Rid yourself of unsightly browser tabs [video]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-igROTGYklE&w=475&h=292]

[Watch "Rid Yourself of Unsightly Browser Tabs" on YouTube; 2:29 minutes]

After recording this, it occurred to me that there's a whole thought process behind using this hack which may not be immediately apparent in the hack itself. So if you're still confused after watching the video, or if you'd rather skip the video altogether, this written rationale may prove useful.

If you're like me, you occasionally find yourself with a fat, soggy browser and a million open tabs, wondering how the hell you got there and more importantly, how the hell to get back to the original thing you were working on that had you launch that initial tab in the first place without losing all the good stuff you just found.

And if you're like me, you probably also know about the convenient "bookmark all tabs in folder" feature baked into modern browsers. It's great for creating a collection of tabbed windows you'd use for, say, blogging (your WordPress dashboard, Flickr, a dictionary site) or your daily social media circuit (Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Google Reader, etc) or what have you.¹

What is less obvious or intuitive or whatever (at least to me) is where and how to save them. And to answer that, you have to look at why you're saving them. (Note: this is the key, lifesaving question to ask whenever you find yourself doing almost anything automatically, a quick "why" can stop the senseless spiraling-downward, save you a boatload of pain, and start to usher in meaningful changes.)

In my case, I'm usually saving them for two reasons, one "good" and one psycho.

The "good" reason is that in wandering off, I've likely found some juicy stuff I might want to read more carefully or share or otherwise implement to make me better/stronger/faster.

The psycho reason is that I am terrified to let go of something for fear of that whole, vague, Depression-born, clutter-laden "But what if I need it later?" mindset. (In fairness, I often have needed something later, and spent stupid extra time trying to hunt it down via browser history or brain-scraping.)

My version of "save all tabs in folder", then, mimics the time-tested decluttering practice of moving clutter you're unsure about to a holding area for a certain period of time before pitching it completely. It's also not unlike what some have called "declaring email bankruptcy", moving all of your unanswered, saved, crufty emails to one folder and starting with a fresh, new "inbox zero."

1. I have one folder in my menu bar labeled "current."
2. When I wake up from zombie-like surfing to realize I have 20 tabs open and a column still on deadline, I execute a "save all tabs to folder."
3. I label that folder with the date. (I use a built-in TextExpander shortcut to do this: year/month/day, written as YYYY_MMDD to keep things neat and tidy.)
4. I save that folder as a subfolder in the "current" folder.

Now I have a neatly-marked and organized history of where I was at the moment I wandered off. I usually end up saving the subfolders for a month or so; a little distance makes a remarkable difference in the ability to discern useful from clutter-ful, which is the point. But also, if I did happen to have something immediately useful open, it's much, much easier to find in the next few days when it's stuck in a folder with the date, in a place where I can reliably find it. Which draws on another great ADD person's hack (which was just commonsense Heloise-type stuff before we all knew about ADD): "Always leave your (keys/purse/etc) in the same ONE place."

That's it!

Please let me know what you think in the comments. On the video posts, I'm especially interested in reactions and helpful feedback to make these things better. And I'm especially ESPECIALLY interested, because I'm going to teach myself how to actually use all of the great features in Screenflow this year to make better screencasts.

xxx
c

¹In Chrome, Firefox: ⌘ + shift + D. In Safari, you have to use the drop-down menu, although if you want to get super-fancy, you can find an AppleScript that does the trick. And if you're still using Internet Explorer?Please use it right now to download a copy of Chrome, Firefox or Safari.

Lessons from 2010: Maximal joy, minimal hoo-ha

I have been thinking a lot about love and friction, only not in the way your mind maybe-perhaps just jumped to, if you are like me and we are both, like, 12.

I have been thinking about love in terms of what I love, and whom I love, and how those two things intersect. For example, I love figuring stuff out, reading and taking in and mulling over and hashing out and finally, getting some semblance of a clue. I can do all of these things on my own; I must do quite a bit of it on my own. Maybe the ratio changes as one gets older and, presumably, wiser, but for now, I'd reckon I spend three to four times as much time taking in and hashing out and so forth as I do actually gaining semblances of clues, much less putting them out there.

But while the part that I'm actually sharing with others, the "talking" here, in posts, and in the comments, and in social media, as well as the talking-for-real one-on-one, in groups, during talks, takes up perhaps a smaller amount of time, it delivers a disproportionately large part of the thrill. Which makes sense: We are social beings! We like being around each other! Wherever two or three are gathered! And so on.

So the answer to love seems pretty straightforward: figure out what it is you really and truly love, and move toward it. Do more of it, be around more of the people who facilitate it for you. Relentlessly hew to your love, and ignore that other stuff, or just deal and dispense with it as quickly as possible.¹

Friction is more complex. More obviously complex, anyway.

For our purposes here, "friction" is what stops you, or slows you, what creates drag. And the tricky thing is that you don't want to get rid of it entirely, because some of the friction is good for you, and arguably necessary: who learns from easy? You may like easy; I certainly do.

Trickiest of all is that friction can be fun, in the right amounts (cf. that thing our 12-year-old minds immediately went to). The right amount of push-back in a conversation is thrilling, even (or especially) when it borders on maddening. Worthy opponent, and all that. Ditto solo problem-solving and, jeez, is it just me, or is all of this tinged with innuendo today? Well, you get my point. (Point? Really? Argh!)

In the wrong amounts, of course, friction is dreadful, even deadly. Too much friction will grind you to a nub. For me, advertising shifted from the good, learning friction to the bad, grinding kind. So did acting. So did, I'm ashamed to say, more than one long-term relationship.

Most pertinently to me, so did the confluence of friction-filled endeavors that led to my Crohn's onset. First, because since my collapse in September of 2002, I can no longer count on Powering Though Shit as a modus operandi.² Second, because that sucker crept up on me, and while I was, or thought I was, moving toward love. I wasn't in advertising; I was acting, and in a great play! I wasn't in an unfulfilling marriage; I was in a wildly passionate relationship!

Yeah, I know. Nothing like a good, clear view from the outside. Or hindsight.

What about the present, though? Because like it or not, that's where we're all doomed to live, no matter how much we look back wistfully or project ourselves into the future.

My suspicion is that the clearer one gets about love, what love means to one, what one cares about more than one's own small human self, the simpler it becomes to discern that line where useful friction shifts into fruitless grinding.

