...jeneane, don't go for the Bate(s).
i almost ROTFL.
---oh right, those folks haven't met George yet.
April 09, 2007
Wordicide
Sitting here on a rented machine at Fed-Ex Kinkos on my way to meetings. Remembering what Kinkos used to be--a hum of machines and art-made-out-of-paper-in-process, a half dozen or so energetic 20-somethings feeding, collating, and boxing what was brought to them and handed over to be sanctified, all behind the counter, all by COB.
It was performance art meets business process management. It has always been my fallback job.
Sitting here today, I realize that Kinkos has become a self-service office copy-and-ship room. Two m3n in Fed-Ex polos, who I'd trust to get packages to my door fast, but not double-side-copy-collate-and-bind a family treasure or business must-haves-by-3-p.m.
Why am I on a rented PC off Highway 92?
I came here to commit wordicide.
To do myself in, before your eyes, so deeply questioning my own words, their meaning, the pieces of me that make them mean something when all you see here are pixels. Ready to blow it away.
The blogworld used to understand that human beings exist here in layers, traced back in time by archives, overlapping not just with one another, but with ourselves. I have always thought that the word "archive," and technical treatment of blog archives, severely minimize what this chronological trail of humanness is -- stretching out a half decade for some, a decade for others. My archives, they are not the library stacks of my blog. Together hey are who I have been and am. They collide and resolve. Or they don't.
In blogging, we do not get to be who we want, and we are Everything We Ever Were, at the same time. We are someone, no one, and everyone. We are the same and radically different. We are completely present and absolutely absent.
I've talked with long-time blog friends, and written here in the past, about the duality, triality, multi-ality of blogging. It is mind bending--how it can be everything, and simultaneously, nothing at all. Because we are here and we aren't. That is precisely what blogging is.
I have always operated within that context, not the one that constrains me like a straight-jacket today.
I have not hidden here. I have let you see my open wounds and have shown how cool one can look when it heals in the shape of an "S." Not so much a scar, more an sign. How many times? How many years?
My blog has no mission statement. It is neither a business nor my career. It is not a parody. It is not a reality show. It is not your sit-com. No, it is all of those things, and none.
So what stopped me? From the wordicide?
An IM intervention. A blip-bloop in the middle of Kinkos, on my way to meetings, a right-justified, 3x4 inch text box that said simply this: "Good morning. Just wanted to say, lovely writing there."
Just wanted to say, thank you.
...
It was performance art meets business process management. It has always been my fallback job.
Sitting here today, I realize that Kinkos has become a self-service office copy-and-ship room. Two m3n in Fed-Ex polos, who I'd trust to get packages to my door fast, but not double-side-copy-collate-and-bind a family treasure or business must-haves-by-3-p.m.
Why am I on a rented PC off Highway 92?
I came here to commit wordicide.
To do myself in, before your eyes, so deeply questioning my own words, their meaning, the pieces of me that make them mean something when all you see here are pixels. Ready to blow it away.
The blogworld used to understand that human beings exist here in layers, traced back in time by archives, overlapping not just with one another, but with ourselves. I have always thought that the word "archive," and technical treatment of blog archives, severely minimize what this chronological trail of humanness is -- stretching out a half decade for some, a decade for others. My archives, they are not the library stacks of my blog. Together hey are who I have been and am. They collide and resolve. Or they don't.
In blogging, we do not get to be who we want, and we are Everything We Ever Were, at the same time. We are someone, no one, and everyone. We are the same and radically different. We are completely present and absolutely absent.
I've talked with long-time blog friends, and written here in the past, about the duality, triality, multi-ality of blogging. It is mind bending--how it can be everything, and simultaneously, nothing at all. Because we are here and we aren't. That is precisely what blogging is.
I have always operated within that context, not the one that constrains me like a straight-jacket today.
I have not hidden here. I have let you see my open wounds and have shown how cool one can look when it heals in the shape of an "S." Not so much a scar, more an sign. How many times? How many years?
My blog has no mission statement. It is neither a business nor my career. It is not a parody. It is not a reality show. It is not your sit-com. No, it is all of those things, and none.
So what stopped me? From the wordicide?
An IM intervention. A blip-bloop in the middle of Kinkos, on my way to meetings, a right-justified, 3x4 inch text box that said simply this: "Good morning. Just wanted to say, lovely writing there."
Just wanted to say, thank you.
...
meetings meetings all day meetings
life pushes itself to return to normalcy, in between bouts of still-too-upset-to-come-here, the somewhat-old-me, and the me who doesn't get to ever be the same.
i've got meetings today and that is good. put on the business head, move through the world in something remotely like a regular cadence. but it's not. the after effects linger--i thought avril was the cruelest month? hoping it doesn't beat march.
i've been working hard on trying for peace, putting bookends around what i can change, who i can help, what i can't do, why it matters, what it looks like, what it means for me and my family and my health and my sanity. playing over what it would look like from this angle and that. telling myself, be still.
sometimes i fall down. othertimes i stand. walk forward. something i hear inside of my head sounds remotely familiar, and I say -- THERE i am!! other times i wander, swept up, an eye here, and ear there, is the day done yet?
Today will perhaps bring nothing special. And i will be so thankful for it.
...
i've got meetings today and that is good. put on the business head, move through the world in something remotely like a regular cadence. but it's not. the after effects linger--i thought avril was the cruelest month? hoping it doesn't beat march.
i've been working hard on trying for peace, putting bookends around what i can change, who i can help, what i can't do, why it matters, what it looks like, what it means for me and my family and my health and my sanity. playing over what it would look like from this angle and that. telling myself, be still.
sometimes i fall down. othertimes i stand. walk forward. something i hear inside of my head sounds remotely familiar, and I say -- THERE i am!! other times i wander, swept up, an eye here, and ear there, is the day done yet?
Today will perhaps bring nothing special. And i will be so thankful for it.
...
April 08, 2007
horsetalk
Jenna spent some time at my sister's today--she lives in the country where it is open and beautiful, modest homes on three-acre-or-so lots, dotted with large working farms, soaked in green, set at the sides of winding roads with loose dogs and stray children that seem every bit okay, if completely out on their own.
When I drove up to get Jenna, we took our traditional manure-scented walk to give some pats to the horses down the road.
As we neared the neighbor's pasture, I got an up-close look at the three horses I'd only seen from a distance before. My sister told me their names: Molly the sweet apple-rumped draft horse whom I would horse-nap in a heartbeat if I were younger and more of a criminal; Phyllis, the witchy mare who can't endure the least bit of attention drifting away from her without giving a kick, nip, or hallmark lunge with ears flat back; and Rocky, the sole equine male, given that the only other boy in the pasture happens to be a young bull.
(Cue Sesame Street: One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong...)
Molly was the first to approach me, shedding her winter coat, like a threadbare stuffed animal. She came closer until she tossed her head over the fence and we stood face to face. Suddenly, the carefully-guarded pieces of the days and week behind me shattered, gathered in a final gust then disolved into the eye of the kindest mare I have had the pleasure of meeting. Ever.
Miss Molly is that special kind of a mare, her presence is a rare, vulnerable, loving trust. A nuzzling that says, "There are no strangers to me," curious, more than food, that i-am-s0-much-stronger-than-you-i-could-snap-your-neck -but-i-wont-cuz-i-am-all-love kind of animal. Molly is a horse that restores something in people: the place that has forgotten its own innocence.
I knew it when she put her warm nose up to my ear and whispered me a story in soft whiskers. She heard what I had been unthinking--she took it from me.
Just took it.
It's no accident when the good Lord finds a special horse to talk to you on Easter. It's no accident when an unremarkable country road offers an instance of meaning between a weary soul and an animal bread to bear her burden. It's no accident I found Molly today.
....
When I drove up to get Jenna, we took our traditional manure-scented walk to give some pats to the horses down the road.
As we neared the neighbor's pasture, I got an up-close look at the three horses I'd only seen from a distance before. My sister told me their names: Molly the sweet apple-rumped draft horse whom I would horse-nap in a heartbeat if I were younger and more of a criminal; Phyllis, the witchy mare who can't endure the least bit of attention drifting away from her without giving a kick, nip, or hallmark lunge with ears flat back; and Rocky, the sole equine male, given that the only other boy in the pasture happens to be a young bull.
(Cue Sesame Street: One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong...)
