I've got my iRiver. I've read any number (lots) of articles and posts on podcasting. I could be up and running with a professional sound (with my new iRiver and what George has in his studio) in a few hours. But I'll probably stick with simple on-the-go recording for now. The iRiver's built-in mic has surprisingly great sound recording capabilities.
I think I understand the genesis and the conflicts around the Podcasting the concept, the term, and the technologies that support the medium--at least from a historical (like six months) perspective.
Now onto what I believe.
It could have been called mp3casting, but that would have sounded weird.
Because Podcasting doesn't require an iPod per-se; any mp3 player will do. Podcasting does NOT require RSS. Subscribing to podcasts does. In other words, ANY mp3 file that in some form mimics broadcast is, to most users who are downloading, a podcast. It's the name they like. It's so, well, "blogging."
If I, for example, have an mp3 file I want to make available--i.e., broadcast, I can do this in several ways. (1) I can have a weblog setup with an RSS 2.0 feed (Blogger makes this easy), make my feed available to bloglines or others, and people who wish to can subscribe to my podblog and get convenient/automatic downloads. You can sleep while technology makes sure you get the latest podcasts loaded onto your MP3 player for morning drivetime.
(2) While RSS makes podcast RECEIVING easy and seamless, it's not the only way to listen to your favorite Pod Personalities. And a burgeoning base of corporate fans are listening to podcasts on their PCs by, well, CLICKING ON THE LINK within the weblog. (3) And for those podcast surfers, who might find one or two podcasts worth downloading, you can usually save the file down and copy it onto your MP3 player via a USB connection.
So what's really new here?
Not much and everything at the same time.
What is new is the perception. The perception of many companies and individuals is that podcasting is the next weblogging. It's the next big thing. It's a must-do.
And so, it is. Thanks to a catchy name, some quirky talented new-era broadcasters who've been living online for a while, Adam Curry, Dave Winer, and the whole technology debating team, as well as the ability of the masses to subscribe to podcasts for easy downloading, podcasting really is the new big thing.
My prediction? It's about channels--it's about getting what you want from the net in the way that's most convenient/relevant for you at the time. If that means clicking a link and listening on your PC at work, then you're listening to a podcast. If it means you download podcasts from 16 blogs you subscribe to every night, then you're downloading podcasts.
In six months, the podcasting "brand" will likely refer to the program format (i.e., anything that resembles a radio broadcast will be called podcasting) NOT how the program is delivered (i.e., currently any mp3 file made available through an RSS 2.0 feed in a weblog can be delivered to subscribers). In six months, an interview on Microsoft's site between Bill Gates and Scoble (it could happen!) will be called a podcast, even if it's simply an mp3 file sitting on a server and linked off Microsoft's homepage for anyone wanting to click the link.
And that's okay. It evokes the same debate we've been having for years in blogland: "What is blogging." Some say its community. Some say its journalism. Some say it's just writing.
So what will podcasting be? Some will say its personal radio. Some will say its broadcast journalism. Some will say it's just mp3 files.
And, just like with blogging, we'll all be right.
April 29, 2005
April 28, 2005
New post on podstreet...
New post over on PodStreet featuring this initial podcast where upon george and I stare a lot at and generally fiddle with my new iRiver iFP-799.
Amazing.
Amazing.
April 27, 2005
always
If you were appointed dictionary Czar for the day, and you could remove one word -- and one word only -- from the language, strike it from the dictionary, and wipe it clean away, which word would you choose?
I was thinking about this, after finishing some Ramen Pride horrible, salterific, substitute-for-real-food dinner. And I decided on "always."
Always is frequently (not always) misleading. Cloaked in connotations of security and timelessness, of the endless forever of time, always is basically a crock.
There is no forever, no until the end of time, no fairness in things, no lasting.
When I was growing up, I believed with all my heart -- and had it reinforced by my family -- that when I grew bigger and older, my mother in turn would grow littler and younger. I thought, in essense, we would trade places.
How well I understood my enmeshment. Not.
I should have seen through the facade. If not me, then who? I watched my father die, I watched him shrink and disappear before my eyes. And yet, I grabbed onto the the "when you get little and I get big" myth with all I had.
"When you get little and I get big," I'm going to wear as much makeup as I want.
"When you get little and I get big," I'll stay up as late as I want and put you to bed at 7:00.
Like that.
And it's sort of true--as we grow, our parents shrink, the ones who aren't larger than life that is.
So, it wasn't really a lie. Not really denial. Misconception maybe. Not stupid though. Resourceful actually. The realities we construct to make sense of things, or perish.
Except that I believed it literally.
I believed in always and forever.
I believed in the justice of the ebb and the flow, the fairness of life, -- the smallness, not the disappearance. The leaving and the coming back.
The losing without the loss.
I really thought when I grew up, life would flip. Would turn upside down. Would reverse what had taken place.
There would be some grand scale of justice.
Some just desert.
Sense would be made of the unfairness and I would make it.
And the world made right would last.
No more surprises.
No more bad news.
I thought that there would always be always.
I was thinking about this, after finishing some Ramen Pride horrible, salterific, substitute-for-real-food dinner. And I decided on "always."
Always is frequently (not always) misleading. Cloaked in connotations of security and timelessness, of the endless forever of time, always is basically a crock.
There is no forever, no until the end of time, no fairness in things, no lasting.
When I was growing up, I believed with all my heart -- and had it reinforced by my family -- that when I grew bigger and older, my mother in turn would grow littler and younger. I thought, in essense, we would trade places.
How well I understood my enmeshment. Not.
I should have seen through the facade. If not me, then who? I watched my father die, I watched him shrink and disappear before my eyes. And yet, I grabbed onto the the "when you get little and I get big" myth with all I had.
"When you get little and I get big," I'm going to wear as much makeup as I want.
"When you get little and I get big," I'll stay up as late as I want and put you to bed at 7:00.
Like that.
And it's sort of true--as we grow, our parents shrink, the ones who aren't larger than life that is.
So, it wasn't really a lie. Not really denial. Misconception maybe. Not stupid though. Resourceful actually. The realities we construct to make sense of things, or perish.
Except that I believed it literally.
I believed in always and forever.
I believed in the justice of the ebb and the flow, the fairness of life, -- the smallness, not the disappearance. The leaving and the coming back.
The losing without the loss.
I really thought when I grew up, life would flip. Would turn upside down. Would reverse what had taken place.
There would be some grand scale of justice.
Some just desert.
Sense would be made of the unfairness and I would make it.
And the world made right would last.
No more surprises.
No more bad news.
I thought that there would always be always.
April 26, 2005
Awe Jeez...
PLANE DIVERTED AFTER MAN WITH MP3 PLAYER, LAPTOP WIRES...
A spokesman for the Transportation Security Administration said two passengers reported that another one appeared suspicious. The man was carrying two vials of medicine, an MP3 player and wires for his laptop computer, the spokesman said.
Doc, did you make it home okay?
Repeat after me: Podcasting on the plane is not cool.
Who We Are Over Time
Melanie at Chandrasutra, in this post, examined ways to address the issue I raised here:
Melanie has wrestled with this question and in response has developed her own Contextual Introduction to give readers who find her through one of many avenues a better up-front flavor of who she is, and who she isn't.
I like it, as much as an exercise I should put myself through for my own thinking and assessment as a tool for readers to understand what to expect here. I might also link to some of the posts I've written that I feel tell the most about who I am in the context of this blog.
Interesting idea and well done. Now, I wish someone would do it for me, because while I'm full of ideas these days, I'm a bit short on execution........
We really can't extract or create an accurate picture of a weblogger -- what he or she stands for or believes, what kind of voice we can expect as a visitor to this blogger's site -- without factoring in that blogger's unique voice and its evolution over time.
I think expectations today are that each post stands alone.
I think that can't be true.
Melanie has wrestled with this question and in response has developed her own Contextual Introduction to give readers who find her through one of many avenues a better up-front flavor of who she is, and who she isn't.
I like it, as much as an exercise I should put myself through for my own thinking and assessment as a tool for readers to understand what to expect here. I might also link to some of the posts I've written that I feel tell the most about who I am in the context of this blog.
Interesting idea and well done. Now, I wish someone would do it for me, because while I'm full of ideas these days, I'm a bit short on execution........
It's been a long time since a post made me cry.
Jessica at Daughter of Opinion has a moving post that she paints with language-layers of loss and pain and hope. A tear is on my right cheek just now, one that I needed to shed. Thank you, Jessica.
Brave and wonderful.
I watched as they led old people, young people, babies even, down to the black water and into the waiting arms of the preacher. I watched them be dipped backwards, some of them plugging their noses, and I sensed the emotion that seemed to coincide with their emergence from the water - their hair slicked back, their faces shiny with wetness. I watched them take my cousins, all four of them, down one at a time but they never came for me. I remember feeling hurt by this. I remember standing on the rocky bank and thinking that I was not acceptable - simply not good enough - because my mother was sick.
Brave and wonderful.
your favorite corporate weblogs
-Okay, what businesses are doing blogs right?
-What businesses aren't?
-I'm looking for fun, edgey, but not insane. I'm looking for relevant, compelling, topical.
-I'm looking for blogs you've gone back to -- that you've visited more than once.
-Please leave links.
Person with the most relevant links left in my comments gets a $7 amazon gift certificate. Yah, I know, $7 isn't much. Jenna's 7 and I'm broke, so I picked $7.
[[Research assignment ends at 9:00 a.m. US Eastern Time Wednesday (tomorrow) morning.]]
-What businesses aren't?
-I'm looking for fun, edgey, but not insane. I'm looking for relevant, compelling, topical.
-I'm looking for blogs you've gone back to -- that you've visited more than once.
-Please leave links.
Person with the most relevant links left in my comments gets a $7 amazon gift certificate. Yah, I know, $7 isn't much. Jenna's 7 and I'm broke, so I picked $7.
[[Research assignment ends at 9:00 a.m. US Eastern Time Wednesday (tomorrow) morning.]]
What to Tell Young People about Blogging
DON'T EVER START!! (Oh. wait. that's smoking.)
Elaine is going to be on a panel addressing young people and weblogging, at least at some point or another. She wonders what we think she should tell kids about blogging. Leave your comments here and help her out.
Elaine is going to be on a panel addressing young people and weblogging, at least at some point or another. She wonders what we think she should tell kids about blogging. Leave your comments here and help her out.
April 25, 2005
okay I'm too tired
No way am I doing 30 posts tonight. What was I thinking? I planned on 30 and got 2 done.
I think I have to rethink my challenge model. In the old days, 30 in 30 was something to shoot for. Remember when we had the all-night blogothons for--was it charity? I don't even remember. I think I did one. I don't even remember what it was. There were a number of 24 hour post-a-thons in the old days. That's when I got into trying to post 30 posts in 30 minutes. I had wicked fast fingers in those days. Now I think I have carpel tunnel. In those days, I could get 30 posts done consecutively, but it ended up taking me a couple of hours each time.
A post a minute? That ain't happening. I was in my 30s then. I'm in my 40s now. With age comes discretion.
I can't afford a couple of hours right now.
Sleep tight.
I think I have to rethink my challenge model. In the old days, 30 in 30 was something to shoot for. Remember when we had the all-night blogothons for--was it charity? I don't even remember. I think I did one. I don't even remember what it was. There were a number of 24 hour post-a-thons in the old days. That's when I got into trying to post 30 posts in 30 minutes. I had wicked fast fingers in those days. Now I think I have carpel tunnel. In those days, I could get 30 posts done consecutively, but it ended up taking me a couple of hours each time.
A post a minute? That ain't happening. I was in my 30s then. I'm in my 40s now. With age comes discretion.
I can't afford a couple of hours right now.
Sleep tight.
George and Hues
He wouldn't mind me telling you I suppose: George does the laundry in our house. He always has. Except when he's away. And then it's laundry bedlam time.
But the thing is, when George does the laundry, he really DOES the laundry, which involves color sorting by hues. As in, blues/greens go together. Pinks/reds go together. Yellows/oranges go together.
He's not altogether right. But his laundry looks damn good. If my husband were a search engine, you'd find just what you're looking for.
He tells me that hue-sorting is important because the colors come out much brighter this way. He tells me that my way results in a single hue: Grey.
I tell him I shouldn't have to wait three weeks until he gathers enough orange/yellow clothes to get Jenna's yellow ruffled socks back.
When George goes on the road, one thing secretly thrills me: Unlimited access to the laundry room. MY way. My sordid, non-bright, dingy-grey approach that divides dirty clothes into three categories: white, not white, and dark. I don't use softener. I stuff the dryer with two loads of wet wash. I go hog wild.
It's just another thing we do.
But the thing is, when George does the laundry, he really DOES the laundry, which involves color sorting by hues. As in, blues/greens go together. Pinks/reds go together. Yellows/oranges go together.
He's not altogether right. But his laundry looks damn good. If my husband were a search engine, you'd find just what you're looking for.
He tells me that hue-sorting is important because the colors come out much brighter this way. He tells me that my way results in a single hue: Grey.
I tell him I shouldn't have to wait three weeks until he gathers enough orange/yellow clothes to get Jenna's yellow ruffled socks back.
When George goes on the road, one thing secretly thrills me: Unlimited access to the laundry room. MY way. My sordid, non-bright, dingy-grey approach that divides dirty clothes into three categories: white, not white, and dark. I don't use softener. I stuff the dryer with two loads of wet wash. I go hog wild.
It's just another thing we do.
Going In
As relationships online move closer and closer to the individual, each one us, I feel like the next big adventure will be crawling inside your skin. I mean, thanks to having met you here, and having met some of you in the flesh, I've already gotten skin close. I've gotten to know more about you than you ever thought you'd tell me. So, next, you know, I want to know you molecularly. What is your blood pressure? Pulse? What if I crawl into your eye sockets--will you let me? And once I'm in there, can I post as you? It's a square dance. We'll all move over one node on the network and take it over. You become me become him become her.
I think it has possibilities.
I think it has possibilities.
To force myself
The old 30 posts in 30 minutes challenge that I've issued myself and never met over the years at least does one thing: forces me out, or in as the case may be.
So here goes nothing.
So here goes nothing.
We Just Keep Gettin' It On
Get Your War On's hodgepodge from 4/21 is simply... well just go there. Tragically funny as anything. Tragically funnier than most things.
Gotta put the book on my wish list.
Gotta put the book on my wish list.
friends
Heard this today and remembered hearing it back then. Mmmm.
I hope the day will be a lighter highway
For friends are found on every road
Can you ever think of any better way
For the lost and weary travellers to go
Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right
It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly
Friends
Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
From the soundtrack Friends
I hope the day will be a lighter highway
For friends are found on every road
Can you ever think of any better way
For the lost and weary travellers to go
Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right
It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly
Friends
Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
From the soundtrack Friends
How do you know when things are accelerating online?
