Ritalin didn’t kill Hobbes

This is a short podcast about this cartoon. Bear with me!

Leon Dale Photographer calls out the Goblins

I just got an awesome boost from Leon Dale Photographer. He hired local writer Janean Brown to do an interview and an article for him, and did all the photography for the article himself. The result was quite salutory!

Good thing the goblins were fed before I arrived!

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10 Things I’d like my friends to do for me.

1.) Google their own name.

You may be surprised that your phone number and name are out there in Google. You may realize that the first link for your name is a website that shows you waterskiing while drunk. Just play it careful - you can do things to protect your identity and you should. At the same time, we are all living 100% in the clear and everything we do is reflective of who we really are on the net.

2.) Do something artistic.

This is hard, and I admit it's something I have a hard time keeping up, but I would really love it if all the people I cared about took the time to do something artistic. I'm not saying "be a great painter" or "master hurdy-gurdy music" - just something small and interesting and artistic. Like coloring, needlecrafts, writing a poem, learning to tie silk ribbons, whatever.

3.) Drink more water.

You're probably dehydrated right now. Get yourself a glass of water. You'll feel better.

4.) Do something with your significant other* that is fun and has nothing to do with bills, children, chores, or money.

This is vital. Lack of this is what makes couples feel like just room-mates in their own house. Make it a date and keep the date. You can do this even if you have newborn babies - you should do this especially if you have newborn babies.

5.) Try something new.

A new food, a new way home, a new book, a new article of clothing, something new. Try it, please.

6.) Teach someone what you know.

You can show your nephew how to make biscuits or videotape yourself laying down tile. Show us what you know, the inside game of the things you do.

7.) Tell me what's up with you - the good and the bad.

Many times I think that journals and the like show the "press release" version of people's lives. Kind of like holiday newsletters: it seems that all the kids are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the women are above average.
I know, I've been that way myself, and it's a struggle to find a balance between seeming like you're whining continuously and actually publishing the truth. Hey, if I'm your friend, I want to know about you, warts and all. I can handle the truth!

8.) Practice listening first to understand.

This is hard for me to do, too. Listening first with the objective of understanding means you have to slow down, take your time, pay attention. It means hearing the whole of the statement rather than just the first 20 seconds of it. It requires an attention span that some people just don't have, but I'm encouraging you to try. It helps. It makes everything better.

9.) Call me on my fails, praise me for my wins.

Yeah, if I screw up and hurt you, I want to know. Yes. I also want to know when I do something that pleases you or tickles you or makes you grin.

10.) Write a list like this for me.

Please? I want to know more about you. Even if I know you really well, I feel like life is a journey and I'm damn glad you're along for the ride with me.

* If you don't have a significant other, make sure you're taking good care of yourself for me, OK?

Is Twitter for old farts?

I suspect that Twitter is more for old farts than anyone else.

I recently had the opportunity to meet about 80 newly minted college grads. These folks were close to the top of their class, and in the process of interviewing them about their IT needs, the session leader asked them about Facebook and Twitter.

Apparently everyone in the audience "had a Facebook" in the parlance that was used, but when they were asked about Twitter, there was a lot of groaning and grimacing. I was quite amazed to see such a negative reaction. My expectation after listening to podcasts and reading LiveJournal was that nearly everybody loved Twitter, but apparently not among successful college graduates with Bachelors of Arts and Science degrees here in Georgia.

Now I realize that Clay Shirky says that social innovation can only take place on technology that is so commonplace that it's boring. These days, that means blogs, email, forums, and the like. Getting into Facebook and Twitter is still such a weird thing for a lot of people.

My mom's on Facebook, though. And, I wonder, how many of these students' parents are on Twitter? Older, hipper brothers and sisters?

Of course, I realize that I am in the heart of Atlanta. So maybe this is just an East Coast - West Coast thing. I'm really sorry that this group of bright people have seemed to completely reject Twitter and I wonder what it is that drives them away. Perhaps it is that Britney, Oprah, and Fitty have arrived there before them? Perhaps they're just tired of hearing about it and they've never actually given it a try.