Molly was the first to approach me, shedding her winter coat, like a threadbare stuffed animal. She came closer until she tossed her head over the fence and we stood face to face. Suddenly, the carefully-guarded pieces of the days and week behind me shattered, gathered in a final gust then disolved into the eye of the kindest mare I have had the pleasure of meeting. Ever.
Miss Molly is that special kind of a mare, her presence is a rare, vulnerable, loving trust. A nuzzling that says, "There are no strangers to me," curious, more than food, that i-am-s0-much-stronger-than-you-i-could-snap-your-neck -but-i-wont-cuz-i-am-all-love kind of animal. Molly is a horse that restores something in people: the place that has forgotten its own innocence.
I knew it when she put her warm nose up to my ear and whispered me a story in soft whiskers. She heard what I had been unthinking--she took it from me.
Just took it.
It's no accident when the good Lord finds a special horse to talk to you on Easter. It's no accident when an unremarkable country road offers an instance of meaning between a weary soul and an animal bread to bear her burden. It's no accident I found Molly today.
....
making meaning of what wasn't mean and meaning it...
"The Bad Guys Won." Those Meanies. Right? RIGHT?? I mean? Well--Right?
These are some words that I have not been able to find. I didn't think I was reading satire, not quite.
Something--something unencountered. I thought I was reading this, what is described there. The questions of what this is called, and if there is a place for it, have been made moot. Too much, to far, to soon, to least to most?
Reading, in this case, demanded complete attention -- to the lines and to the between -- or demanded not to be read at all.
...
That blog had many obscurities. Many of the posts were not ad hominem. Many were non satiric. There were strange and surreal things, which perhaps would be worth resurrecting (some other day).
What is difficult to convey is how, in that oblique roomful of voices, fuller than usual because most of the voices were doing more than one voice and the tenor of certain of the posts was someone speaking in character giving the whole thing a pretty radically dialogical pitch and yaw -- in that barroom of parodic lunacy, it was often impossible to ascertain who was writing, the tenor of any given post on first reading, and some sort of available context to make sense of things. When one contributor seemed to be gratuitously attacking a specific person, the first thought was not just: "this seems to be unacceptable, nasty stuff," but, at least for me, a series of questions, like, "is this some sort of joke about hate speech?" "is there some relationship between the writer and the apparent target that would explain why this is considered worthwhile?" etc., questions which took some time to gather meaningful answers because neither the writer nor the target was someone whose work, life, reputation, offered much in the way of clues, and, as noted, the absence of any "purpose" for the blog - other than to not be simply another mindless blog - complicated the interpretive status of much of its contributors' utterances.
In short, confronted with what seemed like ugly hateful stuff, and knowing that at least four of the people involved had no truck with that mode of writing, the first response was to wonder what was being aimed at other than mere scurrility. First there was the theatricality of the act of apparent ad hominem writing, then there was the question of how to read it: what was it about? why was it there? was there some undisclosed joke/relation/context? would this become clear via some response? Apparent nastiness is not always nasty, although in this case, it turned out to apparently be just that.
One other point: Posts and comments that seemed to be pushing some limit were met by other posts and comments that seemed to try to bring the entire brawl onto a different track. I.e., there seemed to be something genuinely dialogical going on, multiple voices very much not in sync, not in harmony, not even intelligible to one another - yet with some vulnerability to the idea that there could be, beyond the immediate surreality, some place this thing wanted to go, and if we were to keep going, something of interest might come of it, something other than the regrettable, distasteful, and abhorrent thing that is now what it is remembered to have been. As usual, much has been obscured in the rumor and retelling.
These are some words that I have not been able to find. I didn't think I was reading satire, not quite.
Something--something unencountered. I thought I was reading this, what is described there. The questions of what this is called, and if there is a place for it, have been made moot. Too much, to far, to soon, to least to most?
Reading, in this case, demanded complete attention -- to the lines and to the between -- or demanded not to be read at all.
...
I fell in love tonite, o my
How in the heck did I miss THIS POST in all the fun of the last two years, or has it been just a week?
You know, see, that I know that this blogger knows that being on the sidewalk when someone's PTSD is triggered by a bus that just drove by and splashed water all over the poor damsel does NOT make me mean, wrong, or responsible for: 1) the original trauma, 2) the trigger, or 3) not giving a shit.
I love you, you humorless bitch.
...
You know, see, that I know that this blogger knows that being on the sidewalk when someone's PTSD is triggered by a bus that just drove by and splashed water all over the poor damsel does NOT make me mean, wrong, or responsible for: 1) the original trauma, 2) the trigger, or 3) not giving a shit.
I love you, you humorless bitch.
...
Well, Imagine the Confusion!
A little clarification from the U.S. News & World Report."The source of my inaccuracy was this post on Sierra's own website, which to me was unclear about Locke's website's association with the posting.... Sorry to get bogged down in details." --Bonnie Erbe
PESKY, PESKY details. Good thing bloggers love us some details.
....
15 Things I Am Not Apologizing For Today
My own words
Others’ words
People I know
People I don’t know
My taste in friends
My distaste for liars
My morals
My sense of humor
My option to not pay attention to the Internet
My option to not care
Not tolerating shame dumping
Being alive
Being aroused
Being a mother
Being a motherfucker
April 03, 2007
Blogging Apocalypse
Lions are laying down with lambs all across the Internet, and leaving their guns at home. The net never sits still. The follow-up story is always already writing itself.
As long as everyone's able to leave their yard now...
[[This post has helpful insertions to provide context and avoid misunderstandings -- in other words, I would hate for the blogworld to have to think too hard.]]
Well, I'm over the 11,000 mark for Google search results on my name and death threats.
And, this evening we have a goodly and rising tally of 448 for my name and hate speech.
[[fact and references added as hyperlinks]]
Isn't that interesting. Seems like something that might just piss you off if you weren't such the politically savvy marketing blogger and chariman of women's good will that I am proported to be...
[[insert tongue-in-cheek tag]]
Say, if you had been on the receiving end of hate speech online and didn't call a committee to lay blame and shoot the band before they could fire their first drummer.
[[uncomfortable rim shot]]
Try being a race mixer in the south, 21 years of marriage and a beige baby. Then talk to me about yards and safety and hate speech.
[[note self-empowerment through use of race-mixer term]]
And tell me if it would make you a little perturbed, if, say you never even mentioned somebody outside of your own blog, and there they were in the press saying you been doing bad things on another blog you didn't care much about, hardly read, only laughed once inappropriately about that Oprah thing, be4 the nasty words.
[[sad emoticon, chuckling emoticon, confused emoticon]]
You know what Johnny Carson used to say: "Women, they don't forget. Memories as long as Google. Boys, you can count on it." Or maybe that was me.
[[intentionally profound]]
What card is that again? I'm losing count. Race card, illness card, woman card, victim card... Doctor, lawyer, justice of the goddam peace, where are you? Gag me, hang me, shoot me. I still come knockin' on the front door of your cult to say "HI! Do you love me yet?"
[[metaphorically speaking]]
Do you want to talk about mean?
Would someone like to talk to me about mean?
[[rhetorical questions]]
About women silencing woman? About PTSD triggers, about who it's convenient to hang our hangups on? Sucks to have to go back to the source. Hurts back there. Baby, don't I know it. But we gotta go. Pull that barb out at the root--that's the only way to get through it.
[[trauma psychology -- look it up]]
Might make you think there's more to the story. Makes me think. Makes me think about being bullied into cliques I'm not hip to. Makes me make you, and you are made, understand, I never signed on to your story, but I'm there now.
[[so to speak]]
You coulda hired somebody else.
[[I mean, really.]]
...
Well, I'm over the 11,000 mark for Google search results on my name and death threats.
And, this evening we have a goodly and rising tally of 448 for my name and hate speech.
[[fact and references added as hyperlinks]]
Isn't that interesting. Seems like something that might just piss you off if you weren't such the politically savvy marketing blogger and chariman of women's good will that I am proported to be...
[[insert tongue-in-cheek tag]]
Say, if you had been on the receiving end of hate speech online and didn't call a committee to lay blame and shoot the band before they could fire their first drummer.
[[uncomfortable rim shot]]
Try being a race mixer in the south, 21 years of marriage and a beige baby. Then talk to me about yards and safety and hate speech.
[[note self-empowerment through use of race-mixer term]]
And tell me if it would make you a little perturbed, if, say you never even mentioned somebody outside of your own blog, and there they were in the press saying you been doing bad things on another blog you didn't care much about, hardly read, only laughed once inappropriately about that Oprah thing, be4 the nasty words.
