Wednesday, June 26, 2002
The Crone Has Flown
Goodbye Blogger. Goodbye Ev. Goodbye old template. Goodbye old posts. Goodbye old archves. Goodbye old comments. Goodbye old URL.
The Crone has flown to Movable Type and her own domain on the coat tails of theonetruebix and his Spartaneity Project.
So, link to me now at www.kalilily.net
Or else....
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Consensual Amnesia (Why Dissent Matters)
I have a hard time keeping up with the pithy (no, I'm not lisping) stuff that b!X is tossing into his blog these days. But his intensity makes in unnecessary for me to blog about the depressing and oppressing tenor of the times. All I have to do is link you back to him. So that's what I'm doing to clue you in about the illegality of the pledge of allegiance, here and here; the citizen rebellion in Northampton, Massachusetts; and the environmental tragedy of progress.
And while he's running virtually around to gather all of that crictical citizen information, he's also been working on revving up spartaneity.com, with my new blog as the current project. So, watch for the Crone's Grand Re-opening in MT, coming soon to a screen near you.
And, by the way, forget Aunt Sally, Rage Boy. The Crone is three for three.)
Comments
I have a hard time keeping up with the pithy (no, I'm not lisping) stuff that b!X is tossing into his blog these days. But his intensity makes in unnecessary for me to blog about the depressing and oppressing tenor of the times. All I have to do is link you back to him. So that's what I'm doing to clue you in about the illegality of the pledge of allegiance, here and here; the citizen rebellion in Northampton, Massachusetts; and the environmental tragedy of progress.
And while he's running virtually around to gather all of that crictical citizen information, he's also been working on revving up spartaneity.com, with my new blog as the current project. So, watch for the Crone's Grand Re-opening in MT, coming soon to a screen near you.
And, by the way, forget Aunt Sally, Rage Boy. The Crone is three for three.)
Comments
Tuesday, June 25, 2002
Conspicuous by its absence...
...is mention -- in the blogs that I read -- about Dave Winer's bi-pass heart surgery that was the painful result of his cigarette smoking. I know that many of my blogger friends smoke. I'm sure that they don't want to think about what happened to Dave. Obviously, they don't want to blog about it. (I think that's called "denial.") Except I noticed that b!X, also a smoker, is forcing himself to take a hard look at the issue.
So, if you smoke and are reading this, please take your own hard look at what Dave has to say, including this:
OK, here's the deal. I did not have a heart attack, but it was close. I had bypass surgery, which I am now recovering from. It was my fault -- I had classic warning signs that I ignored. No family history of heart disease. Most important -- I wanted to keep smoking. The numbers are good if I quit smoking. If I don't the numbers are totally awful.
Blogging about what you went through is doing a real service for your fellow bloggers, Dave. I know that they probably don't want to hear it. All the more reason for you to blog it.
How fragile our real lives really are.
I feel fortunate that I never got into smoking -- just some early adolescent puffs out the bathroom window and some late adolescent drags while playing college sophisticate. I had very bad asthma as a kid; I knew getting hooked on nicotine would probably mean giving up non-stop lindy-hopping. And I'd always rather be dancing -- although these days Salsa is my preference.
Comments
...is mention -- in the blogs that I read -- about Dave Winer's bi-pass heart surgery that was the painful result of his cigarette smoking. I know that many of my blogger friends smoke. I'm sure that they don't want to think about what happened to Dave. Obviously, they don't want to blog about it. (I think that's called "denial.") Except I noticed that b!X, also a smoker, is forcing himself to take a hard look at the issue.
So, if you smoke and are reading this, please take your own hard look at what Dave has to say, including this:
OK, here's the deal. I did not have a heart attack, but it was close. I had bypass surgery, which I am now recovering from. It was my fault -- I had classic warning signs that I ignored. No family history of heart disease. Most important -- I wanted to keep smoking. The numbers are good if I quit smoking. If I don't the numbers are totally awful.
Blogging about what you went through is doing a real service for your fellow bloggers, Dave. I know that they probably don't want to hear it. All the more reason for you to blog it.
How fragile our real lives really are.
I feel fortunate that I never got into smoking -- just some early adolescent puffs out the bathroom window and some late adolescent drags while playing college sophisticate. I had very bad asthma as a kid; I knew getting hooked on nicotine would probably mean giving up non-stop lindy-hopping. And I'd always rather be dancing -- although these days Salsa is my preference.