Me? I know when I'm suddenly posting in too many places at once, and my personality, usually so well-defined and dogmatic in its certainty, splinters into a million different parts.
It doesn't hurt when that happens, but I hear from a friend that vicoprofen rocks. So maybe I should say it does hurt.
In fact it hurts very badly.
Maybe some doctor will wishlist me a bottle of vicoprofen.
Because I do have a bad right shoulder.
And regular ibuprofen doesn't work so well anymore.
But a hit of vicodin would be worth a looksie.
You know what else? My kid's a riot. "OH THE WAY THAT YOU SEEEE...." for oh say can you see. I love it.
So what's new in your world?
It doesn't hurt when that happens, but I hear from a friend that vicoprofen rocks. So maybe I should say it does hurt.
In fact it hurts very badly.
Maybe some doctor will wishlist me a bottle of vicoprofen.
Because I do have a bad right shoulder.
And regular ibuprofen doesn't work so well anymore.
But a hit of vicodin would be worth a looksie.
You know what else? My kid's a riot. "OH THE WAY THAT YOU SEEEE...." for oh say can you see. I love it.
So what's new in your world?
I feel a shiver run up my spine
Oo, I hear laughter in the rain
Walking hand in hand with the one I love
Oo, how I love the rainy days
And the happy way I feel inside
Click the foto. Please.
Okay.
Scared.
Narrow Casting via Pod Casting?
With the ability for RSS 2.0 and, I guess eventually other syndication tools, to grab mp3s enclosed in a post and deliver them to the device of our choice, "broadcasting" may not be the only -- or the most compelling -- model for audio and business.
Narrowcasting - me to you through audio content - maybe hold even more possibilities.
I'm working on a statement of work right now for an existing client who needs a flash script. Can I tell you how much I hate statements of work? But they put necessary structure around the client/vendor relationship. They serve a purpose. Among other things, they are a textual handshake around specific parameters of a project.
For most companies, there is a whole process around getting to that handshake. And beyond the handshake, of course, client/provider communications exist across the entire specrum of the client relationship.
So with podcasting on my brain, I'm thinking, I wish I didn't have to WRITE all of this and confine it to a template that only tells part of the story. (Mind you, I'm a writer, so if I'm bucking the textual system around content, then the sky's the limit.)
And I'm thinking, what if I could narrowcast communications via this same technology to individual clients.
So instead of organizing the Statement of Work by deliverable, I can literally talk to the client about the project and deliver the audio drafts of the SOW to some extranet/intranet spot where we BOTH talk back and forth about expectations and deliverables. With With Podscope and audio search technologies, the structure of audio content is even searchable.
"Tim, you said you wanted us to handle the art direction too--it's in the signed SOW." [Signed SOW hyperlinks to the spot in the audio SOW discussion where Tim The Client says, "I want you guys to handle the art direction."]
Hard to argue with that, eh?
What about delivering a proposal this way. What about proposals and RFP responses that are STORIES, not boring copycat documents of everything that came before them.
What if we interview our happy existing clients, for whom we've done similar work, and include their audio stories in our narrow-podcast mp3 deliverables. What would it mean if I interviewed David Weinberger on the importance of creating content a conversation with your customers, and I include that interview as a podcasted attachment to a written RFP; i.e., demonstrating the power of voice through voice.
I don't know. I'm mixing and melding existing client relationships with prospective ones here, but either way, the ability to seamlessly deliver audio from my desktop to the preferred devices of my clients/prospects has me excited.
I can see the use for narrowcasting in terms of letting prospects know WHO I AM AND WHAT I'M ABOUT before I spend much physical time with them, and in terms of carrying relationships of multi-dimensional communications forward (in-person, copy/text, recorded audio) with existing clients.
Just some thoughts to get my brain going this morning.
Narrowcasting - me to you through audio content - maybe hold even more possibilities.
I'm working on a statement of work right now for an existing client who needs a flash script. Can I tell you how much I hate statements of work? But they put necessary structure around the client/vendor relationship. They serve a purpose. Among other things, they are a textual handshake around specific parameters of a project.
For most companies, there is a whole process around getting to that handshake. And beyond the handshake, of course, client/provider communications exist across the entire specrum of the client relationship.
So with podcasting on my brain, I'm thinking, I wish I didn't have to WRITE all of this and confine it to a template that only tells part of the story. (Mind you, I'm a writer, so if I'm bucking the textual system around content, then the sky's the limit.)
And I'm thinking, what if I could narrowcast communications via this same technology to individual clients.
So instead of organizing the Statement of Work by deliverable, I can literally talk to the client about the project and deliver the audio drafts of the SOW to some extranet/intranet spot where we BOTH talk back and forth about expectations and deliverables. With With Podscope and audio search technologies, the structure of audio content is even searchable.
"Tim, you said you wanted us to handle the art direction too--it's in the signed SOW." [Signed SOW hyperlinks to the spot in the audio SOW discussion where Tim The Client says, "I want you guys to handle the art direction."]
Hard to argue with that, eh?
What about delivering a proposal this way. What about proposals and RFP responses that are STORIES, not boring copycat documents of everything that came before them.
What if we interview our happy existing clients, for whom we've done similar work, and include their audio stories in our narrow-podcast mp3 deliverables. What would it mean if I interviewed David Weinberger on the importance of creating content a conversation with your customers, and I include that interview as a podcasted attachment to a written RFP; i.e., demonstrating the power of voice through voice.
I don't know. I'm mixing and melding existing client relationships with prospective ones here, but either way, the ability to seamlessly deliver audio from my desktop to the preferred devices of my clients/prospects has me excited.
I can see the use for narrowcasting in terms of letting prospects know WHO I AM AND WHAT I'M ABOUT before I spend much physical time with them, and in terms of carrying relationships of multi-dimensional communications forward (in-person, copy/text, recorded audio) with existing clients.
Just some thoughts to get my brain going this morning.
April 24, 2005
I hadn't heard.
Robert Creeley Died April 5th.
He was my poetry teacher at the University of Buffalo, and in his unteaching, taught me more about my own fear than anyone.
He was the teacher I ran from.
And I've almost stopped running.
Just in time to say, Goodbye.
business week launches a weblog
Here. They'll have to run fast to catch up, but it looks like they're up to the challenge. Doc points to the BizWeek article on weblogs here.
There really is too much reading to do now in the blog circle.
I'm looking forward to voice taking on part of the job through podcasting so that I can bring the spoken word with me when I'm away from the laptop.
There really is too much reading to do now in the blog circle.
I'm looking forward to voice taking on part of the job through podcasting so that I can bring the spoken word with me when I'm away from the laptop.
pod posting
Well, I'm not pod CASTING yet, because my iRiver hasn't arrived yet. And, I'm still not sure what I'm doing. Or going to do. Not sure of anything much.
Put I am pod posting--writing posts over on podstreet.
Put I am pod posting--writing posts over on podstreet.
April 23, 2005
Hold the Pickles Hold the Lettuce
I already forgot my phone conversation with Uncle Rage in the car today. He invented two things. I remember the first one. As Jenna and I sat at the Sonic drive in stand, he mentioned that the Marburger might taste nice.
Marburger!?
I nearly fell out of the car. Marburger.
That's McDonald's latest, right? Big and Tasty and So Much More: the new Marburger--you'll never feel hungry again!
I want mine well done--no make that rare--no wait, raw.
You want flies with that?
And while you're at it, Super Size me.
Hey, Chris, I hear their coffee packs a wallop too.
For the life of me, I can't remember what our second phone jam was about.... But we talked a bunch about podcasting, and I wished I could have been casting right from sonic with my cell phone.
Marburger!?
I nearly fell out of the car. Marburger.
That's McDonald's latest, right? Big and Tasty and So Much More: the new Marburger--you'll never feel hungry again!
I want mine well done--no make that rare--no wait, raw.
You want flies with that?
And while you're at it, Super Size me.
Hey, Chris, I hear their coffee packs a wallop too.
For the life of me, I can't remember what our second phone jam was about.... But we talked a bunch about podcasting, and I wished I could have been casting right from sonic with my cell phone.
Daddy's Spanking
A wonderful post at Culture Kitchen about the USian public's proclivity toward the threat and power of the strong male hand.
Read it.
I find myself wondering if America doesn't long for Daddy's spank. So many people bemoan the loss of order in this culture: the hard, unyielding discipline meted out by daddy, the kind that scared us, the kind that made us behave ourselves for fear of getting into trouble. In the last forty years, things have been more fluid, more yielding, more liquid, and increasingly, covered by the mucus of borderlessness, some in our culture seem genuinely grossed out. Female bodies are icky for some, and perhaps they feel as if they've been living inside a cunt. The shapeless feminine.
Read it.
Getting to Know All About You.
As writers, weblogging over time presents a unique quandry: How do we write sequentially in a way that is relevant to both first-time readers and long-time regulars. There are three groups of people who come here: first-timers/happen-to-wind-up-here folks, the I've-read-you-on-and-off-for-a-while-now folks, and the I-started-when-you-did folks. Each of these groups has a different context in which they understand me and what I write.
There are times when I know that I've written a post that, had I just happened upon my own blog as an outsider, would lead me to think I was a.) a jerk, b.) lame or c.) a genius. Of course, none of these things are completely accurate.
We really can't extract or create an accurate picture of a weblogger -- what he or she stands for or believes, what kind of voice we can expect as a visitor to this blogger's site -- without factoring in that blogger's unique voice and its evolution over time.
I think expectations today are that each post stands alone.
I think that can't be true.
I say this because yesterday I wanted to say:
read me.
read all of me.
don't stop reading me until you know me.
know me.
know all of me.
don't stop knowing me until I know you.
I guess my point is that I don't come here to be entertained, to read an author as I would read a novel or a piece of non-fiction.
I come here to read and understand what you say within the context of your life, your experiences.
I come here to know you.
As much as you will tell me.
That's why I first came.
That's why I still come.
There are times when I know that I've written a post that, had I just happened upon my own blog as an outsider, would lead me to think I was a.) a jerk, b.) lame or c.) a genius. Of course, none of these things are completely accurate.
We really can't extract or create an accurate picture of a weblogger -- what he or she stands for or believes, what kind of voice we can expect as a visitor to this blogger's site -- without factoring in that blogger's unique voice and its evolution over time.
I think expectations today are that each post stands alone.
I think that can't be true.
I say this because yesterday I wanted to say:
read me.
read all of me.
don't stop reading me until you know me.
know me.
know all of me.
don't stop knowing me until I know you.
I guess my point is that I don't come here to be entertained, to read an author as I would read a novel or a piece of non-fiction.
I come here to read and understand what you say within the context of your life, your experiences.
I come here to know you.
As much as you will tell me.
That's why I first came.
That's why I still come.
April 22, 2005
Pod Questioning
More questions over at Pod Street. Thank you all for your lightning quick answers. Even time for passionate exchanges.
Odiferous Evening
I have been remiss in not posting about the night before last. Consider it my way of recovering.
I arrived in my subdivision Wednesday evening about 8:30 from my cherished therapy appointment to be greeted with a strong--and I mean strong--repulsive odor that seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
It got worse and worse as I neared our driveway. Worse still when I pulled in the driveway. The gag reflex was in full gear by the time I hit the garage door opener. To my complete horror, the smell was INSIDE too.
Jenna, who had been with a sitter, met me at the downstairs door: MOM! It's the hamsters! They smell terrible!"
Racing thoughts: Undiscovered, rotten hamster baby corpses? Odor-reducing food not working? No. Wait. I wouldn't have smelled the odor outside if it were the hamsters.
Perplexed. Climbing the stairs. Sitter racing from the house--"I'm sure it's not your house, dear--it is a smell in the neighborhoood--someone burning or something." Trips down the stairs in her rush.
"Be careful now!" = Byebye nice sitter. Will you ever come back? I loved you.
Back to the smell.
I called our next door neighbor to see if he smelled it. No answer. Called the other-side neighbor to see if they smelled it. No answer.
They must be dead. Thought #2: Bio-terrorism.
Look out the window: Cars are passing by. Turn on the TV. No emergency broadcast system. Okay. So it's not the end of the world, so to speak.
Think think think.
Maybe it's gas--it does have that rotten egg smell. In which case, a gas leak is dangerous. Don't touch any light switches.
It's 9:30 when I decide to call the gas company to come investigate--make sure we're not about to be blown off the map. They get here around 10:00, and I meet the gas man outside.
"WSHEW!" he says. "I smelled this coming down the road--I've never smelled anything like it before, but I can tell you, it's not gas."
"Oh. So, do you know what it is?"
"No idea. It could be that run-off between your house and his [pointing to our neighbor] has a leak--smells like it could be a sewer leak, and in that case, sewer gas is just as dangerous."
"Will your little clicky thing pick it up if it's sewer gas?"
"It might."
He spends five minutes walking between our yard and the neighbors trying to get his device to register something, but nothing showed up.
"You may want to call water and sewer for cobb county. Something like this, they'll probably come out tonight. Tell them you had the gas company out and they thought the water guys should come out."
I thank him, and I take his advice.
By 11:00 or so the water people arrive. I meet them outside and ask if they smell the smell.
"We took care of it--your backyard neighbor was dumping into the storm drain, which runs right over there [pointing to the runoff between our houses] -- he said he had put some chemicals in his pool and was emptying in it. We told him he couldn't do that. And besides, I never smelled NO smell from pool chemicals like this."
Amen. And that idiot. This is the fourth year he's dumped his pool water on us.
But something's not right. Pool water doesn't smell like this.
It hits me.
"He has a pig. I don't mean a little pig. I mean a hog."
They stare at me.
"I'm saying, I don't know what he does with the manure."
More stares.
They don't get it. They want to be gone from my smelly abode. They tell me that if anyone gets sick, they'll have a report on the incidence at the water company. That one of them almost threw up over by the runoff. That they were going to go BACK to his house, now nearing midnight, and tell him not to do it again.
"It's the pig." That's all I said.
After some online research, we've developed a hypothesis: Our backyard neighbor had taken his chlorinated pool water and used it to wash pig manure down the storm drain next to our house.
Thing is, combining the methane-heavy manure with chlorine in an enclosed space like a sewer drain is just not a good idea. Neither is dumping hog manure on your neighbor.
The end of the story is so far Happy: We're still here.
But the ending of the pig's story may not be so happy: His days are numbered.
I arrived in my subdivision Wednesday evening about 8:30 from my cherished therapy appointment to be greeted with a strong--and I mean strong--repulsive odor that seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
It got worse and worse as I neared our driveway. Worse still when I pulled in the driveway. The gag reflex was in full gear by the time I hit the garage door opener. To my complete horror, the smell was INSIDE too.
Jenna, who had been with a sitter, met me at the downstairs door: MOM! It's the hamsters! They smell terrible!"