My other suspicion is that for those of us who are good at kidding ourselves about what love is, who are good at "keeping things vague," as my old Method acting teacher used to say, the very most useful tool of all is the truth. Relentless truth. Gentle truth. Simple truth. The truth at the core of the Method: "Where am I right now?"

• I am at a party, late at night, having fun.

The first two items are facts; the last is a state of being, or an assumption based on the first two items. Provided we're playing what we'd call in the Method class a "simple" scene, drama or comedy with a clear who/what/where, as opposed to the kind where there's a lot of dramaturgy required before you can make heads or tails of it, we start with these tangibles. And we challenge the assumptions.

• I am at a party, late at night. It is loud, and I am unable to hear the person next to me without him shouting and me straining to listen. I was up early this morning and up late the night before. I am tired. My attention is straying elsewhere, mostly to thoughts of quiet and sleep.

So I am not in a party, late at night, having fun. Maybe I was having fun. Maybe I am supposed to be having fun. But now, at best, I am having "fun".

This may sound ridiculously obvious: You're at a party and you're tired and not having fun? Leave, dumbass! Who's keeping you there? And who needs an exercise for this?

Well, maybe you do not. In certain situations, more and more of them, thankfully, I do not. More and more I am awake and attuned to my real feelings, and more and more I am inclined to act on them. Still, I have blind spots, both unavoidable, the ones I don't know about yet, and willful, the ones I'm still, for whatever reason, unwilling to give up. I power through, I blip over, I look away out of fear or politeness (which one could argue is a form of fear).

One big truth at the end of last year was that the way I was working was not working. After a year of both musing and actual, physical testing, I think it comes down to this: I had stopped being truthful about what it was I loved, i.e., the thing I care about more than my own, small human self, and stopped being careful about managing friction, i.e. the physical realities that made it possible to pursue it. Now I don't have to just guess whether MORE ROOM makes for a happier, healthier, more productive and loving Colleen; I know it.

I know I need a certain number of hours of sleep per night and the right kind of food and enough exercise.

I know I need a ridiculous amount (to some) of time spent alone, and in a quiet, nurturing environment.

I know that doing the shit out of something is fine, but that it may involve equal parts pursuing the something and lounging on the bed or in the bath, reading, and not just reading books that will obviously move me toward my goals, but engrossing novels, vivid memoirs, enchanting graphic novels.

I know that it is as important for me to take an hour to walk as it is three to write. It is as important for me to take three hours to shop for real food and prepare it as it is to work on my PowerPoint deck.

Those 16 non-working hours in a day aren't for squeezing more stuff into; they're not even for making the eight working hours work better, although you can use them for that, which I confess is largely why I started turning my attention to them. They're for living. Living! Who knew?

My (slightly) older but infinitely wiser friends Hiro and my First-Shrink-Slash-Astrologer both advocate more being, less doing. In my heart, I know they are right; I also know that to tell a doer to Just Stop Doing It is like telling snow not to fall or water not to move downstream. For the time being, then, for 2011 and beyond, I will continue to look at different kinds of doing. Switching doings. Working, yes, working, on further reducing drag.

Finding ways to discern and describe what it is I love in real terms. Finding ways to reduce drag on my movements toward them.

With joy! Towards love! And as much as possible, out in the open, where it might be seen and made use of. But working.

For now the "being" will have to take the form of "being okay with that."

xxx c

¹It may take a while to discover exactly what it is that you love, but there are tools for that: The Artist's Way is a good start for those who self-identify as creative; plenty of tools and exercises for excavating your truest, purest self, for me, the part that is still 10, before my dreams started bumping up against the world's expectations. Until I was 10, I was an artist, I didn't have to think about whether I was, or what it meant, or whether I was a good one, or whether (and this is a big one) it was practical or not. I just was.

²This does not mean I have not tried; oh, me, how I've tried! Each time, a little less successfully. I tire astonishingly quickly now compared to the rate I did during my 20s and 30s, or even my mid-40s, and my bounce-back rate gets slower and slower.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #36

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. More about the genesis here. Every damned Friday Round-Up here, you procrastinating slacker, and kindred spirit!

Good tips woven through lovely stories on how to look better in pictures. [delicious-ed]

An inspiring, honest account of an extraordinary year. [Google Reader-ed]

Sweet illustrations by Wendy MacNaughton, art-directed for the excellent GOOD magazine by Keith Scharwath (fab designer and other half of the illustrious L.A./design power couple that includes @gelatobaby) and all about Haiti? That, my friends, is a trifecta! At least! [Facebook-ed]

Interesting, engrossing documentary on the beginnings of computing at IBM. Which, when you consider that it was Errol Morris who was hired to make it, makes sense. [YouTube-liked, via Daring Fireball]

xxx
c

P.S. I will shut up about the not-quite-spanking-new archives I made recently. Just not quite yet.

Photo by Eugene, via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

iPhone addy hack for introverts [video]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WeB-rrY1MSU&w=475&h=292]

[watch "iPhone addy hack for introverts" on YouTube; 1:35 minutes]

This is so dirt-simple and so effective it will blow your mind. And you don't even have to watch the video, although it's kind of a cute one, complete with A SURPRISE PLOT TWIST, so maybe you might want to.

Here's the deal: many, many introverts hate answering the phone. Hell, as far as I can tell, there are a fair number of extraverts who hate answering the phone. The phone sucks! Except when the phone is awesome, like when it hooks you up with your fave people who cheer you up and make your life nicer and better for five minutes.

So what you do is, dirt-simple, remember?, assign a nice photo to each person you need or want to talk to on your smartphone. Er, iPhone, I'm pretty sure you can do this with any phone that has a camera, but I'm Apple-centric and what do I know from other telephonic devices? Nothing, that's what.

Bonus-extra ridiculous-but-useful tip: if there is someone you really, really do not want to talk to but must for some reason, name them something cute in your address book ("Rainbows and Flowers!" "Ice Cream and Doilies!"), pick an adorable picture of bounding puppies or bunnies in cups, and you will answer every stupid, hateful call with a secret smile on your face. Or, you know, just smile as you watch them go into voicemail.

xxx
c

People in this video (besides me): Heidi Miller (social media/self-promo junkie); Jodi Womack (women's business networker extraordinaire)

And we're back in 5...4...3...

