Media Post - Online Minute

Another example of Fiefdom building... ooooh no... this is our, not yours... ours... and we don't want anyone to have it... no no no... bad... bad... information bad... you'd think you want people to view your once a year gala event and be excited for the coming year's attraction, but oh no, lets not let Google or YouTube broadcast that, even though we won't.... bloody ridiculous.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007 by Wendy Davis


The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences has joined the ranks of companies taking issue with YouTube.

Variety reports that the Academy demanded the purge of all Oscar-related clips, including the opening monologue by host Ellen DeGeneres and Will Ferrell's musical act -- which were among YouTube's most viewed clips. (Variety reports that the clips had been deleted, but they appeared to have resurfaced on YouTube as of Wedneday morning.)

The Academy's motive here isn't clear, especially since it's not distributing the clips itself. The official site, Oscar.com, doesn't carry either the entire DeGeneres monologue or the musical number, so it's not as if YouTube traffic is drawing eyeballs away from the official site.

And it's not as if ABC's going to show a rerun any time soon. In fact, Ric Robertson, executive administrator, told Variety the Academy was only trying "to help manage the value of our telecast and our brand."

Even more puzzling, Robertson reportedly said that Oscar.com will ultimately delete the few snippets now available to "whet people's appetite for next year's show."

Does the Academy really believe that making past clips unavailable will encourage people to watch in real-time next year? Or that allowing them to remain on YouTube will somehow discourage people from watching the broadcast? If anything, the opposite appears far more likely: Viewing popular clips will keep the Oscars alive for fans, and that's what will whet people's appetite for more.

The Fruit Of The Sea: A Scene

The Fruit Of The Sea

by

Len Shneyder

Characters

Masha - Mother

Vitalik - Father

Garick – Son

(Setting: a family dinning room

with a table filled with eastern European delicacies. There are five place settings around the table. A large ceramic bowl with a metal lid sits in the center of the table waiting to be opened. It’s the night of Yom Kippur and the family has just returned from the temple.)

MASHA

Where are they? They were right behind us.

VITALIK

You could tell at that speed?

MASHA

What speed?! They were right there.

VITALIK

And then you were gone.

MASHA

Listen you want to make dinner?

VITALIK

No, but next time lets not tempt fate.

MASHA

Fate? What fate? Dinner is dinner! Oh where are they?

VITALIK

(pushing the air back with his hands)

Sha! sha! sha!

MASHA

Just save it today.

VITALIK

(sighs heavily)

Nu Shto?

(picks up a pickle)

MASHA

(smacks VITALIK’S hand)

Get out of here! You’ll eat everything before they arrive!

GARIK

(Enters the dinning from the left as

VITALIK exists in a huff from the right.)

Is there anything to eat?

MASHA

(Hands GARIK a pickle)

Here you go son. We’ll eat as soon as they get here. Hand me the phone, I’ll try calling them.

GARIK

He never answers his phone when he’s driving. What’s in the pot?

MASHA

Don’t open it. I don’t want it to go cold.

GARIK

Then what is it?

MASHA

It’s a surprise, don’t worry, you’ll like. What did you think of the service?

GARIK

I remembered why I stopped going to these things.

MASHA

What things?

GARICK

Synagogues.

MASHA

Nu! Come on, it was nice.

GARIK

Nice isn’t the point. I can think for myself.

MASHA

The Rabi wasn’t telling you what to think.

GARIK

Then what would you call it?

MASHA

I call it nice.

GARIK

That’s what he said we should be to each other.

MASHA

So see, that’s what we we’ll do, be nice to each other.

GARIK

Right, nice! So very nice not being there.

MASHA

Do you remember when you were a child and went to school there? We’d just arrived from Tashkent.

GARIK

Right, I remember, do you remember they kicked me out shortly after I started going there?

MASHA

You kicked yourself out.

GARIK

No I didn’t.

MASHA

(Anxiously looks at the clock)

Nu Gde ohni? Where are they?

GARIK

I told them that I didn’t believe in God.

MASHA

(Shocked and dismayed)

What!?

GARIK

Nothing. I’m going to go smoke.

MASHA

(Indignant)

You’re smoking!? Today? You’re smoking.

(GARIK exits left as VITALIK enters

right)

VITALIK

I’m starving what’s in the fridge?

MASHA

Shto?! You don’t see the table?

VITALIK

(Opens the fridge and begins looking)

I see the table.

