Tag: update

That which the inferno does not consume, it forges.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them.” ~ Maya Angelou

“What are you doing, can I help?” I murmured, softly pulled from sleep by the man who was quietly getting ready to leave for work. It was the day before my birthday. He had been very careful, but the sound of a suitcase zipper had been enough to wake me. He chuckled and sat down on the hotel bed beside me, his weight creating a curve in the mattress that pulled my body to his. I gratefully curled against his broad torso like a cat to warmth in the winter. “You sweet girl,” he said, “how delicious of you. I can think of a way.” He reached out and stroked my hair, then leaned down and tilted my face to meet his. I was sleepy and soft. His hand was gentle on my face, as were his lips on mine. It was perfect.

(Writing this is difficult.)

Another hotel, another man, someone I used to love. We unexpectedly tumbled into each other years after we had last been close, a surprise coda to an awful time, and after I remarked on how strange a beast memory can be. “This.” I said, pressing my hand against his shoulder for emphasis. “I remembered exactly how your hands fit with mine, the geometry of your fingers, but this, how the length of my arm is precisely the width of your shoulders when you cradle in my grasp, this I had forgotten. I still know you while I do not. It surprises me.” He smiled wryly, “You’re not writing about us in your head again, are you? Writers. Incorrigible.” But I hadn’t been. I had lost the knack when I lost my heart. Yet now I am, months and months later. My time since has opened the gate.

(Writing that was easier.)

Neither of these men are people I could claim as mine, but they were, just as I was theirs. How near we all are to disaster at all times. I’m starting to type this from a plane, finding comfort in the turbulence that is distressing the other passengers. To such tolerances airplanes are made! With such cleverness and scientific understanding! The wings flex even as the snout pushes forward through the air unconcerned, the shaking accounted for, the math figured. This is not how airline disasters are made. Each engineered piece interlocks to create a miraculous whole. The more we jostle, the safer I feel.

If only it were so in relationships.

My heart, lightly returning to me, feels haunted. I shuffle through our time together, examining every interaction and conversation like tarot cards for clues. I find nothing. He was honest in every particular, but one. His family.

-::-

I met him on the dance-floor at a conference, completely unexpected. (The odds are good there, but the goods odd.) I wasn’t certain our first few dates. I was hesitant to kiss him goodbye, hesitant to start something long-distance again, yet we found magic writing together on-line. He was well read, political, and his sharp wit inspired me. He was smart, funny, and harassed me without mercy. Eventually I point-blank asked what the catch was, “How is it that you’re single?” He explained that he travels too much for work, the same problem that plagues plenty of my more interesting friends. I felt encouraged, cared for, and delighted, enough that I shelved my long-distance relationship concerns and replied, “I can live with that.” “I hoped so.” It was two in the morning. He got us a hotel room. We had a pillow fight. It was on.

We were meant to have another night together for my birthday, I was going to ditch Vancouver to travel down to see him, but he had to cancel. Work scheduled him away that week. This was not unexpected, this was part of the engagement, so I told him I understood and expressed the appropriate California-envy. Fourty-eight hours later, he proposed flying me down with some of his endless air-miles. If I could find somewhere to stay after he head home to Seattle, he told me, I could stay as long as I like.

I stumbled, but I recovered. Gladly, gratefully. And blind. I didn’t know where we were staying or when I was flying out. I knew nothing. Eventually it was puzzled that my flight left on a Tuesday, but I didn’t have an itinerary until 4:30 Monday morning. And that was fine. It’s was trust exercise. It was fun. I was happy.

He picked me up at the airport, checked us into a hotel in San Jose, and kissed me like I had been missing for years. Once his work-trip was done, we moved into my ex’s flat in the Castro in San Francisco.

I was smitten. I hesitate to speak for him, but he seemed equally so. He met my friends, we went on little exploratory ventures, he sang flawless, soul-shattering, classically trained opera in the shower. Everything was all splendid. He was incredible. We, together, were marvelous. We get on so well it was improbable. He was generous, kind, and effortlessly carried me up a tall flight of stairs when my ankle gave out like I was stuffed full of feathers instead of chagrin and admiration. I felt blessed and adored and adored him in turn. We didn’t sleep at night. He smiled all the time. I blossomed.

