Annwn

On Sunday, Illinois was reminded that Mother Nature is in charge and beautiful. About 3:45AM, I woke up from a sound sleep. When I looked out the window, the landscape had been transformed into another world by a combination of snow, ice, and fog.










I stood looking outside for a few minutes, marveling at the artwork that was my yard, then woke the rest of the household to share it with me. It was one of the moments where we were at one with the world around us and, despite being together, we were alone. Silence had meaning. It was tempting to go outside and wander the streets at that hour, but to have done so would have been to risk crossing into the world of faerie.

Metamorphosis

I edited this. You should buy it.

Who Are You?

On St. Patrick’s Day I wore tennis shoes to work. This isn’t a monumental thing, except one of my co-workers commented on it. “Lori,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear tennis shoes.”

And she’s right. She probably hadn’t. It’s also a little odd because I tend to wear tennis shoes far more than any other shoe… except to work, where I wear office clothes, even though clean, non-faded blue jeans are allowed. When I reached the point in the day job work-thingy where I was as likely to talk one-on-one with a CEO wearing a suit and tie as I was an office, or lab, worker in jeans and t-shirts or scrubs, my personal office dress code became business casual. Still, when I get home, the office clothes are off, the loafers are in the closet, and I’m back where I belong, in sweats or jeans.

I just felt like dressing a bit more casual on St. Patrick’s Day.

It also led me to ask the question, which person is more me? The office worker who does not dress immaculately by any means but does try to look presentable because she finds it adds to the professionalism she prizes, or the writer and student who wears faded jeans and way-too-comfortable sweatshirts while puzzling over the craftsmanship of a particularly piece of writing?

This, naturally, led me to what did my writing say about me as an individual.

My professors, back when I was still taking classes regularly, instead of just staring at the never-ending thesis, would often bring in letters and other, non-published writings from the authors we were studying. Those scribblings gave insight into who the writer was as a person, separate and apart from their work. I’d often wondered what my non-published writing would reveal about me, should someone look for it after my death. The tennis shoe comment made me realize it would depend on which writing they looked at.

For example, if someone were to try to figure out who I am as an individual by looking at the posts and comments on this blog, they’d interpret me to be academic and very serious whereas literary archeologist digging through the Absolute Write archives would find me intelligent and a bit of a smart ass. Another individual, researching my interaction on Twitter would find me prone to cases of the grumps and would be struck by how my mind leapt from topic to topic as shone by my frequent non sequitur comments. The strange connections my mind makes would be further illustrated by personal e-mail. Someone reading that would also wonder how I ever wrote a novel-length work, given my propensity for one-word correspondence. A look, long after my death, into my private journal would show self-doubt and an introspective nature.

So, which set of writing reveals the real me? Which interpretation of me is correct? Am I really the ditzy, tennis shoe wearing person desperately in need of a Keeper, or am I a confident, assertive member of the intelligentsia? The simple answer is, yes, I am. All of these things are true about me. They are all part of who I am.

People don’t tend to be two-dimensional individuals. They often aren’t one thing or another, but a mixture of many conflicting beliefs and personality quirks. To be able to see all different aspects of them is to really know them.

What about you? Who are you?

Why Geoff Should Twitter

Please post a comment explaining to Geoff why he should join Twitter. It's okay. You don't have to know Geoff to encourage him to join us on Twitter. There's no limit on the number of characters, though 140-character comments could be kinda fun.

An Urban Legend Examined

The other day the following e-mail was forwarded to me. Before anyone jumps on me, I recognized it for the urban legend that it was.

B E W A R E O F M C D O N A L D S

THIS IS BY A GOOD DECENT MAN WHO TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS, AND HE SIGNED THE STATEMENT AND INCLUDED HIS CONTACT INFO:

READ ON:

I’m sure those of you who aren't in the cattle business don't understand the issues here. But to those of us whose living depends on the cattle market, selling cattle and raising the best beef possible... This is frustrating.

This will keep us from ever stopping there again, even for a drink.

The original message is from the Texas Cattle Feeders Association:

American cattle producers are very passionate about this.

McDonald’s claims that there is not enough beef in the USA to support their restaurants. Well, we know that is not so. Our opinion is they are looking to save money at our expense. The sad thing of it is that the people of the USA are the ones who made McDonald's successful in the first place, but we are not good enough to provide beef.

We personally are no longer eating at McDonald's, which I am sure does not make an impact, but if we pass this around maybe there will be an impact felt.

Please pass it on. Just to add a note:

All Americans that sell cows at a livestock auction barn had to sign a paper stating that we do NOT EVER feed our cows any part of another cow. South Americans are not required to do this as of yet.

