At least we don’t get into the kind of trouble this local guy did.
As the story goes,
On the Internet and telephone chat lines he [Kevin Gudz] went by the name ‘Sir Kevin,’ and his alleged fantasies included kidnapping a woman and bringing her to his home where she would become his consenting bondage sex slave.
Gudz allegedly is not disputing that he drove to Columbia County to abduct a woman. But he insists it was part of an act and not a random encounter.
However, the 43-year-old Clermont woman who was riding her bike alone along Route 31 in southern Columbia County on Saturday afternoon is a mother and wife and was not the person Gudz alleged to have met online, according to law enforcement officials.
‘The victim in this was a complete stranger to the defendant,’ said Columbia County District Attorney Beth Cozzolino.
Talk about embarrassing moments!!

I can breathe again. The splints are out (now that was a yucky process!) and so far so good. I have to go back next week and get the passageways scoped to make sure it’s all healing the way it’s supposed to. Thanks, you all, for all the good vibes sent my way. You’re the best!!

Weblogging is losing one of its most provocatively intelligent voices. Shelley Powers, AKA Burningbird, who has been debating whether to make the move for months now, is moving on to build the life she wants beyond the virtual. With her usual honesty and eloquence she has said her good-byes. Shelley Powers has left the party.
And, for many of us

See inside Gary Turner at Sandhill Trek!!
See b!X analyze the new Phil Donahue show on MSNBC.
See George Sessum finally come home!!
See Golby take on Winer!!

Recognizing that the mothers over in Nigeria are getting mad for a much higher purpose, I’m still herewith chastising Adam Curry and Dan Gilmor for not researching their sources far back enough to note publicly that it was b!X who first blogged the news about blog.salon.com. You can follow b!X tracking of the sin of omission on his site, where he admits feeling passed over.
So, know all ye who pass here, it was indeed theonetruebix who got there first.
Is this a good example of how blogging differs from “professional” journalism (where writers accurately document the ultimate sources of their information)? And is it also an example of the fact that blogdom is just as much a hierarchy and “old boy” network as the world under our feet?

As a way of distracting my mind from my nasal discomforts, I’ve been working on Marek’s t-shirt, and it’s finished, except for “heat setting,” which is what you have to do to fabric that’s been painted. Heh. The front looks like a third grader’s art project, since that’s about the level of my drawing talents. But the back is another story. First, here’s what it all looks like (the colors didn’t come out exactly, but close enough):

Now, for the story of the design on the back, which came out pretty well, I think:
The legend of the coronation sword of Polish kings (the pommel of Szczerbiec) begins with the first king of Poland, Boleslaus the Brave (ruled 992-1025), who is said to have jagged his sword against the Golden Gate in Kiev on his victorious entry into that city in 1018. The most interesting part of the sword is the hilt, which bears some symbols and inscriptions of esoteric character.
One of these symbols is an image of the Rose of Jericho, a flower that grows in Palestine that is able to revive after it had been dried, and, therefore, is a symbol of resurrection. Curiously enough it is not a rose at all, but rather belongs to the plant order called Cruciferae or cruciferous, which features “cross-like” components. The image of the Rose of Jericho on the pommel of Szczerbiec has twelve petals, the number of the signs of the Zodiac.
Like the symmetrical design of rose windows, the image of the Rose of Jericho becomes an appropriate focus for a meditative mandala — a symbol of the eternal Polish spirit that refuses to be crushed, diminished, or silenced.
The symbol in the center is called the

Since I can’t blow it yet, I’ll blog it. I’m feeling a little better, although breathing is still a challenge, and my right eye feels like it has a toothache — a situation not unusual given the work done on the sinuses around it. So, I’m continuing to doze off watching watching tv movies and beginning to work on Marek’s t-shirt. (My eye doesn’t seem to hurt if I keep looking in one direction.) Yawn. Time for another nap. (Jeneane‘s been expending enough creative energies for both of us. She’d better save some up for George’s return tomorrow.)
I get the splints out of my nose on Thursday. I’m not looking foward to that! Luckily, I recently made the acquaintance of another woman who lives here with her mother. She’s ten years older than I (and her mother is ten years older than mine), and we have little in common except our caregiving, but that’s sure plenty at this point. She’s offered to take me to the doctor’s, and I’m going to take her up on it. It’s kind of nice to have someone nearby I might be able to count on — and vice versa. Yawn, again — both because I’m tired and because my blogging about this is getting tiresome.

Taken from here via this.
ABOUT 600 women who took over a giant ChevronTexaco oil terminal in south-east Nigeria and trapped hundreds of workers inside did not budge in their demands for jobs for their sons and electricity for their homes.
The peaceful protest by unarmed women is different for Nigeria, where such disputes are often settled with violence.
The women, from the Ugborodo and Arutan communities, want water, electricity, schools and clinics for their villages.
They complained that previous company promises had been broken.
I can’t help but wonder what would happen if all American women banded together and took control of the economic and political power bases (using a variety of strategies, such as those in Nigeria and in Lysistrata, as well as consumer boycotts etc.). Of course, it won’t happen because we are too comfortable. We have electricity and food and the bombs are not dropping on our chidren. Not yet.

I’m having one of those synchronicities again. A column by a local writer in my local paper today refers to Ray Oldenburg’s old idea of a ‘third place,’ an idea that I first remember reading about sometime in the 70s in, I think, an article in Psychology Today. Then I check in on b!X and find this reference to a new site, blogs.salon.com, which might or might not turn out to be something worthwhile.

Twenty years ago, when I really got excited about the idea of a third place as a public salon, an activist lawyer friend of mine and I went and looked at an historic building that was for sale in Albany. (As a matter of fact, it’s the building where they shot the nightclub scenes in the movie Ironweed, written, btw, by a another friend with whom I’ve lost contact — Pulitzer Prize winning novelist Bill Kennedy. He did a great jitterbug in the old days.) Anyway, there was federal money available for renovation, and we had this dream of buying the building and turning it into a social justice center/cafe-salon/dance hall. I know that sounds weird but we both were ballroom dancers and were always looking for non-bar places to dance. As it turned out, our own personal and professional lives were just too complicated and too busy to take on the project.

So, instead, I tried inviting people over for salon-type evenings, but that didn’t work out either because there was no spontaneity. It was just like throwing a regular party and inviting your favorite people. Fun, but no salon.

In the 80s, I hung around a bar that had a big dance floor where many of the dancers I knew would stop in several nights a week for some socializing and exercise. So, I had spontaneity and connections, but no chance for any kind of interesting discussions.

And now here we all are on the Blog. Almost the perfect third place. Poets, activitists, philosophers, passing acquaintances, good friends — they’re all here whenever I stop by. And I don’t have to worry that my hair looks like a fright wig and I’m sitting here in my nightshirt with a cold pack over the right side of my face where my eye feels like a toothache. Third Place. Salon. Without the physical constraints of time, place, and putting on clean clothes. Although I still wish there were a place to dance when I wanted to.

Can’t breathe. Can’t sleep. Head’s going to explode. Meds. Ice packs. Groan. Groan.
Sorry, Marek, you shirt’s going to arrive later than I hoped. But it will look something like this, only sage green and hand painted. Hope you’re feeling better than I am. Uuuuuhhhhhh. Groan.