Racing thoughts: Undiscovered, rotten hamster baby corpses? Odor-reducing food not working? No. Wait. I wouldn't have smelled the odor outside if it were the hamsters.
Perplexed. Climbing the stairs. Sitter racing from the house--"I'm sure it's not your house, dear--it is a smell in the neighborhoood--someone burning or something." Trips down the stairs in her rush.
"Be careful now!" = Byebye nice sitter. Will you ever come back? I loved you.
Back to the smell.
I called our next door neighbor to see if he smelled it. No answer. Called the other-side neighbor to see if they smelled it. No answer.
They must be dead. Thought #2: Bio-terrorism.
Look out the window: Cars are passing by. Turn on the TV. No emergency broadcast system. Okay. So it's not the end of the world, so to speak.
Think think think.
Maybe it's gas--it does have that rotten egg smell. In which case, a gas leak is dangerous. Don't touch any light switches.
It's 9:30 when I decide to call the gas company to come investigate--make sure we're not about to be blown off the map. They get here around 10:00, and I meet the gas man outside.
"WSHEW!" he says. "I smelled this coming down the road--I've never smelled anything like it before, but I can tell you, it's not gas."
"Oh. So, do you know what it is?"
"No idea. It could be that run-off between your house and his [pointing to our neighbor] has a leak--smells like it could be a sewer leak, and in that case, sewer gas is just as dangerous."
"Will your little clicky thing pick it up if it's sewer gas?"
"It might."
He spends five minutes walking between our yard and the neighbors trying to get his device to register something, but nothing showed up.
"You may want to call water and sewer for cobb county. Something like this, they'll probably come out tonight. Tell them you had the gas company out and they thought the water guys should come out."
I thank him, and I take his advice.
By 11:00 or so the water people arrive. I meet them outside and ask if they smell the smell.
"We took care of it--your backyard neighbor was dumping into the storm drain, which runs right over there [pointing to the runoff between our houses] -- he said he had put some chemicals in his pool and was emptying in it. We told him he couldn't do that. And besides, I never smelled NO smell from pool chemicals like this."
Amen. And that idiot. This is the fourth year he's dumped his pool water on us.
But something's not right. Pool water doesn't smell like this.
It hits me.
"He has a pig. I don't mean a little pig. I mean a hog."
They stare at me.
"I'm saying, I don't know what he does with the manure."
More stares.
They don't get it. They want to be gone from my smelly abode. They tell me that if anyone gets sick, they'll have a report on the incidence at the water company. That one of them almost threw up over by the runoff. That they were going to go BACK to his house, now nearing midnight, and tell him not to do it again.
"It's the pig." That's all I said.
After some online research, we've developed a hypothesis: Our backyard neighbor had taken his chlorinated pool water and used it to wash pig manure down the storm drain next to our house.
Thing is, combining the methane-heavy manure with chlorine in an enclosed space like a sewer drain is just not a good idea. Neither is dumping hog manure on your neighbor.
The end of the story is so far Happy: We're still here.
But the ending of the pig's story may not be so happy: His days are numbered.
To the blackboard
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
I will be a good little weblogger and not offend the offensive.
Weblogging Frustrations Continued
As weblogging continues to evolve, so too do the social norms and mores that can't help emerge, I guess.
But more and more, I just don't get. In the early days, there were no rules. And tighter intimacy among bloggers created an environment where we spoke our minds, agreed, disagreed, clashed, bashed, inharently understood that one another's passions powered our writing, took it personally when someone took us to the carpet, but didn't let it cripple the relationship. Unless we didn't want a relationship. AND, that was fine too.
Now there are rules: Be civil. Don't argue. If you do argue, employ the rules of your college debating team. No ad hominem attacks. It is merely their words that are stupid, not them. State your arguments carefully. Back up what you say with statistics and research.
Hello, but if I wanted to go to work, I'd be at work.
If I wanted politics, I would have already sucked up.
This isn't my job site. This is the fucking Internet. Or is it now just one gigantic intranet of tightly-joined "opinion leaders?"
I know that when I disagree with something that someone writes, I don't cloak my dismay in "I believe the best way to..." or "In my opinion..." or "What it brings up for me is..." or "The way I see it is..."
THIS IS MY SPACE. THAT IS YOUR SPACE. OF COURSE THIS IS THE WAY WE SEE IT. EVEN WHEN WE SEE IT DIFFERENTLY. DUH.
Don't ask me to mask what I feel in diluted language and passionless drivel. If I think you're full of shit I'm not always going to say, "The way I see it, Bo's opinion about dogs being beaten as puppies to break their will is flawed." I'm going to say, "Bo is an asshole. He probably beats his wife too."
Okay? That's what I'm going to say.
Does that mean I'll always think Bo is a piece of shit? Well, if Bo also happens to write about how funding for AIDS research needs to be increased, I probably won't say, "Bo, who I said was an asshole for beating puppies and is wife is now an okay guy because he supports better funding for AIDS research." Instead, I might say "Isn't it a kick that Bo, of all people, wants more funding for AIDS research?" Or I might say to Bo, "Well look at this, Bo. We agree on something. Now let's talk about puppies..."
The thing I don't do is waste pixels on mamby-pamby qualifiers, or around-the-bush-beating lead-ins and conclusions.
That's for my real job, where the civil me spends her off-blog time.
So if you want politeness... well, sorry.
But not really.
But more and more, I just don't get. In the early days, there were no rules. And tighter intimacy among bloggers created an environment where we spoke our minds, agreed, disagreed, clashed, bashed, inharently understood that one another's passions powered our writing, took it personally when someone took us to the carpet, but didn't let it cripple the relationship. Unless we didn't want a relationship. AND, that was fine too.
Now there are rules: Be civil. Don't argue. If you do argue, employ the rules of your college debating team. No ad hominem attacks. It is merely their words that are stupid, not them. State your arguments carefully. Back up what you say with statistics and research.
Hello, but if I wanted to go to work, I'd be at work.
If I wanted politics, I would have already sucked up.
This isn't my job site. This is the fucking Internet. Or is it now just one gigantic intranet of tightly-joined "opinion leaders?"
I know that when I disagree with something that someone writes, I don't cloak my dismay in "I believe the best way to..." or "In my opinion..." or "What it brings up for me is..." or "The way I see it is..."
THIS IS MY SPACE. THAT IS YOUR SPACE. OF COURSE THIS IS THE WAY WE SEE IT. EVEN WHEN WE SEE IT DIFFERENTLY. DUH.
Don't ask me to mask what I feel in diluted language and passionless drivel. If I think you're full of shit I'm not always going to say, "The way I see it, Bo's opinion about dogs being beaten as puppies to break their will is flawed." I'm going to say, "Bo is an asshole. He probably beats his wife too."
Okay? That's what I'm going to say.
Does that mean I'll always think Bo is a piece of shit? Well, if Bo also happens to write about how funding for AIDS research needs to be increased, I probably won't say, "Bo, who I said was an asshole for beating puppies and is wife is now an okay guy because he supports better funding for AIDS research." Instead, I might say "Isn't it a kick that Bo, of all people, wants more funding for AIDS research?" Or I might say to Bo, "Well look at this, Bo. We agree on something. Now let's talk about puppies..."
The thing I don't do is waste pixels on mamby-pamby qualifiers, or around-the-bush-beating lead-ins and conclusions.
That's for my real job, where the civil me spends her off-blog time.
So if you want politeness... well, sorry.
But not really.
So, help me some more oh smart readers...
See this post on this experimental blog--I'm starting with an mp3 I already have and trying to understand the backend of this process.
I'd appreciate any answers you could provide over there. Also, links to great shows and essential reading on podcasting are appreciated.
And yes, my mind is already on fast-forward, seeing how podcasting can blogging into a platform more than a medium, which needs to happen before we kill the momentum we've created. I see too the business implications of all of this, and the artistic "free agent" implications. It is, actually, quite exciting.
I thought Podcasting was just a bunch of geeks talking into microphones, like Larry King meets Home Alone. I see now that it is much, much more.
Weblogging needs this. There are so many people writing that perhaps some really should be talking instead. This will help sort and shape us by our talents, enable great writers to avoid slipping beneath the noise threshold of weblogging. In the mean time, podcasting gives great brains a way to share what's inside them without having to be confined to the constructs of the written word. This is huge.
And then there's podcasting's potential role in the whole music and creative works distribution/ownership revolution, which is mindblowing in its own right.
Okay, over to POD street now.
I'd appreciate any answers you could provide over there. Also, links to great shows and essential reading on podcasting are appreciated.
And yes, my mind is already on fast-forward, seeing how podcasting can blogging into a platform more than a medium, which needs to happen before we kill the momentum we've created. I see too the business implications of all of this, and the artistic "free agent" implications. It is, actually, quite exciting.
I thought Podcasting was just a bunch of geeks talking into microphones, like Larry King meets Home Alone. I see now that it is much, much more.
Weblogging needs this. There are so many people writing that perhaps some really should be talking instead. This will help sort and shape us by our talents, enable great writers to avoid slipping beneath the noise threshold of weblogging. In the mean time, podcasting gives great brains a way to share what's inside them without having to be confined to the constructs of the written word. This is huge.
And then there's podcasting's potential role in the whole music and creative works distribution/ownership revolution, which is mindblowing in its own right.
Okay, over to POD street now.
April 21, 2005
Podcasting Parade
The comments on my PODcasting questions are incredibly astute and useful. Well, it is a credible bunch after all. Shelley points to this link, which provides a great "how to" video for setting up a kit, as well as pricing and order information.
Ethan at The Vision Thing has been generous with his advice via email and has just about talked me into my first PODcast (at his end at least) interview. Great interviews on his site.
Lisa Williams simplified PODcasting over here. She also gives TV Guide a couple of hints.
Believe it or not, I now understand.
I really do.
I think I want to play with it. George says he has some of the pieces I need. He could do a full-blown deal, but I'm trying to get HIM to go that route too.
It's a more natural medium for him. For me, it's--what did they used to call it during review time at The Agency? A Development Opportunity (i.e. something you suck at and better improve at or no ladder climbing for you.)
God bless us bloggers, every one.
Ethan at The Vision Thing has been generous with his advice via email and has just about talked me into my first PODcast (at his end at least) interview. Great interviews on his site.
Lisa Williams simplified PODcasting over here. She also gives TV Guide a couple of hints.
Believe it or not, I now understand.
I really do.
I think I want to play with it. George says he has some of the pieces I need. He could do a full-blown deal, but I'm trying to get HIM to go that route too.
It's a more natural medium for him. For me, it's--what did they used to call it during review time at The Agency? A Development Opportunity (i.e. something you suck at and better improve at or no ladder climbing for you.)
God bless us bloggers, every one.
I'm practicing for this new technology even as we speak!
I practiced for four hours today. Shhh. Don't tell my business partner. In fact, at this rate, I'll be able to qualify easily for the human hibernation olympics before the next quarter.
"The cool thing about this gas we're using, hydrogen sulfide, is that it isn't something manufactured that we're taking down from a shelf -- it isn't 'better living through chemistry' -- it's simply an agent that all of us make in our bodies all the time to buffer our metabolic flexibility. It's what allows our core temperature to stay at 98.6 degrees, regardless of whether we're in Alaska or Tahiti," Roth said.
Let's say I want to try this podcasting thing
I've been avoiding the whole-nine-yards around podcasting. I've never heard one. I don't know what it takes to do one. I think it's a weird name. I can't see how it's different from audioblogging.
But with all the buzz, I know it's different. I just don't know WTF.
All of this and more was what I was thinking last night -- night being the time I get most pissed off at weblogging, well, at just about everything, they call that hypervigilence in trauma psychology, but I digress -- as I decided that I need something new to recharge my juices around this space.
So, I have an Acer laptop. I don't have external speakers, just, you know, the built in speakers.
I have a power cord and a DSL cable.
That quite literally is all I have, not counting an ink-jet printer.
What else do I need to create my first podcast? And where can I listen to some good ones?
Thank you very much.
But with all the buzz, I know it's different. I just don't know WTF.
All of this and more was what I was thinking last night -- night being the time I get most pissed off at weblogging, well, at just about everything, they call that hypervigilence in trauma psychology, but I digress -- as I decided that I need something new to recharge my juices around this space.
So, I have an Acer laptop. I don't have external speakers, just, you know, the built in speakers.
I have a power cord and a DSL cable.
That quite literally is all I have, not counting an ink-jet printer.
What else do I need to create my first podcast? And where can I listen to some good ones?
Thank you very much.
Missed it the first time around: Wikipedia and Credibility
From Phil, I found an interesting conversation among Danah , Clay and others regarding Wikipedia and its relative value as a source for research. The post is from a couple of months ago. I missed it the first time around, but began responding before I realized the posts were old. Ah, timeliness online is relative thanks to our archives, you know, since an archived entry is an archived entry only if you happen to look at the date....
I think the notion that Wikipedia is "authored by N unknown people," as danah says, is important when viewed in context with the idea that Wikipedia is also a self-correcting web-based tool (i.e., unlike its traditional counterparts, Wikipedia is continuously updated).
Compared to the genesis and updating of traditional encyclopedias, which are, in the end, a by-product of the publishing industry, Wikipedia comes out ahead in my book. Or at least as "credible enough" for danah's students to use--which was the point of discussion in the original post. Again, one source is created bottom up (Wikipedia), one source is birthed by publishing corporations, where employees feel a little guilty for sneaking pencils and note pads home to their kids, who they don't get to see until after they pick them up at daycare at 6:30.
I may be "buying into the open source religion" in a way that danah doesn't, or I may be valuing passion above business as the motivator for creating an excellent resource.
That said, danah has some good ideas for enhancements to Wikipedia that could satisfy the more discerning professors and make life a whole lot easier for students.
I think the notion that Wikipedia is "authored by N unknown people," as danah says, is important when viewed in context with the idea that Wikipedia is also a self-correcting web-based tool (i.e., unlike its traditional counterparts, Wikipedia is continuously updated).
Compared to the genesis and updating of traditional encyclopedias, which are, in the end, a by-product of the publishing industry, Wikipedia comes out ahead in my book. Or at least as "credible enough" for danah's students to use--which was the point of discussion in the original post. Again, one source is created bottom up (Wikipedia), one source is birthed by publishing corporations, where employees feel a little guilty for sneaking pencils and note pads home to their kids, who they don't get to see until after they pick them up at daycare at 6:30.
I may be "buying into the open source religion" in a way that danah doesn't, or I may be valuing passion above business as the motivator for creating an excellent resource.
That said, danah has some good ideas for enhancements to Wikipedia that could satisfy the more discerning professors and make life a whole lot easier for students.