McDonald’s has announced that they are going to start importing much of their beef from South America. The problem is that South Americans aren't under the same regulations as American beef producers, and the regulations they have are loosely controlled.

They can spray numerous pesticides on their pastures that have been banned here at home because of residues found in the beef. They can also use various hormones and growth regulators that we can't. The American public needs to be aware of this problem and that they may be putting themselves at risk from now on by eating at good old McDonald's.

American ranchers raise the highest quality beef in the world and this is what Americans deserve to eat. Not beef from countries where quality is loosely controlled. Therefore, I am proposing a boycott of McDonald’s until they see the light.

I’m sorry but everything is not always about the bottom line, and when it comes to jeopardizing my family's health, that is where I draw the line.

I am sending this note to about thirty people. If each of you send it to at least ten more (30 x 10 = 300) ... and those 300 send it to at least ten more (300 x 10 = 3,000) ... and so on, by the time the message reaches the sixth generation of people, we will have reached over THREE MILLION consumers!

I'll bet you didn't think you and I had that much potential, did you? Acting together we can make a difference. If this makes sense to you, please pass this message on.

David W. Forrest, Ph.D ., PAS, Dipl.
ACAP Department of Animal Science
Texas A&M University

Phone (979) 845-3560

Fax (979) 862-3399
2471 TAMU College Station, TX 77843-2471

Again, before any of you start snickering, yes, I do know this is not real. For those of you not familiar with it, here is a link to Snopes. Other reliable sources will also debunk it if you take but a moment to research it.

Why then am I blogging about it?

What first interested me was a response to sent to the person who forwarded it to me and cc’d to everyone on her list. It was from an individual who took it at face value and did the math of all the hard-working people who would be out of jobs if everyone banded together as the original letter writer suggested. As I read that e-mail, I thought, “But they’re both missing the point.” The original e-mail was not meant to be taken literally. Instead, it spoke to our fears and where we, as a people and a society, have found ourselves.

Back in the eighties or nineties, there was a similar urban legend about a person finding a deep fried rat in their bucket of restaurant-purchased fried chicken. That story, as false as it always was, spoke to the consumer’s lack of contact with their food source. At one time, if we wanted fried chicken, our grandmothers had to kill a chicken, preferably one that was beyond it’s egg-laying years, pluck it, gut it, cut it into pieces, flour those pieces, and then stand over a skillet filled with hot grease, carefully shifting and turning the pieces so they cooked evenly.

By the time I was a child, my mother no longer had to kill her own chickens, but if the family were to have friend chicken for dinner, she still had to cut the bird into appropriate-sized pieces, make certain it had been properly cleaned, make a mess of flour and seasoning, and standing over the skillet of popping oil or melted shortening to cook the pieces. I remember when my mother stopped doing that. She said, “Why should I mess up my clean kitchen when I can buy a perfectly good friend chicken from…?”

By that point, my mother was no longer a stay-at-home mom. She worked hours outside the home equal to what my father did. Her career was advancing, the children were growing, the financial resources within the family were improving as were the consumer products available for purchase. It took far more time and effort to make homemade fried chicken than it did to stop and pick some up on the way home. As an added benefit, someone else cleaned up the grease from cooking the bird.

The shift in our home was not unique. It was happening all over middle class America. Thing is, as our affluence increased, so did the distance from our food source. What the rat legend talked about was that distance. We didn’t know who was preparing our food anymore. We did know they had no reason to care for our family’s well-being like we did. They could do or feed anything to us and how would we know?

That’s the nature of fairy tales, myths, and legends. They speak to what’s true inside us, even when the scenarios they paint are not real. Urban legends speak directly to our inner fears, which are as true an emotion as anything else, even when they are based on unknown assumptions.

In the case of the McDonald’s tale, the underlying fear is the impersonalization of today’s big businesses, particularly the food providers. What do they care for their customers, especially when compared against the all-important bottom line? What are one or two human lives when it comes to making a buck? Unlike the corner grocer or the small town restaurant that was owned by our neighbor, who we could trust not to serve our children anything they would not serve their own, McDonald’s and similar restaurants are as removed from their consumer as they are from the food source. They are not in the business because they enjoy the culinary arts or because they like to provide people with a well-cooked meal. They are in business for the sake of business, to make a profit. They are a corporation. Beyond that, they could just as likely be selling construction equipment as burgers. They are not willing to spend a little more to keep their neighbors in business; they might cut corners in ways we would prefer them not to. This is not necessarily reality, but it is the truth of our underlying fear which this particular legend speaks to.

Let us look at how this open letter accomplishes this emotional reaction from us.