-::-

My urge to write about us is basic. I can’t not. He’s not mine, but he was. And he risked his entire personal life to be. It is sad and tragic and hurts, yet I respect how much that’s worth. I want to write about everything. Honor his indisputably stupid sacrifice by capturing every moment of our time together in amber, sweetly displayed in this glass screened case as an exhibit of That Time. “This is what he risked his world for. It was not small, nor tawdry.” We felt lucky, we found joy, what we made together was satisfying and darling. Was it worth it? It’s not for me to say, but I would guess no, not for him.

He didn’t betray me, but himself. The tragedy isn’t mine, but his and theirs.

-::-

He left after a week, singing so loudly out the window of the rental car that I could hear him from a block away. Even as he left, he made sure I was alright. Then I moved in with Heather for a bonus week full of good people and happenings. It was an enriching time. There were long walks through new places, a cocktail party, a rooftop BBQ, a rave in an abandoned train station, time with new friends and with people I already love. Then I flew back to Seattle for more fun and good people. I went dancing, I made new connections, I had a tai chi lesson on a roof downtown in the sunshine. Life was good. My sweetheart was in Colorado for work, but I was looking forward to seeing him the next time I could.

Then I went for lunch with a friend who I met through the same conference, though years ago. New information. To say I was suddenly having a bad day is an understatement. We were hopeful, there was a lot of benefit of the doubt, but then the phone numbers matched. The phone number of my sweetheart and “my friend of ten years whose wife is…” Oh. Pregnant. Not with their first child.

Our relationship was obviously not a thought out decision. Aside from the deletion of his family and claiming to be single, he didn’t hide a thing. Everything else he told me checked out.

-::-

I was in Vancouver less than 48 hours once I came back from Seattle. Time enough to put my passport in for renewal, basically, then repack and head to an airport to sleep, so I could head back east to visit Toronto and Montreal for Recon.

My plans shivered a bit once I was out there, and I ended up spending more time than expected in Waterloo with one of my best friends, Ian, his charming wife, and two lively children. We all spent one warm night in his back yard, their daughter cuddled against my body, our feet in the pool while Ian dove and twisted like an otter through the water. We lay on our backs and watched the sky. I pointed out the International Space Station as it drifted overhead. Their daughter sighed and lay her head on my shoulder, asked about the stars as I explained constellations. His wife’s laughter was just beautiful as the heavens.

Is this what my lover had balanced me against? This sort of home? This ease and grace and care and trust? I’ve never had anything so honeyed as this small slice of family. No one has ever tried to build so much with me. How divine it seemed! I wondered what my presence could have pumped through his veins. How much did his heart race? There are easier ways to find adrenaline. Lying there, surrounded by their life, I didn’t feel worthy of the sacrifice. I was grateful the darkness meant that no one could see me cry.

-::-

I was attacked the morning of my birthday on my way to the Facebook campus for lunch. Pedestrian sexual street harassment that I stood up against until he escalated too far, until I had to run. Eventually I fled along a train from car to car, concerned for my physical safety, desperately searching for a conductor while a stranger stalked after me shouting awful things, “Cunt, whore, I’m going to break you.”

He was thrown off the train, but it rattled my entire day, threw me off my stride.

My lover salvaged even that. He arrived too late to join the hot-tub evening, I was being kicked out for the night when he came to the gate, but he was late because he’d brought a surprise. We sat at an iron table outside my friend’s apartment, (an anonymous place in a terrible suburb of anonymous buildings and fussy street security), while he produced a tub of ice-cream from a bag, then a package of candles that spelled H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y, and a birthday card and a lighter.

No one sang and I forgot to make a wish, but I felt more cared for in that gesture of grace than I had in a very long time. It was darling and sweet. “I understand it’s late,” he said with some satisfaction, “but we had to celebrate!”

My distress fell away. I may have been attacked, but I was in California, swathed in adventure, and this man had sent for me, flown me down for a romantic birthday get-away, to be embraced in his care. This man, this thoughtful, considerate, and brilliant man, he liked me back. The world was unexpected, but finally benevolent. It was the best birthday I’ve ever had.

-::-

(Have mercy on me, even knowing the truth, I do miss him.)

-::-

Everyone else who knows is furious, but I have a lot of hope for him. For his relationship, for his family. (He’s a good communicator. I don’t know anything about her as a person, past her name, but if they’re together, I expect she must be excellent as well.) It’s going to hurt, it’s going to be hard. As it should be. I am sorry that his choices led him to test his home in this fashion, but I don’t hate him, I’m not angry, and I’m not bitter. I feel for him, even. How afraid and sad he must be.