I officially ended 13 months of Self-Imposed Sabbatical this past weekend, in rather a hootenanny-ish way, ergo my delay in actually getting something posted today. I'll write much more about the event, about the sabbatical, about the lessons I took from them and the ideas that have begun coursing through me again largely because of them, but for now, just a few quick top line observations:

It's not just you. If there is one thing I learned over this past year in general, over this past weekend in particular, even, it's that everyone is confused and everyone is learning and everyone is terrified and everyone is cautiously/secretly hopeful (if only spasmodically) and everyone thinks it's just them, and they'd better shut up and keep their head down and try to look normal, or spout some party line hoo-ha about Tough Times. It's not just them, er, you. It's everyone. It's me, and pretty much everyone I've engaged in conversation on the topic, a rather wide swath of humanity. (Note: I've been taking the bus more recently.)

I am not sure how much of this we can blame on the outrageously sped-up change cycles we're enjoying these days and how much is just part and parcel of the human condition. What I do know is that if you can take a little risk to let down your guard and float it out there, you're likely to find someone to help you carry your load. Or at least commiserate over the size of it.

There is no "done." You will doubtless find this hilarious, but in my naivete I thought of this sabbatical thing as I did muffin-baking: throw a bunch of stuff together in a bowl, add this or that until it tastes pretty good in its raw form, stick it in a medium oven and 35 minutes, or 53 weeks, later, bing! Muffins!

It is not like that at all. In fact, it resembles quite uncannily what I remembered to be the drawing on the cover of The Artist's Way, an endlessly winding road carved into the side of a mountain, where at every level the view was somehow different, yet somehow familiar. Only it's not the cover of The Artist's Way; it's some other idea of a mountain I'd heard of or dreamt of from somewhere else. Maybe it was "before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water."

So there you go: no "done." Just give that up. (And if you don't believe me and several millenia of philosophical teachings, check this out. That's business modeling, baby, no squishy woowoo stuff there.)

The soft things may be the most necessary. This is not the case for you if you are a big lounger on chaises longues, but if you are, you're not reading this anyway, you're lounging on a chaise. I hit seven out of ten goals for this past year. (My years now run from mid-February to mid-February, but let's just say it's unlikely I'll publish three books in a fortnight and call it a day, shall we?) All seven were "soft" goals, reading more books, connecting more often with friends, eating right, exercising adequately. That sort of thing. My three token Masters-of-the-Universe goals all tanked. Yet I've probably made more progress this one year than I have in the past five or six put together, if we're going to call "living happily in one's own skin" a worthy ambition. And I do. And if you don't, well, I wish you well, but we're probably going to be spending even less time together in the future. I'm turning 50 this year; I don't have as much dithering time as I once did.

And finally?

It's good to be back.

xxx
c

Image by stevendepolo via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #35

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. More about the genesis here. Every damned Friday Round-Up here, you procrastinating slacker, and kindred spirit!

A small but tasty morsel on overcoming "demand resistance," aka "stuckness." The reframing question is gobsmackingly simple, wherein lies its genius. [delicious-ed]

For some reason, I've been getting asked a lot recently about what podcasts I like (besides Adam Carolla's and Colin Marshall's, both of whom I've previously pimped.) So I was pretty psyched to come across this list from my friend, Marisa: some excellent prospects, here, and anything that makes house cleaning more fun, right? [Google Reader-ed]

If you liked this month's newsletter and you have any trace of true nerd in you, you'll love this piece by Merlin Mann on not shipping crap. [Facebook]

The only thing better than writer/gelato-eater/Angeleno-stroller Alissa Walker's inspiring story of creating the career she wanted for herself is the delightful way in which she tells it. If you're not a fan of video, don't let the length deter you: the actual talk is just 10 minutes, the rest is Q&A. But it's all really, really good! [Stumbled]

xxx
c

P.S. Were you around last Friday? Did I mention there are now easily-accessible archives for this site? Yes? Well, I'll probably keep on doing that for awhile. Because it's a big, fat, hairy deal 'round these here parts.

Photo by Brad Coy, via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Making gatherings better [video]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5fFEcxDYa0&w=480&h=295]

[Watch "Helpful Networking Thingy" on YouTube; 03:12 minutes]

We had a great time at last week's Biznik event at Jerry's Deli. We pretty much always do, but this time, we introduced a new, fun, sharing-kinda thing that really reinvigorated everyone, provided interesting things to talk about and gave each of us insight not only into each other, but some ways we might improve our lives and businesses moving forward.

I describe one of the tools I used in the video above. Basically, it comes down to this:

1. Have each attendee to your gathering come with a problem or question they'd like to crowdsource.
2. Provide some means for them to write the question and collect answers, we used 8.5x11" sheets and markers, and laid them out on a table. I rolled out some kraft paper underneath it all so I could tape the sheets neatly. You could also put giant sheets up on the wall, or use a big whiteboard and take pictures after.

If you're the organizer, it's helpful to seed things with a question or two, or press a willing friend to ask one as well. It will help people get over their initial shyness with the new idea.

If you were one of the attendees and happen to be reading this, please feel free to leave your thoughts about how this worked in the comments.

If you've done something like this and achieved great success with getting people to loosen up right away and share, I'd love to hear your methods.

Oh, and if you're an entrepreneur in the Los Angeles area, I'd love to meet you at an upcoming event. There's one on February 16th; sign up for Biznik (free!), then you can RSVP to the event.

Thanks!

xxx
c

The value of the right questions, Part 1

I've done a handful of interviews for the presentation I'm giving later this week, which has renewed my appreciation for the skill involved in asking the right questions.

My previous experience with this valuable journalistic skill has been minimal, but similarly instructive. It took an shockingly long time to draft a set of questions for Seth Godin that would be useful (to my readers) and worthy (of Seth's time) for my leg of the Linchpin "book tour" last year. You wonder why those legendary Playboy or Rolling Stone interviews from Back in the Day are so good? Or, for that matter, why Colin Marshall and Jesse Thorn have such compulsively listen-able podcasts today?¹

It's the questions, stupid.

Good questions make for interesting answers, and interesting answers get you thinking about all kinds of questions you suddenly want to ask yourself. Good questions wake you up to the world around you, and get you reengaged with life. It's a huge gift to be interviewed by a smart, generous, curious interviewer. First, and foremost, you have a blast. A conversation all about the things that interest you, with someone who is (purportedly, anyway) interested in how you came to be that way? What's not to love?