First, there’s the opening lines:

B E W A R E O F M C D O N A L D S

THIS IS BY A GOOD DECENT MAN WHO TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS, AND HE SIGNED THE STATEMENT AND INCLUDED HIS CONTACT INFO:

The very first word provokes a fear response that harkens back to our childhood: BEWARE. Beware the dog. Beware strangers. Beware gun-totin’ maniacs. Beware big corporations, like McDonald’s, which, right up there with Wal-Mart, is synonymous with Big Business in America. We export Big Macs to other countries right alongside Walt Disney, as dual ambassadors for our country’s culture. There can be nothing more American than McDonald’s, and nothing more frightening than its signs proudly touting that billions of people have been served. Personal restaurants aren’t capable of serving billions. Only a large, impersonal corporation with assembly line technology could manufacture billions and billions of the same food product. This reaction is juxtaposed against the claim that the letter was written by a “good decent man.” Not a corporation. Not a business. But an individual. Not only that, he’s willing to offer us, the world, a piece of him by sharing his contact information. He’s personable. What could be more neighborly than giving your private phone number to the world-at-large in this age of internet aliases and unlisted cell phone numbers? This is a person you can trust because they are willing to put themselves out there.

If you call the number listed, you receive an automated recording telling you that the person’s mailbox – it doesn’t even name the person – is full and no longer able to accept messages. At least that’s what I received. Not nearly as personable or as real as it seems, is it? Of course, most people aren’t me. They wouldn’t pick up the phone to call a total stranger, so it’s an easy bluff to make. While I don’t think the individual listed as writing this letter ever existed, I suspect the phone number was real and belonged to a faculty or staff member at Texas A&M University. Someone doing a quick internet search would have found it associated with someone there and assumed they were the letter writer, but if only a small percentage of the people who received this letter picked up the phone and called, the individual would have been inundated with calls. They would have had to change the number and the university would have had stop using the one listed. The mailbox and computer generated greeting would be the standard one for all university numbers.

I base this suspicion on the fact that the original source of the information purports to be the Texas Cattle Feeder’s Association (TCFA), which is a real organization. They received so many inquiries over the years since this e-mail was released into the wild that they have put a disclaimer up on their website. They state they do not know the source of the e-mail or why someone had chosen to use their name. I do.

First, it’s real and lends an air of credibility to the letter. Again, the majority of people would not check with the organization. When something is printed, either electronically or in hardcopy, it gives a certain authority to the words. Somewhere in the back of our media-trained minds, we know that someone else has done their due diligence and authenticated the message. The actual letter writer took advantage of that built-in trust for the written word to further their own agenda.

The letter’s narrator goes on to say:

Our opinion is they are looking to save money at our expense. The sad thing of it is that the people of the USA are the ones who made McDonald's successful in the first place, but we are not good enough to provide beef.

This is another emotional gambit. The big, impersonal corporation is taking advantage of the little guy. As a culture, America has always favored the underdog. The Cinderella-story is part our common history. The Minute Man, rushing from their home in the middle of the night to defend their right to exist against the Imperial armies of King George III, and John Paul Jones declaring, “I have not yet begun to fight,” have always been our champions. Now, here is a new hero for this day and age, regretting that they have but one life to give. Cue the patriotic music.

With readers’ emotions already running high, the alleged sender ups the ante by adding a supposed personal note to the letter:

All Americans that sell cows at a livestock auction barn had to sign a paper stating that we do NOT EVER feed our cows any part of another cow. South Americans are not required to do this as of yet.

McDonald’s has announced that they are going to start importing much of their beef from South America. The problem is that South Americans aren't under the same regulations as American beef producers, and the regulations they have are loosely controlled.

This gentle aside is juxtaposed against the patriotic pitch in the earlier paragraphs and is designed t remind people that such threats as mad cow disease came not from US raised beef, but from imported beef, from that foreign beef. It is coupled with the growing suspicions about the effects of pesticides not only on our environment but also on the health of our developing children that has recently begun to infect the collective consumer conscious. Without saying any of these things specifically, it further inflame people’s passions and increase the “us vs. them” mentality. Just like the rat legend of years past, it insinuates that the business provider of our food cares nothing for our health. The writer does not have to spell these things out. S/he only has to hint at them and leave the rest to the readers’ imaginations.

With the emotional manipulation nearly complete, the actual writer brings all the threads of the legend back together and neatly unites them with the letter’s opening. What can we, the people do? We can start a grassroots campaign and through the united strength of each of us as David, we can bring Goliath down. We individuals, we rebels, can slay the corporate giant, and destroy the Evil Empire.

It’s all very slickly done. I’m impressed. It took a very skilled writer to tug at people’s emotions this way and to get them to look past the obvious fallacy and buy into the legend without thought or further consideration. I’m also intrigued by what it says about us as a culture and I’m curious what it means for us, both now and in the future.