Comments
Meet the Geek Icon
She's young, she's smart, she thinks, she writes, she sees, she cares, she believes. She's the subject of Frank Paynter's latest interview. Andrea Roceal James, my Apprentice Crone. Check her out, in words and pics. The world needs more like her.
Comments
She's young, she's smart, she thinks, she writes, she sees, she cares, she believes. She's the subject of Frank Paynter's latest interview. Andrea Roceal James, my Apprentice Crone. Check her out, in words and pics. The world needs more like her.
Comments
Monday, June 24, 2002
The Crone Chants a Full Moon Om.
The full moon commands the deep night sky. I take my ritual outside, stand with arms outstretched to the bright promise of the moon. I wear the shirt on which I painted the magic mandala. I chant. Aum. Aum. Aum -- the sacred sound of OM. I watch the thin strands of clouds move into the form of the syllable. There is no wind. There is no sound other than the hum of the universe.
Sons are borne. Sons are born. Sons are borne. This full moon is for my son, too far away to see the sky as I see it. Across the continent, tonight I send magic through the ether. Tomorrow, I send magic through the mail. The Crone chants Om. Om. Om. See the mandala moon. Chant Om. Intend. Become.
Comments
The full moon commands the deep night sky. I take my ritual outside, stand with arms outstretched to the bright promise of the moon. I wear the shirt on which I painted the magic mandala. I chant. Aum. Aum. Aum -- the sacred sound of OM. I watch the thin strands of clouds move into the form of the syllable. There is no wind. There is no sound other than the hum of the universe.
Sons are borne. Sons are born. Sons are borne. This full moon is for my son, too far away to see the sky as I see it. Across the continent, tonight I send magic through the ether. Tomorrow, I send magic through the mail. The Crone chants Om. Om. Om. See the mandala moon. Chant Om. Intend. Become.
Comments
Blogdom as the Village Water Pump
From an print newspaper article by Jay Bookman, who writes for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
In his 1964-classic "Understanding Media," Marshall McLuhan related the story of several post war villages in India where UNESCO, the United National relief agency, had installed pipes to deliver running water to each home. After a few months, village elders went to UNESCO officials and asked that the pipes be ripped out.
The villagers had realized that nobody congregated any longer at the village well, where they used to wait in line to fill their water jugs. The well had been the communal center of village life, the place where gossip was exchanged and village values reinforced. It was the place where the village met to create a sense of identity.
I suppose that when "The Well" was created, the idea was to bring that village well into cyberspace. What has really accomplished that miracle, however, is blogging. We meet here to exchange gossip, reinforce "geek" values, argue politics, and share opinions on everything from gender issues to software preferences. And, just like at the old village water pump, we each establish our very specific voice, recognizable after a while by all of the others who gather with us. Then instead of a couple of us going back to my hut to balance some herbal refreshment on our laps while we hash over more personal trials and tribulations, we e-mail or instant message, with our cups of coffee or tea balanced (just as precariously) on our CPUs.
Just as the village values were reinforced at the village water pump, the values of a non-discriminatory, free-speaking global village are constantly being reinforced at the flowing pump of our collective blogs. We are becoming a village with our own identity.
Comments
From an print newspaper article by Jay Bookman, who writes for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution:
In his 1964-classic "Understanding Media," Marshall McLuhan related the story of several post war villages in India where UNESCO, the United National relief agency, had installed pipes to deliver running water to each home. After a few months, village elders went to UNESCO officials and asked that the pipes be ripped out.
The villagers had realized that nobody congregated any longer at the village well, where they used to wait in line to fill their water jugs. The well had been the communal center of village life, the place where gossip was exchanged and village values reinforced. It was the place where the village met to create a sense of identity.
I suppose that when "The Well" was created, the idea was to bring that village well into cyberspace. What has really accomplished that miracle, however, is blogging. We meet here to exchange gossip, reinforce "geek" values, argue politics, and share opinions on everything from gender issues to software preferences. And, just like at the old village water pump, we each establish our very specific voice, recognizable after a while by all of the others who gather with us. Then instead of a couple of us going back to my hut to balance some herbal refreshment on our laps while we hash over more personal trials and tribulations, we e-mail or instant message, with our cups of coffee or tea balanced (just as precariously) on our CPUs.
Just as the village values were reinforced at the village water pump, the values of a non-discriminatory, free-speaking global village are constantly being reinforced at the flowing pump of our collective blogs. We are becoming a village with our own identity.
Comments
