the restless debt

thx for the pointer, rb.

faith47 yes.

vita

Faith 47 loves sounds, colors, dusty small town roads, rebellion, small gestures, big cities, grey areas, electricity wires, complexities, simplicity, forgotten grimy spaces, and possibilities. She loves to paint graffiti, illustrate, design, travel, read, and question things. She really hates the way the world economic system is set up to benefit the few and starve the many, she dislikes battery chicken farms, Hollywood blockbusters and generic fast food chains. Her most favourite thing is seeing spontaneous beautiful moments and also the Zapatista national liberation army. She´s been influenced by wealz 130, cashril, solo one, mode2, saber, buffy, silloette, nina, keti and a lot of other writers and artists. She aims to keep getting on with her work that she loves and take it where it needs to go.

Sessmic - 1: Meat Lessons Revisited

Monsters - Serious Business

You Had To Be There / Tom Was There

Tom Matrullo has an interesting post on the Lake Sarasota Community Blog about a neighborhood conference. The post is in part interesting for the words and pictures that describe the event, because Tom is a wonderful story-teller, and in larger part interests me because it explores the notion that the population not yet embracing social media, or the Internet generally, still might. And it might actually mean something.

You "had to be there" at the Tallahassee Conference in part because the resonant messages and human guidance of neighborhood grassroots activism - at least in Florida - have not yet tapped into the powerful tools coming online through social media networking.

It reminds me of what bix was doing at a grassroots level with the Portland Communique, before few were doing it. I don't think he's doing it anymore, and I wonder if that's because he got tired of trying to tell a stranger about rock-and-roll, or if he told the stranger and the stranger didn't care?

I don't know the answer to that. Maybe he'll tell us.

But what Tom says gives me hope, that maybe the 'social' in social media can get past it's own nose into the larger world where social issues are very large indeed.

This turning toward others drives new links -- consider, on the level of individuals, the explosive power of Facebook, or mySpace, which claims 110 million active users a month. People are discovering common causes; their communities of interest are self-organizing online and passionately sharing best practices. And unlike the real world -- where today's mainstream media reports are tomorrow's hamster fodder -- these new media voices, dialogues and activities continue to persist in the ever-present, open and transparent digital record.

Wouldn't it be interesting if social media became socially relevant? If it blew open the dome on its own biosphere and began to make a difference in real people's communities, neighborhoods, and lives.

Go Tom - I'm willing to suspend disbelief one last time.

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pool summer pool summer pool summer pool summer

can i just say that it brings me so much joy to be waterfied and sunified?

in the water i float on my back, waves rocking me, i sing songs to the sky, i pray, i smile, i do weightless jumping jacks i couldn't do on land, i trace clouds with my eyes, amazing grace, i am whole.

You know what he did?

daisy

web dude v sales guy - omgzbbq funny

what's your password?
"a"


;-)

Loren Feldman Gets a Web Design Refresh from Dave Winer

Dave Winer, who is the registrant of 1938media.net has created a new homepage for Loren Feldman, whose Don Rickles mocking shtick has become about as old as... Don Rickles. Dave's homepage design features some of Loren's best work!

Looks like some similar domains are available for those involved in the latest parody parade looking to launch an offensive defense strategy.

I don't know much about the origin of this feud, but it's going to be interesting to watch how this plays out. Especially with Dave entering from stage right.

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well i missed the subway kid dying on twitter thing...

I guess I was too busy getting kissed to death by a grateful little dog (few posts down friends) to catch the jared-from-subway-died twitter mishap today.

Louis Gray Not Blue has a good rundown of what happens when the echo chamber tunes in to its own reverb, and suddenly twitterers were all a-twitter tweeting the news of the subway guy's demise.

Except that the whole thing was urban legend and Subway-Jared is just fine.

Cindy McCain on the other hand is probably still sneaking Vicodin. I took one after my surgery. I can hardly blame her, addict-thief that she is...

But I digress.

Louis noted that the ripple effect of popular twitterers tweeting bad information in this case had tens of thousands of followers of Kevin Rose of Digg and Adam Ostrow of Mashable mourning Jared's death before lunch.