What are your thoughts?

Welcome to the SyFy Channel

As of June (or July, depending on the source) 2009, the SciFi channel is changing their name to SyFy. They have lots of stated reasons for doing so and have conducted market research to determine that non-sense spelling SyFy is hipper and trendier than the more conventional SciFi. As SciFi Wire (SyFy Wire?) tried to spin it:

Syfy more clearly captures the mainstream appeal of the world's biggest entertainment category, and reflects the network's ongoing strategy to create programming that's more accessible and relatable to new audiences. Syfy will continue to celebrate the traditional roots of the genre, while opening the brand to accommodate a broader range of imagination-based entertainment.

To me, this name change is just another indication of the greater problems with Corporate America. It’s no longer acceptable to serve a niche market well, to brand oneself as a maker of purple widgets and be the best purple widget maker there is. In addition to making purple widgets, businesses want to succeed not only at every other color of widget, too, but also at gizmos and whatchamacallits. And that is when companies first begin to fail. By trying to be everything to everyone, they wind up being nothing to no one.

The hipper, trendier SyFy channel takes this winner-take-all strategy one step further by disparaging the audience on whom they are built:

“The name Sci Fi has been associated with geeks and dysfunctional, antisocial boys in their basements with video games and stuff like that, as opposed to the general public and the female audience in particular,” said TV historian Tim Brooks, who helped launch Sci Fi Channel when he worked at USA Network.

Most individuals would recognize this description as a satirical representation of science fiction fans. It has less to do with reality and more to do with a Saturday Night Live skit. The majority of the science fiction fans that I know are intelligent, well-educated adults with far-ranging vision. They cross all age ranges and income levels uniting on common love of the science fiction genre. Approximately fifty percent of the fans I know are women. Perhaps instead of doing market research to reach a new audience, the network executives should have done market research to determine who their target audience really is? They were in an incredible position to help change the public perception of their viewers but instead they chose to jump on the negative stereotype bandwagon. I say were because they have already dismissed their core audience with a pat on the head:

Howe [1]knows some fans will dislike the change and see Syfy as a rejection of the network's core viewership. More than most channels, Sci Fi has an intense relationship with its audience. Clashes are unavoidable to some degree when you combine a network making businesses-minded decisions with a genre that has some of the most passionate and outspoken fans around.

Not only has the SyFy channel stereotyped its core viewers and discounted all of its female viewers as non-existent, it has also anticipated the viewers objections and dismissed them out of hand.

Look, Mr. Howe, you can call the network anything you want. Like most of your fans, I am an intelligent, reasonable adult. I understand the need for your company to have a logo you can trademark and control. That’s a business decision. But do not say you’re doing it because you want to meet women. That’s such a geek-boy reason for changing the name.

If you really wanted to serve your market, maybe you could try actually putting on the shows we want to watch, regardless of whether they have spaceships in them or not. Meanwhile, I suggest you take a lesson from the Hallmark channel and Lifetime. They’re not ashamed of their target audiences.

__________

[1] Network President of the SciFi channel.

Random Question

Question for all the writers, artists, and assorted creative people out there: What do you want out of this life path? When you die, do you want to leave your work behind? Why?

Aigememnon

This is hilarious. It would be more so, if it weren't also deeply and unsettlingly true.

A Technological Fast

Last week at work, I was talking to a couple of my co-workers when one of them realized her cell phone was dead. She was a bit discombobulated because she was heading to her second job and would not have phone access for the remainder of the evening. I mentioned that it was a good opportunity to spend some time in her own headspace. In the course of the conversation, I also mentioned my intention of “going dark,” or turning off my internet and possibly my cell phone the weekend of March 20^th. Both of my co-workers were appalled. What if someone tried to reach me? What if someone wanted me or needed me? How would I know? I shrugged and said, if they really needed to reach me, if it was truly an emergency, then they would call someone else to drive to my house and alert me, or else send the police. Anything that did not require this level of search and commitment could wait.

They were never without their cell phones, they said. People were always able to get a hold of them. One said that if she didn’t return a call within thirty minutes, her friends were likely to worry. And that, I said, was a very good reason to go dark, to turn off technology. It is important, I said, to occasionally spend some time alone in one’s own head, even if it was just turning the cell phone off while on a long drive, and that technology makes that difficult. They remained unconvinced.