April 20, 2005
I used to bleed here
I used to bleed here. This is the place I used to bleed. I was not afraid to bleed here. We bled here. This is the place I used to tell you how my skin, scalded and peeling rage, my eyes shedding tears like puss, how all of that feels when molded into pixels, when splayed flat on a screen, how to make words into three dimensions: pain, loss and grief.
From that place I come again.
Secrets more secrets undone--kept so long, generations bear the heavy weight of tumors, origins unspoken. She could have told me. She could have held me. She could have stayed. Except that she was me once.
And either way, we bleed, if not here, then in white porcelain tubs under jets of warm water, your cheek against mine, you promising, me alone, fists against walls, my own tears washing away the blood.
From that place I come again.
Secrets more secrets undone--kept so long, generations bear the heavy weight of tumors, origins unspoken. She could have told me. She could have held me. She could have stayed. Except that she was me once.
And either way, we bleed, if not here, then in white porcelain tubs under jets of warm water, your cheek against mine, you promising, me alone, fists against walls, my own tears washing away the blood.
April 19, 2005
As long as you have worked so hard to get your gender equality ducks in a row...
...then i guess, whine whine, that everything is just fine.
Yah, you think that's funny? Go read the comments. "OH, well you didn't invite black people? aliens? HA HA" type of crap. Continued version of the conversation going on over at Shelley's.
FORGET Bush. The damn tech world needs a revolution to overthrow the current mantra of stupidity.
The inbreeding has reached critical mass.
I'm not going to invite women to blogger dinners just to have gender equality there. Sorry. On the other hand, I am very sensitive to this issue. At the MSN Search Champs group this week there are several women attending and we went overboard to find women bloggers who are passionate about computers and technology. But, it was easier there because we are flying people in from all over the world and not just the San Francisco Bay Area.What Next--BLACK PEOPLE?
Yah, you think that's funny? Go read the comments. "OH, well you didn't invite black people? aliens? HA HA" type of crap. Continued version of the conversation going on over at Shelley's.
FORGET Bush. The damn tech world needs a revolution to overthrow the current mantra of stupidity.
The inbreeding has reached critical mass.
April 18, 2005
Do Black Folks Search? I'm just asking...
Nice to see some women at this year's MSN Search Camp. I'm glad the folks involved took Liz Lawley's advice from last year and broadened their diversity portfolio.
One thing though. The pictures I've seen so far look pretty, um, melanin-challenged.
Maybe black Americans don't search much. I mean, those people still use pagers for their drug deals, right? So they wouldn't have anything to add to a conversation on the nuances of search. Just wait until Instant Messaging catches on though! Whoa!
Sorry. I'm probably just mistaken. Someone, call me to task. I'll wait.
And in the mean time, I'll tell you about a trend I've noticed on the part of some white Americans trying to diversify their blogs--and kudos to those who have acknowledged that they'd gotten stuck in their initial blog circles and might do well with pushing some walls out of the way... I count myself in that bunch. And that is, if you will, "all good."
However, it seems to me that a great number of white Americans have an easier time or are inclined to diversify by going OUTSIDE of America to cultures they perceive as more exotic for new voices. In other words, they leap at the chance to add a Japanese blogger, a Kenyan blogger, a Nigerian blogger. But what is NOT second nature is to add black Americans with that same vigor.
Especially, and I will say it, black American men.
You can tell me I'm wrong. You can tell me all day long. But my eyes and ears are tuned to this, from the inside of my own family outward. It's not something I consciously go looking for (as some bloggers I've called to task might think); no, it's something I notice as second nature. It's that typical kind of bullshit that strikes in a flash, raising my arm hairs.
And it isn't that those bloggers grasping outside their own borders to add diverse voices are wrong. ON THE CONTRARY! Pushing the conversation ever outward is a good thing--huge.
It's what keeps blogging from becoming inbred.
But you also might want to look down the street from where you live too, say around the block, down the road. Instead of tuning in culturally to what you see on CNN or FOX NEWS. Because it's really neat the way mainstream media tackles those intriguing stories overseas. And how COPS tackles those terrific drug-deals-gone-bad here at "home." And it's really neat the way darker-skinned people from overseas seem so very authentic, and how lots of them need America; yet darker skinned people in America -- they cause trouble.
And it's really fascinating how black men doing something technical, smart, savvy, geeky -- just like you even! -- just doesn't register.
One thing though. The pictures I've seen so far look pretty, um, melanin-challenged.
Maybe black Americans don't search much. I mean, those people still use pagers for their drug deals, right? So they wouldn't have anything to add to a conversation on the nuances of search. Just wait until Instant Messaging catches on though! Whoa!
Sorry. I'm probably just mistaken. Someone, call me to task. I'll wait.
And in the mean time, I'll tell you about a trend I've noticed on the part of some white Americans trying to diversify their blogs--and kudos to those who have acknowledged that they'd gotten stuck in their initial blog circles and might do well with pushing some walls out of the way... I count myself in that bunch. And that is, if you will, "all good."
However, it seems to me that a great number of white Americans have an easier time or are inclined to diversify by going OUTSIDE of America to cultures they perceive as more exotic for new voices. In other words, they leap at the chance to add a Japanese blogger, a Kenyan blogger, a Nigerian blogger. But what is NOT second nature is to add black Americans with that same vigor.
Especially, and I will say it, black American men.
You can tell me I'm wrong. You can tell me all day long. But my eyes and ears are tuned to this, from the inside of my own family outward. It's not something I consciously go looking for (as some bloggers I've called to task might think); no, it's something I notice as second nature. It's that typical kind of bullshit that strikes in a flash, raising my arm hairs.
And it isn't that those bloggers grasping outside their own borders to add diverse voices are wrong. ON THE CONTRARY! Pushing the conversation ever outward is a good thing--huge.
It's what keeps blogging from becoming inbred.
But you also might want to look down the street from where you live too, say around the block, down the road. Instead of tuning in culturally to what you see on CNN or FOX NEWS. Because it's really neat the way mainstream media tackles those intriguing stories overseas. And how COPS tackles those terrific drug-deals-gone-bad here at "home." And it's really neat the way darker-skinned people from overseas seem so very authentic, and how lots of them need America; yet darker skinned people in America -- they cause trouble.
And it's really fascinating how black men doing something technical, smart, savvy, geeky -- just like you even! -- just doesn't register.
Man, You Can Wrap BPM Around Anything...
The New York State Civil Service Department has a Layoff Process Flowchart that somebody needs to spoof. I mean Come On. How many resources are allocated to the Layoff Process over there--and if they laid that bunch off, would they really need to lay anyone else off?
New York has its layoff processes together--and I mean t-i-g-h-t. Look what goes on before YOU ever hear "hey, layoffs are coming" through the grape vine:
AGENCY LAYOFF PLANNING
--management makes preliminary decisions on programs, titles and numbers of positions; analysis of impact on protected classes
--notify Civil Service, GOER and unions of the potential for layoffs
--receive seniority rosters; update personnel records
--begin "appropriate titles decision" process with Civil Service
--assign and train human resource and affirmative action staff for layoffs
All that happens for NY Civil Service layoffs before your mail man has any idea his ass is about to get kicked to the curb (without the truck).
You know what I say to the layoff department? Streamlining business processes starts at home.
The Solution Is Parody
Steve and Robert are the latest to be roasted over at BBN. Hee heee! These folks at BBN should get a grant or something. I mean, how much do we need a Saturday Night Live for Bloggers Only. Like WAY!
Check out the women/men linking video a couple posts below "Fun with Self-Surveillance." We sure do need some comedy to remind us not to take blogging seriously.
When's Scoble gonna do a guest appearance? Like DeNiro on SNL.
BONUS PIC:
Left to Right: Rogers Cadenhead, Bobby DeNiro, Halley Suitt
Check out the women/men linking video a couple posts below "Fun with Self-Surveillance." We sure do need some comedy to remind us not to take blogging seriously.
When's Scoble gonna do a guest appearance? Like DeNiro on SNL.
BONUS PIC:
Left to Right: Rogers Cadenhead, Bobby DeNiro, Halley Suitt
Ramen Pride
The only meal you can buy for 25 cents that gives you an entire month's worth of sodium! An addict's delight. It should be illegal.
Chicken Flavor Noodle Soup
Chicken Flavor Noodle SoupNET WT.: 3 oz / FOR 1 SERVINGINGREDIETNS: * Noodle - Enriched wheat flour(wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), salt, salt, salt, salt, salt, salt, and salt.
COOKING DIRECTIONS: 1) Boil some water in a sauce pan, add noodles and cook three minutes. 2) Turn off heat, add seasoning package. 3) Eat. 4) Take diuretic.
Chicken Flavor Noodle Soup
Chicken Flavor Noodle SoupNET WT.: 3 oz / FOR 1 SERVINGINGREDIETNS: * Noodle - Enriched wheat flour(wheat flour, niacin, reduced iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, folic acid), salt, salt, salt, salt, salt, salt, and salt.
COOKING DIRECTIONS: 1) Boil some water in a sauce pan, add noodles and cook three minutes. 2) Turn off heat, add seasoning package. 3) Eat. 4) Take diuretic.
In keeping with my ongoing theme of optimism...
OR... A cell is just a cell?
Please don't miss C-Blo's Reservoir Unknown post today. It's serious business. Half conspiracy theory and half infectious disease / molecular biological theory -- all mixed together with a good dose of institutionalized racism, genocide, and witchcraft -- makes the research/story Chris has pulled together in this post REALLY REALLY compelling. As in, where will you buy your HazMat suit?
"THIS SHIT AIN'T FUNNY, COCO."
Please don't miss C-Blo's Reservoir Unknown post today. It's serious business. Half conspiracy theory and half infectious disease / molecular biological theory -- all mixed together with a good dose of institutionalized racism, genocide, and witchcraft -- makes the research/story Chris has pulled together in this post REALLY REALLY compelling. As in, where will you buy your HazMat suit?
"THIS SHIT AIN'T FUNNY, COCO."
I didn't know Tom Snyder was blogging...
Or that he has leukemia. But listen, his post on discovering his diagnosis is terrific. I think I like him more as a writer than I did as a talk-show host (and I didn't like him as a talk show host).
What I'd like is Tom's doctors.
His words about the Pope aren't bad either:
Four years ago they stuck a defibrillator/pacemaker in my chest because my heart disease was treatable! A year and a half ago a nearly torn tendon in my left leg was diagnosed as treatable. Then I came down with atrial fibrillation, but was told not to worry about that because it is treatable! I don't know how much more room I have in my aging carcass for this treatable shit! Anyway, my doctors assure me this is nothing to worry about, and I have to accept that, I guess. They say this kind of leukemia is not fatal, that people can live with it for thirty years. Notice, they don't say people will live thirty years. But they "can" live up to thirty years. Considering I will be sixty nine years old next month I ain't looking for thirty years, but fifteen more would be nice! I looked up chronic lymphocytic leukemia on the Internet and found a source that predicted people who are diagnosed early can live up to twelve years. Those who are not diagnosed early--and the website does not define "early"-- have a survival rate of about two years. I don't know if my diagnosis was early or late.
My doctors say this disease (which I'll refer to as CLL from now on) has a very slow rate of progression. I had more blood work done today to make certain this diagnosis is correct. The doctors will have the results of this in a week or so and then we will see what treatment they recommend. I am going to Northern California for about two weeks and I am not taking my leukemia with me. The doctors say that's okay with them.
What I'd like is Tom's doctors.
His words about the Pope aren't bad either:
Am I the only one who noticed the opulence and wealth on display at the Pope's funeral? Am I the only one who was bothered by the Pope's body being hauled around the Vatican (I think displaying the body after death is barbaric)? As I watched the Cardinals in their red robes and sashes and the pomp and majesty of the ceremonies I kept thinking: we certainly have come a long way from the stable where Christ was born!
April 17, 2005
Brian Buck, Peace.
Rogers and Dave report that Brian Buck has lost his battle with bone cancer. I checked in on Brian's blog every so often after I first saw Dave mention Brian and his writings about coping with cancer. I am so sorry to hear that his words have stopped, his breath, his voice.
In his weblog, Brian puts words around grieving better than anyone I've read in a very, very long time...
I hope that Brian's blog will remain accessible for years to come. That is obviously the decision of his family. But if I discover one day I have cancer, Brian's is a weblog I would spend a lot of time on. For information, and for inspiration. And I would bet I'm not the only one.
Peace.
In his weblog, Brian puts words around grieving better than anyone I've read in a very, very long time...
Mourning
I don't know how other people deal with it, but when I am under duress I tend to repress a lot of my emotions. One of the sad realities of battling cancer is you meet a lot of people who have a high likelihood of dying. Over the last year, I have had a half-dozen people I care about pass on. There is never a good time to die, but when you are battling the same disease that others around you are dying from, it can be tough to keep your head up. I imagine it is like true combat. You would like to stop and mourn the loss of your brothers, but there is no time to waste, you must kill the enemy or end up dead yourself.
It is days like today that the memories of my fallen brothers and sisters haunt me. Now that I am no longer under fire, it is time for me to go back and mourn them properly. It can be a dark hallway to look into, but I try to make it bright. I listen to music and celebrate life. I remember past conversations, words they have written, and thoughts they have passed on to me. And I cry. I used to avoid crying, it made me feel weak, or so I thought. But now I can cry and it makes me feel better. Sometimes I feel like I am up against an insurmountable wall, but when I cry, my tears are proof that the feelings inside me are real, and that my emotions can be moved forth into the here and now.
At times, life can seem like it will be this way forever. You take for granted a kiss, a phone call from somebody you love. As I mourn the lives of my friends who have passed on, it is these lonely times I find so dark. It is hard to find brightness when you are alone in an empty room. But I think of the spirit, the strengths that these friends had. I fill my mind with their voices, the life and love of another person can be much greater than yourself, and it can be a beautiful feeling when you find it. I am still learning the language of mourning, and it is spoken with voices in the past. I still hear you, friend.
I hope that Brian's blog will remain accessible for years to come. That is obviously the decision of his family. But if I discover one day I have cancer, Brian's is a weblog I would spend a lot of time on. For information, and for inspiration. And I would bet I'm not the only one.
Peace.
April 15, 2005
A Pox Upon Your House
I posted 14 times yesterday and you hosers aren't going to comment? That's it. I am forevermore using the sweat off of my brow to wash my dishes in peace!!!
Fix
From Broken Type:
May I add some?
We need a 30,000-foot look at the problem before we flush the toilet on the jet.
Let's float your idea out there and watch it sink like a mobster hit.
Our people are our biggest assholes.
Let me noodle on that while I'm at the porn show.
We turn data into infomercials.
We offer comprehensive benefits that you don't qualify for.
Our foundation is as solid as a muffin pan in a midnight kitchen.
Bad Business Slang
Let’s give him a plastic cup and see what he fills it with.
I’d like to chain that question to the radiator for a few months.