But what's really wonderful about a great interview, an interview designed to liberate valuable information from your skull for the purposes of sharing it with other people who might then learn from it, is that it forces you to focus, but frees you to do it. You could wander off into the poppy fields, and I do, frequently, but there's that nice interviewer, ready to lead you back to safety. Or on to a more interesting topic. Or whatever. Someone else does all of that hacking-a-path-through-the-jungle stuff. Someone else keeps an eye on the map and the compass, and allows you to wander around, commenting on this or that fascinating sight, and the eight things it makes you think about, in glorious freedom. Rather than facing a blank page, which I realize is my main job as a writer, but which absolutely gets tiring at times, someone gives you some structure, some prompts: What about this? And this? And this other thing?

It's such a valuable thing for showing you parts of yourself you might not otherwise see and training you to think in a way you might not ordinarily think that if people are not lining up to interview you, I'd look for ways to give yourself this gift. The Proust Questionnaire is a great place to start: not only has it withstood the test of time, but you can compare your answers (afterwards, please!) to a world thinker so great, they ended up naming the damned thing after him.

My friend Gretchen Rubin (of Happiness Project fame) is terrific at posing thought-starters. Check out her question frameworks for coming up with resolutions that will be more satisfying to pursue, making better decisions, keeping your temper. I also enjoy reading the interviews Gretchen does with people she's interested in. Like the Proust Questionnaire, the questions remain consistent, so you could certainly use them to do your own (unpublished) Gretchen Rubin Happiness interview.

Whatever your means, it might be useful to start turning your attention to good questions, what makes them, where to find them, rather than focus quite so much on tracking down answers. Not that there isn't still a place for plain, old information (God Bless Wikipedia, and long may it reign!), but the knowledge that you piece together as the result of good questions is the information that really keeps on giving.

It's a now-hackneyed tradition to end a blog post or seed one's Facebook wall or cop out on meaningful Twitter contribution by asking a question. Too bad, because asking good questions is not just a way to gain eyeballs or get a break from the relentless feeding of the beast or incite the troops to (heaven help us) "join the conversation," but to stimulate actual, creative thought.

Still, this is a post about questions, so I will scatter a few about on my way out the door, mostly as fodder for you to think about as you move through your day. (Although the comments are, of course, open, they're even unmoderated again, assuming you've previously proven yourself to be a friendly nation.)

• Where is the last place you (unhappily) found yourself that felt so familiar, you were finally moved to take action?
• What is your favorite color? Was it always? When did it change? Where is it in your life right now?
• Replace "color" (above) with "book," "song," "teacher," "friend," or "food."
• What five songs make you the happiest when you hear them? Have you learned the words to them?
• What song could you sing right now in its entirety? Do you like this song?
• What is your greatest fear? How are you living with it (or not)?

xxx
c

* * *

COMING UP WEDNESDAY: A fun question-and-answer exercise to lively up your next gathering. You're subscribed, right?

* * *

Speaking of someone who knows how to ask the right questions, my longtime blogging pal, Marilyn, did a really challenging one with me that she's shared on her new site, La Salonniere, today. I'm especially thrilled because I love all the previous interviews so much: between her eclectic interests and her devotion to learning how things work, she is one amazing interviewer!

* * *

¹In the case of the live interviewer, it's all about the ability to improvise. Jesse probably has the edge here, improv fanatic that he is, although that could be my bias toward comedic presentation. I'm also mad for Adam Carolla, whose podcast was killer out of the gate. Nothing that 20 years of assiduous practice on terrestrial radio and crappy comedy stages can't buy you.

Image by Pittaya Sroilong via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #34

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. More about the genesis here.

Many of my favorite essays purport to be about one thing, say, connecting in the age of new media, and end up being about something much, much bigger, like connecting, period. Lisa is master of this style, and a joy to read. [delicious-ed]

My friend Adam Lisagor, whom some of you may know from his various exploits across the interwebs as lonelysandwich, has carved out a fantastic career for himself making delightful video-commercial thingies like this one for awesome products and services. He is the poster child for Doing It Right, web-wise; anyone trying to make good things and get the word out there via the web would do well to study his shmoove moves. [Google Reader-ed]

If you're a writer, walk, don't run to this un-freaking-believably great interview of Christina Katz, aka @TheWriterMama, on Dan Blank's site! [Facebook]

Finally, not a round-up link, but a long, long awaited announcement: an archives page for communicatrix! Let the rejoicing commence...

xxx
c

Photo by kthypryn, via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Corralling unruly receipts [video]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gj_rtz1-50&w=475&h=292] [watch "Corralling Unruly Receipts on YouTube; 1:54 of your life]

This week's video installment features a verrrrry old trick I use to keep all of my credit card receipts in one spot, but as I mention in the video, hey, it occurred to me once out of nowhere; maybe it hasn't occurred to everyone yet.

HOW TO KEEP YOUR CREDIT CARD RECEIPTS IN ONE PLACE

1. Get a large envelope—mine is a size 12 (4.75" x 11")—of the type my union used to use to send me big, fat residual checks. Bank statement envelopes are also good, if you still get those in the mail. You can also use a regular letter-sized envelope, of course, but you will not be able to shirk your bookkeeping duties for as long as I do.
2. Trim off the flap of the envelope.
3. Staple the top (cut) edge of the envelope to the top, inside flap of a manila envelope.
4. Insert in file drawer and watch your life magically change!

I guess I should note here that if you do not have a filing cabinet or use files, this will be of little-to-no use to you. However, you may find the video entertaining. (You would have to be really bored to do so, but oh, well.)

Thanks, please feel free to leave helpful comments, and if you do, please don't forget to be nice!

xxx c

P.S. January's newsletter went out today! If you're subscribed and did not get it, please check your spam folder. Partly because it's a good one and partly because, well, there are going to be a few changes in newsletter-land soon, and them what ain't opening their newsletters regularly are likely to find themselves out in the cold. And if you're not subscribed and you like this blog, you should be!

Life in the silo

I believe in the essential goodness of people.

I may forget it here and there, when I'm pressed for time, or not well-rested/-fed/-clothed, or when some deep, emotional trigger gets pulled. But usually, and fairly quickly, I recognize these lapses as such. They're my (temporary) deviations from an essentially optimistic, basically loving worldview, brought on by my own forgetfulness in administering self-care.

What reels me back in varies, but the underlying, foundational bit of knowledge I'm operating from goes something like this:

I do not change the world I live in by reacting to it like a jackass, except for the worst.