I’m down a relationship that was gracious, compassionate, and loving, and a friend, but it was a new thing. I’m just abruptly single again. New things fail all the time. He may have lost something much greater.

So that’s that. I am disappointed, but mostly I am sorry for his partner. I’ve been somewhat in her position, though certainly never to such an extreme. I wonder what will happen. If it has happened before. If this will be the end of either his affair(s?) or their relationship.

I wonder and I wait and I know, soon, we will again say hello. It took a few weeks, but he finally reached out and replied to one of my messages while I was in Toronto. I’m leaving for Seattle today for ToorCamp. He has asked to meet up to talk as soon as our schedules can allow. I gratefully said yes. He is cancelling travel in order to make it right away. We should be in the same place at the same time next week.

I can barely wait to find out what he has to say.

Let’s Throw A Riot (Because They’re Romantic)

It seems a number of us have all independently decided that This Is The Year We Bring Blogging Back, (More Specifically Livejournal). And I could not approve more.

I’m not sure why other people are trickling back into the fold, but for me my recent trip was a stunning reminder of what we had all built here. Just about everything positive in my life is somehow built on the foundation we created. My happiness is due to you and this place and what we made. It goes way back; I wouldn’t have found this apartment, wouldn’t have known about the concert I went to when I met my flatmate David, wouldn’t have connected so deeply with so many people. I wouldn’t have been able to make it to California if it weren’t for Jedidiah, who I met through Karen, who I met here nearly a decade ago, but only met face to face last year. I wouldn’t have had the chops to write about my godmother‘s house in Santa Fe, I wouldn’t have had such fantastic company in San Francisco, trying new things and feeling loved and inspired, I wouldn’t have felt so at welcome in Seattle or know how to deal with my people there, I wouldn’t have felt so safe running away with a complete stranger to Napa Valley. This was my very first community, the place where I started to begin.

Our network spread across the entire world, an empire upon which the sun could not set. Tel Aviv, Madison, New York, London, Santiago, these are all homes to people that have shaped me, many of whom I have never met, but carry always in my thoughts. (There’s a woman I know through Livejournal that I haven’t heard from in five years, but every year on her birthday I post to her last entry, letting her know that I still love her and probably always will.) And I want that back. I want all of you back.

I want myself back.

Somewhere in the mire of crappy relationships and scraping to get by in one of the most expensive cities in the world, I lost myself. I withered and I burned out. I was isolated and torn down and I let the bastards win. Radio silence took over. So this year is the year I push back, the year I clamber out of the rubble and get back into business. I’m going to write, I’m going to take pictures, and I’m going to badger you to do the same. Be my pen-pal, be my friend. I’m going to demand that you share and want you to demand it from me in return. I want a life worth fighting for again.

-::-

So who am I, anyways? Given that my audience has grown considerably smaller than the thousand-plus regulars who used to read my journal, but spread to more people that I’ve actually met, it’s probably time for an update. Another member of the Great Coincidental LJ Revival posted a massive introduction and I’m going to shamelessly swipe it because she used to write speeches for Jack Layton and who am I to paraphrase greatness? So here you are, a paragraph by Audra, “I was thinking that I should do a little intro, for all of the new folks. And then I realized that probably a lot of the LJ friends I’ve had for a decade could also benefit from an update about my life now. It’s easy, especially if you are connected by Facebook, to feel like everyone knows what is up with you always. I know that’s not actually how it works, though. More than once I’ll see someone post about a new baby or something, and not have even known they are pregnant. Facebook does a lousy job of helping us keep up with each other, really, since it only ever shows us content from people we have recently interacted with. Kind of defeating the whole keep-in-touch purpose of Facebook?”