We need to stop worrying about the low hanging fruit and start going after the injured pack animals.
We’ll look up that skirt when we come to it.
This organization is all chiefs and no plagues.
I’d like to double-tap that issue to be sure.
We’re still feeling our way around the meat locker on that one.
May I add some?
We need a 30,000-foot look at the problem before we flush the toilet on the jet.
Let's float your idea out there and watch it sink like a mobster hit.
Our people are our biggest assholes.
Let me noodle on that while I'm at the porn show.
We turn data into infomercials.
We offer comprehensive benefits that you don't qualify for.
Our foundation is as solid as a muffin pan in a midnight kitchen.
iPod Free
I blow you away when I post with such fervor. Don't I? Is that how you spell fervor?
I still don't own an iPOD.
I don't know much about them except that even Presaccident Bush has one now. And he has My Sherona on it.
Shudder.
My main problem with getting an iPod is that I think you have to plug it into your computer. Or some cradle that plugs into the computer. USB I assume. And I use a laptop. And if there is one thing I hate it's tethering cords. I still haven't gone wireless inside the house. I have the DSL cable and the power cord already. And some days I take pictures on my digital camera, but the thought of connecting it to the USB port with that stinking cable is enough to make me nap.
Doesn't take much these days.
Then I think of actually using the iPod as a Busy Adult Mother. Like, WHEN? The only time I listen to music now is either on my laptop or in the car. I suppose you iPod people plug your iPod's into your car and somehow use it that way.
Well, that sounds sort of interesting.
Did I mention I still have an entire wall of LPs?
I haven't even accepted the CD yet for music.
Some technology I just don't get.
I still don't own an iPOD.
I don't know much about them except that even Presaccident Bush has one now. And he has My Sherona on it.
Shudder.
My main problem with getting an iPod is that I think you have to plug it into your computer. Or some cradle that plugs into the computer. USB I assume. And I use a laptop. And if there is one thing I hate it's tethering cords. I still haven't gone wireless inside the house. I have the DSL cable and the power cord already. And some days I take pictures on my digital camera, but the thought of connecting it to the USB port with that stinking cable is enough to make me nap.
Doesn't take much these days.
Then I think of actually using the iPod as a Busy Adult Mother. Like, WHEN? The only time I listen to music now is either on my laptop or in the car. I suppose you iPod people plug your iPod's into your car and somehow use it that way.
Well, that sounds sort of interesting.
Did I mention I still have an entire wall of LPs?
I haven't even accepted the CD yet for music.
Some technology I just don't get.
New Neighbors
It's really something how the initial thrill of buying a new house makes you immune to the nuisence you may be causing your neighbors.
Such is the case this early morning with my backyard neighbor to the right (not the PIG neighbor to the left), who moved in a couple of days ago. He has taken a real shine to hammering any number of deck and fence boards in the wee hours of the morning.
I understand. I remember moving in here and blaring the radio in empty rooms as we painted over bright Polish heritige colors with six layers of primer.
I guess I should bake some cookies and drop them by.
And while I'm there, steal his hammer.
Such is the case this early morning with my backyard neighbor to the right (not the PIG neighbor to the left), who moved in a couple of days ago. He has taken a real shine to hammering any number of deck and fence boards in the wee hours of the morning.
I understand. I remember moving in here and blaring the radio in empty rooms as we painted over bright Polish heritige colors with six layers of primer.
I guess I should bake some cookies and drop them by.
And while I'm there, steal his hammer.
April 14, 2005
"E" is the Easy Way You Hold Me....
Sure a country named Kyrgyz could use another vowel, but why is Rumsfeld giving away the Enron "E"?
Screwing Others is a Time-Honored American Tradition.
Screwing Others is a Time-Honored American Tradition.
Ji-the-feck-had
Oh Frank. You always get me into one of the situations.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Holy Mace of Kindness. What's yours?
Funny thing is, Sister Holy Mace of Kindness is ALSO my given Sicilian name. What are the odds?!?!?
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Sister Holy Mace of Kindness. What's yours?
Funny thing is, Sister Holy Mace of Kindness is ALSO my given Sicilian name. What are the odds?!?!?
Is Gary Trying to Tell Us His Boss is an Asshole?
Hi Gary. Don't call your boss names. Or if you're going to, do it in someone else's comments. It feels just as good, but it lets you operate beneath the proverbial radar screen, wherever that is.
Or, you could read my Solid Gold Post: How TO Get Fired Because of Your Blog.
This is the advice bloggers need. They don't need to know how to SUCK up. They need to know how to FUCK up.
Worst practices. No?
-----------------------
From me in 2003 and back by popular demand...
HOW TO GET FIRED BECAUSE OF YOUR BLOG
...With apologies to Blogger.
Do you blog at work? Do you surf porn blogs like there's no tomorrow while you're supposed to be problem solving? Do you think management is so stupid that they'd never think to search you up on Google and find out you've been posting photos from the ladies bathroom since you bought your cool new camera phone three months ago? Well, you're probably right. But that doesn't mean one of your pesky co-workers won't blow you in.
These days, many companies are laying off employees by the hundreds, even thousands. You don't have any job security, even if you think you do, so what difference does it make if you blog at work? The fact is, you'll probably be let go next week anyway, so don't give away your intellectual property (your blog and what you know about blogging) with the illusion that anyone at your company will care. Once you've given them a ten-word definition of blogging, that's all they'll need to sound smart at lunch, on the golf course, and at that next emerging technology conference.
If you think your blogging will make you a star at work, start looking at your company's severance policy today!
How to Get More Hits than Your Company's Website
At the same time, your blog can be a powerful tool for making you more powerful than the company that currently pays your salary (the one that provides you with two days funeral leave if your spouse kicks the bucket). It's very common for bloggers who are intelligent, who write every day, and especially who take pictures of the loading dock at Microsoft, to become far more popular and better liked than the companies they work for. Research from Perseus shows that 97% of bloggers land better jobs once they've been shit canned for blogging at work.
You see, there is a God!
In fact, getting fired because of your blog is one of the smartest marketing moves you can make. Straight to the top of Daypop, Technorati--hey, Andrew Sullivan will probably shoot you a link. That's right. You can be out from under your boss's thumb and working for the coolest new startup, or even the Dean campaign, tomorrow. If you play your cards right.
Layoff or Shitcanned: Two Paths to Blog Freedom
The truth is, your position will probably be eliminated on Wednesday of this week. (They like to let you go right before a holiday weekend, to give you some extra family time, let you stuff yourself with turkey and numb your brain with tryptophan, decreasing the likelihood you'll come back Monday and blow away the Human Resource Manager after you pack your little poetry magnets from the last COMDEX show in your take-home box.) It doesn't matter if you're careful with your posts or not. Corporations have the most uncanny ability to overlook talent, brains, and tenacity in favor of ass kissing and the status quo.
With this in mind, you have two options for shedding your current employer: Layoff (involuntary separation), or Getting Fired (terminated, separated with cause).
Both of these approaches have their good points. For instance, getting laid off usually means you get a severance check, which means you'll have a couple week's salary to spend on your first COBRA health insurance premium. On the other hand, blogging something worthy of getting fired for means you'll be famous on the Web, and may land that book deal you've been hoping for. Or at least a spot on Instapundit's blogroll.
Blogging: Just Do It!
Knowing that you won't have a job much longer anyway, we here at allied recommend that you blog everything. Absolutely everything. Blog about your lame-brained boss. Blog about your loser clients. Blog about the accounting department do-nothings who have fine tuned the art of looking busy while instant messaging their pals in prison but can't cut you an expense check until February of 04.
Blog about your mother, your brother, your fat aunt Sally. Blog about your priest and that little problem he has keeping his hands on the prayer book. Blog prose, blog poetry, blog photos, blog jokes. BLOG TIL YOU DROP.
Because if you think you're career is safe the other way, you're just fooling yourself.
Or, you could read my Solid Gold Post: How TO Get Fired Because of Your Blog.
This is the advice bloggers need. They don't need to know how to SUCK up. They need to know how to FUCK up.
Worst practices. No?
-----------------------
From me in 2003 and back by popular demand...
HOW TO GET FIRED BECAUSE OF YOUR BLOG
...With apologies to Blogger.
Do you blog at work? Do you surf porn blogs like there's no tomorrow while you're supposed to be problem solving? Do you think management is so stupid that they'd never think to search you up on Google and find out you've been posting photos from the ladies bathroom since you bought your cool new camera phone three months ago? Well, you're probably right. But that doesn't mean one of your pesky co-workers won't blow you in.
These days, many companies are laying off employees by the hundreds, even thousands. You don't have any job security, even if you think you do, so what difference does it make if you blog at work? The fact is, you'll probably be let go next week anyway, so don't give away your intellectual property (your blog and what you know about blogging) with the illusion that anyone at your company will care. Once you've given them a ten-word definition of blogging, that's all they'll need to sound smart at lunch, on the golf course, and at that next emerging technology conference.
If you think your blogging will make you a star at work, start looking at your company's severance policy today!
How to Get More Hits than Your Company's Website
At the same time, your blog can be a powerful tool for making you more powerful than the company that currently pays your salary (the one that provides you with two days funeral leave if your spouse kicks the bucket). It's very common for bloggers who are intelligent, who write every day, and especially who take pictures of the loading dock at Microsoft, to become far more popular and better liked than the companies they work for. Research from Perseus shows that 97% of bloggers land better jobs once they've been shit canned for blogging at work.
You see, there is a God!
In fact, getting fired because of your blog is one of the smartest marketing moves you can make. Straight to the top of Daypop, Technorati--hey, Andrew Sullivan will probably shoot you a link. That's right. You can be out from under your boss's thumb and working for the coolest new startup, or even the Dean campaign, tomorrow. If you play your cards right.
Layoff or Shitcanned: Two Paths to Blog Freedom
The truth is, your position will probably be eliminated on Wednesday of this week. (They like to let you go right before a holiday weekend, to give you some extra family time, let you stuff yourself with turkey and numb your brain with tryptophan, decreasing the likelihood you'll come back Monday and blow away the Human Resource Manager after you pack your little poetry magnets from the last COMDEX show in your take-home box.) It doesn't matter if you're careful with your posts or not. Corporations have the most uncanny ability to overlook talent, brains, and tenacity in favor of ass kissing and the status quo.
With this in mind, you have two options for shedding your current employer: Layoff (involuntary separation), or Getting Fired (terminated, separated with cause).
Both of these approaches have their good points. For instance, getting laid off usually means you get a severance check, which means you'll have a couple week's salary to spend on your first COBRA health insurance premium. On the other hand, blogging something worthy of getting fired for means you'll be famous on the Web, and may land that book deal you've been hoping for. Or at least a spot on Instapundit's blogroll.
Blogging: Just Do It!
Knowing that you won't have a job much longer anyway, we here at allied recommend that you blog everything. Absolutely everything. Blog about your lame-brained boss. Blog about your loser clients. Blog about the accounting department do-nothings who have fine tuned the art of looking busy while instant messaging their pals in prison but can't cut you an expense check until February of 04.
Blog about your mother, your brother, your fat aunt Sally. Blog about your priest and that little problem he has keeping his hands on the prayer book. Blog prose, blog poetry, blog photos, blog jokes. BLOG TIL YOU DROP.
Because if you think you're career is safe the other way, you're just fooling yourself.
Papal Dead Air
Tom is watching the media keep the pope on medium low over at his place. Simmer until a new story emerges. Stir Occasionally. Read Now.
Mr. Pricky?
Dave writes about Mr. Picky and Mr. Coward, who seem to be kin to Mr. Gender Spam. Of them all, I am most impressed with Mr. Gender Spam, because I've heard he leaps tall buildings in a single bound. Mr. Gender Spam is a strong man. Let's hear it for Mr. Gender Spam. Let's hear some booooooos for Mr. Picky and Mr. Coward who have re-employed weblgging's time-honored tactis of smear and run.
Let's hear it for the boys!
It's Raining Men in Blogdom!
Humidity's rising
Barometer's getting low
According to all sources
The street's the place to go
'Cos tonight for the first time
At just about half past ten
For the first time in history
It's gonna start raining men
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
Humidity's rising
Barometer's getting low
According to all sources
The street's the place to go
'Cos tonight for the first time
At just about half past ten
For the first time in history
It's gonna start raining men
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
I'm gonna go out
I'm gonna let myself get
Absolutely soaking wet
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men
Every specimen
Tall blond dark and mean
Rough and tough and strong and lean
It's raining men Hallelujah
It's raining men, Amen
It's raining men Hallelujah
It's raining men, Amen
From Dave: Observation -- it's pretty gutless to challenge someone's integrity and not put your name on it. And it's pretty stupid to do so and leave a trail back to your desktop that a moderately skilled programmer could follow.
I have also heard of this tactic. It is pretty stupid to do. It is stupid to hack sites also. Really stupid to post anonymously a harrassing comment. Dave's advice is sound. One should be more than a moderately skilled programmer if one is going to challenge someone's integrity.
Words to live by.
Let's hear it for the boys!
It's Raining Men in Blogdom!
Humidity's rising
Barometer's getting low
According to all sources
The street's the place to go
'Cos tonight for the first time
At just about half past ten
For the first time in history
It's gonna start raining men
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
Humidity's rising
Barometer's getting low
According to all sources
The street's the place to go
'Cos tonight for the first time
At just about half past ten
For the first time in history
It's gonna start raining men
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men, Amen
I'm gonna go out
I'm gonna let myself get
Absolutely soaking wet
It's raining men
Hallelujah it's raining men
Every specimen
Tall blond dark and mean
Rough and tough and strong and lean
It's raining men Hallelujah
It's raining men, Amen
It's raining men Hallelujah
It's raining men, Amen
From Dave: Observation -- it's pretty gutless to challenge someone's integrity and not put your name on it. And it's pretty stupid to do so and leave a trail back to your desktop that a moderately skilled programmer could follow.
I have also heard of this tactic. It is pretty stupid to do. It is stupid to hack sites also. Really stupid to post anonymously a harrassing comment. Dave's advice is sound. One should be more than a moderately skilled programmer if one is going to challenge someone's integrity.
Words to live by.
The Untold
If you had the chance to hear them
Them the kind of words that change
everything,
five minutes before
being one way
five minutes after
being not that way anymore,
would you want
to hear them?
these are the tales
of generations
graves opening like mouths
finger against lips
A shhhh or a scream?
Hush little baby don't say a word
The untelling is its own sickness
a cancer unhealed.
Do I really want to know?
Them the kind of words that change
everything,
five minutes before
being one way
five minutes after
being not that way anymore,
would you want
to hear them?
these are the tales
of generations
graves opening like mouths
finger against lips
A shhhh or a scream?
Hush little baby don't say a word
The untelling is its own sickness
a cancer unhealed.