This is not a bad thing to keep in mind all the time (along with useful stuff like "breathe!" and "stop!" and "when's the last time you ate, anyway?"), but it's a really, really good thing for me to remember when something awful happens. It is quick and easy to reach for anger, for outrage, for righteous indignation. There they are, all handy and stuff, just like the drive-thru window of your favorite fast-food place. And hey, everyone else is at the fast-food place, right? Damn right! That's why this #$@(!) line is so long! *HONK!* *HO-O-O-O-ONK!*

At a little gathering this weekend, someone reminded me of a great assessment device for making sound decisions: what would your future self want?

Will your future self be happy that you shaved a half-hour off of your afternoon by picking up Extra-Value Meal #9? Or would your future self prefer to continue fitting comfortably in her pants, remaining ambulatory and independent into her dotage, continuing to poop from her factory-installed organs?*

The nice thing about this kind of projection is that it is easily (okay, SIMPLY) reframed to encompass more and more compassion and awareness as I get better at it. Does my future self want to wade through a world thigh-deep in single-use plastic? Or, how might my future self feel explaining to her theoretical nieces and nephews as we all munch dejectedly on our Soylent Green that yeah, we could sure use some of those resources my cohort and I burned through, but man, were those burgers fast-'n'-tasty! And, as you see, so on.

I am not always the best at considering Future Colleen. Far from it. One thing that really seems to help is keeping myself a wee bit uncomfortable. Not in a martyr-ish way, necessarily, although putting a cap on the thermostat, or asking whether you really need this or that important doodad, doesn't hurt. (More on that, and 2011's theme of Conscious Stewardship, to come.)

No, I'm talking about the discomfort involved in stepping out of the silo and bumping up against my fellow man. I dread the thought of socializing. Amazingly, more and more the actual experience usually varies from "pretty good" to "awesome," but even if it's objectively a low-grade Torquemada-fest of enervation or bombastery, if I can muster the right mindset, it's usually enlightening and it's always strengthening.

There are degrees of this, then, too, bumping up against lots and lots of my fellow men, in small groups and the occasional noisy crowd. Meeting them on their home turf. Acting as leader, or hostess. Things that are terrifying, at first, but that one gets better at. No, really. I'm not just a reasonably assimilated introvert; I'm so acclimated now that more often than not, I pass for extravert.

Achieving even this level of comfort took years of assiduous plugging away: Nerdmasters; networking practice, under the kind and patient tutelage of another reformed introvert; hurling myself again and again into scary, unfamiliar circumstances. In other words, not easy, not overnight. But oh, so well worth it.

I know how annoying it is hearing people parrot platitudes like "Be the change!", especially on Twitter or Facebook. Knee-jerk anything is suspect, save perhaps the impulse to throw oneself under a future bus to save one's theoretical niece or nephew. But at almost-50, and having foregone a great deal of potential income in favor of exploring more existential concerns, I think I've earned the tiniest right to suggest that maybe, just maybe, this lack of tolerance thing is kinda-sorta becoming a problem. And that perhaps, just perhaps, we might do well to bring a bit of awareness to it. That's all. I don't have a handy app or pledge page for this; just raising a thought. Maybe we could start small (it's usually best, in my old-lady opinion) by listening more. Literally.

There are all kinds of ways to start. Anything, I think, can be a start, provided you're bringing a loving intention to it.

Me, I'm going to go out and meet up with some people this week. Some old friends, some new ones. Maybe even some weird ones. (It's L.A., so definitely some weird ones.)

Because I have a silo, but I live in a world. Your world, my world, our world...

xxx
c

*On the other hand, if you're opting for the Filet-o'-Fish rather than ripping someone's head off and crapping down their neck, your future self thanks you, as does mine. It also gently and lovingly suggests you bring some attention to this "solution," and start exploring alternatives.

UPDATE [1/10]: A lucid, thoughtful, somewhat charged (he's blunt, folks!) piece by Jon Armstrong on the genesis and implications of the Giffords shooting; his wife Heather Armstrong also has a short but very touching post on what I think is one excellent way to move forward.

UPDATE [1/11]: Another excellent piece by Penelope Trunk on the role mental illness played both in the shooting and the tragic story of Bill Zeller. Link to Zeller's lengthy, sad and well-written suicide note via the previous link, or this MetaFilter post, or directly on this Gizmodo post and Zeller's site (as of this writing, anyway). My favorite takeaway from this horrible series of events came from a comment on the MetaFilter post:

The best I can do with something like this is to remember to always be nicer, because you truly never know what someone may be dealing with inside.

If I could make just that change, I think I could call this a live well-lived.

UPDATE [1/12]: Via Jeffrey Zeldman on Twitter, a very sharp op-ed in the NY Times on the role fear plays in all of this, and a reiteration that this is not a left/right issue, but an issue of thoughtful engagement vs. fear-mongering, isolationism and other insalubrious human tendencies.

Image by sillygwailio via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #33

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. Keep up with them day-to-day on one of the many other Internet outlets I stop by (or tweet at) during my daily travels. More about the genesis here.

My favorite bathroom reading over the holidays was definitely Esquire's round-up of "What I Learned" entries. Gems in all of them, but especially enjoyable were ones from the late John Wooden, the very-much-alive Dr. Ruth Westheimer and my top choice for co-conspirator in a future dysfunctional relationship, Aaron Sorkin. [delicious-ed]

The L.A. that I inhabit is so very, very different than the one of my friends just across the border of Beverly Hills. Especially the ones who date there. [Google Reader-ed]

Photos of once-great, now practically post-apocalyptic Detroit. [Stumbled, via many]

And finally, one of the more heartwarming success stories I've heard since the world economy crashed down around us, starring Darryl Slim, husband of my beloved pal, Pamela. YOU GO, DARYL! [Facebook]

xxx
c

Photo by Alissa Walker, via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Knowing you're getting your money's worth [video]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKOdzAFLn7Q&w=475&h=292]

[Watch "Entertainment Book Hack" on YouTube; 1:45, I'm gettin' there!]

One of the most baffling (but flattering) bits of feedback I kept getting last year was that I should post more videos.

WHATEVER. I mean, who watches videos when they can read? Only, well, I get it. There's a je ne sais quoi about seeing someone on video, where the "quoi" is "you get a much better real-time feel for what they're really like." And not everyone can come to the excellent and lively Biznik mixers I host out here in Los Angeles, or to SXSW, or wherever, so there you go. Me, out loud and in your damned face, from the comfort of your desk. Or the couch, if you're on an iPad.

I will try like crazy to keep these like me, on the short side, but as you know if you've met me in person, I am one loquacious motherf*cker. This one clocks in at 1:45, which ain't bad. On the other hand, there's probably :15  worth of actual info, so, you know, not great, either.

