Crowd View #2
Originally uploaded by shersteve.
The Revs are about to make their grand entrance through the soccer ball tunnel with the "Fort" section of the stands shown right behind.
So if the flattening of the world is largely (but not entirely) unstoppable, and holds out the potential to be as beneficial to American society as a whole as past market evolutions have been, how does an individual get the best out of it? What do we tell out kids?There is only one message: You have to constantly upgrade your skills. There will be plenty of good jobs out there in the flat world for people with the knowledge and ideas to seize them.I am not suggesting this will be simple. It will not be. There will be a lot of other people out there also trying to get smarter. It was never good to be mediocre in your job, but in a world of walls, mediocrity could still earn you a decent wage. In a flatter world, you really do not want to be mediocre. You don't want to find yourself in the shoes of Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman, when his son Biff dispels his idea that the Loman family is special by declaring, "Pop! I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you!" An angry Willy retorts, "I am not a dime a dozen! I am Willy Loman, and you are Biff Loman!"I don't care to have that conversation with my girls, so my advice to them in this flat world is very brief and very blunt: "Girls, when I was growing up, my parents used to say to me, "Tom, finish your dinner --- people in China and India are starving.' My advice to you is: Girls, finish your homework --- people in China and India are starving for your jobs."
Yes, the holly bush in the front yard has this nest with three robins eggs. The mother robin scoots when we open the garage door near the bush. She'll fly to one of the nearby trees and keep careful watch on us if we approach the nest.
There is a very real need for continued increased awareness in all professions, all walks of life. Seems always some need for increased awareness and sensitivity.
George Bush is my shepherd; I dwell in want.
He maketh logs to be cut in national forests.
He leadeth trucks into the still wilderness.
He restoreth my fears.
He leadeth me in the paths of international disgrace for his ego's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of pollution and war,
I will find no exit, for thou art in office.
Thy tax cuts for the rich and thy media control, they discomfort me.
Thou preparest an agenda of deception in the presence of thy religion.
Thou anointest my head with foreign oil.
My health insurance runneth out.
Surely megalomania and false patriotism shall follow me all the days of thy term,
And my jobless child shall dwell in my basement forever.
And yet, having two girls at such different ages reminds me that watchfulness changes as we move through time, that what is watchful for a two-year-old is smothering to a 13-year-old, that the kind of freedom a teenager needs to make their own decisions and mistakes can be deadly for a toddler, that our watchfulness over ourselves and others must change and grow.
It turns out that bubbles are the perfect metaphor for this, arent they? They make their own way in the world, blowing in the wind. We must let them go if they are to move into the sky, they are fragile yet resilient, they are beautiful only in flight. There is a paradox with bubblesand with peopleas my mother cross-stitched for Emma when she was born: we must give them roots and we must also give them wings.
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"Your timing is impeccable Dad. As usual, you picked the worst part of this to walk into."
I will always be lonely, nothing's ever going to change that
It's the way I'm wired, it's the way that I'm set back
The results? Changes in how we perceive the world and our place in it. And this is not just small, subtle changes. They are big, and active. We are actively opting to do things differently. The manner of our adaptations are socially intrusive and disruptive: we IM in meetings, read books while others are lecturing, or look out the windows when we are supposed to be focused on the One Big Thing For Today, Or Else.
Its two years since I dipped my toe into the blogosphere with Time Goes By. We didnt know one another then and now we do. That is the magic of blogging. Lets give a big hand to the unnamed people who invented blogging software and services that make it so easy for us to form such extraordinary communities among ourselves.
We sit at our screens tapping our keyboards, some half a world away, and we matter to each other. We listen and tell our stories, share our pleasures and concerns, teach and learn, laugh and love and cry - the last sometimes in sorrow and others, as I did yesterday, in joy.
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From Stowe Boyd writing at /Message
Some of what Linda says seems like a request for better ettiquette surrounding social interaction in the always on world. Fine. But maybe the reason it sounds oldtimey to me is that I don't spend my time in large corporations, in staff meetings, or the like. I am a soloist, spending most of my time connected to people remotely, and that sense of connection, however tenuous, is all that I have. I have to remain in touch with my posse, or I have nothing but myself. There is no organization backing me up.
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From Shelley Powers writing at Burningbird
I dont mind marketing at all, but I want to see it coming. I want to know that when people respond to me, its really what they believe. I dont want to spend time reading and writing and at the end the day, wonder how much of the interaction was real. I dont want to be a part of the buzz. Im too old to be part of the buzz. I was too old to be part of the buzz at least half a century ago. Thats a long time to be out of the buzz.
Conversely, I want people to know when I respond to them, positively or negatively, they know I mean itthat Im not playing a game. I wont say anything in an email that Im not willing to say in my weblog; I wont say anything in a comment I wont say in my weblog. Ive seen it happen too oftensomeone is sweetness and light in their weblogs, and then a complete asshole in email or comments. What they publish publicly rates right up there with creating agile softwareits all words that dont mean a damn thing.
Since, Im wishing, I wish you all would stop blowing bubbles all the time; and speaking your lime green, yellow, and pink thoughtsbut then I might as well wish for more angular corners; what you do on your own dime is your business. But when you step on my time, its mine.
Read her full post here.
When I was a little girl, we had "extras." An Extra was something that was kind of a bonus, that didn't count, but that someone wanted to give to you anyway. It could have been an extra birthday present but one that they were not quite sure of for some reason; perhaps it was something they had found, rather than bought, or something that they knew might not be exactly right but the impulse to give it was stronger than its potential to displease. They are little splurges that you could not help getting, but they are not the main attraction. Yet they might end up being the most memorable gift of the day.
Tired of trying to be a somebody? Despair of ever being on the blogger A list? Never got to sit at the cool kids table in high school? Manolos hurt your feet? Dont see how a Torture (Um, Miracle) bra can help your career?
Well, now you too can join the ever-so-exclusive Nobody Club! You can even get a button for your site! (And, as soon as I can figure out how to get the dang thing to show up on this site, Ill have one right here some days technology and I just do not get along.)
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“For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away,
The sky is filled with stars invisible by day.”
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Morituri Salutamus 
Please don’t ask me whether I believe Iraq is on the verge of civil war yet or not. I have never experienced a civil war before, only regular ones. All I see is that both sides are engaged in tit-for-tat lynchings and summary executions. I see governmental forces openly taking sides or stepping aside. I see an occupation force that is clueless about what is going on in the country. I see politicians that distrust each other and continue to flame the situation for their own personal interests. I see Islamic clerics delivering fiery sermons against each other, then smile and hug each other at the end of the day in staged PR stunts. I see the country breaking into pieces. The frontlines between different districts of Baghdad are already clearly demarked and ready for the battle. I was stopped in my own neighbourhood yesterday by a watch team and questioned where I live and what I was doing in that area. I see other people curiously staring in each other’s faces on the street. I see hundreds of people disappearing in the middle of the night and their corpses surfacing next day with electric drill holes in them. I see people blown up to smithereens because a brainwashed virgin seeker targeted a crowded market or café. I see all that and more.
Don’t you dare chastise me for writing about what I see in my country.
|APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding|
|Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing|
|Memory and desire, stirring|
|Dull roots with spring rain.|
|Winter kept us warm, covering||5|
|Earth in forgetful snow, feeding|
|A little life with dried tubers.|
|Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee|
|With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,|
|And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,||10|
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.