So here I am: I’m a creative 31 year old Cascadian woman who writes, takes pictures, and is commonly understood as being “from the internet”, where my name is either Foxtongue or rarely, Dreampepper. I don’t know everybody, but I seem to live two degrees away from everybody, so if I don’t know you, it’s highly likely I already know your friends. (No, it’s not creepy, it’s hilarious. Just accept it, it hurts less when you don’t struggle.) I cohabitate with a vegetarian, contrarian flatmate, David, who is studying to be a primatologist; two black cats, Tanith and Tanaquil; and two ferrets, Selenium and Pepper. (Selenium is cuter, but Pepper makes up for it by being the biggest ferret I have ever seen). We share a two bedroom apartment in the Commercial Drive neighborhood of Vancouver, BC, that I have painted fuchsia, scarlet, orange, white, and gold, and we have filled with books, art, and houseplants. David likes clutter, I do not, but somehow it still works.

I used to have cool jobs, like “special effects pyrotechnician” and “co-founder of an after-hours nightclub”, but right now I’m on a more pedestrian path as the HR and Culture & Process person for a small IT support company based out of White Rock by the US/Canada border, so I spend my a lot of work-related time commuting as well as being paid to sift through applicants and write corporate documents like Standard Operating Procedures or Job Description Templates. Even so, I am lucky that my employers understand that culture creation is needful and doubly-so that I have nearly free rein to write whatever I believe will get the job done. This means I regularly put sentences like “Don’t take it personally, someone will probably have candy for you” in procedure manuals. (Given half an opening, I will also put goofy lines from the original Maxis SIM:Earth manual in, too, but I haven’t had the chance yet. SOON.1)

I also volunteer as a facilitator at CanSecWest, a security conference here in Vancouver that’s held annually every March. I love it there, I basically move into a hotel with a bunch of my favourite people and help make piles of awesome. There’s very little sleep, too many black t-shirts, but there’s also catering, a lot of love, and I’m always super happy to be part of it. (Even as it sometimes makes me seem paranoid to those outside of the security sector).

Aside from work, I have a couple of small projects, but nothing like I used to. It used to be that I was elbow deep in massive works all the time, but that went away when my interiority died, so now I only have a couple of small things: gamelan practice, a coding class, a language class, and my FB Portrait series, an endeavor to take a proper portrait of every single one of the 1000+ Facebook friends I’ve been lucky enough to collect. I would like to take more on, but there’s only so much creativity on tap right now and I have to be careful not to overwhelm what fuel I’ve managed to rekindle. I’m already three years behind on my photo processing! I’ve never even SEEN any of the pictures I’ve taken at Burning Man. Ever. Right this minute, I still have to deliver three weddings, two birthdays, a maternity shoot, about 30 Facebook portraits, and my Daily Photos from two years ago. (Which is why, if you say, “I want you to come up with my portrait!”, you’re going to get something boring, just like the last ten people who told me the exact same thing. Suck it up.)

Recently I’ve been lucky enough to travel a lot more than I have before: Albuquerque, Los Angeles, Madison, Montreal, Minneapolis, Mountain View, Napa, NYC, Oakland, San Francisco, Santa Fe, Seattle, and Vegas. Beautiful things and moments and people and discoveries at each, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. There’s so much of the world to explore, so many people to meet, so many things to do! In that, at least, I will always be greedy. I only get one chance at this and enough of it has been wasted. My goal is still to leave Vancouver for somewhere bigger, but in the meantime I plan to collect more lunatic adventures like, “that time I had that fling with the astronaut” or “that time I played pink slips for panties in a midnight drag race on the I5 and won” and use those to keep myself alive.

Anyhow, I want you to talk to me. Introduce yourselves, inform me or remind me who’s out there listening. I want this to be a safe place. This used to be our playground and I believe that together we can bring it back to life.

1. It’s been over 20 years, but I still use this joke. One day my network will bring me in contact with the person who wrote it and I will give them the biggest, best of hugs:

In general, SimEarthlings are as lazy as Earthlings. They never want
to work, and especially hate physical labour. Whenever there are heavy
objects to move, they argue over who has to do it.

“I don’t want to carry it–you carry it!”
“Not me–you carry it.”

And that’s how Eukaryotes evolved.

Of course, the usual solution is to hire a professional to do the work.
That’s what Prokaryotes do for a living.

posting because stephen asked me to

Fall from jamie scott.

I’ve been defeated. Bad luck won and this is it, as the cold closes in, there’s nothing else to feel.

Been seeing someone since this summer. It hasn’t changed anything, except that his company’s nice when we’re getting along. Still nothing’s getting in, nothing’s getting out. There’s no love, no shine. My heart doesn’t bump, I don’t lean towards their name. I could say that there’s walls up, except it’s worse than that, as it seems instead that there’s simply nothing left to protect. It would worry me, except that seems scraped clean, too. My internal fires have all burned out.

