

Jenna: Oh, I wondered how you fit in my crib with me.

Mom: I love you Jenna, now hush.

Jenna: Okay. I love you too.

Word of the Decade: Toink

Reminiscing blogaria 2002, when my middle schooler was a kindergartener, and the word of the day was Toink.

December 27, 2002

Word of the Day: Toink

So Jenna, by virtue of her five-year-old stamina, and with help from her father's gaming prowess, wins 1400 points at Dave and Busters two nights ago. She picks this great Coca-Cola soccer ball--like a real soccer ball--as one of her prizes. She's been having, pardon the pun, a ball with this ball. She tells me this about it:

I know what's inside of this ball, mom.

Oh you do?

Toink.

Toink? What's Toink?

You know, Toink. Feathers and fluff and small paper. That's what's inside, filling the ball up.

So that's Toink--feathers and fluff and papers?

Yep. That's Toink. It's inside this ball.


Toink--Your word of the day. Courtesy of the babyblogger.

so embargoes are still dead according to TC

I think everyone has gotten the memo by now: TechCrunch stopped honoring embargoes from PR people a long while back. And today, TC has still stopped honoring embargoes. Elvis also remains out of the building.

It's understandable Mike doesn't want to deal with embargoes because he spends time writing stories that are supposed to be news while another outlet breaks the embargo and Mike doesn't run the story because the news isn't new anymore.

As Mike's argument indicates: no one wants old news. And news is only news for a second. If you're lucky.

Mike has some advice on how to release news the new-fashioned way -- he says to release the news on your own corporate blog and then email everyone asking them to take a look. So he's basically advising you to break your own embargo (and spam your friends). heh.

Over on facebook (WTF) Robert Scoble has some suggested ways around TC's no-embargo policy for companies who still care about giving their left nut to appear on TechCrunch. Example:

Donate $1,000 to a charity if Arrington keeps his mouth shut (will cost you maybe $5,000 to keep a few big bloggers in line). Make it public. That way he’ll look like a loser if one of his writers breaks wind first.

Only thing is, Robert hasn't been copied on the memo stating that companies - yes, even tech companies - don't care as much about appearing on TC as they once did.

You see, THEY got the memo letting them know that they should care to be where their customers and users are. Those people are not hanging around TechCrunch.

The old technobility has lost its crown. Long live the mommy blogger.

(taking tongue out of cheek)

The larger issue of the end of the embargo is a pain in the ass for PR people and a pain in the ass for the reporters who have always been professional enough to stick to embargoes.

It's also a pain in the ass for the Press Release itself, which finds its role further weakened, because the entire "pre-seeding" process before a press release hits the wire has to change when the media won't agree to hold off on publishing until a specified date and time.

So what do outlets like the Wall Street Journal and TechCrunch who now shun embargoes really want? They want the exclusive. They want to be the only outlet to get the news, or they don't want to play.

So how do you make news?

FIRST, you help people do something so special that they are compelled to tell their friends. You help them do that thing better and with less energy and expenditure than your competitor. You incent and reward them for telling their friends - you make them your business partner. You work with a communications pro (I'm thinking of dropping the PR term altogether) who connects what you're doing -- and what PEOPLE are doing WITH what you're doing -- to everyone who should know about it.

And you don't stop.

Embargo that.

the more all over the place i say things...

the less i have to say.

seems so anyway. here, there, everywhere, twitter, facebook, blog1, blog2, blackberry, strawberry, argh.

so updates in order of importance:

1) jenna is in middle school and playing flute in band.
2) the pool will be closing in two weeks but we haven't had sun in days so the water is cold.
3) i'm entertaining various work and career options.
4) i'm entertaining friends and neighbors with dogs that don't stop barking.
5) george is walking with a cane [[wait move me up to #2]]
6) i took new blood pressure medicine and I can see now. [[no, wait, move me up to #2]]

my favorite tweets of the evening in NO particular order:

• @elonjames: #Twilight is to Movies what #SouljaBoy is to the dreams of our ancestors.
  