I had a conversation with one of them, where they were talking about why they couldn't understand Twitter, couldn't get why people would want to talk about their lives 140 characters at a time. I asked her if she ever updated her status on Facebook, and she said, "Yeah, all the time. But that's different."

There's no difference, really, between the two. In fact, the TweetDeck program allows one to post directly to both at the same time.

I'm wondering now if we'll even have a Twitter this time next year. We'll see. In the meantime, I'll keep up my Friendfeed, my Tumblog, my Twitter, my Facebook, Goodreads and everything else. I love this stuff - don't plan to stop any time now.

I'm sambearpoet most everywhere, if you want to follow / read me

Who are our fathers and mothers?

This is something that I've been thinking a lot about lately. In fact, I've done a lot of thinking about this over the course of my life. As an adopted person, I frequently wonder about who my parents were. Did my biological mother even know who the biological father was? Could it have been one of a number of people? In the Sixties, there was some experimentation with free love in hippie society, and when people experiment with relationships, this kind of uncertainty can definitely be introduced. Maybe she couldn't really tell without DNA testing, which wasn't available in 1967. Truth be told, I have no idea: I was adopted as an infant, so I never knew her.

Because I am adopted, I have a lot of deeply felt emotion regarding these people, my bio-mom and bio-dad; but it is so deep that it has taken years of introspection and therapy to get through to it, and I really don't want this to be a post about my biological parents. (I've done that, here. It's very emotional and very intense, so you've been warned.)

So, who are my father and mother?

One theory is, "My father and mother are the people who are biologically related to me." Well, that is true in a scientific sense, I suppose. But those people, whomever they are, had very little to do with the person I would later become.

Another theory is, "My father and mother are the people who cared for me and adopted me. The people who reared me." And that is true too, very true. More true perhaps than the first idea. My adopted Dad died in September of '08, and I have yet to truly process what all that means. I'm still grieving for him. I feel this grief no less because he was someone who chose me, rather than someone who got my mother pregnant. My adopted mom, whom I basically just call "mom," and I are rebuilding our relationship after a lot of estrangement. I am thankful for this, because in my head she fits the slot of "mom" more than anyone. She is my Mother, and I love her dearly.

And then there is, "My father and mother are the people who nurtured my soul, guided my path, gave me inspiration and beautiful dreams." This is also true. So, I can name many fathers and mothers then. I name Barbara Jean Fant, I name Robert Heinlein. I name Gary Gygax. I name Starhawk and Luisah Teish. There are many, many others I could name. I'm grateful for them all.

That leaves the question, "Who are you nurturing and guiding, who are you a mother or a father of?"

I have the kids I have claimed as my own: G and Rowan. Certainly the States of Georgia and California think they are my children, as I paid child support for them and continue to pay for G. And, truth be told, it doesn't matter what the State or anyone else thinks: they are my children, plain and simple.

As a younger man, my life was very strange and many things were completely chaotic. But I reared my kids, and, even if we have been distant since they left my house, I still love them without reservation or condition as my daughter and son. If you are a guy and you change a person's diapers, hold them when they cry, discipline them, and take care of their boo-boos, and you do this every day until they can stand on their own two feet and take care of themselves, I truly believe that you are that person's Daddy.

I was there for them, and I would never give up those memories and those times; they are precious to me.

I have Katie, who is my step-daughter-in-heart (the daughter of the woman I'm life-partnered to), who lost her own biological father and came to live with us and has now lived longer with me as her male-authority-figure than she did with her father.

And then there are other more nebulous children: the children of my mind and spirit. Who are they? I have no idea. But I would love to know if I do.

And, speaking of nebulous children, if I knew that I had a biological child out there in the world, I would want to at least acknowledge him or her, and do what I could to show them love due to our tie of blood.

Certainly, I am the proud father of two novels, two games, many podcasts, and several blogs, and what are they if not children of my mind and spirit? I have hope that something I do in this lifetime will spawn life, love, hope, and future for other people.

So I invite you to ask yourself, "Who are my fathers and mothers? Who am I a father or mother to?" and think outside the normal definitions. You might be surprised who you name, or who names you.