[[sad emoticon, chuckling emoticon, confused emoticon]]
You know what Johnny Carson used to say: "Women, they don't forget. Memories as long as Google. Boys, you can count on it." Or maybe that was me.
[[intentionally profound]]
What card is that again? I'm losing count. Race card, illness card, woman card, victim card... Doctor, lawyer, justice of the goddam peace, where are you? Gag me, hang me, shoot me. I still come knockin' on the front door of your cult to say "HI! Do you love me yet?"
[[metaphorically speaking]]
Do you want to talk about mean?
Would someone like to talk to me about mean?
[[rhetorical questions]]
About women silencing woman? About PTSD triggers, about who it's convenient to hang our hangups on? Sucks to have to go back to the source. Hurts back there. Baby, don't I know it. But we gotta go. Pull that barb out at the root--that's the only way to get through it.
[[trauma psychology -- look it up]]
Might make you think there's more to the story. Makes me think. Makes me think about being bullied into cliques I'm not hip to. Makes me make you, and you are made, understand, I never signed on to your story, but I'm there now.
[[so to speak]]
You coulda hired somebody else.
[[I mean, really.]]
...
April 02, 2007
a platform for further discussion.
I was looking forward to seeing what unfolded when Kathy Sierra and Chris Locke spoke together with CNN. Obviously, CNN went with the simple angle -- the cute kitty vs rageboy. jesus. reductionist reporting--even worse than what I've seen across the web this last week.
Fortunately, Chris and Kathy did make coordinated statements that offer a starting point for real discussion. If I have any regret around what has unfolded here, it is that I have not been able to write about these issues. I was silenced early on by repeated threats of legal and police action for something I did not do. I've barely felt well enough to get my real work done, let alone work up sufficient outrage over being asked to appologize for my choice in friends, which, for the record, I do not.
I'll write more about the issues that touched me personally in all of this when appropriate. For now, please return to the stars of the show.
...
Fortunately, Chris and Kathy did make coordinated statements that offer a starting point for real discussion. If I have any regret around what has unfolded here, it is that I have not been able to write about these issues. I was silenced early on by repeated threats of legal and police action for something I did not do. I've barely felt well enough to get my real work done, let alone work up sufficient outrage over being asked to appologize for my choice in friends, which, for the record, I do not.
I'll write more about the issues that touched me personally in all of this when appropriate. For now, please return to the stars of the show.
...
April 01, 2007
3D fun++
Has anyone had their gallbladder out along with an ovary during the same procedure? If so, drop me an email or leave me a comment. I would appreciate if I could ask you a few questions.
I actually did something fun today for the first time in a long time--took Jenna to the 3-D Meet the Robinsons movie. I didn't realize until the ticket clerk stuffed the glasses under the bullet-proof glass that I had never seen a 3D movie before. These were no blue-and-read cardboard gasses. These were like real glasses.
The girls squeeled every time some robot part or space ship flew at us, and I found myself leaning left and right more than a few times. Seeing a horror flick in 3D I think could really kill someone. Or at least seriously trigger your PTSD. The gap in time between hands grabbing your neck and the reasoning power that would tell you "this is not real" is too tightly compressed. And the physical ducking to get out of the way evokes some eerie body memories.
I'll stick with G rated and leave the gasses in my purse.
....
I actually did something fun today for the first time in a long time--took Jenna to the 3-D Meet the Robinsons movie. I didn't realize until the ticket clerk stuffed the glasses under the bullet-proof glass that I had never seen a 3D movie before. These were no blue-and-read cardboard gasses. These were like real glasses.
The girls squeeled every time some robot part or space ship flew at us, and I found myself leaning left and right more than a few times. Seeing a horror flick in 3D I think could really kill someone. Or at least seriously trigger your PTSD. The gap in time between hands grabbing your neck and the reasoning power that would tell you "this is not real" is too tightly compressed. And the physical ducking to get out of the way evokes some eerie body memories.
I'll stick with G rated and leave the gasses in my purse.
....
the in betweens
wonderful post.
...
At most points in our lives, we are probably somewhere in the "in between." We can remember what it feels like to be in the difficult place and we can imagine ourselves free of hardship. Yet, in order to become emotionally and spiritually free of these burdens, we must go through the "in between"- a place of struggle, confusion, growth, potential and healing.
...
As I was heard to have said last week...
"The only problem with the Net is that it can't shut its mouth for five seconds."
...
...
Some Kind of Shit
AKMA warns of bags and dog poo and a bacteria no one wants named after them. April Fools? Sounds too believable.
Moral of the story: Use Teflon.
...
Further analysis revealed that among the samples in the test, not only were there the expected black poopons and white poopons, but a third and rarer bacterium with some characteristics of each. This third sort of contaminant has a tighter structure that enables it to pass through the thinner plastic bags that some dog owners use — the bag that protects the Sunday New York Times, for instance, or fresh produce bags, especially the semi-porous green bags often used at up-market organic grocers.
Moral of the story: Use Teflon.
...
women's best friend
There is no faster way to silence a man than to publicly put into question the genuineness of his respect for women. At some level, the unspoken threat of voice castration makes the men who continue to write personally about women online braver and more vulnerable than the subjects of their words.
The tragedy is that many men opt for silence rather than risk the de-balling. I can't blame them. The treasure is that some of them keep writing anyway.
In comments I was reminded about one treasure who continues writing, whose words touch women in nearly every post. Thanks, Shakespierce.
From Tony Pierce...
The tragedy is that many men opt for silence rather than risk the de-balling. I can't blame them. The treasure is that some of them keep writing anyway.
In comments I was reminded about one treasure who continues writing, whose words touch women in nearly every post. Thanks, Shakespierce.
From Tony Pierce...
....its hard to be intimidated by a waitress chick at dennys in LA, but i noticed that there were two types of girls who id end up asking out more than once. one were the girls who made me feel super cool and handsome.....
but unfortunately the ones i ended up liking the most were the ones who made me nervous and made me feel ugly and disgusting. maybe its because i know im pretty damn disgusting.
also, i like being nice, and the girls who made me feel gross usually ended up on the nicer dates. whereas the sweet librarian types usually got their hair pulled harder and far more kinkier things ending up in their mouth and asshole than the other girls.
ive also been known to whisper some pretty foul things in the ears of shocked lass. but theyre always creative. and some are even possible.
the other night i had this girl tied up real good, face down because she was bad, i forget what she had done. oh yes, she had forgotten her plaid skirt. whore. and everything was going fine and she was still tied up and i was all is everything ok over there, and i lit a cigarette for her and she said yea and i put the cigarrette in her mouth because her arms were still tied to the bedpost you see.
and i said what do you wanna do next and she said tony i will do anything with you.
and if that doesnt make you feel like a handsome devil with a footlong cock then youre in deep trouble.
so i blew out the torch and got her worked up and she was a loud one which usually distracts me but ive been working on it. and i was whispering some shit and she was saying yes to everything and moaning and yelling and i whispered im gonna call your sister and let her hear you moan and she said please dont but she moaned it confusing me, which isnt to say i wasnt a bit worked up too, and we had drunken all that straight rum and something was smoked
and i was all, ok does she really not want me to dip into her purse and grab the phone and... or what? and i said im gonna put this phone in a very bad place and then call it with my phone and she said mmmmm and i said then im gonna sell it on ebay and she said mmmmm and i said and im gonna sell the video ive been making of this whole thing and she said mmmmm and i wondered if she heard me so i said and i will sell the dvd of what we just did for an hour and she said mmmmm and i realized that her phone had been on vibrate the whole time
and youd never guess when youre little who you wouldnt call back when youre older.
March 31, 2007
Just A Few Words
Regarding the Kathy Sierra fracas, after much consideration and silence on my part, I am beyond tired and beyond angry. I have been wrongly named and targeted, tied to death threats I didn't make and tasteless posts I didn't write.
Did I link to the blogs prior to the offensive posts appearing? Yes. So did a lot of other people in the blogosphere, because there was some brilliant writing there before the blogs wrapped themselves around a tree.
I'm now up to 681 hits on google with my name and "death threats" combined, have received emails from people saying they've gotten comments condemning them for linking to or advertising with this blog because “she has been involved in making death threats against Kathy Sierra,” which is not true.
As my family name is raked over the coals across the web and in mainstream press, I would ask those of you who decided to tie me to these threats to spend the time I just did sitting still, considering your own motives and assumptions.
There are layers and layers of important issues that intelligent people can tackle and use to make meaning out of this. I hope that effort moves forward.