• @DaisyJDog: I can't believe there is a picture of me without my collar on the internet http://bit.ly/1nj0Zv
• @DavidPaulNewell: LA times reporting that Obama made an off the record comment calling Kayne a "jackass". http://tinyurl.com/m9dpzx
• @QueenofSpain: Walking as slowly as possible back to my car after picking up meds at the pharmacy...I don't want to get home in time to put kids to bed

stockpiling homade soup

in advance of h1n1. laugh now, but you'll be after my carrots later.

xoxox

middle school

jenna's in it. it's blowing my mind. looking for a flute. locker shelf in. 3-ring binders. she's growing. she's fluid. time is elastic. i don't get it. and that's ok.

RT @Lauren_Bacall

Yes I saw Twilight my granddaughter made me watch it, she said it was the greatest vampire film ever. After the "film" was over I wanted to..
6:28 PM Aug 22nd from web

smack her accros her head with my shoe, but I do not want a book called Grannie Dearest written on me when I die, so instead I gave her a...
6:32 PM Aug 22nd from web

DVD of Murnau's 1922 masterpiece Nosferatu and told her, now thats a vampire film! and that goes for all of you! watch Nosferatu instead!
6:36 PM Aug 22nd from web

Found poems from 1982

Synchronicity is maybe what it was. Jenna was restless weeks ago and looking for things to get into the night she found the old photos, her idea to make a scrapbook for our 23rd wedding anniversary out of pictures from the past. 

 I finally dug the plastic bin of photos out from beside my dresser, where it sat beneath other plastic bins of things I have no place for except to put on top of other plastic bins. It was two years ago that the plastic bin obsession seemed like a good idea. Now I wonder why I didn't opt for the dumpster. 

While Jenna scattered photos across the rug searching for just the right ones, I came across a notebook I hadn't seen in a decade-plus: my college poetry notebook, stuff I wrote when I was 20, when Gerald McCarthy was my professor. So I decided to type these up, for digital archiving, if not for your enjoyment. I hope maybe for both. 

A Poem for My Brother 

I sit on the basement stairway 

curl my fingers into fists 

my feet move as 

the veins on your arms rise 

your hair drops beads of sweat 

onto your knee 

the high-hat, the snare glisten 

under the single unshaded lightbulb 

hung from the wooden ceiling beam. 

I have never been able to touch you. 

one 

You can talk to me now 

about writing I

spill my ashtray on the bed 

rub gray ashes into the cotton sheets 

my grandmother gave me 

so I can smell smoke in my sleep. 

You're growing even thinner 

When I touch you, you break 

into pieces so small. 

Who stole the meaning?

home 

The living room is gold now

wall-to-wall carpet sprouts shag 

like those weeds behind the high school. 

Someone moved my copy of Lolita 

and the hell of leaving was easier 

than coming back 

Meditation on the Train Ride to Chicago 

The windows move us 

past the south side 

and I wish 

we were just leaving home. 

Glass shatters 

laughter leans against a street light 

an unseen hand shakes the clothesline 

torn t-shirts and diapers wave 

underwear sponges up 

the dirt from the city sky.

vision 

The road stays dark 

my feet disappear under me 

to lose my arms 

I stretch them forward 

they will not leave me.

I dig my fingers in

hold my eyes in my hand 

and squeeze until the pain stops. 

The Rain 

Against the tree 

arms behind my back 

I lean on my hands 

rubbing bitten finger tips 

up and down the bark.

Yesterday it was spring rain-smell 

memories of bicycles, porch lights, kickball

the quiet splash of sneakers 

down the path toward the mud hole 

grass gone 

maggots hungry with anticipation. 

Too young for the funeral, 

I stayed behind 

and wondered who would die next. 