Do I really want to know?
Brick Wall Head Banging
There are certain things in my life that I shouldn't do.
I've lived 43 years by avoiding some of these things.
Some of these things I learned to avoid recently.
Some of these things I avoid are people.
Some people make me not do so good.
Some of these people are family.
Some family scares me.
I love my family.
Love scares me.
Love me.
I've lived 43 years by avoiding some of these things.
Some of these things I learned to avoid recently.
Some of these things I avoid are people.
Some people make me not do so good.
Some of these people are family.
Some family scares me.
I love my family.
Love scares me.
Love me.
For Immediate Bloglease
C-LO, C-BLO of Highbeam, points to some serious blogability advancements offered through Highbeam for bloggers like you and me in this Blog Release.
I've been fortunate to be on the Highbeam beta team testing out the service and its use for webloggers. I love love love Highbeam. It's as easy to use as Google, but it cuts through the crap that now clutters Google making it ineffective as a research tool--the paid ads, the unrelated search results, and the changing status of the information delivered based on the popularity of the site your keywords appear on.
Highbeam doesn't put you through any of that b.s. Pure and simple, you get credible source material on which to base your 1.) research, 2.) opinions, 3.) purchase decisions, 4.) marriage mates, 5.) next career.
And I pay more for web hosting per year than it costs to get Highbeam.
Sound powerful?
You bet.
You go try it now.
I've been fortunate to be on the Highbeam beta team testing out the service and its use for webloggers. I love love love Highbeam. It's as easy to use as Google, but it cuts through the crap that now clutters Google making it ineffective as a research tool--the paid ads, the unrelated search results, and the changing status of the information delivered based on the popularity of the site your keywords appear on.
Highbeam doesn't put you through any of that b.s. Pure and simple, you get credible source material on which to base your 1.) research, 2.) opinions, 3.) purchase decisions, 4.) marriage mates, 5.) next career.
And I pay more for web hosting per year than it costs to get Highbeam.
Sound powerful?
You bet.
You go try it now.
Feeling zzzzzzzzzzzzzzy.
The first week after my endometrial ablation, I felt great. I was wizzing around on day number 2 feeling better than I had in months.
It must have been the drugs.
Today and yesterday I slept. I want to sleep a million hours. Nothing less will do. What gives? I was feeling groovy. Now I'm feeling poopy. And I don't think it's the baby hamster deaths. Could be I guess.
In other news, it appears that Coco the Canibale is pregnant again.
God's little miracle Hamster. Or Something.
good night.
It must have been the drugs.
Today and yesterday I slept. I want to sleep a million hours. Nothing less will do. What gives? I was feeling groovy. Now I'm feeling poopy. And I don't think it's the baby hamster deaths. Could be I guess.
In other news, it appears that Coco the Canibale is pregnant again.
God's little miracle Hamster. Or Something.
good night.
April 12, 2005
Not All Females Eat Babies...
Some very cool things are going on over at blogher.org, where I'm happy to be on the conference advisory board.
I know--you're saying, WHAT? YOU? CONFERENCE. But this conference has a different feel to it and I think it's going to be a lot of fun, with a lot of real exchange among participants.
Because I don't get to many/any conferences, I didn't know most of the women on the team--except in passing, virtually speaking--until the discussions began regarding BlogHer Conference '05, July 30 in Santa Clara. Elisa Camahort, Jory Des Jardins, Purvi Shah, and Lisa Stone have launched the beginnings of an amazingly comprehensive concept/brand/idea/conference/group/community in record time, with style and class. Congrats to them.
This is one conference I'd like to attend, and I will try. I wish it weren't on the other side of the country, but it sure would be sweet to see CA. I've never been.
Give it a look. Don't forget to check out the scholarships to be given out to selected live-blogger translator/volunteers. That's neat.
I know--you're saying, WHAT? YOU? CONFERENCE. But this conference has a different feel to it and I think it's going to be a lot of fun, with a lot of real exchange among participants.
Because I don't get to many/any conferences, I didn't know most of the women on the team--except in passing, virtually speaking--until the discussions began regarding BlogHer Conference '05, July 30 in Santa Clara. Elisa Camahort, Jory Des Jardins, Purvi Shah, and Lisa Stone have launched the beginnings of an amazingly comprehensive concept/brand/idea/conference/group/community in record time, with style and class. Congrats to them.
This is one conference I'd like to attend, and I will try. I wish it weren't on the other side of the country, but it sure would be sweet to see CA. I've never been.
Give it a look. Don't forget to check out the scholarships to be given out to selected live-blogger translator/volunteers. That's neat.
A big wind came and swept them away, and then...
When I pick Jenna up, I get to tell her that all the babies are gone.
She's going to want to bury them.
I'm going to have to tell her that the mom already took care of that, if you know what I mean.
And she does, because she saw Marshmallow eat a baby and Coco eat a baby during the surprise birthing fiasco.
"Whoa. It looks like a watermelon without the head."
My favorite Jenna line of the year.
Awe crap. Not only did she make a poster "The Afishel Birth Cert." "Jenna's 13 Baby Hamsters! Marshmallow and Coco, April 6, 2005" and take it to school, and not only did the teacher hang it in the room, but also Jenna had the kids in her class sign up on her hand-made list if they wanted a hamster in a few weeks.
Last night I was thinking about how nice it was having the babies for her to watch--even though it was for a, well, REALLY short time. So I did what any mother would do.
I stuck Coco back in with Marshmallow and watched them hump like hamsters. Muskrat love, baby. I mean, they rocked the house.
In about another two weeks, we should have a new crop of pups. And THIS time I'll know who the mother is.
I'm just not sure if that's a good thing, given the mother's particular tastes......
She's going to want to bury them.
I'm going to have to tell her that the mom already took care of that, if you know what I mean.
And she does, because she saw Marshmallow eat a baby and Coco eat a baby during the surprise birthing fiasco.
"Whoa. It looks like a watermelon without the head."
My favorite Jenna line of the year.
Awe crap. Not only did she make a poster "The Afishel Birth Cert." "Jenna's 13 Baby Hamsters! Marshmallow and Coco, April 6, 2005" and take it to school, and not only did the teacher hang it in the room, but also Jenna had the kids in her class sign up on her hand-made list if they wanted a hamster in a few weeks.
Last night I was thinking about how nice it was having the babies for her to watch--even though it was for a, well, REALLY short time. So I did what any mother would do.
I stuck Coco back in with Marshmallow and watched them hump like hamsters. Muskrat love, baby. I mean, they rocked the house.
In about another two weeks, we should have a new crop of pups. And THIS time I'll know who the mother is.
I'm just not sure if that's a good thing, given the mother's particular tastes......
April 11, 2005
PIG
In honor of McD and others who inquire often about the Pig that lives behind us in Acworth/Kennesaw suburbia, the pig kin to the insurance salesman neighbor who finally used his insurance claim for hail to fix the back fence. AND yes, in Georgia, you can face the outside of the fence into your neighbor's yard. I know--who knew?
So, without further adieu, I offer exhibit A. It should be all you need. He is on their lower deck, next to the jacuzzi.
Any questions?
So, without further adieu, I offer exhibit A. It should be all you need. He is on their lower deck, next to the jacuzzi.
Any questions?
Can't find the babies tonight.
I hope the mama hamster hid them, 'cause I don't see them in the nest.
Ugh.
In better news, I think I got a picture of the pig for McD and memer. I'm not sure how visible the pig will be, as I snapped the picture off of our back deck, and I don't have any photo editing software to enlarge the "pig" part of the picture, but I'll do my best.
More soon.
Ugh.
In better news, I think I got a picture of the pig for McD and memer. I'm not sure how visible the pig will be, as I snapped the picture off of our back deck, and I don't have any photo editing software to enlarge the "pig" part of the picture, but I'll do my best.
More soon.
April 10, 2005
Who Dat Baby Daddy?
I've always looked at Harry and wondered. Even now as he's grown into a man, I don't see Charles or the rest of the Royal Inbreds in this boy. Not the eyes, not the forehead not the nose not the mouth not the personality not the nothing.
Now, Diana's lover on the other hand... well, it's getting more obvious as Harry gets older...
Who dat is? That's just my baby daddy.
Now, Diana's lover on the other hand... well, it's getting more obvious as Harry gets older...
Who dat is? That's just my baby daddy.
At Least Two Hamsters
Baby sighting today--movement! The weird thing about baby hamsters is they lay on their backs a lot with their legs sticking straight up. So, basically, they look dead. Which is why it's very exciting when you shine a flashlight on them, annoying them into movement.
Which is to say, I saw at two little hamsters in the next when Coco, now re-named Melanie, the mother I thought was the father, scurried out to eat. The babies still look like a pinkie finger, but they were moving! Whether or not the other 8 or 10 are, I don't know, don't want to know.
Meanwhile, I have sat down only to sleep since my surgery. As mildly invasive as the surgery was, it was still surgery and I have not been good about any amount of resting. Spring break after all.
That's why I'm in pain tonight. Nothing 800mg of Motrin, half a Xanax, and a good book won't ease. Tomorrow school starts for Jenna, and work re-emerges in full force. Work people, if you check in on me, I'm hiding out in bed tomorrow. Clients, I need a day of rest.
I'm going into my little makeshift nest for a piece of peace. If my legs stick straight up, call the doctor. Or my publicist.
Which is to say, I saw at two little hamsters in the next when Coco, now re-named Melanie, the mother I thought was the father, scurried out to eat. The babies still look like a pinkie finger, but they were moving! Whether or not the other 8 or 10 are, I don't know, don't want to know.
Meanwhile, I have sat down only to sleep since my surgery. As mildly invasive as the surgery was, it was still surgery and I have not been good about any amount of resting. Spring break after all.
That's why I'm in pain tonight. Nothing 800mg of Motrin, half a Xanax, and a good book won't ease. Tomorrow school starts for Jenna, and work re-emerges in full force. Work people, if you check in on me, I'm hiding out in bed tomorrow. Clients, I need a day of rest.
I'm going into my little makeshift nest for a piece of peace. If my legs stick straight up, call the doctor. Or my publicist.
It could be a blue one--does it matter?
I've put a lid on the hamster co-dependence thing for tonight. Instead I've been thinking about blogging--for which I've developed a nasty disliking lately, despite the obvious. That obvious being that I'm writing in a user interface right now developed by blogger.com, which essentially means I am blogging. I think so anyway.
And what I was thinking is that when it comes to form and function, I see blogging breaking down into two schools. There are bloggers who write. And there are bloggers who report.
The writer bloggers tell stories.
The reporter bloggers tell ABOUT stories.
Some reporter bloggers' stories come from mainstream media. Some come from other bloggers. But reporter bloggers--who often fancy themselves journalists--write about and link to OTHER PEOPLE'S stories much of the time; i.e., stories they did not write.
Story telling bloggers spend the greater part of their blogging writing original stories--of a day, of a moment, of a death, a life, a cheese sandwich for lunch. The majority of story teller bloggers' posts tell stories rather than alerting readers of a story that has told itself elsewhere.
As with all things blogging, there are exceptions/hybrids/rule-breakers/convergences/cross-pollination taking place between blogging reporters and story tellers.
These electric places of EXTREME overlap or EXTREME dissonance are the where innovation takes place, those exchanges, those posts, those weblogs that move us forward into new territory.
What does this have to do with a red umbrella?
Well, I wasn't thinking any of what I just wrote until five minutes ago.
I thought about what I wanted to explore in this post--not politics/journalism/gender-wars/tech/biz/pr-marcom theorizing. I wanted to write about something. To tell a story.
With no ideas nearby, I closed my eyes, opened my mind, and snapped a picture of the first flash revealed.
A red umbrella.
Google it.
Image(ine) it.
In common these things have movement.
In movement these things have meaning.
Under cover we make meaning or seem to. And yet, how fleeting is that sense that we work so hard to make when a single updraft shucks the red umbrella like an ear of late summer corn, or rips it from an uncommitted hand.
I found out today about a friend who lost her lover who was a friend before her lover.
In that moment of her telling, in a flash of pain, a flash I did not recognize until I sat down to write about these things here, was the red umbrella.
Simple in its elegance, posturing as protection, fighting against its own beauty, there is no mix of form and function that keeps us safe enough.
Certainly not the red umbrella.
Certainly not tonight.
And what I was thinking is that when it comes to form and function, I see blogging breaking down into two schools. There are bloggers who write. And there are bloggers who report.
The writer bloggers tell stories.
The reporter bloggers tell ABOUT stories.
Some reporter bloggers' stories come from mainstream media. Some come from other bloggers. But reporter bloggers--who often fancy themselves journalists--write about and link to OTHER PEOPLE'S stories much of the time; i.e., stories they did not write.
Story telling bloggers spend the greater part of their blogging writing original stories--of a day, of a moment, of a death, a life, a cheese sandwich for lunch. The majority of story teller bloggers' posts tell stories rather than alerting readers of a story that has told itself elsewhere.
As with all things blogging, there are exceptions/hybrids/rule-breakers/convergences/cross-pollination taking place between blogging reporters and story tellers.
These electric places of EXTREME overlap or EXTREME dissonance are the where innovation takes place, those exchanges, those posts, those weblogs that move us forward into new territory.
What does this have to do with a red umbrella?
Well, I wasn't thinking any of what I just wrote until five minutes ago.
I thought about what I wanted to explore in this post--not politics/journalism/gender-wars/tech/biz/pr-marcom theorizing. I wanted to write about something. To tell a story.
With no ideas nearby, I closed my eyes, opened my mind, and snapped a picture of the first flash revealed.
A red umbrella.
Google it.
Image(ine) it.
In common these things have movement.
In movement these things have meaning.
Under cover we make meaning or seem to. And yet, how fleeting is that sense that we work so hard to make when a single updraft shucks the red umbrella like an ear of late summer corn, or rips it from an uncommitted hand.
I found out today about a friend who lost her lover who was a friend before her lover.
In that moment of her telling, in a flash of pain, a flash I did not recognize until I sat down to write about these things here, was the red umbrella.
Simple in its elegance, posturing as protection, fighting against its own beauty, there is no mix of form and function that keeps us safe enough.
Certainly not the red umbrella.
Certainly not tonight.
April 09, 2005
Sleep Remedies
What I don't want to hear is a bunch of parenting wisdom about routine and strict bedtimes and such. Because it's been spring break here the entire week. And I had surgery. And Jenna slept at three different houses, well one wasn't different because it was her own, but still, maybe I should say strange houses. And routine unintentionally went out the window. And by the way, routine has never made a dent in my daughter's energy level.
The deal is, 7 years old. Never falls asleep without an hour or seven of reading and writing and artwork and mazes and puzzles and math problems. Favorite new activity: Writing three columns of alternating-colored vocabulary words, one letter per page, on large classroom poster paper, and rolling masking tape balls to stick on the back to decorate her room with the sheets.