To all of you who have demonstrated your support, I thank you.
...
Did I link to the blogs prior to the offensive posts appearing? Yes. So did a lot of other people in the blogosphere, because there was some brilliant writing there before the blogs wrapped themselves around a tree.
I'm now up to 681 hits on google with my name and "death threats" combined, have received emails from people saying they've gotten comments condemning them for linking to or advertising with this blog because “she has been involved in making death threats against Kathy Sierra,” which is not true.
As my family name is raked over the coals across the web and in mainstream press, I would ask those of you who decided to tie me to these threats to spend the time I just did sitting still, considering your own motives and assumptions.
There are layers and layers of important issues that intelligent people can tackle and use to make meaning out of this. I hope that effort moves forward.
To all of you who have demonstrated your support, I thank you.
...
March 27, 2007
For the record
It is terrible that someone has made death threats against Kathy Sierra. I hope that she pursues those individual(s) vigorously. I expect that she will use that same intense energy to publicly exonerate those who did not make those threats.
update april 22:
....still waiting.
...
March 25, 2007
recipe
warms you doesn't it,
nerves tingling
places you can't
reach
your
lies stretch
so far up.
venom sweet
tip of tongue
strychnine in
a muffin tin,
perfect desert
crumbs line
your mouth like
dimestore lipstick.
bake me a cake
just as fast as you can
cool it on the window sil
before the sun licks
the frosted foothills.
sudden exposure,
your finest creases
are still etched
in the linen that slips away.
nerves tingling
places you can't
reach
your
lies stretch
so far up.
venom sweet
tip of tongue
strychnine in
a muffin tin,
perfect desert
crumbs line
your mouth like
dimestore lipstick.
bake me a cake
just as fast as you can
cool it on the window sil
before the sun licks
the frosted foothills.
sudden exposure,
your finest creases
are still etched
in the linen that slips away.
no home
no home no home to go home to
stuffed bear
where
miles and miles far
don't send me away
the first time they
send me, i wonder
who will take care of me?
go home no home
write my way through
find ground
that doesn't make me quake
take me away
don't take me
who will take care of me?
faceless ghosts burn
my face
fire for
fingers
running through me
too hot to stand
can't get out of my
own skin.
stop!
is there an ending, another beginning?
the seconds unbearable,
waiting.
stuffed bear
where
miles and miles far
don't send me away
the first time they
send me, i wonder
who will take care of me?
go home no home
write my way through
find ground
that doesn't make me quake
take me away
don't take me
who will take care of me?
faceless ghosts burn
my face
fire for
fingers
running through me
too hot to stand
can't get out of my
own skin.
stop!
is there an ending, another beginning?
the seconds unbearable,
waiting.
March 23, 2007
best of weekend
you gotta check out all the good blogs on my blogroll. far more interesting than mine at the given moment. go now, do read!
...soon.
...soon.
March 21, 2007
Bigger Than Twitter -- It's TWATTER!!!
on twatter, i show how i might as well have shoved $50 into an orifice instead of paying it to cingular to receive other people's dinner plans on my phone.
THIS JUST IN:
The web's newest solution to twittering is, not twattering, well maybe, depending -- but also UNCLEBOBISMS. Join those of us who know better but do it anyway. UPDATE 2 - never mind, it's gone, never posted there. I was doing time in the hospital instead. Yeah, I know. The fun never stops. Update 3: Let me be more specific -- I did not join or logon to uncebobism. I did not add myself to the blog. When i linked to the blog in this post, it had a witty post about twitter. By the time I got out of the hospital, the blog was gone and I had not read it in days.
For the record, the only group blogs I participate on are Blog Sisters and BlogHer. I started Blog Sisters in 2001. It is a blog I am now seriously considering ending. I have to ask some questions about blogher as well. I will be doing that this week.
Whose words are we a part of online--i am the words written here and in comments I leave. My group blogging experience has been part of what I do online that I think has been valuable since I started blog sisters in 2001. But I am no more than my own words. It comes down to that. And so I am currently looking at ways to end my group associations.
I can't believe it. Really. That I've come this far. This long.
I have always stood by my own words, what I've written here and on blogsisters and blogher and the attempts at humor on jeremy's blog. But this is the only place I control. The only place that's mine.
The blog world and group blogs are different now than they were when I started blog sisters. I am deep in thought. Those who know me know I am. For those who don't--I wish you did.
THIS JUST IN:
The web's newest solution to twittering is, not twattering, well maybe, depending -- but also UNCLEBOBISMS. Join those of us who know better but do it anyway. UPDATE 2 - never mind, it's gone, never posted there. I was doing time in the hospital instead. Yeah, I know. The fun never stops. Update 3: Let me be more specific -- I did not join or logon to uncebobism. I did not add myself to the blog. When i linked to the blog in this post, it had a witty post about twitter. By the time I got out of the hospital, the blog was gone and I had not read it in days.
For the record, the only group blogs I participate on are Blog Sisters and BlogHer. I started Blog Sisters in 2001. It is a blog I am now seriously considering ending. I have to ask some questions about blogher as well. I will be doing that this week.
Whose words are we a part of online--i am the words written here and in comments I leave. My group blogging experience has been part of what I do online that I think has been valuable since I started blog sisters in 2001. But I am no more than my own words. It comes down to that. And so I am currently looking at ways to end my group associations.
I can't believe it. Really. That I've come this far. This long.
I have always stood by my own words, what I've written here and on blogsisters and blogher and the attempts at humor on jeremy's blog. But this is the only place I control. The only place that's mine.
The blog world and group blogs are different now than they were when I started blog sisters. I am deep in thought. Those who know me know I am. For those who don't--I wish you did.
March 18, 2007
What Are You Doing April 20th?
It's a friday. You must be free. If not, get free.
Come by allied ALL DAY, where I'll be writing original poetry and prose, realtime, in memory of my father, who died of pancreatic cancer in his 30s.
Your job? HELP ME RAISE $500 for PANCAN!
Sponsor me in The First Annual BLOG POETRY FEST for PANCAN here on allied.
All funds go to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (PANCAN), an advocacy group for patients and families dealing with pancreatic cancer. The event is set up through FirstGiving in conjunction with PanCan to raise awareness and funds for continued research, education, and advocacy.
More information will be coming soon, but in the mean time, inspire me and save the date.
...
Come by allied ALL DAY, where I'll be writing original poetry and prose, realtime, in memory of my father, who died of pancreatic cancer in his 30s.
Your job? HELP ME RAISE $500 for PANCAN!
Sponsor me in The First Annual BLOG POETRY FEST for PANCAN here on allied.
All funds go to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network (PANCAN), an advocacy group for patients and families dealing with pancreatic cancer. The event is set up through FirstGiving in conjunction with PanCan to raise awareness and funds for continued research, education, and advocacy.
More information will be coming soon, but in the mean time, inspire me and save the date.
...
March 17, 2007
ire
Alphonse "Tootie" Dimino
December 16, 1930 - March 17, 1969
the school of the dead
As I waver between life and death in my own hospital bed, 30 years after his death, on his birthday in fact, I am somehow not surprised. Terrified, yes. Facing death is not something I'm prepared for. My new baby is just 9 weeks old. How did I get here?
When you lose a parent early in life, you wonder if you'll make it past the age they were when they left you. Every child of death wonders this. That's why I'm not surprised to be near death myself at 36, the same age he was when the luck of the Irish eluded him.
In my hospital bed, hemorrhaging uncontrollably, I am violently enrolled in what Cixous calls, "The School of Dreams." Because I don't die; I live. But in walking the line between here and there, I dream. Images as vibrant as those five-year-old memories, scenes that will carry me through the next half of my life.
Bleeding to near death. Watching helplessly as my lifeforce leaves my body, playing tricks with my mind and taking small pieces of my soul with it, my sanity too. The emptiness is unfathomable. As a new mother, instincts of self-protection battle with the responsibility of caring for this new life. I don't want to see her; don't want her to see me, not like this. My one gift to her: protect her from images of her dying parent--I know how they haunt.
But she comes to visit just before surgery. My sister carries her down the elevator toward the operating room, this small life that has almost cost me mine.
Anxiety gives way to resolve. Once again, I cannot control. I cannot fix myself, I cannot fix my family. I let go, I go to sleep. And I dream.
Dreams of pain. Dreams of loss--where is my baby? My husband is gone--no, there he is. And I hear talking, outside of myself. Again.