THE HACK MENTIONED IN THE VIDEO FOR THOSE WHO HATE VIDEO

I have been buying those stupid Entertainment Books for years, since getting roped in by a fellow Toastmaster who was helping his Girl Scout daughter raise money.

The cover of this thing says "OVER $18,200 IN SAVINGS," but frankly, if you ate that much fast food and saw that many stupid Hollywood blockbusters, you'd need twice that amount in colon hydrotherapy, plus a good smack upside the head.

Still, theoretically there are enough good deals in there for most of us IF we plan carefully and use them. So this year, I'm taking it out of the theoretical and into the measurable. You can, too. Here's how:

1. Affix large Post-It type sticky note to front of book.
2. Write down amount paid for book.
3. Each time you realize savings, write down the item/date/amount.
4. Add up at end of year and see if you've been a sucker or a smarty-pants. (NB: I have not done this part yet.)

That's it!

As per usually, feel free to leave comments and suggestions here, or email me if you're feeling shy: colleen AT communicatrix DOT com.

And if you have awesome money-saving tips to share with other frugal types, do leave them in the comments.

Oh, most importantly, if you have ideas for things you think would make good videos, please please please let me know. Until I learn to orient myself toward video thinking, it's gonna be an uphill slog.

Thanks!

xxx
c

Book review: The Career Clinic: 8 Simple Rules for Finding Work You Love

I am a fan of all things that help us find, and keep, and get back on, our ways.

Mantras are good for this, as are those perfect teachers students occasionally do will into appearing at just the right time. Ditto (if less obviously) music, art, poetry, fiction and drama. And for this frequently befuddled traveler, triple-ditto for the Holy Trinity of Maps to the Self: biography, memoir and other forms of well-conceived, well-written nonfiction of a personal nature.

The solutions for everything that befuddles, the inspiration to keep slogging through the dark toward the light, these things are embedded everywhere, but never so clearly and handily as in excellent, truthfully told stories of the self.

"Hey," we say, "this person's self struggled with that same envy thing that has me in a headlock!"

Or "Wow, I'm not the first person to be broke/sick/lonely/scared/overwhelmed/blue/green/blah!"

The trick of it is, of course, to read the right thing at the right time, no small feat in this modern world with enough choices to choke an underfed herd of horses. But there are some good places to start the search: commonalities of situation, for starters; it would be madness to look to Ben Franklin, however wise he was, for particulars on dealing with the particular woes of a 21st-Century woman in the throes of perimenopause. (Although the founding father was mighty smart about things like thrift and focus and getting enough sleep, all of which apply in spades to our particular condition.)

One of the greatest common-denominator places to start is with work, mostly because each of us is somehow called to do it. There is rent to be paid, for one. But also, if one has more than a few brain cells to rub together after watching all that reality TV, one realizes that life is just way more interesting when one is engaged in some kind of meaningful activity (and if one doubts this, one can click to any number of examples still housed in the DVR denoting the deleterious effect of endless consumption. Cf. Real Housewives Whose Cribs Have Been Intervened On or Battle of the America's Hoarders without Talent.)

Which brings us to a book I finished long ago and have longed to share since, but have been struggling to adequately define.

The Career Clinic: 8 Simple Rules for Finding Work You Love is a great book in search of a better title. (And possibly a more enticing cover, but I'm kind of a snob about these things.) The stories, dozens of them!, are indeed about work, and are clustered around eight different topic-categories. They are not as simple as the title might indicate, though, nor so precisely and neatly prescriptive.

What they are, the stories, and the writing around them, is wonderful. Gripping. Fascinating. Delightful. And concise, distilled down to delicious, pithy essence from what must by now be hundreds of interviews with all kinds of wonderful people on Maureen Anderson's long-running, weekly show on terrestrial radio, "The Career Clinic." (I've been a guest on the show twice as of this writing, and can attest to Maureen's amazing interview prowess; some people are just really good at interviewing, and Maureen Anderson is one of them.)

These people run the gamut, endeavor-wise. Writers are well represented, maybe because Maureen is a writer, and writers like reading, which inevitably leads them to more writers. For starters, there's Dave Barry, the syndicated humorist; Marshall Goldsmith, who has written extensively on leadership; and Dick Bolles, Anderson's own guru of sorts, of What Color Is My Parachute? fame. There are interviews with Helen Gurley Brown, creatrix of the Cosmo empire; with casting director Jane Brody; with Sally Hogshead, marketing personality and best-selling author.

But the stories of the most famous personalities aren't necessarily where the gold lies, even when they do illuminate their path to "making it" (hint: paths are almost universally easier to make out in hindsight). What is most interesting about all of these stories, from potters and cowboys, peddlers and preachers, musicians and woodworkers and triathletes and hog callers, is how work done led to the work done next, and how the sum total of it all was to lead them back to themselves somehow. I know, I know, woowoo in the extreme, but there you have it.

As I mentioned, the book is divvied up into sections with purported themes, but really, it's this overall theme that is the main thing: we work to find ourselves, we work to make meaning of our lives. Work is the vehicle and work is the product but mostly, work is the process. Maureen's own journey, from unhappiness and confusion to a life and work she loves (and slightly less confusion), is as illustrative as any story in the book. She steps out of the way, mostly, to let her guests tell their stories, but her guiding hand is always there, shaping and leading us back to the main point: to make the most of a life, start where you are and adjust, adjust, adjust.

I do not know if you will find the work you love by reading this book, but I know it will inspire you, reassure you, comfort you to continue on the often-hard work of the journey. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

xxx c

• Buy The Career Clinic: 8 Simple Rules for Finding Work You Love on Amazon
• Visit Maureen Anderson's website (current episode available to stream)

Disclosure! Links to the books in the post above are Amazon affiliate links. This means if you click on them and buy something, I receive an affiliate commission. Which I hope you do: it helps keep me in books to review. More on this disclosure stuff at publisher Michael Hyatt's excellent blog, from whence I lifted (and smooshed around a little) this boilerplate text.

It's just Monday

It was 1.1.11.

The first day of a new decade, all shiny, all ones, all the promise of a big, brave, beautiful new year stretched out before us.

It was the reboot, the fresh start, the alpha to 12/31/10's omega. It was hope, objectified. It was intention, projected.

Or, you know, it was what we called it the week before:

Saturday.