Thing is, when you’re constantly plugged in, and everyone has the ability to contact you on demand, and you have the ability to contact everyone else, it is easy to become dependent on others. If you’re stranded five miles from home with a flat tire, why bother trying to figure out how to change the tire yourself? Just call someone. If you need to identify the Seven Wonders of the World, just Google it. If the door is not sitting in its frame correctly, then there has to be a DIY website that can provide the solutions. This leads to a lack of innovation and a loss of creativity. Sure, scoff, but how many times have you just picked up the phone and dialed a friend for the answer when, if you’d given it a few minutes thought, you could have puzzled it out yourself? From there it’s a short step to realizing that new solutions, possibly better solutions, might never be achieved because people are not stretching their own minds to find the answers. Individually, this is not how new skills are learned; collectively, this is not how new innovations are achieved.

It’s also easy to forget that everyone is not connected by the same level of technology as the American middle- and upper-class are. The Digital Divide is not a generation thing, nor is it a race thing. It is a class thing. But rather than being something that differentiates classes – the urban elite are those who know how caviar tastes and the blue collar workers do not – it creates the classes through lack of access. Those who have the ability to be connected by e-mail, internet, and cell phone are members of the Technological Haves regardless of where they live, income level, or skin color. Technology may be the great equalizer; it is also very divisive.

From their plugged in state, it is impossible for the Haves to fully understand the lives of the Have Nots. How can the Haves comprehend what it is like to not know, not have access, while billions of bytes of information are streaming through their brains. They laugh at those on dial-up – existing in a limbo between a Have and Have Not state – without fully comprehending that for some, there is no other option. That is the best available. That there are places where being a Have is not even a possibility due to the lack of technological resources. In many parts of the world, the Have Nots have more pressing concerns than the Haves – the fear of survival of themselves and their offspring.

Meanwhile, how can the Haves comprehend the value of that perfect, quiet moment, spread out in the grass, watching the clouds go by, while a cell phone is ringing in their ear and they feel the need to Twitter about this right now, because to not do so is to lose the moment, even as they are losing the moment. Haves tend to live in the moment and, if they do not take steps to remind themselves, they forget the long view and lose sight of the bigger picture, not to mention who they are as individuals.

For a short time in my life, I was a Bahá’í. As part of the proscribed practices of the Bahá’í Faith, members are expected to Fast for 19-days every year. It is similar to the fasting which the followers of Islam undertake during Ramadan. For the time of the fast, members – provided they are adult, healthy, not pregnant, or a variety of other factors which would making fasting dangerous to the individual – are not allowed to eat or drink from sunrise to sunset. It is a time of spiritual cleansing. I also always found it to be a time of increased awareness of one’s Self and one’s surroundings. Often the things I had taken for granted were no longer true; I had to stop, think, and consider them.

If, for example, I was out running errands and I found myself hungry, I would think, "I'll just pop through a drive-through," and as I was scanning the area to decide which one of several available I would visit, it would hit me, I couldn’t. Even if the fast food chain was just a parking lot away, it was forbidden to me. Granted, the choice, the decision, was always mine, but it made me aware that there were others who could not make that choice or that decision. Either the did not have the same access to convenience food as I did, in fact did not have the same access to food that I did, or else they lacked the financial resources to take advantage of the sustenance that surrounded them. How awful must it be to live in a land of plenty and not be able to partake of it? How awful must it be to know that half a world a way, the people’s greatest health threat is having too much to eat while you’re watching your own child starve?

Fasting is a very enlightening experience.

Sometimes, I believe that we Haves need a period of technological cleansing, too. We need to be purified of all the gadgets that surround us and supposedly make our lives easier. We need to simplify. This is particularly true when we reach the point where we take for granted our easy access to information and other people. When we reach that point, it is time to turn the technology off, to step back, and re-examine ourselves, who we are as individuals and how we are living in relation to the world around us. Such things are important to know if we are to continue to grow and develop as individuals, as a society, and as a planet.

Recently I mentioned to a few friends that I would like to start journaling again. I used to journal, back in my early twenties, but then, I typically only wrote when things weren’t going well in my life. What I was looking for now was something different than blogging or twittering.

Blogs, I’ve long argued, are not really journals as they were first advertised to be, but are more the modern equivalent of alternative and underground newspapers and magazines. The Blogosphere is where you find alternative thinkers, alternative viewpoints, and news that is not presented by the major corporate networks. It is the equivalent of pulp magazines from the early and middle part of the twentieth century, of newspapers printed on hand-cranked mimeograph machines in people’s basements, stapled together, and distributed by hand or subscriptions sold by word of mouth. Some of these pulp rags lasted longer than others; some had greater impact than others. All were important as a way of capturing ordinary people’s thoughts and revolutionizing perspectives on the world around us. Blogs do the same. Consequently, we do not write them for ourselves as journals, but for the others who might be reading them.