I am a dream within a dream. A death within a death.
When you lose a parent early in life, you wonder if you'll make it past the age they were when they left you. Every child of death wonders this. That's why I'm not surprised to be near death myself at 36, the same age he was when the luck of the Irish eluded him.
In my hospital bed, hemorrhaging uncontrollably, I am violently enrolled in what Cixous calls, "The School of Dreams." Because I don't die; I live. But in walking the line between here and there, I dream. Images as vibrant as those five-year-old memories, scenes that will carry me through the next half of my life.
Bleeding to near death. Watching helplessly as my lifeforce leaves my body, playing tricks with my mind and taking small pieces of my soul with it, my sanity too. The emptiness is unfathomable. As a new mother, instincts of self-protection battle with the responsibility of caring for this new life. I don't want to see her; don't want her to see me, not like this. My one gift to her: protect her from images of her dying parent--I know how they haunt.
But she comes to visit just before surgery. My sister carries her down the elevator toward the operating room, this small life that has almost cost me mine.
Anxiety gives way to resolve. Once again, I cannot control. I cannot fix myself, I cannot fix my family. I let go, I go to sleep. And I dream.
Dreams of pain. Dreams of loss--where is my baby? My husband is gone--no, there he is. And I hear talking, outside of myself. Again.
I am a dream within a dream. A death within a death.
-------------------------
the school of the dead 2
Cixous writes: "For a long time I lived through my father's death with the feeling of immense loss and childlike regret, as in an inverted fairy tale: Ah, if my father had lived! I naively fabricated other magnificent stories, until the day things changed color and I began to see other scenes--including everything I could imagine that was less consoling--without overinvesting."
I tell all my friends growing up that my father died of a gallbladder operation. Because no one tells me otherwise, even though he lived another six months after that operation. My fourth grade teacher tells me it is very unusual for someone to die of a gallbladder operation. She says, "Are you sure?" And I wonder if I'm hiding something.
I'm 21 before I ask.
My mother tells me the truth then, about the day he had his operation and the doctors took her in a room, there by herself, to tell her that her husband's gallbladder is fine, but his pancreas isn't. The diagnosis is pancreatic cancer. The prognosis, much as it is today, omonous. Six months maybe. My mother tells me the news rips her apart, and her first and strongest instinct is to wail for her own father. "Bring my daddy here. He'll know what to do. I need him." But there is no comforting to be done for this family.
There will never be comfort again.
I tell all my friends growing up that my father died of a gallbladder operation. Because no one tells me otherwise, even though he lived another six months after that operation. My fourth grade teacher tells me it is very unusual for someone to die of a gallbladder operation. She says, "Are you sure?" And I wonder if I'm hiding something.
I'm 21 before I ask.
My mother tells me the truth then, about the day he had his operation and the doctors took her in a room, there by herself, to tell her that her husband's gallbladder is fine, but his pancreas isn't. The diagnosis is pancreatic cancer. The prognosis, much as it is today, omonous. Six months maybe. My mother tells me the news rips her apart, and her first and strongest instinct is to wail for her own father. "Bring my daddy here. He'll know what to do. I need him." But there is no comforting to be done for this family.
There will never be comfort again.
-------------------------
voicelessness
because, there is no bypass for loss.
....
Unprotected and vulnerable, there are no words to clothe you, to make you beautiful. You are raw, revealing yourself by the clumsiness in your covering. we live naked, a rack of peacock feathers can't cover your scars.
I see every one of them in the space between your words.
.
I see every one of them in the space between your words.
.
March 16, 2007
tara talks twitter
tara tells why she loves twitter over on HPC. I commented on my on-again-off-again twitter relationship. When the soup kitchens start twittering, let me know. Maybe then I'll fall back in love again. In the mean time, keeping up with who's dining where makes jane a dull and hopeless girl.My own personal twitter love/hate timeline is as follows:
- heard about twitter: sept/oct 2006
- my first twitter -- fell in love: november 2006
- dinner and shopping twits hog the airwaves -- fell out of love: december 2006
- added horse-head guy to profile, fell back in love -- january 2007
- conference minions yammer on // scoble joins; there goes the neighborhood -- fell out of love: feb 2007
- kat herding fun increases, fell back in love - march 2007
- more bloggers affirm micro-attention preference, and i'm out of love again.
March 15, 2007
so this pain i'm in and other stuff
right, i'm trying to get healthy--you know that thing i keep talking about--which has me beating the literal shit out of myself at the Y as frequently as possible. today i cried it hurts so bad. a lady there is helping me figure out what to do to make a difference before i either die or give up and hang myself from the bicep, tricep, glutes and quads torture machines. film at 11.
yesterday was a breakthrough whereby i did 25 minutes on the eliptical, followed by my regular workout. first time in that place i couldn't do 25 minutes at the water fountain. so there's something.
i don't like to talk about this stuff because it's all triggery, whereby i have this retro-ptsd type thing all tied up in with it, so generally if i start talking too much about it, i'll stop and hand over whatever progress i made to satan and whoever else is in charge of the Bad Shit.
I missed seeing Shakespierce and other friends at SXSW this year. Ack. Maybe next year. Tony's the hardest working guy in showbidness 2.0, and the best part is that he is who he is who he is, having fun all along the way, grown up enough to be able to write about it from the other side, still young enough for the 'it' not to kill him.
I am a little freaked by the facial hair, understanding that last year at sxsw tony was clean shaven. Athough, none of this really matters, but it does take my mind off of that pain i was talking about.
I love Tony's story about the panel hugh was on, and his take on what bugs him about kathy sierra's approach to the web, for example he says:
[[also on the panel is Kathy Sierra who seems superdooper nice but i disagree with pretty much everything she says. beginning with "don't say I too much in your blog" and "listen to your readers". no offense, and everyone knows that i adore my readers so much that sometimes i literally love them, but seriously, fuck the readers. write from your heart and if they get it good and if they dont let them fucking die. but seriously shes a sweetie and pretty much the womans touch of the blogosphere.]]
okay but tony if you say that approaching blogging HER WAY is the woman's touch of the blogsphere, i'm going to have to head butt you, you nimwit. you know better than that. don't make me kick your ass--i told you i am in PAIN.
nonetheless i remain your faithful fan and pupil.
So about the pain thing, I got this cream from my therapist, made by a guy down in bradenton florida, it's called Savannah Gold, and THIS SHIT IS GREAT. If you like that hoticynumbing cream that lasts and takes away the ouch, then cover yourself with this cream. there was a website on the label so i ordered three more jars. i'm telling you, i don't know what's in there that might not be listed, but forget that shaklee stuff i sell and get this cream. just three of the many ingredients listed on the site are:
Camphor: Derived from the wood of the camphor tree. It gives a cool feeling to the skin and works as a skin conditioning agent, antiseptic and anesthetic.
Capsaicin: Stimulant, biological product that relieves aches and pains of arthritis by intercepting the pain signals sent to the brain by inflamed joints.
Aloe Vera: From the leaves of one or more species of aloe, it is used to treat burns and mild abrasions-- a mild skin conditioning agent.
Time for my nightly application. No i'm not making money on the cream; it's just helping me not hurl myself down a flight of stairs.
Tony gets the prettiest girls, i swear!
...
yesterday was a breakthrough whereby i did 25 minutes on the eliptical, followed by my regular workout. first time in that place i couldn't do 25 minutes at the water fountain. so there's something.
i don't like to talk about this stuff because it's all triggery, whereby i have this retro-ptsd type thing all tied up in with it, so generally if i start talking too much about it, i'll stop and hand over whatever progress i made to satan and whoever else is in charge of the Bad Shit.
I missed seeing Shakespierce and other friends at SXSW this year. Ack. Maybe next year. Tony's the hardest working guy in showbidness 2.0, and the best part is that he is who he is who he is, having fun all along the way, grown up enough to be able to write about it from the other side, still young enough for the 'it' not to kill him.
I am a little freaked by the facial hair, understanding that last year at sxsw tony was clean shaven. Athough, none of this really matters, but it does take my mind off of that pain i was talking about.
I love Tony's story about the panel hugh was on, and his take on what bugs him about kathy sierra's approach to the web, for example he says:
[[also on the panel is Kathy Sierra who seems superdooper nice but i disagree with pretty much everything she says. beginning with "don't say I too much in your blog" and "listen to your readers". no offense, and everyone knows that i adore my readers so much that sometimes i literally love them, but seriously, fuck the readers. write from your heart and if they get it good and if they dont let them fucking die. but seriously shes a sweetie and pretty much the womans touch of the blogosphere.]]
okay but tony if you say that approaching blogging HER WAY is the woman's touch of the blogsphere, i'm going to have to head butt you, you nimwit. you know better than that. don't make me kick your ass--i told you i am in PAIN.
nonetheless i remain your faithful fan and pupil.