Louis thinks that those who twitter should fact-check before tweeting 'breaking news' as a solution to the potential harm of false tweets (known pre-1999 as rumors). I think 1) fact checking online is overrated, 2) twitter is not a news-breaking service but ubiquitous IM and inherently untrustworthy yet entertaining overall, 3) that you can always count on the self-correcting nature of the Internet.

That's how you'll know when I tweet, "Surgeon General reports 140 character thinking causes brain damage," that I might be telling the truth.

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Why I Heart (as the webby kidz say) YouTube

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Only In Amerika...

...where anyone can be President, and any any any really any anyone can be first trollop, I mean lady.

Cindy (not brady) McCain said at a recent rally that she is and always has been proud of her country (unsaid: unlike that obama bitch). TBogg says why:

Where else could Cindy McCain get away with stealing drugs donated to help impoverished Third World people in order to keep that damn monkey off of her back. And where else could she walk away unscathed? To be fair, she was under a lot of pressure at the time because her husband was up to his wattled neck in the Charles Keating Affair, and now look, he's going to be the Republican candidate for President. So not only is this a great country, but it's also a very forgiving country, and that has to count for something...

-

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McCain Cuntry

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this is a catchy little ditty!

crazy crazy crazy crazy cracy john mccain.

it's got that puff the magic dragon feel, you know?

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o this little dog

And I mean to tell you it's the laaast thing we need.

Truly. I don't have to tell you about the price of gas and how you have to drive everywhere in this megalopolis just to l-i-v-e. (FWIW, when was the last time a large bag of Lays potato chips -- which I didn't buy but did admire in amazement -- cost over $4? Answer: NEVER.) And did I mention healthcare bills up the ying yang? I know I'm singing to the choir here my sisters and brothers.

So when my sister told me about this starving, lonely, neglected mother dog next door to her (one puppy dead, one 'gone,' and the other now belonging to my sister) who wasn't being fed or watered (except when she'd sneak over to do it), and when she told me the owner told her to just find someone to take it--he didn't care as long as it was gone soon--and when she asked me to look at it with her while I was visiting last weekend, my question to YOU, dear readers, is why the heck did I not drive away?

Why did I go back to that dog pen in the glaring sun with no shade in the 100-degree heat and see this 4 pound shaggy black little mama dog sitting there so scared and so lonely? No babies, no friends, no family, nothing but flies and muddy water.

This is a matter of mathematics. We already have two dogs, two cats, one (currently) hamster, one beta, and a variety of insects who consider themselves kin. I should not have walked back there. I should not have picked her up. I should have driven away.

And that's what I did. With four little paws on the floorboard of the van, planted near the air conditioning, with two of the most grateful eyes I've ever seen looking up at me.

And we're calling her daisy.

She eats cheap dog food and runs around naked despite the list of Walmart dog clothes Jenna had in mind, and she eats out of jenna's old baby bowls and sleeps in a cat carrier. And I think she thinks she's in heaven.

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Goodbye George. Thank You.

Found: Virgin Pack of American Spirits

July 4th will be my FOUR YEAR anniversary of quitting smoking. Holy Cow! Most of you who read me were there when I quit. I languished over having to quit for the first two years. Every day, every mile. OH how I missed my best friends. OH how I fiddled and gnashed teeth in those early days.

I quit for 4 years once before in my life - the day Bill Clinton was elected President (first term) was my first quit date. I quit for four years then too. Then on one night in one fit of one bit of frustration and anger, I grabbed a pack out of a cigarette machine (they were always close at hand back then, weren't they?) and lit up. Smokers are such addicts: I can quit again--I am good at quitting.

So imagine my surprise today when I was trying to find out why my car charger wasn't working for my phone, and I pulled out the little drawer at the bottom of my console that I never use, and there they were: an unopened pack of American Spirits - my brand, my old friend, right there--came back to see if I still cared.

The pack was in there because the last time George went down to see his mother, during her final days, he took the van. He quit a year ago August. That was one of his last packs - and he's always wondered what happened to it.

The first thing I did after staring for a Very Long Time was smell the pack. Cellophane sealed, I could still smell its sexy scent. Yes, even now, it smelled THAT good. Next I put them on top of the dashboard and drove to the pool, because that's where we were going when I found them.