***

One of the reasons I decided, finally, to opt out of the Race for the New Year in December of 2009 was because of the pressure. So much pressure to get it right, to start out right, to not screw up this fresh chance to not screw up. Instead, I decided to roll with December in January.

It turned out to be one of the smarter moves I've made, but not for the reason I thought. Yes, there was less stress, not compounding a searching moral inventory with the demands of a holiday. My god, have you experienced a holiday recently? By which I mean "have you endured one?" BAH. And humbug.

I haven't really even celebrated the holidays since my split with the Youngster back in '02, and I find them off-the-charts stressful by osmosis. The world gone mad, right up in my airspace. And my left-turn lane. And everywhere else on the roads, in the stores, at the bank, and the etcetera.

No, the big "win" I got from pushing everything off for a month, and then five, six, seven weeks before locking down the program for the upcoming 52, was realizing that I could do it. That I was the boss of me, not some calendar established by a powerful pointy-hat-wearing patriarch four and a half centuries ago. To catch a plane, to make a meeting, to honor a birthday in a timely fashion, yes, I will adhere to the almighty calendar; to determine my present and future well-being? No way, Pope José.

***

I quit smoking on a Thursday in September over 20 years ago.* I started this blog on a Monday in November over six years ago.

I have done everything that changed my life for the better on a day.

On the other hand, I have done plenty of things that went absolutely nowhere on a day. You never know what will come of a day, and what will not. Sometimes you stick a flag in a hill and things work out; sometimes, not. But most of the time, it is the picking, not the day.

What I know now is that today is as good a day as any to start something. And that no day is a good day to stop without intent. Opt in or opt out, but opt. Pick a hill. Start pushing. It's as good a day as any.

***

Then again, sometimes the thing picks you.

My ex-boyfriend told me that one day a voice in his head told him, "Get a dog." And he did, and the dog was Arnie, and it was good.

And yesterday, on my morning walk, a perfect one-word theme for the year floated by: SHIP.**  I have never picked a one-word theme for the year, although reading about it has piqued my interest. Many years ago, I would have sweated and fretted my way to a one-word theme, with the probable result of it not fitting, not working. Finally, I am learning a thing or two about ease. And about how other people's "instructions" are of far, far less use to you (or me) than their stories. No two paths are the same. No two interesting ones, anyway.

***

So. It's just Monday. What are you up to today?

xxx c

*Thursday, September 17, 1987. This is one reason why I will never, ever throw out my journals, they are my outboard brain.

**Seth has been talking about this for months, for years; I've been resolving to do it for almost as long, at least since I talked it over with him at this time last year. Oh, the plans I had for 2010! The resolve! The three books on the docket! Of course, I still have them. Only on a much longer, far more sensible docket. Although there's still the outside possibility that I could get three books in some ship-able state by the third week of February. But I wouldn't take that bet.

Photo by Evil Erin via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license. And yeah, "Bench Monday" is a thing..

100 Things I Learned in 2010, Part 2

This year didn't kick my ass so much as it snuck up behind me, whispered in my ear it would kill me if I made so much as a wrong move, and slipped off into the night before I could make out what the fuck it looked like. This year was easily the worst since I got sucker-punched by 2002.

Still. This year could have been SO much worse. I know this. I mean, I forgot this, but then I remembered, and so sometime a month or two ago, I started making another kind of list, of things I was really, really lucky to have. Stuff like friends and health (especially when I got it back) and relative solvency, of course, but also stuff like "sunshine!" or "rain!" or "electricity!" (Although electricity mixed with rain, not so much.)

My point is this: I write because I have to, but I also am never far from realizing I write because I get to. As in, "I am alive for now, and living people GET TO WRITE."

So as this year draws to a close, I reiterate: I am alive for now. LIVING PEOPLE GET TO (fill in your Thing of Choice  here.) For my part, I am grateful for this year, and pledge to try my best not to slip out of gratitude for too long at any one point during the next.

Besides, sometimes the shittiest years bear the greatest fruits. Fertilizer, yadda yadda.

May you gently lay to rest your previous year, and rest your arms to open themselves widely to the next. Thank you, and I hope we'll see each other in 2011!

xxx c

1. It's hell in the hallway.
2. Never judge a bra by his cover.
3. My sign-painting obsession is not an anomaly.
4. Hypnosis feels like cheating on your pain.
5. But it hurts so good.
6. There's almost no mood that 100 miles of open road and a "singalong" playlist can't fix.
7. Keep that comfort television toward the top of the queue, too.
8. Habits before tools.
9. Fun has a high switching cost, but a stunning overall ROI.
10. Compassionate understanding is more effective than strict punishment.
11. Although neatly-drawn boundaries come in mighty handy.
12. Halve the meat.
13. Double the veggies.
14. Deep-six the carbs.
15. Anyone who says you can have it all, doesn't.
16. Everyone loves a good hack.
17. And a peek at someone else's setup.
18. The answer to more things than not is "less."
19. (Underwear and socks, excepted.)
20. Lemongrass is magic.
21. Hippie "deodorant" is the toiletries equivalent of the "CLOSE DOOR" button on the elevator.
22. When it comes to inboxes, "zero" is a journey, not a destination.
23. Unloading beats acquiring, hands-down.
24. Facebook is the best thing to happen to birthdays since cake.
25. Coconut is the best thing to happen to Larabars since Larabars.
26. Hotels are worth it.
27. That goes double re: springing for the single.
28. If you're not paying for the service, you're the product being sold.
29. An open jar is an empty jar.
30. Discovering bona fide Christians could almost restore one's faith.
31. I may never be immortalized in ink.
32. Vinyl, however, is another story.
33. With a rather bittersweet ending.
34. There are angels all around you, if you know where to not look.
35. Slow leaks cause steadily mounting anxiety.
36. There's no news like really fucking great news.
37. Ask around all you want, but you already know what you need to do next.
38. Sorry, not that.
39. Yes, that.
40. Don't forget the Epsom salts.
41. There's no free qi.
42. Misery (still) loves company.
43. Muppets (still) rule.
44. For good or for ill, you're making a difference.
45. Less video.
46. More music.
47. Crushes are better in individual serving sizes.
48. Troubles are better shared.
49. Fear is a yellow light, not a red one.
50. When life lets up, you're probably not living it anymore.

Yup. This 100-things thing is indeed an annual thing:

2010

• 100 things, Part I

2009

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2008

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2007

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2006

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2005

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2004

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

Magnificent drawing of yours truly, the clown, © Wally Torta, gentleman and scholar.