Neither is twittering journaling. It is a way of putting oneself out there and connecting with others. It is not about Self, but about that interconnection with others.

Conversely, journaling, true journaling, is all about the self. It’s a way of finding out what I think or believe or reminding me what is important without being separated from myself by technology. There is no keyboard and no screen between me and the printed word, just my hand holding the pen that is touching the page where the words appear. There is no audience other than I. I’m freer to be more truthful with myself than if I were writing in other mediums. I’m free to find and meet myself.

Before I could go out and purchase my own journal, I received a package from Kristine. Inside was a beautiful Italian leather journal with a leather bookmark and leather ties to keep the covers closed. It is filled with many lovely blank pages. This is the first entry I made in it:

Friday, March 13, 2009, 22:09

I received this journal from Kristine today. It was a consolation prize for our last writing contest, in which I performed dismally. Thing is, I’d just decided I needed to start jounaling [sic] – with pen and ink and a nice, blank book – instead of, rather in addition to, blogging and Twittering. Those mediums are different than a book written to oneself, notes really, that you don’t expect anyone to read until after you’re dead, if then.

I’m going to enjoy this. Must let Kristine know I made the first entry.

My handwriting is definitely abysmal.

I’m looking forward to writing a few lines in it each night, and discovering what I think is important. I’m looking forward to getting to know myself without a public audience, without a technological wall between me and my thoughts. I’m also looking forward to unplugging next weekend.

I would like to challenge everyone to pick one day, just 24-hours, where you turn off your internet and your cell phones and whatever other technology you have, and explore the back rooms of your own mind. You might be surprised who, and what, you meet there. If you’re too afraid to do so, too afraid of what you might miss, it is definitely time for you to go dark and explore the world around you. One should never be afraid to give up a luxury; one should never be concerned about meeting oneself.

If you are, why is that?

Sam & Popcorn

I learned yesterday that Sam really loves popcorn and by that I mean he really loves popcorn. It may be the magical food for which he'll do anything. This is good to know. Sam's primary owner is a retired railroad worker/farmer who grows a huge garden every year. Last summer, among other things, he grew popcorn. On Saturday, said primary owner, my mother, and me were playing with popping the corn on the cob in the microwave. Sam was in heaven. Not only were his three favorite people in the whole entire world together in one house, they were making a mess using his favorite food.

At one point, someone -- not me -- had the idea, "Let's give Sam the popcorn that didn't come off the cob and see what he does." We are easily amused.

Green takes Green

The interesting thing about so many of the green alternatives is the cost. While in the long run, the options may cost less than throwing away and repurchasing some of the non-green alternatives, in the short term, many people cannot afford the initial expense without planning and budgeting for it. People are willing to go green. They want to go green. They want to be green, but until such a time as the alternative options become more affordable, they are not able to do so. It's ludicrous to ask a young, financially struggling family to pay $19.95, or even $17.96 on sale, for a single set of reusable bamboo cutlery when they can get 24ct plastic cutlery for $1.00 or less. For that kind of money, they'll just pack their own fork and knives.

That's the problem with the green lifestyle. It's not accessible. Like eating low-fat, healthy foods, often times only those of a certain income bracket can afford to do so.

Thing is, if people would stop focusing on products to sell to the masses, and start educating people, I think they would find us far more willling to explore the alternative solutions out there. It is possible to be green without buying green.

Have To, Need To

I was on the phone with That Barb Person the other day and mentioned I was debating about whether or not to go to aikido that evening.

“What would you do if you didn’t go?”

“I don’t know. Edit. Write. Thesis. I’ve got a ton of stuff I have to do and I need time to do it.”

“Go to aikido,” That Barb Person said. “It’s the only thing you do for yourself anymore.”

And I realized, she was right. My life has become a series of ‘need to’s’ and ‘have to’s,’ one flowing into the next. Often they overlap or pile on top of one another. I have to go to work to earn a paycheck and I need to do the editing in order to earn not just more money but the opportunity to quit the day job again. I have to work on the thesis if I’m ever to get that little piece of paper that says “I am the Master now,” and I need to write other things if I’m to build a stable writing career and continue to advance there. Most of my online activities, even the ones I started for fun, even the ones I do with or for friends, have become networking opportunities that I need to keep up. Even my beloved aikido, that Barb states is the only thing I do for me, is sometimes a have to or a need to. As I’ve advanced in rank, there are times when I’m pegged to lead a class, and then I have to go and instruct others. And at the end of the day, when I finally fall into bed, I have to fall asleep quickly because I need to get up early in the morning and start everything all over again.