So about the pain thing, I got this cream from my therapist, made by a guy down in bradenton florida, it's called Savannah Gold, and THIS SHIT IS GREAT. If you like that hoticynumbing cream that lasts and takes away the ouch, then cover yourself with this cream. there was a website on the label so i ordered three more jars. i'm telling you, i don't know what's in there that might not be listed, but forget that shaklee stuff i sell and get this cream. just three of the many ingredients listed on the site are:
Camphor: Derived from the wood of the camphor tree. It gives a cool feeling to the skin and works as a skin conditioning agent, antiseptic and anesthetic.
Capsaicin: Stimulant, biological product that relieves aches and pains of arthritis by intercepting the pain signals sent to the brain by inflamed joints.
Aloe Vera: From the leaves of one or more species of aloe, it is used to treat burns and mild abrasions-- a mild skin conditioning agent.
Time for my nightly application. No i'm not making money on the cream; it's just helping me not hurl myself down a flight of stairs.
Tony gets the prettiest girls, i swear!
...
March 14, 2007
no lists, just action - speaker diversity and the top-dog bypass
Chris Pirillo wonders why Gnomedex didn't make Kottke's list of conferences examined for their percentages of male vs female speakers.
I'd say it's a good thing Gnomedex didn't make the list, because, although it's an interesting idea to compare today's hot Internet conferences based on these percentages, it's sort of like addressing a zero balance in your bank account by changing the numbers in your checkbook register.
It doesn't really address the lllaaarrgggerrr ppprrrooobbllem.
I wish more tech conferences were like gnomedex, and that more of today's web-tech conference organizers were like chris and ponzi. Gnomedex was fostering discussion on the tech landscape LONG before today's webby conferences (and conference organizers), many of whom are doing what they do to capitalize on web 2.0 money, the Internet economy, and the social media 'who's who' scene.
THOSE are the conferences I inherently distrust and see as suspect, and they nearly always give me reason to distrust, because they almost always take the speaker bypass of looking at the technorati top 100 or Top Dogs or Founding FATHERS of blogging, and approach them for speaking slots. These individuals are STILL the easiest to come across when you skim the web looking for voices-as-commodity. They are also pretty good themselves at going after gigs. Easy, visible targets beget easy quick conferences beget money in pockets beget notoriety for speakers and conferences, which beget more speaking gigs and conferences.
Chris and Ponzi don't skim the web. They live here with us. They participate--participated before it was trendy and highly lucrative. That is why I trust them to put together a good, representative conference, and to listen to ideas for speakers and topics if people think they should do it differently.
Back to the Kottke list: There is no universal diversity percentage that makes things okay.
Wouldn't that be simple? It would allow for more bypasses, faster conference planning, and more predictable tracks. It would allow everything to be fair and just, and would mean that no one would have to think about their own beliefs and motives. Just fill in the 38% diversity quotient at work, and then you don't have to wonder if it's okay that you wish your new neighbors weren't black.
The "right" number of women speakers for a deeply-tech tech conference might differ from the "right" number for a social marketing conference. Because there is no right number.
Except for NOT ZERO.
AND PROBABLY. NOT ONE EITHER.
Use your fucking heads.
How to find good speakers? Ask the people you know who are in the populations you think are sparse or missing. Better yet, START READING PEOPLE who don't look like everyone else in your aggregator or blogroll. Then read who they read.
And if you really don't know any women or people of color, expand your world a little bit. Get off your computer, get out of your fucking house, city, state, and/or cultural comfort zone to-day.
THEN plan a conference.
I'd say it's a good thing Gnomedex didn't make the list, because, although it's an interesting idea to compare today's hot Internet conferences based on these percentages, it's sort of like addressing a zero balance in your bank account by changing the numbers in your checkbook register.
It doesn't really address the lllaaarrgggerrr ppprrrooobbllem.
I wish more tech conferences were like gnomedex, and that more of today's web-tech conference organizers were like chris and ponzi. Gnomedex was fostering discussion on the tech landscape LONG before today's webby conferences (and conference organizers), many of whom are doing what they do to capitalize on web 2.0 money, the Internet economy, and the social media 'who's who' scene.
THOSE are the conferences I inherently distrust and see as suspect, and they nearly always give me reason to distrust, because they almost always take the speaker bypass of looking at the technorati top 100 or Top Dogs or Founding FATHERS of blogging, and approach them for speaking slots. These individuals are STILL the easiest to come across when you skim the web looking for voices-as-commodity. They are also pretty good themselves at going after gigs. Easy, visible targets beget easy quick conferences beget money in pockets beget notoriety for speakers and conferences, which beget more speaking gigs and conferences.
Chris and Ponzi don't skim the web. They live here with us. They participate--participated before it was trendy and highly lucrative. That is why I trust them to put together a good, representative conference, and to listen to ideas for speakers and topics if people think they should do it differently.
Back to the Kottke list: There is no universal diversity percentage that makes things okay.
Wouldn't that be simple? It would allow for more bypasses, faster conference planning, and more predictable tracks. It would allow everything to be fair and just, and would mean that no one would have to think about their own beliefs and motives. Just fill in the 38% diversity quotient at work, and then you don't have to wonder if it's okay that you wish your new neighbors weren't black.
The "right" number of women speakers for a deeply-tech tech conference might differ from the "right" number for a social marketing conference. Because there is no right number.
Except for NOT ZERO.
AND PROBABLY. NOT ONE EITHER.
Use your fucking heads.
How to find good speakers? Ask the people you know who are in the populations you think are sparse or missing. Better yet, START READING PEOPLE who don't look like everyone else in your aggregator or blogroll. Then read who they read.
And if you really don't know any women or people of color, expand your world a little bit. Get off your computer, get out of your fucking house, city, state, and/or cultural comfort zone to-day.
THEN plan a conference.
Weblog Award Winner for Best Use of Tags and Categories
CLARIFICATION: THIS POST WAS WRITTEN BEFORE THE NOW INFAMOUS, OVER-THE-TOP "POSTS" WERE MADE BY A MEMBER OF THE MEANKIDS.ORG BLOG. THE BLOG WAS TAKEN DOWN AS SOON AS THE SITE ADMIN BECAME AWARE OF THE OFFENSIVE POST.
Kathy Sierra has since said publicly that she knows those who she named initially had nothing to do with the post that concerned her. In fact, she removed her blogged accusation from her blog, but for me, the damage was done. Google doesn't forget.
-----------
MEAN KIDS DOT ORG!!! YEAH!!!
for: embalmed ones, those that are trained, suckling pigs, mermaids, fabulous ones, stray dogs, those included in the present classification, those that tremble as if they were mad, innumerable ones, those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush, others, those that have just broken a flower vase |
Full List Provided for educational/research purposes only:
Kathy Sierra has since said publicly that she knows those who she named initially had nothing to do with the post that concerned her. In fact, she removed her blogged accusation from her blog, but for me, the damage was done. Google doesn't forget.
-----------
MEAN KIDS DOT ORG!!! YEAH!!!
for: embalmed ones, those that are trained, suckling pigs, mermaids, fabulous ones, stray dogs, those included in the present classification, those that tremble as if they were mad, innumerable ones, those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush, others, those that have just broken a flower vase |
Full List Provided for educational/research purposes only:
- 666 (2)
- advertisers (9)
- alpha male (5)
- anal retentives (7)
- and baby makes 3 (6)
- AntiChrist (6)
- AntiFreeze (2)
- arbeit macht frei (3)
- Atlas Shrugged (6)
- beyond the pearly Gates (12)
- bitches (10)
- blink (1)
- Clientology (4)
- code-dependent no more (3)
- con-assholes (3)
- deciders (4)
- deluded (10)
- dorks (7)
- embalmed ones (1)
- fabulous ones (1)
- fair warning (4)
- family values (5)
- fence climbers (1)
- ford focus (2)
- fucktards (11)
- good grooming (4)
- hatrerz (5)
- hosers (3)
- I’m just saying (8)
- innumerable ones (1)
- la la la (7)
- lamers (6)
- legal matters (2)
- let me drink from your chalice (5)
- libertarians (1)
- manly (4)
- mermaids (1)
- metaverse (1)
- Mom’s Apple Pie (6)
- namaste (3)
- Onward Christian Soldiers (6)
- others (1)
- out there in the dark (3)
- outcomes (1)
- pathologies of power (1)
- PETA alert (2)
- posers (7)
- positive psychology (4)
- preparedness (6)
- prudes (3)
- respect for authority (2)
- scary shit (3)
- SEO (1)
- snackfood (4)
- spiritual (3)
- stray dogs (1)
- suck-ups (2)
- suckling pigs (1)
- teacher’s pet (2)
- the way we were (2)
- those drawn with a very fine camelhair brush (1)
- those included in the present classification (1)
- those that are trained (1)
- those that belong to the Emperor (1)
- those that from a long way off look like flies (1)
- those that have just broken a flower vase (1)
- those that tremble as if they were mad (1)
- tipping point (3)
- Tony Soprano Syndrome (2)
- tradition (5)
- train a-comin (6)
- Uncategorized (9)
- value proposition (4)
- what do you think of baden baden if it’s a girl? (12)
a song i need...