100 Things I Learned in 2010, Part 1

I know that normal people marvel over how fast time flies when they see Rite Aid putting out the holiday tchotchkes in July or read stories of their college roommates' babies get busted for dealing meth, but I'll tell you what, nothin' sez "Old timer!" to this old timer like posting your SEVENTH annual "Things I Learned in Whatever Year" to your blog.

This year was not an easy year for many people. On the other hand, easy years are rarely memorable ones. And, as my memory ain't what it used to be (I think), maybe I'm better off with a "challenging" year.

Part 2 coming at you on Thursday...

xxx

c

1. Love is easy.
2. Forgiveness is hard.
3. Which means that actually, love isn't easy at all.
4. December is way more fun when you do it in January.
5. The best slide shows present you.
6. To get down with the future, meet the kids who'll be running it.
7. For someone who never liked dogs, I sure turned out to like dogs.
8. Then again, no one told me they had medicinal properties.
9. You're never too old to learn how much you have yet to learn.
10. Or too good to make light of it.
11. The way to read a lot of books is 40pp at a time.
12. If you build it, they will cum.
13. You may never work harder than the year you don't "work."
14. Exhaustion is the true mother of invention.
15. The two greatest blogs about change are newsletters.
16. But the king is the king for a reason.
17. There will never be enough hours in a day.
18. I don't know why or how, but wishing works.
19. I finally have enough author friends to form a football team.
20. And 2011 is bringing in some strong starters.
21. As for me, we'd better hope those Mayans were wrong.
22. Car washes are infinitely better when you add free magazines.
23. Everything is infinitely better when you add hot guys.
24. The best pictures are inevitably the worst pictures.
25. When it comes to chasing, I give up.
26. Uniforms rock.
27. Pen pals rule.
28. Nothing underlines the need for self-love like a run-in with one's inner shithead.
29. At a certain point, "procrastination" becomes simply "one's working style."
30. The biggest learning is in the doing.
31. Cheap is beautiful.
32. Ice cream is better than gossip. For everyone.
33. You'll hate half of what you try.
34. If you're incredibly lucky.
35. And unusually diligent.
36. Feminism and heat are not mutually exclusive.
37. I'd walk a thousand miles for a singular comment.
38. Two thousand, if the comment comes from the elusive Dan Owen.
39. I like my books like I like my eggs: hard-boiled.
40. The biggest skies are the hardest to get to.
41. But when you hitch the right ride, they're beyond worth it.
42. Maybe video ain't so bad.
43. When life won't buy your lemons, offer it lemonade.
44. On the other hand, when assholes spill oil, set them on fire.
45. Although some of them are pretty good at self-immolation.
46. Nothing feels as good as true service.
47. Belly laughs run a close, close second.
48. Then again, these days, belly laughs are the highest form of service.
49. Social media is dead.
50. Long live social media.

Part II is here. And have I mentioned that I've been doing this 100-things thing for SEVEN years now?

2009

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2008

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2007

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2006

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2005

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

2004

• 100 things, Part I
• 100 things, Part II

Photo © John Gruber via Flickr.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #32

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. Keep up with them day-to-day on one of the many other Internet outlets I stop by (or tweet at) during my daily travels. More about the genesis here.

Not a link, but by way of explanation for the light posting here of late, at least, the part I can talk about, here's a little post I put up on the Tumblr. [Tumbled]

Design writer, gelato lover and flaneur extraordinaire Alissa Walker has been an inspiration to me since I met her roughly four years ago. This excellent write-up by Heather Parlato, a fine designer and another good friend who is a source of inspiration, will give you a good idea of why, plus some great insight into building a life and career you love. [Google Reader-ed]

This excellent little essay by Merlin Mann on his obsession with Dr. Strangelove gets at not only the heart of the film itself (hint: NOT about nuclear proliferation), but also the nature of obsessive loves, and how they become paths to bigger truths. [Stumbled]

One of the most thrilling meetings of great Stephens you're likely to encounter. Delightful! [Facebook, via Taylor Negron]

xxx
c

Photo by The Royal Academy of Nuts + Bolts via the Machine Project Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Frrrrriday Rrrrroundup! #31

An end-of-weekly roundup collecting fffffive of the fffffantabulous things I find stumbling around the web. Keep up with them day-to-day on one of the many other Internet outlets I stop by (or tweet at) during my daily travels. More about the genesis here.

Best thinking I've seen yet on the question of Facebook: do I stay or do I go now? [delicious-ed, which will soon be defunct, alas]

Lots of great stuff in the Google Reader feed this week, but the most useful thing I found was my friend Delia Lloyd's cogent summary of ways to engage without conflict. [Google Reader-ed]

On envy, magnanimity, what real success looks like, and why you should run like hell from the other, all in one piece nominally about design. [Stumbled]

Great proposals are made of great ingenuity. And love. And, occasionally, Muppets. [Tweeted, via Dave Seah]

xxx
c

Photo by mejuan via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Poetry Thursday: Slow death by bullshit happiness

You think to yourself: "I can do this!" or "This will be good for me!" or even "It doesn't matter."

And so you smile when someone asks how things are going, broadly, you smile, with most of your teeth, and you flick aside what's left of your heart, and you stick out your hand and say, "Grrrreat!" or "Couldn't be better!" or, when life is particularly bleak, "Things are looking up!"

And you recite from memory a menu, several pre-selected items from columns "A" and "B", of all the marvelous wins and fabulous opportunities and other stale pellets of extruded terror formed into appetizing, life-like shapes, tarted up with brio and garnished with a wilted sprig of false humility until you question whether you can even remember what it felt like to really, truly feel anything.

What happens, I wonder, when you just fucking say, "Damn, I'm tired. Business sucks, traffic was awful, my husband left me, my hard drive crashed, the dog has cancer, and the Emperor's ass is a flat, pale, pockmarked bucket of sad the sight of which is going to take years to wipe from my memory banks. What's new in YOUR world?"

Whether everything is awful right now or everything is perfect right now everything IS right now.

And I can't think of a single thing that doesn't get a little bit better served up fresh and truthfully, with humor, with tenderness, with the judiciously-chosen expletive, dependent on company.

Besides, what's the alternative, slow death by bullshit happiness?

The end is coming, either way.

And I'm guessing, just guessing, mind you, that if you let at least some of it hang out, the two of you might even toast to the ironies of life, and the way a bump in the road can turn two complete strangers into fellow travelers.

xxx c