The next thing I did was think about how it would feel to smoke, to escape, to have something ELSE to do--a distraction from everything else in the elses of the elses of the elses I have to do. As I wrote then:

When you smoke, you are always doing more than one thing at a time. Every time you light up you are smoking AND thinking, walking, breathing, sitting, talking, pacing, driving, writing, drinking, whatever. Usually you are doing several things at once. That's what stimulants do best--let you multi-task and enjoy the rush of it.

Losing the ability to escape the perplexing LENGTH of a single moment is perhaps my biggest loss in giving up cigarettes.

There must be some joy to be found in those seem-to-last-forever-moments -- another stretch of highway, another commercial, another bill collector, another Zoom episode, another press release, another Web site. There must be something people enjoy about being present inside of those tick-tock-ticks of time. For me, it is extra time to be anxious.

I've got a long way to go, friends.

I've gotten better over the years. Moments aren't exactly something to escape anymore. I'm mostly present during them. I have stopped running in between the tick of the clock. Somehow I think that's good, although I'm not sure it will ever feel normal.

I didn't have one. And I didn't bring them home. I left them with a friend at the pool who still smokes. Someone I wouldn't be tempted to ask for one, because I thought about it. I sure did. Four years later I could have easily blown it by telling myself some story about how Good I Am At Quitting.

Like always, this blog is part of what keeps me honest and accountable -- to me as much as to you. It's not so different as I head toward four years than it was after six months, and my sentiments--they're pretty much the same:

This blog helped keep me honest. Honestly. There were times I thought about it. Seriously. George's cigarettes are in the garage right now. I could easily have grabbed one during one of my "moments." One of the thoughts during those "moments" was that I would have to post it. I would. I wouldn't not post if if I cheated. I would tell you all that I slipped up, and how good it was, but how bad it feels to have to turn the clock back, and you would all tell me that everyone has a slip up and it doesn't mean I've lost the battle--or lost respect--to just pick up where I was before the slipup, and I would say thank you, I love you guys, and to be honest, I wanted to avoid that WHOLE thing.

So thanks.

Jenna, if you ever read this post, please don't EVER light one of those disgusting cigarettes. It's not just that they're bad for you. It's that they don't let you go. They cuff your hands and mess with your head, and all of your internal organs too, as long as you live. Which won't be as long as you would have. And even if you quit, they never stop messing with you.

Really. Thanks to you all for helping me get here. And pat me on the back and give a shout out to God for the help. Slowly, very slowly, I've used those moments I used to use to escape to connect in new ways to new people and new energy. And I don't mean that in a woo-woo way. I mean that in an ah-ha way.

peace-out.

a face

The big diseases have faces. The big organs have faces. Your heart, your kidney, your lungs, even your breasts -- they're the Big News body parts.

They have celebrity faces that get attention. And because they get attention, they get money. And because they get money, they attract talented young researchers who dedicate their lives beating the disease or figuring out the organ. And because they get talent, more people survive, get well, watch their kids grow up, are free from pain.

Pancreatic cancer is a disease without a face. That's because, as Randy Pausch says, no one lives long enough to become the face of that disease.

Randy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer almost 2 years ago. It is a rare for anyone with pancreatic cancer to live as long as Randy has. Most -- like my father -- die within six months. The five year survival rate is around 3 or 4 percent. Even 40 years after my father's death, the prognosis is the same. No other cancer has been as elusive or remained as aggressive over the decades.

I found Randy's story because reading Doc Searl's posts about his pancreatitis battle, and Suzi's blog about hers, reminded me of the pancreas' tricky stubborn ways. Doc and Suzi don't have pancreatic cancer, but they do have bum pancreases. As I read of their latest challenges, I searched around to see how things were progressing with that odd organ and came across Randy's blog, his Carnegie Mellon "last lecture," which has become a book, and his recent testimony before the Health and Human Services Subcommittee:



Please watch it, and give what you can to PANCAN or the Lustgarten Foundation.

You had to be there...

...to know why this made me cry. I'm so happy Gary is back.

Meanwhile, I'd offer to take some of doc's extra morphine, but last time i had that shit in the hospital they had to stop me from itching my back raw with my dinner fork.

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I Got Your Market Hangin'

been there, still there.

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