On TV, the world turned round 

and everything that was supposed to be funny 

still was.

windshield wipers for my eyeballs

ptsd cure: patent pending eyeball wipers. work similar to windshield wipers, except on eyeballs. gentler. smaller also.

action: eyeball wipers scrape traumatic imagery from eyes before droplets are deposited in memory, obscuring critical thought and hope.

inspiration: visit to neuroscience intensive care unit at emory medical center, where floor-to-ceiling, glass-windowed patient rooms let nurses (and visitors, AKA me) visually monitor the condition of critically ill patients 'round the clock.

price: free to all little children and grown up children.

creative commons license applies.

Serving Up some Culture Kitchen at bTrendie

Not surprisingly, Liza Sabater said it better than I did. For me, it IS fun to be helping out bTrendie because although the technology is sound, and obviously without the evolution of e-commerce, online shopping wouldn't have gotten so much more intuitive. BUT the point is, with bTrendie the technology is secondary to we're doing.

This isn't a technology story, although it should interest the tech media. It's a story of a startup who had the balls enough to ask 10 women from very diverse blogging backgrounds to join forces to generate Really.Good.Ideas and to create a user experience tailored to its actual users BY its actual users.

Other private shopping sites like RueLaLa and Gilt offer a range of merchandise across a wide swatch of the buying public. Those sites have worked hard on broadening their offerings, with RueLaLa recently going mobile. In the mean time, bTrendie has focused more and more keenly on meeting the needs of pregnant and newly delivered parents, and getting many products designed and made by moms into the hands of moms.

Watch for more to come. And if you're pregnant or know someone who is, get your bohonkus over to bTrendie to grab the deals.

---

The Kid Is So My Son

There's been a lot of talk and speculation -- and possibly even some facts, though I haven't seen them -- indicating that some or all of Michael Jackson's children aren't biologically his.

I don't know who their gene daddy is, or what DNA mashup was the genesis of the Jackson kids. The consensus is that they are gorgeous and poised now that we've seen them quite literally unveiled.

What IRKS me are the people who blabber on about what kids of color (not black, not white, but the colorful ones) (what I long ago on this blog called extraethnic, which maybe should have been intraethnic, or interethnic, or just plain KIDS, hello, I don't know) SHOULD look like. (p.s. we're all mixed; deal with it.)

"Those kids are not his. No way. YOU should know what mixed kids look like--those are not mixed kids," one mom with a son of mixed heritage said to me last week.

I was like, um, I don't get it. True, they could quite possibly not be his. They could be his. They could not be his. I can't tell you.

Someone else today said to me, "Those kids aren't his. They are not mixed."

Sure, Paris with her blue eyes, it's a long shot genetically speaking, but it's not unheard of. I haven't seen ALL the Jackson relatives. I don't presume to know. Why should any of us presume to know?

I've seen every permutation of DNA, every hue, every hair type mixed with every melanin level, every highlight, freckle, and eye color combination imaginable in my 25 years as a card-carrying member of the 'mixed relationship' club.

Even if they're not Michael's biological kids, does that mean the father was Caucasian?

What would you like to do, say, "Turn her hands palm up and let's see if she's mixed"? I'm here to tell you, you still wouldn't know.

I'm not saying that these kids are biologically Michael Jackson's or that they aren't, and I'm not bothered that people have OPINIONS because goodness knows this is the Interweb and without an opinion you might as well stay home...

BUT...

...don't tell me what specific qualities of appearance a growing child, a child in media res, needs to demonstrate in order to be defined as non-white.

Identity is precious and takes decades to develop - we're lucky if we figure out our personal configurations while we're still on this planet. Identity is nothing to be toyed with, except by its owner. Or maybe it is.

So I say, ask a white-black middleman, ask me, ask someone you know, or ask no one, but definitely ask yourself this: What are your preconceptions of what mixed kids look like, what defines mixed, and where did you get the information? What if you're wrong? What if white is black and black is white?

What if Jesus had hair like wool and skin the color of copper like it says in your Bible, not blue eyes and locks of gold?

Who's identity are you really unsure about? Really?

Maybe its the man in the mirror's.

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