MASHA

Then why are you in the fridge?!

VITALIK

It doesn’t bite.

MASHA

(She begins by stammering but quickly her temper flares and the tempo of her speech picks up as she begins to assume a self-righteous tone and posture.)

I spend all day cooking and you can’t wait five minutes for Volodya and Yula to arrive so we can sit down and eat like a family?! On Yom Kippur, you need something else to ask God’s forgiveness for?!

VITALIK

First of all they’re not my family. Second of all, I’m sure that Jews wandering around the desert would eat anything that crossed their path if they were stuck there for forty years, on any day they found it! So like a jew in the desert, I’m going to eat, besides, the sun’s set already. And maybe, just maybe, today I can forgive God for blessing me with you!

(VITALIK shoves a piece of salami in his mouth, pauses by the table, snatches a pickle and walks off stage to the right as GARIK enters from the left.)

GARIK

You know what I did in Hebrew school?

MASHA

What did you say?

GARIK

Do you know what I did in Hebrew school?

MASHA

Nu gde ohni?! No, what did you do?

GARIK

I played dreidel and talked to the black janitor.

MASHA

Now why did you bother him? Are you crazy?

GARIK

He was the only one that didn’t tell me what to do.

MASHA

And what does that prove?

GARIK

Nothing, just thought you’d like to know what I did.

MASHA

And this is why you were kicked out?!

GARIK

We already covered that.

(GARIK exits to the left as VITALIK enters from the right. He’s scratching his stomach and smacking his lips. He stops in front of the table and surveys it as if he’s planning another attack. MASHA stares at him and is about to begin screaming when he moves past the table and heads to cabinet behind and pulls out a shot glass. With shot glass in hand he moves to the fridge and opens the freezer and pulls out a bottle of vodka and begins to pour himself a shot.)

VITALIK

Nu, what’re you looking at? Za tebya! To you.

MASHA

To me? You can’t wait to drink?

VITALIK

I’m drinking to next year.

MASHA

Today isn’t Purim! Am I wearing a costume?

VITALIK

No but here’s to you not needing one next year.

(VITALIK snickers to himself while MASHA is beside herself with frustration. She raises her left arm and points to the door out of the kitchen.)

MASHA

Eyde otzudiva!!! VOHN!!!!!

(VITALIK still snickering exits to the right as GARICK enters from the left. GARICK spots the bottle of vodka sitting on the counter and heads toward the cabinet to get a shot glass. MASHA at this point looks as if she’s either going to kill someone or burst into tears; quite possibly both.)

GARICK

Do you want one?

MASHA

Shto? What? Do I want what?!

GARICK

Fifty grams?

MASHA

Is there no one in this house that can wait?

GARICK

Wait for what, the messiah?

(GARICK amused with himself raises his glass toward MASHA and knocks it back, half smiling and content with his impish comments.)

MASHA

(Very near tears)

Ne kruti mne mozgi!

GARIK

Koneshno.

(MASHA turns her back and begins walking out as GARIK moves toward the table. He picks up another pickle, bites into it and looks at the metal lid on the large ceramic bowl. He realizes that there’s a very strong smell of garlic and butter emanating from the bowl. He decides to lift the lid.)

What the fuck?!

MASHA

(Spins around with the wrath of Jehova in her eyes.)

Sha! What?! What now? Bite your tongue in my kitchen!

(GARIK begins to laugh uncontrollably and eventually doubles over as MASHA watches him fall to the ground. She gasps and covers her mouth. From the other room there is a stirring as if someone is rapidly approaching.)

GARIK

And you call yourself a good Jew?

MASHA

(Confused)

Control yourself, what’s a matter, why are you laughing?

GARICK

Really, you’re a great Jew! “A”-number-one JEW!

MASHA

Have you lost your mind?

GARICK

My mind? No, but I think you’ve lost your religion, and your mind along with it it! Who cares why I was kicked out of Hebrew school, if there was a heaven you certainly pissed off the land lord today! Today, of all days!!! Oh this one is grand, really, bravo, you did it, you did it in your kitchen! So very nice!

MASHA

What are you talking about? You don’t like Shrimp Scampi?!

GARIK

Oh I love shrimp alright, and I do love the scampi as much as the next goy, but on Yom Kippur?! That’s like serving Bruschetta with a side of French toast on Passover. Or having a nice side of veal on lent. I’ve a great idea, let’s find a mosque and sit in there chanting the Shama, that’ll make just about as much sense as this potyou’re your table, on Yom Kippur! Haven’t you ever read Deuteronomy or Leviticus?!