It’s constant running and constant trying to get the next task completed before they all topple over and overwhelm me. If one runs late or goes off course, it creates a domino effect that is difficult to recover from. In many ways, this current state of affairs is a testimonial for “Be careful what you wish for,” because you might just get it. I’ve worked hard to get here, too, and I’m not where I want to be yet. It’s been a long path, there have been some derails – some the result of my own self-sabotage, some that just happened as a result of life, some because I lost focus. As a result, I made one, and only one, New Year’s resolution this year: This year, before I take on anything new, I must ask myself, “Does this help me achieve my goals? How?” If the answer to the first part of that question is no, then I cannot agree to do it.

Thing is, I only meant to ask that question about writing-related tasks, including school work. I never meant all the have to’s and need to’s take over my life, to be all I did because it’s necessary to stop and recharge periodically. To do things for fun to keep the creativity flowing and the (in)sanity in check. I know this.

Therefore, I’m making myself a promise. Just once, before the end of the month, I’m doing something that I don’t have to do, like take a bubble bath or watch a movie in the theater. I’m going to indulge myself.

I need to.

The Power of Barter

Puppy Sam has a fondness for things related to feet. Specifically, he likes to chew on house slippers, whatever shoes we wear the most, and any shoes we wear less frequently. That's his order of preference, too. The stronger the foot odor the better, I guess.

This evening, he stopped by for a quick mid-week visit. I wasn't home yet and my mother thought my bedroom door was closed. It wasn't. It was only pulled up. Sam quickly discovered this, snagged one pair of my fuzzy house socks, and made off to the couch with them. That's where my mother discovered him.

We've been using the "my is better than yours" tactic with Sam. This involves getting a squeaky toy or a stick or another shoe or anything and making over it like it's the best thing ever. At which point Sam will come over to try to get it from you, leaving the item you don't want him to have behind or else bring it to you to trade. This is an honest-to-goodness training technique that the professional dog trainers have taught us. And it really works.

Now, Sam has been known to relinquish the house slipper in favor of a squeaky toy, only to try to get the house slipper back again after he has secured the toy. Sam wants all the good things, thank you very much. He's a mite spoiled that way.

Anyway, this evening my mother walks into the living room and sees Sam on the couch, where he's not allowed, with my house socks, which are verboten to him. Before she could do anything, Sam jumps off the couch, both house socks still in his mouth, walks over to the toy basket, drops one sock, grabs a squeaky toy and takes it and the other sock back to the couch. All as if to say, "Look, I know you're going to offer me a squeaky toy in exchange for both socks, but why don't I just give you one sock and take the squeaky toy I want, then we're both happy? Kthnxbai."

Looks like our Sam is going to start driving a hard bargain.

Macaw Mystery Solved

It would seem that my mother and I are not the only ones who have seen mysterious tropical birds. I hope they're able to lure them to safety and find a home for them, since the local zoo will not take them.

Wake Up Call

For the past month and a half, I've had Sam on Fridays -- Sam is a shared dog; there are two households and three people who have joint custody of him; I'll explain more about that later. This past Friday, I wasn't certain if I was going to have him or not. I was also operating on a sleep deficit. Since it was the first Friday of my mother's retirement and I knew she'd be awake to take custody of Sam should he arrive, I told her that I was not setting my alarm clock, that if Sam showed up, to wake me before she left for her doctor's appointment, otherwise, I was sleeping. This arrangement worked for her.

A little after 6:00, she poked her head into my room and said, "I'm sorry to wake you," in the background, I could tell there was definitely no Sam in the house yet, though it wasn't quite time for him to be dropped off, plus it was far too early for her to leave for her doctor's appointment, "but there are two big blue parrots on the roof."

I dutifully dragged myself out of bed, all the while my mother was twaddling about these huge parrots and they were blue and on the roof and she had to wake someone because someone else had to see them. In between her commentary I'm saying things like, "You're describing giant blue macaws," and "They're tropical birds." All the while I'm thinking, They can't be inflatable birds. We live in Illinois. It's March. Things blow into the yard all the time. She wouldn't be excited if they were inflatable birds. They have to be real.

Meanwhile, I'm dutifully walking down the hallway, out the back door, and around the house with her following me, talking about how she'd seen something hanging off the roof and she hadn't been able to figure out what it was and when she'd gotten around front to get her newspaper she realized it was tail feathers and there were two giant blue parrots on the roof. As we're walking along the house I'm barefoot, I've bypassed the bathroom in order to see these blue parrots, and I keep saying things like, "Hush. You'll startle them. Mother, hush." As we neared the corner of the house, I gave up saying hush. I'm still thinking things like, They can't be inflatable. This is Illinois. It's March. They're tropical birds. They'll never survive out here. Despite the fact that it was warm enough for me to walk around the house barefoot at six in the morning, it was only 60-degrees out. Warm for a midwesterner just emerging from winter, but absolutely frigid for a tropical parrot, no matter how big and how blue.