Chamomile Tea doesn't work. Tried it. The good stuff too. Leaves in the tea seeping spoon. In the end, I drank it and felt great. Fell asleep before everyone else.
She has CRCT tests starting next week for two weeks. We have to be on time to school or they lock us out. She needs to sleep well or she'll get sick. That's the long and short of it.
Give it up parents. Confess it. What puts your older (as in 5-10 year old) kids to sleep? I need one night to get us back on track. I'm not talking long-term behavioral modification. I'm not talking phenobarbitol (although it worked for me as a kid). I'm talking, what WORKS and is LEGAL?
The deal is, 7 years old. Never falls asleep without an hour or seven of reading and writing and artwork and mazes and puzzles and math problems. Favorite new activity: Writing three columns of alternating-colored vocabulary words, one letter per page, on large classroom poster paper, and rolling masking tape balls to stick on the back to decorate her room with the sheets.
Chamomile Tea doesn't work. Tried it. The good stuff too. Leaves in the tea seeping spoon. In the end, I drank it and felt great. Fell asleep before everyone else.
She has CRCT tests starting next week for two weeks. We have to be on time to school or they lock us out. She needs to sleep well or she'll get sick. That's the long and short of it.
Give it up parents. Confess it. What puts your older (as in 5-10 year old) kids to sleep? I need one night to get us back on track. I'm not talking long-term behavioral modification. I'm not talking phenobarbitol (although it worked for me as a kid). I'm talking, what WORKS and is LEGAL?
The dog and the fish
So Bando the mutt and Gil the beta are like, what do we have to do around here to get some attention--have a baby?!
BADABING!
BADABING!
Wednesday's Child
Quote of the day:
"It could be way worse. You could be a hamster baby in Jeneane's house."
"It could be way worse. You could be a hamster baby in Jeneane's house."
This Hamster Shit Is Stressing Me Out
Oh good, forever more I'll be googled on "hamster shit."
Listen, the thing about hamsters is that they bury their healthy young (as opposed to eating their unhealthy or too numerous young) way deep in a makeshift nest, in this case 1st-grade lined notebook paper and super-absorbent paper towel pieces, so that you (or as we hear in group, keep it personal--"I") I mean, I, don't know if I killed the babies or not.
I think I saw one pink nose move.
Hard to know.
1 out of 13 wouldn't be a complete failure.
I bought Similac baby formula because I read it can help the nursing mother hamster. She doesn't like it. I don't blame her. She'll probably have nightmares of a huge cow stomping her nest.
The more I try to help, the more I don't.
In other news, school starts Monday, and with the time change I guess we'll be getting up about 2 in the morning now. That'll be extra fun. I told my friend, this is the time of year kids get run over by buses because we turn the time back and it's dark again at 6 a.m. She said, no, November is when they get run over by buses because it's dark in the morning AND at night. I said, no, I think there are more bus-kid accidents when the clock turns back. She said no, it's in winter, because it's dark when the kids catch the bus and when they come home.
I said whatever, I'm glad I car pool.
Listen, the thing about hamsters is that they bury their healthy young (as opposed to eating their unhealthy or too numerous young) way deep in a makeshift nest, in this case 1st-grade lined notebook paper and super-absorbent paper towel pieces, so that you (or as we hear in group, keep it personal--"I") I mean, I, don't know if I killed the babies or not.
I think I saw one pink nose move.
Hard to know.
1 out of 13 wouldn't be a complete failure.
I bought Similac baby formula because I read it can help the nursing mother hamster. She doesn't like it. I don't blame her. She'll probably have nightmares of a huge cow stomping her nest.
The more I try to help, the more I don't.
In other news, school starts Monday, and with the time change I guess we'll be getting up about 2 in the morning now. That'll be extra fun. I told my friend, this is the time of year kids get run over by buses because we turn the time back and it's dark again at 6 a.m. She said, no, November is when they get run over by buses because it's dark in the morning AND at night. I said, no, I think there are more bus-kid accidents when the clock turns back. She said no, it's in winter, because it's dark when the kids catch the bus and when they come home.
I said whatever, I'm glad I car pool.
Hamster Watch Continued
What a night. I was prompted awake four times by the guilt of having accidentally deprived the mother hamster, who we thought was the father hamster, of her newborn babies for 12 hours yesterday until I "figured it out." Is it too late? Hard to tell. She's back on the makeshift nest today. This morning she was on the other side of the cage, as far away as she could get. I saw one little baby she'd taken out of the nest when I went downstairs at 7:00. I wanted to give him back to her--"Lookie, he's alive!" But I left them alone. When I went down at 10:00, he was nowhere to be found. I hope he's under her.
I'm off to get some formula for her. I read it helps the milk supply. I think hers may have dried up during the twelve hours she spent apart from the babies. I reached in to give her a scratch while she was eating. She rolled over asking me to rub her belly. She never does that. She's the mean one I thought was a He.
Now, about the "Royal Wedding..."
RRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTKACHUNK.
The sound of Dianna rolling over in her grave.
Listen, I'm all for going on with life after the death of a loved one. HOWEVER, this skank-ass-bad-teeth-man-hands-rediculous-hat-wearing homewrecker and her cowardly oedipus-complexed-immature-lying-mama's-boy-king-wannabe husband are responsible for inflicting some realy nasty trauma on young Dianna. Maybe more than that. So forgive me for not sending a card.
I'm off to get some formula for her. I read it helps the milk supply. I think hers may have dried up during the twelve hours she spent apart from the babies. I reached in to give her a scratch while she was eating. She rolled over asking me to rub her belly. She never does that. She's the mean one I thought was a He.
Now, about the "Royal Wedding..."
RRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTKACHUNK.
The sound of Dianna rolling over in her grave.
Listen, I'm all for going on with life after the death of a loved one. HOWEVER, this skank-ass-bad-teeth-man-hands-rediculous-hat-wearing homewrecker and her cowardly oedipus-complexed-immature-lying-mama's-boy-king-wannabe husband are responsible for inflicting some realy nasty trauma on young Dianna. Maybe more than that. So forgive me for not sending a card.
In a nutshell
Between my ablation and the birth of the new hamster babies, some alive and some not, cage swapping for the adults who have now fully digested aforementioned dead hamster babies, can I just talk for a moment about how bad my house smells?
No. Never mind. I won't.
You just take that tidbit to sleep with you tonight.
No. Never mind. I won't.
You just take that tidbit to sleep with you tonight.
April 08, 2005
Saint Patrick, Thou Art a Stubborn Ass
I didn't know until today that Paul's mother died, and didn't know until I clicked backward that she passed away on St. Patrick's day. Familiar to me--the day my father died, the day my grandmother died. Now too when I remember them there will be a bright little patch of Paul's mom in my recollecting. I spend a lot of time recollecting on that day while the rest of America gets drunk.
Paul is there for his father, for whom the loss of a wife of nearly 54 years must be so very difficult. And now Paul's dad is in the hospital too.
Paul I send you some of the goodness I received virtually during my hospital adventure Tuesday, and some of my own prayers.
I never quite got that Irish thing anyway.
Paul is there for his father, for whom the loss of a wife of nearly 54 years must be so very difficult. And now Paul's dad is in the hospital too.
Paul I send you some of the goodness I received virtually during my hospital adventure Tuesday, and some of my own prayers.
I never quite got that Irish thing anyway.
Oh for the love of!!!!!!
So I'm watching Marshmallow tonight wondering, why is she so skittish--she's just not taking care of the babies. Is it because we had to move them out of the wheel of death? Is it because it's her first time?
I'm watching, you know, coaxing her on--comeon marshmallow, you're doing good. You check on the babies, you take food in there, but you're not... doing......
I look over to Coco's cage, the dad, who has been asleep all day, man, why is he... so... tired.......
Oh. My..... IT'S BECAUSE MARSHMALLOW IS THE FUCKING MALE!!!
I grab Marshmallow, lift him/her out, look underneath, a thing, okay, looks like a hole, okay NO FRICKING NIPPLES. I shove him back in, grab Coco out of the other cage, hoping for an obvious penis, lift him/her up, and there is the evidence, clear as day, evidence we didn't see earlier.
OH SHIT! Tiny little babies, still squirming some, no milk in 11 hours, what are their chances. How did we get it wrong? Why was Coco eating them? Why was mashmallow protecting them? Oh man. I kind of told Jenna. We got it wrong.
She is thinking of new names for them. That's the spirit.
Anyway, I swapped the cages, turned out the lights.
I can't watch.
Shit.
I'm watching, you know, coaxing her on--comeon marshmallow, you're doing good. You check on the babies, you take food in there, but you're not... doing......
I look over to Coco's cage, the dad, who has been asleep all day, man, why is he... so... tired.......
Oh. My..... IT'S BECAUSE MARSHMALLOW IS THE FUCKING MALE!!!
I grab Marshmallow, lift him/her out, look underneath, a thing, okay, looks like a hole, okay NO FRICKING NIPPLES. I shove him back in, grab Coco out of the other cage, hoping for an obvious penis, lift him/her up, and there is the evidence, clear as day, evidence we didn't see earlier.
OH SHIT! Tiny little babies, still squirming some, no milk in 11 hours, what are their chances. How did we get it wrong? Why was Coco eating them? Why was mashmallow protecting them? Oh man. I kind of told Jenna. We got it wrong.
She is thinking of new names for them. That's the spirit.
Anyway, I swapped the cages, turned out the lights.
I can't watch.
Shit.
On Fertile Ground
One interesting thing about endometrial ablation is that you can't get pregnant after having one. Well, you can get pregnant, but it's a very bad thing, essentially guaranteed to end up as a tubal pregnancy, miscarriage, or a uterine rupture because the lining of the uterus has been removed by the procedure. Any small areas left aren't sufficient to provide nutrients for a growing baby via the placenta. Therefore, the placenta often attatches firmly into the uterine wall, and when it tries to detatch, results in rupture, hemorrhage, death--the kind of clinical outcome you'd really like to avoid.
All of this is to say, I was up crying last night realizing that my childbearing years are officially over.
That's heavy. I mean, I knew this before having the surgery. But knowing before hand and really knowing afterward are two different things.
So there I was, teary and sad last night, without being down really, more a profound understanding of the passage of time and opportunity, a full-stop within steady movement, the knowledge of such things making my tired womb heavy, and my heart too.
This morning I awoke to Jenna's near-hysterical voice:
"THERE'S A BABY! THERE'S A BABY!"
I wonder, what TV show is she watching.
"MOMMY COME NOW!"
And it sinks in slowly. Oh no. Not the hamsters she got three weeks ago, the ones that were supposed to be two girls.... Oh no.... no.
Yes.
There they were, mother and father in the habitat wheel, father munching on one baby, mother hovering over the others, the two parents starting to run inside the plastic wheel, which had the odd slow motion effect of spewing babies out of the wheel, down the slide, and into the shavings at the bottom....
Surreal...a hamster baby machine spitting out little pink hairless blobs.
Hamster babies being cranked out hither and yon.
"Oh my oh my oh my--go get Daddy."
That's what I said.
During the next half hour, we got Coco, the father, out of the cage and into his hamster ball, so he's rolling around the house, while I fill up a large bin with shavings. I can't tell you the iterations we tried--put Marshmallow the mom in the habitat cage and Coco the dad in the big plastic bin. But no, Marshmallow is intent on dragging all dozen babies back into the wheel, the problem being that, she's SPINNING the damn wheel while she's up there, and babies are flying around inside the wheel like popcorn at Walmart.
Marshmallow, you can't put your babies up there!
She remains determined.
So we take Marshmallow and the babies (using a tea strainer so as not to touch them) into the plastic bin, but she's distressed in there because it's unfamiliar, running around with a baby hanging out of her mouth, like, WHERE DO I PUT IT!?
I'm like, how do I know--I'M INFERTILE!
Then I get it! She wants her stupid wheel!
So I take the wheel OFF the habitat cage and anchor it in the shavings in the big bin (so it won't spin for God's sake), and scoop the remaing babies into the bin. Marshamallow then carries all I-don't-know-how-many-live babies -- maybe 10? -- left into her motionless-plastic-wheel den, where she's been sitting on them for an hour.
Marshmallow's got water, food, and a bunch of pink babies that seem to still be alive in her new big plastic bin.
Coco's got his cage back, minus the wheel, the hole plugged up by an expensive fruit bowl, and he seems full and rather happy digesting his offspring.
It's all really too much for me.
Actual Sessum Hamster pictures forthcoming.
All of this is to say, I was up crying last night realizing that my childbearing years are officially over.
That's heavy. I mean, I knew this before having the surgery. But knowing before hand and really knowing afterward are two different things.
So there I was, teary and sad last night, without being down really, more a profound understanding of the passage of time and opportunity, a full-stop within steady movement, the knowledge of such things making my tired womb heavy, and my heart too.
This morning I awoke to Jenna's near-hysterical voice:
"THERE'S A BABY! THERE'S A BABY!"
I wonder, what TV show is she watching.
"MOMMY COME NOW!"
And it sinks in slowly. Oh no. Not the hamsters she got three weeks ago, the ones that were supposed to be two girls.... Oh no.... no.
Yes.
There they were, mother and father in the habitat wheel, father munching on one baby, mother hovering over the others, the two parents starting to run inside the plastic wheel, which had the odd slow motion effect of spewing babies out of the wheel, down the slide, and into the shavings at the bottom....
Surreal...a hamster baby machine spitting out little pink hairless blobs.
Hamster babies being cranked out hither and yon.
"Oh my oh my oh my--go get Daddy."
That's what I said.
During the next half hour, we got Coco, the father, out of the cage and into his hamster ball, so he's rolling around the house, while I fill up a large bin with shavings. I can't tell you the iterations we tried--put Marshmallow the mom in the habitat cage and Coco the dad in the big plastic bin. But no, Marshmallow is intent on dragging all dozen babies back into the wheel, the problem being that, she's SPINNING the damn wheel while she's up there, and babies are flying around inside the wheel like popcorn at Walmart.
Marshmallow, you can't put your babies up there!
She remains determined.
So we take Marshmallow and the babies (using a tea strainer so as not to touch them) into the plastic bin, but she's distressed in there because it's unfamiliar, running around with a baby hanging out of her mouth, like, WHERE DO I PUT IT!?
I'm like, how do I know--I'M INFERTILE!
Then I get it! She wants her stupid wheel!
So I take the wheel OFF the habitat cage and anchor it in the shavings in the big bin (so it won't spin for God's sake), and scoop the remaing babies into the bin. Marshamallow then carries all I-don't-know-how-many-live babies -- maybe 10? -- left into her motionless-plastic-wheel den, where she's been sitting on them for an hour.
Marshmallow's got water, food, and a bunch of pink babies that seem to still be alive in her new big plastic bin.