MASHA

(Uncertain now, voice cracking)

What’s wrong with shrimp?!

GARIK

IT’S NOT KOSHER!!!!

MASHA

I cleaned them and took out the black poopy string.

GARICK

Which part didn’t make sense: NOT or KOSHER?!

MASHA

Well how do you know this?

GARICK

Read a bible, it isn’t a state secret!

MASHA

Well it’s ok, God understands, we’re Russian.

GARIK

(still laughing near tears now)

Oh sure, God thought the same thing about Job, he’ll understand I’m just fucking with him. Hey, maybe he would’ve understood if the Angel didn’t make it in time to tell Abe not to kill Isaac. You know, he stopped for a little shrimp Satay in Bombay cause God wasn’t looking. What do you think about that one? You think Isaac would’ve understood that?

MASHA

You know we didn’t have synagogues in Russia.

GARIK

You have them here.

MASHA

Well we just have a different idea about it is all.

GARIK

Oh right… like pretending to be something you’re not is different how?

MASHA

When you were born…

GARIK

(cutting her off)

I know you assembled 7 men, found a moyle and had a chunk of my dick cut off and sent to God to make sure I’m a Jew. Well guess what, maybe he cut too much, were you paying attention?! What do you think he would’ve thought about shrimp scampi for Yom Kippur? It’s the high holidays and you’re making bloody scampi!

MASHA

(VITALIK enters from the right. MASHA looks at him for a moment and then at GARICK.)

Idi k’chortu!

VITALIK

What’s going on here?! Shto ta koyo?

GARIK

(Catching his breath, and occasionally laughing.)

Your wife, the Zionist…

VITALIK

your mother!

GARIK

My mother, the evangelical yid just made shrimp scampi for dinner after atoning for her sins and listening to the hazzan, the only decent moment of that whole mess. However, she completely slept through the part about only eating fish with scales and fins!

VITALIK

Nu e shto?!

GARIK

So what?! So what?! Just five minutes ago she was on her soap box about me being kicked out of Hebrew school as a kid and now she’s making scampi, don’t you see a certain inequity here?

VITALIK

Ach… what do you know?

GARIK

Doesn’t matter what I know, but Ha-Shem knows.

MASHA

Who is Ha-Shem?

GARIK

The name.

VITALIK

Whose name?

GARIK

For Christ’s sake, fucking Jehovah’s name!

MASHA

That’s not his name… it’s Yaweh.

GARIK

Look here woman, if you want to get us all killed go on, keep making scampi and calling for the almighty by name on the one day that only a priest of Solomon’s temple could say Ha-Shem’s true name. I know the kitchen is your temple and all, but let’s not tempt fate.

VITALIK

Enough of this nonsense! When did you become such an authority Mr. Rabi?

GARIK

I’m not, but I know enough to know I’m not.

MASHA

So what do we do now, they’ll be here any minute.

VITALIK

Do what?!

MASHA

For dinner!

VITALIK

Nothing! It’s done!

(Masha begins sobbing erratically)

Now look what you’ve done!

GARICK

Me?! How am I responsible for her being a terrible Jew!

VITALIK

There are no terrible Jews, only goys and Jews.When the Jews were starving in the desert I guarantee they weren’t asking each other if snake and rat were kosher, they ate! So we’ll eat.

GARICK

I’m sure the Rabi today would understand, besides, he looks like he eats plenty.

VITALIK

Yes, and a good man for it too, healthy and happy.

GARICK

Until his coronary.

VITALIK

Enough!

(Looks at MASHA)

Enough! Enough! Tears won’t solve this, besides what else can do we have?

MASHA

Nothing!

GARIK

Hey, let’s just order Chinese. Maybe we can have a nice sweet and sour pork roast.

MASHA & VITALIK

SHUTUP!

(The door bell rings)

end.

The Quilted Word

Slow time now breeds still the stilted hand

and all the voice can carry through the day

so many strings and chords and asymmetric

signs, the road is full of hazard, been and gone

the need to say for this emphatic sheet, tatters

still remain, a sort of patchwork

eulogy has taken shape between the hands,

the breast, the possibilities exist in rounds

and squares, angled and textured memory

resides in place, the lacquered walls licked

clean and cracked with yesterday’s emotion

chalk white, caked thick in thin places

able bodied hand, the hand, the hand still

pulls and pushes needle thread in tow.