++ a $9 (jenna's age) amazon gift certificate (AGC) goes to the first person who can get me or tell me where to download the CLEAN/EDITED version of Pump It by the black eyed peas. Don't bother trying itunes. the only clean version they have is the video. i need the song to burn to CD for a dance performance jenna has at school.
no "shit" no "ass" and maybe one nigga, but not in NYC.
give me the download link, free or i'll pay, doesn't matter, and if you're the first person to do so, send me your email so i can email you the AGC.
no "shit" no "ass" and maybe one nigga, but not in NYC.
give me the download link, free or i'll pay, doesn't matter, and if you're the first person to do so, send me your email so i can email you the AGC.
love this rendition...
of all her love from Bobby Womack on my myspace profile. can't tell you what album it's on... i haven't been able to find it.
 | Greatest Hits [Capitol 1999] 1999 Including: Sweet Caroline, Somebody Special, Lookin' for a Love, and more... | |
 | Lookin' for a Love: The Best of Bobby Womack (1968-1975) 1994 Including: I'm Gonna Forget About You, Lookin' for a Love, Harry Hippie, and more... | |
 | Best of Bobby Womack [Collectables] 2003 Including: Fly Me to the Moon, That's the Way I Feel About 'Cha, You're Welcome, Stop on By, and more... Buy album: J & R Music and Computer World - Overstock.com | |
 | The Poet [Razor & Tie] 1981 Including: Just My Imagination, Lay Your Lovin' on Me, If You Think You're Lonely Now, and more... | |
 | Understanding 1972 Including: Sweet Caroline, Thing Called Love , Simple Man , and more... Buy album: iTunes Music Store - Rhapsody - CDconnection.com - | |
 | Midnight Mover: The Bobby Womack Collection 1993 Including: Sweet Caroline, That's Heaven to Me, Communication, and more... Buy album: Rhapsody | |
 | Traditions 1999 Including: Christmas Ain't Christmas (Without the One You Love), Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, and more... Buy album: iTunes Music Store - Rhapsody - Wal-Mart - | |
 | The Very Best of Bobby Womack [Charly] 1999 Including: Sweet Caroline, That's Heaven to Me, I'm Gonna Forget About You, and more... | |
| Bobby Womack Collection 2001 Including: Sweet Caroline, That's Heaven to Me, I'm Gonna Forget About You, and more... Buy album: ARTISTdirect - Tower Records - Overstock.com - | ||
 | The Definitive Collection 2006 Including: Fly Me to the Moon, I Can Understand It, Lookin' for a Love, and more... | |
March 13, 2007
doc does blogrolls... do you?
doc has always had one of the best blogrolls around--and when i can't think of what or who to read or run out of my own links, i always go to doc's blogroll.
Edhat
SB Independent
Kevin Barron
Blogabarbara
Craig Smith
SB*Free Press
Joe Andieu
Patrick Gregston
John Quiimby
Das Williams' dad
Katy Pearce
Taymar Pixley
Lisa Gates & Dad
Cookie Jill
Everybody else
Spot-on
RageBoy
MysticBourgeoisie
David Weinberger
Dave
Berkman
John Palfrey
IT Garage
Bret Fausett
Susan Crawford
Bruce Sterling
Syndicate
Sheila Lennon
Don Marti
Wes Felter
Brad DeLong
Tom Evslin
Brian Oberkirch
Dean Landsman
Hugh MacLeod
LAist
Geoff Jones
Sig Rinde
Chris Albritton
Ronni Bennett
Thomas Hawk
Kevin Bedell
Howard
Bryan
Deep Fun
BoingBoing
edhat
Terry Heaton
Jay Rosen
Kim Cameron
George Lakoff
Scott Rosenberg
Larry Lessig
Jim Thompson
Jeff Jarvis
David Isenberg
Stephen Johnson
Tim Oren
Geoff Moore
Rex Hammock
This is Broken
Max Sawicky
Stuart Hughes
Dave Pentecost
John Perry Barlow
Mary Hodder
Dan Gillmor
Steve Gillmor
Dean Landsman
John Stodder
Seth Finkelstein
Renee Blodgett
misbehaving.net
Ruby Sinreich
Ed Cone
Julie Leung
Ted Leung
Ken Coar
Flemming Funch
Mike Sanders
Marc Canter
Joi Ito
Ethan Zuckerman
Doug Kaye
Jon Lebkowski
Judith Meskill
Allen Searls
Esther Dyson
Christopher Lydon
Russell Beattie
Tim Bray
Brian Millar
Mark Pilgrim
Michael Hall
Backup Brain
Frankston, Reed
Britt Blaser
Brent Simmons
Loic Le Meur
Leslie Winer
Mike Taht
Eric Raymond
Volokh Conspiracy
Steven Levy Tom Poe
Lisa Rein
Skywave
Epeus' epigone
Glenn Reynolds
James Taranto
Frank Paynter
Ross Mayfield
Dana Blankenhorn
Ken Bereskin/Panther
Daily Wireless
Filchyboy
OxBlog
Bryan Field-Elliot
Rajesh Jain
Oliver Willis
Gary Turner
Michael O'Connor Clarke
Jennifer Balderama
Kevin Werbach
Amy Wohl
Phil Windley
Fulcrum
Real Joe
Greater Democracy
Mitch Ratcliffe /biz
Mitch Ratcliffe/soc
Wayne Robins
VivaCapitalism
Cut on the bias
Howard Greenstein
The Poor Man
Mickey Kaus
Dave Sifry
Buzz Bruggeman
Ben Hammersley
Matt Jones
Paul Andrews
John Robb
Schoolblog
Tom Shugart
Matt Welch
Blur Circle
Denise Howell
JY
BlackHoleBrain
Chris Pirillo
Marek
Tony Pierce
Chris Nolan's
Spot On
Wil Wheaton
Meg
Brian Linse
Dan Pink
Dawn Olsen
Craig
Yoz
The Head Lemur
Ev
Jeremy Zawodny
Susan Kitchens
K5
Anu Gupta
Jonathon
Fishrush
Dave Ely
Euan Semple
Eric Norlin
Paul Boutin
James Lileks
David Williams
Mary Wehmeier
Bruner Blog
Halley Suitt
Webword
Ann Salisbury
Om Malik
Moxie
J's Notes
Meesh
NUblog
TBTF
Cam
Seth Finkelstein
Tom Matrullo
Chip Hoagland
Deborah
Fortboise
J.D. Lasica
Photodude
Phil Wolff
Andre Durand
Eric Hansen
Mike McBride
Jeneane Sessum
Chris Nolan
Gonzo Engaged
Michael Mussington
UseTheSource
Wes
Adam
Sam Ruby
Miguel
Frank Field
Rebecca Blood
Joshua Allen
Cluetrain
JOHO
EGR
Searls site
Scoble
AKMA
Kottke
Tomalak's Realm
Tim O'Reilly
Mitch Kapor
Bill Quick
Dan Bricklin
Lou Josephs
Alan Reiter
N.Z. Bear
Todd Morman
Zeldman
Glenn
Joshua
Rex Hammock
Matthew Thomas
Brian Dear
Baylink
Burningbird
Edhat
SB Independent
Kevin Barron
Blogabarbara
Craig Smith
SB*Free Press
Joe Andieu
Patrick Gregston
John Quiimby
Das Williams' dad
Katy Pearce
Taymar Pixley
Lisa Gates & Dad
Cookie Jill
Everybody else
Spot-on
RageBoy
MysticBourgeoisie
David Weinberger
Dave
Berkman
John Palfrey
IT Garage
Bret Fausett
Susan Crawford
Bruce Sterling
Syndicate
Sheila Lennon
Don Marti
Wes Felter
Brad DeLong
Tom Evslin
Brian Oberkirch
Dean Landsman
Hugh MacLeod
LAist
Geoff Jones
Sig Rinde
Chris Albritton
Ronni Bennett
Thomas Hawk
Kevin Bedell
Howard
Bryan
Deep Fun
BoingBoing
edhat
Terry Heaton
Jay Rosen
Kim Cameron
George Lakoff
Scott Rosenberg
Larry Lessig
Jim Thompson
Jeff Jarvis
David Isenberg
Stephen Johnson
Tim Oren
Geoff Moore
Rex Hammock
This is Broken
Max Sawicky
Stuart Hughes
Dave Pentecost
John Perry Barlow
Mary Hodder
Dan Gillmor
Steve Gillmor
Dean Landsman
John Stodder
Seth Finkelstein
Renee Blodgett
misbehaving.net
Ruby Sinreich
Ed Cone
Julie Leung
Ted Leung
Ken Coar
Flemming Funch
Mike Sanders
Marc Canter
Joi Ito