Coco's got his cage back, minus the wheel, the hole plugged up by an expensive fruit bowl, and he seems full and rather happy digesting his offspring.
It's all really too much for me.
Actual Sessum Hamster pictures forthcoming.
little tiny semi thoughts
Inside my head, I'm still enjoying instant replays of semi-consciousness.
Wondering what the hell that big huge L-shaped black neoprene leg holder duct-tape-ala-home-made-torture-chamber looking thing was on the left side of the operating table.
Inside my head: "Whoa. 'The hell is that?"
And again observing with wonder the bigness, roundness, and brightness of the light positioned directly above where I was being placed.
Inside my head: "That is the biggest, roundest light I have ever seen."
And people saying my name. Like a game of red rover. "Jeneane, come on over!!!"
Inside my head: "Funny people - Why they're so far away?"
Semi-consciousness rocks.
Wondering what the hell that big huge L-shaped black neoprene leg holder duct-tape-ala-home-made-torture-chamber looking thing was on the left side of the operating table.
Inside my head: "Whoa. 'The hell is that?"
And again observing with wonder the bigness, roundness, and brightness of the light positioned directly above where I was being placed.
Inside my head: "That is the biggest, roundest light I have ever seen."
And people saying my name. Like a game of red rover. "Jeneane, come on over!!!"
Inside my head: "Funny people - Why they're so far away?"
Semi-consciousness rocks.
Totus Towhom?
Thursday Questions
How does buying a bus ticket to Rome to see a dead pope make one a “Pilgrim”?
How does a man who headed a church that covered up the most widespread institutionalized incidence of child abuse earn talk of sainthood?
How long does someone need to be on display before you put them in the ground?
Where in the text of the scriptures that Catholics adhere to does it say anything about a Pope, about refering to any man as “The Holy Father” or about worshiping an elected official of the church?
Hello people of the world: Get inside your grieving and find what has birthed your hysteria. Could it be that once again you’ve let mainstream media channel and feed off your grief for its own gain? The Pope’s not the only one on display. Your sordid tiresome souls are bleeding through my television screen. Your pain is real, but it’s got nothing to do with the guy in red on the slab with three pillows under his head and a scepter under his arm.
How does buying a bus ticket to Rome to see a dead pope make one a “Pilgrim”?
How does a man who headed a church that covered up the most widespread institutionalized incidence of child abuse earn talk of sainthood?
How long does someone need to be on display before you put them in the ground?
Where in the text of the scriptures that Catholics adhere to does it say anything about a Pope, about refering to any man as “The Holy Father” or about worshiping an elected official of the church?
Hello people of the world: Get inside your grieving and find what has birthed your hysteria. Could it be that once again you’ve let mainstream media channel and feed off your grief for its own gain? The Pope’s not the only one on display. Your sordid tiresome souls are bleeding through my television screen. Your pain is real, but it’s got nothing to do with the guy in red on the slab with three pillows under his head and a scepter under his arm.
April 06, 2005
In Praise of Good Drugs and Doctors of Faith
I am among you. For that I am grateful. Even moreso that I'm basically pain free today, even put away some laundry, walked around the driveway, and marveled at what it's like to have a surgical encounter go right.
From a mortal perspective, so much of surgery--even more I think than the skill of your doctor--depends upon the anesthesiologist. And man, did I have a good one. Oh boy oh boy. I don't even remember the OR. I was gone before they wheeled me in, or gone enough that I remember only two things: The Big Round Light and The Big Black Leg Holder, left side. And I remember my one pre-deep-sleep thought: "Wonder why there's only one leg holder?" night night. (I'm now assumng it's because they put the other one up once they have the poor woman on the operating table).
Before they wheeled me off to the OR, the very understanding anesthesiologist nurse--he was swell--got my cocktal ready for my IV. I'd had to wait about quite a while down by the OR, because they were wrapping up cataract surgery, and apparently you don't need leg holders for that, so they were switching the OR over.
Anyway, I start explaining to the nurse with the needle full of goodies that I don't like the feeling of being put under, that I hope whatever drug he's using is a gentle relaxer, because if it hits me like a ton of bricks, I will resist it. And he says to me with a smile, "You resist all you want, honey."
I imagined departing this realm with those as the last words uttered to me. Interesting. But alas, I awoke a couple of hours later, back in the same spot, wondering when they were going to take me to the OR. Imagine my surprise when the lady nurse said I was all done.
There's a comforting hymn--one I'd been humming to myself all week--that I spent a lot of quiet time humming to myself during the long wait before and after surgery. My OBGYN is a man of faith before he is a surgeon. He says a quiet prayer before he takes his patients into the OR. Me, I like that. The best surgeon's skill can stand some guidance, as can the most difficult patient's healing.
I learned I "went hypertensive" during the surgery, at one point I was like 196 over somethng, and they had to give me medicines for that. I guess I'm okay. I think I'll check my BP this week to be sure. I know that I was 120/80 at the doctor the Thursday before, so it must have been something about pain, bodily invasion, and or intense terror that made my pressure go haywire?
Anyhow, at least it's done. Now we get to watch the progress over the coming weeks and months to see if it worked.
If not, I know what anesthesiologist I'm going back to. Let's call him the Night-Night Doctor.
I'll spare you the truly gory details, but I really do feel good, and I really did feel you guys pulling for me. I felt some others sticking needles in their blogger voodoo dolls too, but they can just go back and write about politics and aggregators. I'm still here.
From a mortal perspective, so much of surgery--even more I think than the skill of your doctor--depends upon the anesthesiologist. And man, did I have a good one. Oh boy oh boy. I don't even remember the OR. I was gone before they wheeled me in, or gone enough that I remember only two things: The Big Round Light and The Big Black Leg Holder, left side. And I remember my one pre-deep-sleep thought: "Wonder why there's only one leg holder?" night night. (I'm now assumng it's because they put the other one up once they have the poor woman on the operating table).
Before they wheeled me off to the OR, the very understanding anesthesiologist nurse--he was swell--got my cocktal ready for my IV. I'd had to wait about quite a while down by the OR, because they were wrapping up cataract surgery, and apparently you don't need leg holders for that, so they were switching the OR over.
Anyway, I start explaining to the nurse with the needle full of goodies that I don't like the feeling of being put under, that I hope whatever drug he's using is a gentle relaxer, because if it hits me like a ton of bricks, I will resist it. And he says to me with a smile, "You resist all you want, honey."
I imagined departing this realm with those as the last words uttered to me. Interesting. But alas, I awoke a couple of hours later, back in the same spot, wondering when they were going to take me to the OR. Imagine my surprise when the lady nurse said I was all done.
There's a comforting hymn--one I'd been humming to myself all week--that I spent a lot of quiet time humming to myself during the long wait before and after surgery. My OBGYN is a man of faith before he is a surgeon. He says a quiet prayer before he takes his patients into the OR. Me, I like that. The best surgeon's skill can stand some guidance, as can the most difficult patient's healing.
I learned I "went hypertensive" during the surgery, at one point I was like 196 over somethng, and they had to give me medicines for that. I guess I'm okay. I think I'll check my BP this week to be sure. I know that I was 120/80 at the doctor the Thursday before, so it must have been something about pain, bodily invasion, and or intense terror that made my pressure go haywire?
Anyhow, at least it's done. Now we get to watch the progress over the coming weeks and months to see if it worked.
If not, I know what anesthesiologist I'm going back to. Let's call him the Night-Night Doctor.
I'll spare you the truly gory details, but I really do feel good, and I really did feel you guys pulling for me. I felt some others sticking needles in their blogger voodoo dolls too, but they can just go back and write about politics and aggregators. I'm still here.
April 04, 2005
thought of the day
"Those who did not blog in the years before the revolution cannot know what the sweetness of blogging was." -- jonathon delacour
April 03, 2005
Count Backwards from 100.
They'll be putting me under at the hospital on Tuesday for an outpatient procedure of a feminine nature. If you are one of the visitors this place who was born without a uterus, you may or may not be interested. It might even give you a rumbly tummy, so don't look too far.
If you're one of the visitors to the place who possesses or once possessed a uterus, and who has bled nearly to death, missed vacations/weddings/work/life because of said uterus, or who has enjoyed the childbirth experience to a certain degree short of death and wishes not to experience it again, then you might be interested in uterine ablation.
Because I'm one of those tricky patients, and because they're throwing in a couple of other procedures for good measure, I get to go to the hospital and have it done. I went for pre-registration on Thursday. George and I sat in the waiting room outside of pre-op when Terri Schiavo died. They sent me home with a living will to fill out.
It's still in my purse. Next to my Xanax prescription. I'm more glad to have one than the other. Can you guess which?
I'm only midly anxious. If you count missing three finger nails "mildly." Generally I think that's pretty good. If it's fewer than five, I'm golden.
I don't like hospitals. No, I mean, I really don't.
So all in all I'm okay. Just thought you should know. Like, in case you want to send me an e-card Tuesday night or something.
If you're one of the visitors to the place who possesses or once possessed a uterus, and who has bled nearly to death, missed vacations/weddings/work/life because of said uterus, or who has enjoyed the childbirth experience to a certain degree short of death and wishes not to experience it again, then you might be interested in uterine ablation.
Because I'm one of those tricky patients, and because they're throwing in a couple of other procedures for good measure, I get to go to the hospital and have it done. I went for pre-registration on Thursday. George and I sat in the waiting room outside of pre-op when Terri Schiavo died. They sent me home with a living will to fill out.
It's still in my purse. Next to my Xanax prescription. I'm more glad to have one than the other. Can you guess which?
I'm only midly anxious. If you count missing three finger nails "mildly." Generally I think that's pretty good. If it's fewer than five, I'm golden.
I don't like hospitals. No, I mean, I really don't.
So all in all I'm okay. Just thought you should know. Like, in case you want to send me an e-card Tuesday night or something.
A Rose By Any Other Name--Or The Apprentice
Looking at my nude ass is like knowing the square root of a million squared times infinity.
If I could fire bloggers, here's what I'd say:
If you are deciding what to write about by reading ANY of the Technorati Top 100, you're fired.
If you are about to tell me how you feel about the latest MSM story -- shit, if you are going to even think of USING the acronym MSM -- you're fired.
If linked in the last two days, or if you are planning to link to in the next two days, David/Doc/Jay/Scoble/Jay/Jeff/Dan/Dave, you're fired.
If you are waiting for RSS to tell you what to write about, you're fired.
You want to be lazy? Do it on your own time, because you're fired.
There is uncharted territory everywhere on the net. There are discoveries with key words like "peace, my ass" just waiting to transform your vague interest into a genuine passion.
I get calls all the time from NASA because they are worried that if everyone in the entire world thinks of my ass at exactly the same time... then the universe will supernova.
If I could fire bloggers, here's what I'd say:
If you are deciding what to write about by reading ANY of the Technorati Top 100, you're fired.
If you are about to tell me how you feel about the latest MSM story -- shit, if you are going to even think of USING the acronym MSM -- you're fired.
If linked in the last two days, or if you are planning to link to in the next two days, David/Doc/Jay/Scoble/Jay/Jeff/Dan/Dave, you're fired.
If you are waiting for RSS to tell you what to write about, you're fired.
You want to be lazy? Do it on your own time, because you're fired.
There is uncharted territory everywhere on the net. There are discoveries with key words like "peace, my ass" just waiting to transform your vague interest into a genuine passion.
I get calls all the time from NASA because they are worried that if everyone in the entire world thinks of my ass at exactly the same time... then the universe will supernova.
Yes, I Know Tourette's is an Illness...
But that doesn't make clicking on these idiots any less fun.
Not Blogging, or Shut Up.
In this nearly 2 weeks of not blogging, the most perplexing thing of all (for me at least) is that I haven't missed it. Not even kind of. No, not sort of.
Every time I've taken a break previously, I've found that I miss not writing, that the absence of blog noise is very loud indeed. That eventually I'm drawn back by the sound of my own voice.
Not this time.
So far, I've enjoyed travelling around as a reader, commenting here and there, and feeling absolutely no responsibility to myself, to this place, nor anyone else to actually 'write' something.
I've always said that I like making a living as a writer. Truer still, I really like NOT having to write. HA! I never thought I'd say that. I really enjoy the absence of the compulsion to say something here.
I really like not having to come here.
I feel incredibly free in this time of ambivilance. Joyously free.
I've found the "next wave" of blogging, and it's "not" blogging.
HA! FREE!
Free I say!
I find myself fully experiencing those curious moments that used to ignite in me the urge to blog. Instead of thinking, "I have to post about this," I've been, well, not thinking that. I've been present. I've avoided the fix.
In essence, I've gone back to the time of the wheel, and I am quietly amazed at its roundness.
Take a break. Plant your feet in the spring grass, dig your toes into the cool moist earth, and don't, not for a single second, think about blogging it.
Mmmmm. Heavenly.
This time, this place where you stand, is offering itself to you.
Take it and keep it to yourself.
Every time I've taken a break previously, I've found that I miss not writing, that the absence of blog noise is very loud indeed. That eventually I'm drawn back by the sound of my own voice.
Not this time.
So far, I've enjoyed travelling around as a reader, commenting here and there, and feeling absolutely no responsibility to myself, to this place, nor anyone else to actually 'write' something.
I've always said that I like making a living as a writer. Truer still, I really like NOT having to write. HA! I never thought I'd say that. I really enjoy the absence of the compulsion to say something here.
I really like not having to come here.
I feel incredibly free in this time of ambivilance. Joyously free.
I've found the "next wave" of blogging, and it's "not" blogging.
HA! FREE!
Free I say!
I find myself fully experiencing those curious moments that used to ignite in me the urge to blog. Instead of thinking, "I have to post about this," I've been, well, not thinking that. I've been present. I've avoided the fix.
In essence, I've gone back to the time of the wheel, and I am quietly amazed at its roundness.
Take a break. Plant your feet in the spring grass, dig your toes into the cool moist earth, and don't, not for a single second, think about blogging it.
Mmmmm. Heavenly.
This time, this place where you stand, is offering itself to you.
Take it and keep it to yourself.
March 21, 2005
Stewart Butterfield Is Still a Stone Cold Genius
Me on Flickr then:
The Velocity of Beauty
Got Speedo?
Flickr in Different Words
yes, flickr
Once more, with feeling
Me on Flickr now:
Stewart Butterfield is still a stone cold genius.
Congratulations, and well deserved! Now lets move on to those other kind of sharing apps we were talking 'bout way back when flickr was beta.
The Velocity of Beauty
Got Speedo?
Flickr in Different Words
yes, flickr
Once more, with feeling
Me on Flickr now:
Stewart Butterfield is still a stone cold genius.
Congratulations, and well deserved! Now lets move on to those other kind of sharing apps we were talking 'bout way back when flickr was beta.
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