Len Shneyder

Form as Function

I

The functional significance implies

I think of what I am where I do not think to think

about the significant thoughts

or a representation

of a terrific metaphor

cold metal sheets

disappointing ambiguity

breaks the surface

of flesh or function

the dream’s entrails

the dream’s entirety

II

Suppose we are significant

in the proper name we signify

to mean the first order

freely implies the second

order of being is ordinal

occasionally an ordination

equivalent in its proximity

between the bars

an over under achievement

admits to the impulse felt

in free falling

faster than the speed of

flying imperfections

arguing currency

arguably trades them in

for a current solution

to the problems of having

been a form of dimension

like the pass through port

where we cease to slide

under the bridges at night

like the shadow of memory

the interminable weight

of lost imaginations

a spark of brief sensations

the confluence of organs

in dialectic we find the

dialogues to run in reverse

pulling back the hem

a gleaming darkness

on the edge of the water

where it met the water

where the waters meet

in the circle of metonyms

we hold between us

or other than our

simple natures naming

frames where we place

the meaning of our name.

III

f()

(once again is a function of never having been there =	the image is superfluous to the caste of imagination +	we brought the bars in case the night could open again -
inside a two sided mystery hiding in a captive inertia -	if we design it as a process to mean we’ve been here =	dreaming a little less each day has no potential +
the way we ring together the parts of our chain +	to seek the letter’s spirit killers claim the best parts -	armed with senses to see the way back moves forward) =

Gizoogle

Yo... Dawgs... I gizoogled mah blog and dis shit stood out for me... you should try it... G-to-tha-i-to-tha-zigyzoogle!


Were she innocent or lean n lean as cut fine loin
I can’t know her mind she god-essed into playa fortune
he one killa one coma one come crazily
so say three bodies (lets not forget Ape-Ollo)
three bodily jargons jiznust ready, ready set go
three bodies in two stories but what’s tha third
not know'n who cares but three again three

{Oh-Ryan + Ape-Ollo} jealous drug deala zeal
{Oh-Ryan + Art-A-Miss} jealous brotha lova zealed

n so it goes combine n dine
C-H-to-tha-izzop chizzop dice n slice n two ta bed is three
one jealous dawg caused tha death of anotha
this mizzle is known, this mizzay can stizzill be seen
overheezee randomized regalia star lit she weep it
where wipe at tha brizzow or bruises biznurst
what stars wizzy kizzle wizzle want a show
so dawg map heaven’s door ta speak below
a name so far as moved on high ta where it can’t
be touched or ledgered into fit fine
purgatory his story is sorry fo` mak'n
of a fine ripe dawg ta meat is legend

From a day...

In the city with friends... and after a trip to the CCA print sale... we just wandered around till we all came back here and I made Tilapia...






















...cause you know, that's how we roll...

Curiosity stirred the doberman...

Where the bloody hell does my nephew think his finger is going?!?!?

Banya

Some know, some don't, my father finished his Banya about 8 months ago. Since then it's been a ritual for my brothers and I to gather as often as possible, with pop, in his very own banya, sit around, shvitz, kvetch, drink beer and jasmine tea. I think he built not only for his health and well being but to make sure we come visit as often as possible. Well tell you what pop, it worked! So here are pictures of our family sweat house...

(3) a trois

(3) a trios



Were she innocent or lean and lean as cut fine loin
I can’t know her mind she god-essed into higher fortune
he one lover one comer one come crazily
so say three bodies (lets not forget Ape-Ollo)
three bodily jargons just ready, ready set go
three bodies in two stories but what’s the third
not knowing who cares but three again three

{Oh-Ryan + Ape-Ollo} jealous lovers zeal
{Oh-Ryan + Art-A-Miss} jealous brothers lovers zealed

and so it goes combine and dine
chop chop dice and slice and two to bed is three
one jealous man caused the death of another
this much is known, this much can still be seen
overhead randomized regalia star lit she weep it
where wipe at the brow or bruises burst
what stars will know will want a show
so man map heaven’s door to speak below
a name so far as moved on high to where it can’t
be touched or ledgered into fit fine
purgatory his story is sorry for making
of a fine ripe man to meat is legend

I’m not sure I’m capable of writing in a “time period” other than as an observer firmly planted in the present and looking back. That being said, I’ll take the posture of an omniscient rewriter of time and space that’ll be carried out in a modern voice through out the course of the poem. I don’t claim to be an expert on dialect and as such I don’t want to assume or even try writing in a vernacular that I don’t know, even if it were just a matter of saying “groovy” and “out-a-sight”.