Ethan Zuckerman
Doug Kaye
Jon Lebkowski
Judith Meskill
Allen Searls
Esther Dyson
Christopher Lydon
Russell Beattie
Tim Bray
Brian Millar
Mark Pilgrim
Michael Hall
Backup Brain
Frankston, Reed
Britt Blaser
Brent Simmons
Loic Le Meur
Leslie Winer
Mike Taht
Eric Raymond
Volokh Conspiracy
Steven Levy
Lisa Rein
Skywave
Epeus' epigone
Glenn Reynolds
James Taranto
Frank Paynter
Ross Mayfield
Dana Blankenhorn
Ken Bereskin/Panther
Daily Wireless
Filchyboy
OxBlog
Bryan Field-Elliot
Rajesh Jain
Oliver Willis
Gary Turner
Michael O'Connor Clarke
Jennifer Balderama
Kevin Werbach
Amy Wohl
Phil Windley
Fulcrum
Real Joe
Greater Democracy
Mitch Ratcliffe /biz
Mitch Ratcliffe/soc
Wayne Robins
VivaCapitalism
Cut on the bias
Howard Greenstein
The Poor Man
Mickey Kaus
Dave Sifry
Buzz Bruggeman
Ben Hammersley
Matt Jones
Paul Andrews
John Robb
Schoolblog
Tom Shugart
Matt Welch
Blur Circle
Denise Howell
JY
BlackHoleBrain
Chris Pirillo
Marek
Tony Pierce
Chris Nolan's
Spot On
Wil Wheaton
Meg
Brian Linse
Dan Pink
Dawn Olsen
Craig
Yoz
The Head Lemur
Ev
Jeremy Zawodny
Susan Kitchens
K5
Anu Gupta
Jonathon
Fishrush
Dave Ely
Euan Semple
Eric Norlin
Paul Boutin
James Lileks
David Williams
Mary Wehmeier
Bruner Blog
Halley Suitt
Webword
Ann Salisbury
Om Malik
Moxie
J's Notes
Meesh
NUblog
TBTF
Cam
Seth Finkelstein
Tom Matrullo
Chip Hoagland
Deborah
Fortboise
J.D. Lasica
Photodude
Phil Wolff
Andre Durand
Eric Hansen
Mike McBride
Jeneane Sessum
Chris Nolan
Gonzo Engaged
Michael Mussington
UseTheSource
Wes
Adam
Sam Ruby
Miguel
Frank Field
Rebecca Blood
Joshua Allen
Cluetrain
JOHO
EGR
Searls site
Scoble
AKMA
Kottke
Tomalak's Realm
Tim O'Reilly
Mitch Kapor
Bill Quick
Dan Bricklin
Lou Josephs
Alan Reiter
N.Z. Bear
Todd Morman
Zeldman
Glenn
Joshua
Rex Hammock
Matthew Thomas
Brian Dear
Baylink
Burningbird
Prince Prince Gets BIG Bux / Need a House Go to Hell
Citigroup CEO takes home $26 million in 2006
Chairman and Chief Executive Charles Prince was awarded a $13 million bonus on top of his salary and stock options last year.
NEW YORK (Reuters) -- Citigroup Inc. said Tuesday that it awarded Chairman and Chief Executive Charles Prince $25.98 million in compensation for 2006, about 13 percent more than a year earlier, though costs grew twice as fast as revenue.
Prince was given a $1 million salary, a $13.2 million bonus, $10,633,333 in stock awards, $746,607 in option awards and $395,779 in other compensation, according to the bank's proxy filing with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission.
+++++++++++++++
Scary math: More homes, fewer buyers
The problem with subprime lenders means there will be more homes in an over-supplied market and not as many people who can step in to make purchases.
NEW YORK (CNNMoney.com) -- Subprime lenders are already getting crushed, but the impact rising mortgage delinquencies will have on home prices overall is still an open question.
At a minimum, it means financing is drying up for those with less-than-perfect credit and that spells fewer home buyers.
Current Mortgage Rates |
| Type | Overall avgs |
|---|---|
 | |
| 30 yr fixed mtg | 5.68% |
| 15 yr fixed mtg | 5.44% |
| 30 yr fixed jumbo mtg | 6.00% |
| 5/1 ARM | 5.45% |
| 5/1 jumbo ARM | 5.63% |
| |
| Find personalized rates: | |
|
And foreclosed properties will add supply to a housing market that already has too much.
++++++++++
live, die.
Y blog Meet UP
why do i continue to blog, i don't have a clue, but i do know that it has something to do with caring about people, my friends, and rather than proving the contrary, being a bitch now and again proves that I do care, because if you dare to be a bitch, well, at least you are risking something, a smackdown, being perceived as an ass. Good. I dare you.
well, so, some of my favorite atlanta-and-southeast bloggers are getting together sunday, and as long as jenna's "oh my throat hurts" statement from this morning doesn't turn into full-scale-what-used-to-happen-before-tonsillectomy-because... we-still-don't-know-if-the-surgery-worked-really, we'll be there.
Jenna and I are up for the meetup, and George is hoping to stop by after a mid-day commitment.
hope to see you there. if you don't see me there, send heroine.
thanks!
well, so, some of my favorite atlanta-and-southeast bloggers are getting together sunday, and as long as jenna's "oh my throat hurts" statement from this morning doesn't turn into full-scale-what-used-to-happen-before-tonsillectomy-because... we-still-don't-know-if-the-surgery-worked-really, we'll be there.
Jenna and I are up for the meetup, and George is hoping to stop by after a mid-day commitment.
hope to see you there. if you don't see me there, send heroine.
thanks!
March 12, 2007
March 11, 2007
whatisthis radio silence
i am not sure why i have felt uninspired to blog.
you see, i read thru bloglines and every one in my aggregator is coming up short, posting about the same shit over and over. sorry if that pisses off the duly aggregated. i don't care where you're flying next. thank god for my blogroll. the news vs the new.
news is more and more the same -- web 2.0 dance, political and cultural zerohood.
new is art loss death scream -- joy floats.
i'm no fan of march. march is not my month. st patrick is a motherfucker, took my daddy and my grandma, patron saint of fuck off. march 17 disappeared me.
maybe that's it. maybe that's what has left me too empty to blog, too ordinary to care, too pragmatic to explode, to hurt to bandage.
holding down the fort.
like always.
need to soar to sing again need to slice and peel again, to feel again
but it's too big too real.
stop taking me down, march.
you see, i read thru bloglines and every one in my aggregator is coming up short, posting about the same shit over and over. sorry if that pisses off the duly aggregated. i don't care where you're flying next. thank god for my blogroll. the news vs the new.
news is more and more the same -- web 2.0 dance, political and cultural zerohood.
new is art loss death scream -- joy floats.
i'm no fan of march. march is not my month. st patrick is a motherfucker, took my daddy and my grandma, patron saint of fuck off. march 17 disappeared me.
maybe that's it. maybe that's what has left me too empty to blog, too ordinary to care, too pragmatic to explode, to hurt to bandage.
holding down the fort.
like always.
need to soar to sing again need to slice and peel again, to feel again
but it's too big too real.
stop taking me down, march.
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