As I reached the corner of the house, there was a rush of wings. I stepped around front just in time to see two giant blue macaws with their blue wings and tail feathers and yellow breasts winging their way to the southeast. I was heartsick. They had to be someone's pets. Possibly a breeding pair. They would never survive the Illinois spring.

My mother called the local police department to see if anyone had reported them missing. I can only assume that they had been acquired legally and escaped through an unexpectedly open door. Who knows how far they'd already flown, though.

They were beautiful. I hope they survive.

Welcome Back (I hope)

First, I'd like to apologize for all the non-personal posts on The Commune the last few months. I never intended them to become the full content of this blog. They were just things that had interested me that I thought I'd post in between posts. Only the other posts, the "real" posts, never happened. I am very, very sorry about that. It won't happen again. Please forgive me?

Part of the reason the "real" posts never happened is there's been quite a bit going on in my life. I can hear you say, "Why didn't you blog about that?" Simple, in addition to the ever-present lack of time thing, there are some things I won't blog about because there are some things it's just not a good idea to blog about. For example, I'll never complain about my mother on this blog. Even when she's driving me 100% crazy and I'm venting to everyone who'll listen, I will not put those thoughts down here. The reason? Even when my mother is driving me 100% batshit crazy and I'm venting to everyone who'll listen, I never want her to read those thoughts because I don't really mean them. Sometimes, the things we complain about aren't the real issue; sometimes, we just need to vent to our friends when we're tired or crabby or frustrated. That does not mean those things should be put out for the public to read, or for the people I love to find.

I will also not blog about third-party work. Many of you know that this past fall I took a part-time job. Since at least my second day, I realized that the individual I reported to directly was not going to be employed as my boss forever. She was on the short list to be terminated. Friday, that event finally happened. My thoughts about the moments in between that realization and the final act did not need to be captured in a searchable format. My now former boss was a nice lady. She was passionate and knowledgeable about the industry and she cared about her employees very much. She also was not management material.

There are some battles that need to be fought; I do my best to fight them. There is also a power to words and with power comes responsibility. I'll glady own any words I write here, but some things do not need to be said publicly. Some things do not belong on a blog. Much of what has been going on in my life the last couple of months falls under that category. It is nothing that I mind sharing, but it's also nothing that needs to be searchable on the internet.

What is new then? What have I been up to?

Well, the female parental retired this week. We're still striving for a new balance around the house. I'm also looking for balance between the part-time job, the writing life, and the academic role. Some days, I despair that the thesis will ever be finished. In January, my advisor had me pretty much scrap everything I'd written up to that point. It's to be expected. It'll happen a couple more times between now and the time I really do finish. (I will finish the thesis. I will finish the thesis. I will finish the thesis.)

I've had to miss more aikido the last couple of months than I care to as I work to stay on top of everything. I discovered the same thing I discover every time I miss too much aikido: I'm a better person who is able to do more if I take the time to go to the dojo, even when I don't have time to do so. Sometimes, I need reminded of that.

In January, I took Trunk Novels down. There was only so much I could do and I am not currently able to give Trunk Novels the time and attention it deserves. It may return later. I was very moved by the out-pouring of support I received when I took it down, the people who felt it was an important thing. For those of you missing it, check out Kristine's recently started Midnight Reading. Lots of good stories there. As for me, I've taken on more freelance editing work, mostly from Aspen Mountain Presss.

In other news, there's a new fella in my life. His name is Sam. He currently stands right about knee height on me and has four legs and a tail. That's him in the picture at the top of this blog. The picture was taken about a week ago. It shows Sam trying to figure out what a frisbee is for. He doesn't quite get it yet.

As of this writing, Sam is nearly 21 weeks old and weighs 30-pounds. He's half English Shepherd and half Australian Heeler, both of which are very intelligent herding breeds. He's been a handful. I love him. We have great fun together.

I've also joined Twitter. I did it just because everyone else was. Poor reason, I know. Also, I've been fascinated by HotAmishChick and her pony. They're funny. One thing I'm quickly realizing about Twitter is it's going to be a great place for me to put all those random thoughts that fill my head based on connections no one else sees. It'll probably provide everyone far more insight into my psyche than anyone will be comfortable with.

I continue to search for balance, even as I fall asleep over the keyboard. I hope you will all enjoy the new, more relaxed Commune as we continue to move forward.

Welcome back.

Quote

A classic is classic not because it conforms to certain structural rules, or fits certain definitions (of which its author had quite probably never heard). It is classic because of a certain eternal and irrepressible freshness.

~Edith Wharton