What I do know is that this particular myth, the story of Orion, Artemis and her jealous brother Apollo does have several “versions” out there. The differences between these versions are what delights me about this story, and also because as a child I saw an artist rendition of Artemis that stirred my youthful passions and became a sort of puppy love if you will.

The story goes something a little like this: boy meats goddess, goddess proclaims she’s a virgin until some boy can match or best her in the hunt and athletics as she’s not one to be trifled with. Boy and goddess become fast friends and hunting companions, and ultimately, something else. This part isn’t clear, but what is clear is that the goddess has a jealous brother who doesn’t want to see his vestal virgin sister romantically involved with a mortal. Jealous brother invites sister to an archery competition on top of a mountain overlooking the sea. The jealous brother points to something in the water, way in the distance, and like a two year old says “bet you can’t hit that.” The sister, being a goddess and all, says “of course I can” and shoot an arrow, true to her word, into the target, which happens to be mortal boy. Upon discovering that she has killed the apple of her eye she casts him into the stars, clutching a club and a lion’s mane, for all eternity.

Version two is very similar to version however with it has a twist. The story is that jealous brother meets mortal boy and winds up lovers with the mortal boy. As the old saw goes, “an army of lovers can not be defeated” and institutionalized homosexuality didn’t exist simply among the mortals, gods in the Greek pantheon were just as liberal as their mortal inventors . Eventually, mortal boy meet’s his lover’s virgin sister goddess who takes a shine to him. At this point you can pretty much deduce what happens, slighted lover tricks sister into killing Orion. In either case, Orion dies by Artemis’s hand, but the fact that he was lovers with Apollo significantly changes the story.

The lover’s quarrel and the fact that this story revolves around three beings complete with the clichés of any good archaic romance, seemed to be “sing-song” in nature, so the language of the poem is rhymed and done so in a cheeky manner. One must be mad to try and seduce a goddess; being mortal Orion must’ve known that no good will come of it. However, being a hunter, and having a disposition that there is prey out there to be hunted and to be killed, means that the challenge, and his life hanging in the balance define the boundaries of the hunt; he has no choice but to hunt the goddess even at the expense of his own demise.

The cut, or meat, what is mortal is meat, and what is divine can not be just meat, as divine meat more often than not leads to mortal slaughter in Homer, is a humanizing act in the poem to call “she” innocent or lean and lean as cut fine loin. Thus godhead aside, Apollo’s jealous makes him Ape-Ollo, the play on the Ape, and as such a mortal if we are to forego mythological, religious or other creation stories and stick to scientific theories concerning evolution. Striped of metaphor the play of mortals and men is confined to that of people. The act of turning to meat, of the cut or the kill becomes that which makes of men legends, as in the sense of martyrdom.

If you were to ask me why I decided to butcher a myth for sport, then I’d say I was think of The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover. What finer epicurean delight is there than watching a revenge play out on a glutton by his wife in serving him the man he killed?! His sensibilities and palate, those things that a boor of a man prides himself on, are completely offended, so too is the fact that Apollo as precocious god has to suffer a mortal’s timeless journey in the night sky, after he has been forgotten.

The chronicles of telecommuting chapter 1

Iron Chef Challenge: Secret Ingrediant - Nothing!

I've started my new job from home' I can finally say I'm "living in the city". What do I mean by this? I'm no longer commuting almost 70 miles a day down to San Carlos and back. I'm no longer rushing from work to get to class, although I was a bit pressed for time to make my class today, but I'm hoping this isn't the normal course of events in a day. I've been assured that it's not. My work, place of residence and education are located here in San Francisco. I'm finally "living" in the city full time.

