Skip to main content

Fire, The Wheel, Airplanes and Blogging

You have to wonder if there were nay-sayers when the whole fire thing first came about. You know, the ruthless militia that reassembles itself through the ages to riddle "never gonna happen" bullets into others' dreams and big ideas? What do you think the CaveLady who poo-pooed all over that wheel contraption would say now?

Ugh-ugh. Grunt. Scratch?

Yeah, I think so too. In fact, I know so b/c I am that CaveLady. Well, more like her distant cousin. I don't denounce new inventions, I just don't always get it. Don't get IM. Not compelled to iPod. Intrigued by Tivo, but not enough. Yeah, I know we had this technology conversation before, but this time I'm announcing my full conversion to live journaling and blogging.

Whoopee, right?

I opened this 'spot reluctantly, cuz I just didn't think many people would ... care. I haven't been convinced otherwise (not seeing a lot traffic, I tell ya), but I did discover that I've been approaching it all wrong. My new play cousins are Stefan and Emily in Corpus Christi, where I featured on Monday and got schooled on the live journal thing. Yeah, yeah,yeah, tool to keep up with my friends and loved ones. Cool. A daily writing exercise that I would likely keep up with? Sign me up! I need more pen discipline in my life.

So I'm committing my self --totally- to learning how to use this damn thing. Any tips would be appreciated, btw. I told Emily that it was like having a cell phone with 8,000 features and only knowing how to use 3 of them.

So, be warned, I'll be burning up the e-waves soon enough with mind numbing accounts of my life.

Watch out, world.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Deborah Brown Community School ~ It is quite a feat for a small charter to make national news.  It is perversely disappointing, however, to read that a charter school led by two black women is systematically persecuting students of color for celebrating the natural textures of their hair. As an educator, I understand and value the impact of comportment.  Indeed, many ills of the contemporary school environment can be aggravated by lax guidelines on conduct and appearance. Nonetheless, your policies against natural hairstyles levels a much more serious attack against your students.  Rather than teaching them how to be “presentable,” your policy forces the concept of “acceptable” at a disastrously early age. Yes, the school should vigorously mandate “neat,” “modest” and “respectable.” These are essential expectations.  Denying the option of neatly, modestly and respectfully showcasing the heritage of their hair, however, reinforces a wickedly...

dashaFEST 2013

It's here again, dashaFEST.  What started as a single event exactly 20 years ago has evolved (exploded?) into a month-long celebration of ME. Wait, I know how that sounds.  Let me explain. I've always enjoyed throwing parties. The theme. The games. The food and drink. Stirring around my divergent circles of friends and associates inside the same space.  I feel a small tug of pride when unlikely acquaintances can trace their connections back to my living room. Over the years, that one, overstuffed birthday party has unfolded into a calendar of events. A women's only event. An artistic event. A group activity.  A party. Something for my daughters. Something for my immediate family. A performance showcase of some kind. The enterprise is wholly ridiculous, and I am fully aware of this.  But giving myself permission to be absurd for a change is, actually, part of the appeal.  For what it's worth, I'm not obnoxious about it.  I don't keep tabs of who...

Tiger Pause

At eleven, my daughter's fears were getting mauled by a tiger, injured a car crash and being a victim of rape. We talked a lot over the years about sex, sexuality and patriarchy, music lyrics and power, media, shame and the law, discretion, integrity and the whispered fragility of boys. At sixteen, I rocked her as she wept. Her slender shoulders were violent from crying. One of her friends had been raped. Months ago, but was only beginning to share. Months ago, when she started losing weight, stopped hanging out before pre-calc, and kept exhaustion shadowed beneath her makeup contours. We sat crouched on the stairs leading up to my room. She'd called out my name from the dark hall. Her voice, normally expectant and full, had been small and reaching. I peeled away from my husband to find her on the landing, shaking. My daughter felt helpless and hurt that her friend had gone through so much all alone. That she didn't know. Couldn't have known. That it was so unfair....