Yesterday I came to the conclusion that my desk and chair were not sufficient to lead this new life that's been termed telecommuting. My desk chair was remarkably uncomfortable so I opted to throw away my desk, I tried to dissasemble it but after two moves it was rickety and uncooperative so it split in many little pieces. I gave my old chair to some friends who were happy to take it from me as a replacement to the even more uncomfortable desk chair they had. Office max proved to be a right proper place to aquire new office furniture. I spent a good chunk of change, uncharacteristically for me, quite suddenly committing to a new furniture set. These things usually take a very long time of stewing, contemplating, comparrison etc. etc. However, this time I just decided I need new furniture and I'm going to have it right the hell now! The new L-shaped desk is all glass tops with a small glass hutch on the longer section. I can honsetly say I'm in love with this stuff. Cabling is a bit of a mess and hard to hite, but over the next few weeks I'll find a way of sorting out this jungle of wires. Still, I really like the new setup with all the glowing LEDs. It's very modern and suites my purposes of having space and convenience to go between computers. A KVM switch is my near future to centralize everything on the new flat panel screen. Yes, we're almost there, the command center is nearly complete. A few odds and ends, removal of old filling cabinets and drawer systems, to be replaced with container store modularly designed solutions will round out my archival and storage needs.

The kitchen on the other hand is a quiet disaster. I haven't disposed of all the packaging materials that this furniture came with. The long boxes with their foam and now emply plastic wrappers and sleeves are still sitting in my kitchen. I think tomorrow will be hack up the carboard day.

One other thing is missing... food. Here's where it gets intersting. Now class let out for me around 8:30 tonight, I was brutally tired and couldn't find the motivation to go to the store. I was gone all of last week on business in Phoenix, training to be exact. The week prior was the conference and my last week at the old company. The week after that was living off of leftovers from the dinner party the weekend before that. So the challenge, dear friends, eat for the rest of this week off of what's here in the house, lots of tried beans, crack wheat, soba noodles, 1 1/2 onions, 2 eggs, 1 sausage, 1 chunk frozen pork, 2 quarts vegetable stock, 1 jar peanutbutter, spices galor, a recently procured banzair rosemary tree for fresh herbs, olives, water, orange juice, numerous teas, soon to be bad pine nuts, lemons, 2 bottls of beer, an unopened bottle of Onigaroshi and basmati rice. The rules will be simple, rice on it's own is not a meal, there must be 3 meals a day, oatmeal can be breakfast but not all five days. There must be a component of "interest" or some quality of gourmet. I don't know what this will be, but simple simply won't cut it.

Either I'll destory my digestive system with way too much spice and salt trying to dress up my food... as if my life isn't complicated enough here I am adding just one more layer to the tower of babel... viva la telecommute!

De Profundis

There is a way to express an opinion, there is a way to have an argument, there is a way to express dissent and all of these can be done in a civil manner...

de profundis clamavi ad te Domine - psalm 130

De Profundis - Oscar Wilde

Neolithic Romeo & Juliet

Thank you Mariya for sending me this link... gorgeous, no? The statement seems as powerful, maybe even more so, as the day they were interred.

The thing about knobs...

I think I'm the youngest person in this hotel, or at least under 50, outside of staff. I heard that it's the high season for "snow birds". I know what you're thinking, skiers, right? That's what I thought too, but snow birds in Phoenix aren't skiers but people escaping the snow, fleeing those Midwestern and northern paradises of fluffy white snow. The weather today, mid 70s, not a cloud in the sky, gorgeous, just perfect. I left my jacket at the hotel, I don't think I'm going to wear it all week to be quite honest, it should hit 80 by wednesday. Last night at 9 I took a dip in the heated pool and sat in the jacuzzi for a bit, it's no banya, but pleasant nonetheless.

So let me tell you about knobs, I boarded my flight at SFO, bound for Phoenix, the plane was slow to fill and the pilots were late arriving to the cockpit. Maybe they were busy finishing their drink at the bar, I know I hate leaving a good glass of hooch unfinished at the bar. We finally pulled away from the gate with a sober sounding pilot who said that we'd make up the time in flight, now I knew he wasn't sober, we have Evil Kanevil at the wheel, right on! Our plane lines up behind a few others when the captain comes on the intercom and says "folks, we're going to have to go back the gate. seems like the start knob on the plane is broken, the switch works, but the knob fell off and the mechanics want to fix it before we take off." Ok, let's think about this, the switch works but the knob is broken, is that like mixed metaphors? And the start switch? The fix took an additional 20 to 30 minutes delaying my arrival in Phoenix by over an hour. Because, you know, that's the thing with knobs... they make you late.

I'm speaking

On a panel, or did speak on a panel at the MAAWG conference... see, that's me, in the t-shirt with all the guys, big-wigs, in their suits, a rebel to the end...












and then the proverbial after party and friendly gathering..... that's me and Todd... and Laura's legs...