He’s taking us to New York for New Year’s Eve, an odd, confounding echo of last year. He’s never been and lights up at the idea. I’ve been, as usual, the planner, the toss-things-until-they-stick-er. Finding places to eat, visit, and sleep.

Meanwhile, I remain massively unemployed even though I interview with a potentially life-changing position at least once every two months, frequently as one of the two last candidates. A couple of companies even went so far as to offer me employment before reneging, leaving me panic-scrambling to replace the already scarce gigs and contracts I had cleaned out of my schedule to make room for the new job. At least now I expect my second interview to be cancelled before it even happens, which helps keep the stress down.

I want you to know that some things are still hard, but a lot is getting better.

My injuries are still significant, though my ankle is almost entirely fixed thanks to a birthday massage session with Doug in May while I was down there for Joe and Drew's wake. He helped my back, too, enough that I can get around again, even if not very well. I'm still going through naproxin like candy, but I'm no longer so regularly bed-ridden. Hooray!

I'm still dreadfully underemployed, which is a huge step up from the chronic unemployment I've been plagued with. I did a few websites for people and I've taken up work as a Social Media Manager for Matthew Borgatti, a new friend that I met through Willow at the Seattle Mini-Maker Faire. You might have heard of him through the Anonymous Guy Fawkes Bandannas he sells through his shop, Sleek & Destroy. So far it's been interesting and I love my work and I adore doing business with him and it's all completely groovy. Even aside from all that, being paid to write again has been intensely satisfying.

Another interesting opportunity: I hand-waved away a free staff ticket to Burning Man back in May, but a different one just landed in my lap that I've accepted, (though I said no to Early Entry), so once again I'm going to be one of the Luminferous, the Processional torch bearers that bring The One Flame to The Man and kick off Conclave on Saturday night. Right in the thick of it, helping make the important things happen, my absolutely favourite place to be.

I don't have the resources to afford the trip yet, but I have no doubt that things will fall together in the nick of time. My knack for survival is ground right in. 

news from the dark

  • Chris Dame writes about our favourite night at Burning Man.

    Plans have changed, the April road-trip between Orlando and New Orleans with Van Sise has been canceled, perhaps to be picked up at some later date, replaced instead with a trip to New York City, when as yet unknown.

    In other news, the shiny web development company I interviewed at last week has asked me to come in for a try-out day of work, to see how I fit. They’ve whittled down the applicants to two. The other candidate is working with them today. I go in on Monday. It would be earlier, but this week my life’s been swallowed by a different madness, one of the best: CanSecWest. No sleep until Friday!

    • life, stuff, etcetera

    File Taxes

    My mother came over last weekend and stayed until four in the morning helping me figure out how to fill out my taxes. Turns out the reason I couldn’t make heads nor tails of any of it was that I was missing an essential piece of paperwork. Without this bit of paperwork, the main form can’t be filled out. Problem solved. All that’s left is some adding.

    Finish Highschool

    A completed application to sit the test at VCC on July 9th and 10th has been faxed to the Ministry of Education. I’m not sure the next step, if I receive confirmation or not, but I’m sure it will be fine.

    Learn to drive

    I passed my written Learner’s test today. My official Learner’s License will arrive in the mail in the next six weeks. Next step: unearthing patient friends with cars. Also, bizarrely, I was told I have two skytrain tickets, from a time when I did not live in Vancouver.

    Paint

    Next thing to do is tidy all the clutter, push some furniture into the livingroom, and cover everything else in sheets. If I were more together, this would be done by Friday, so the cat-hair could settle while I was away and it would be ready to smoothly paint when I come back to Canada. As is, left to my own devices, the best I will likely manage is to beat down most of the mess.

    it hailed today and blessed us with fox rain

    tony

    To Do List (updated)

  • Sell giant mirror.
  • Paint the livingroom white. Ready the livingroom for painting.
  • Purchase paint for the mirror frames.
  • Paint my bedroom. Ready my bedroom for painting.
  • Obtain cat-resistant curtains.
  • Obtain new bed sheets.
  • Reorganize hall closet.
  • Frame the posters/art.
  • Get new glasses. Pick up glasses/contacts. Learn how to use contacts.
  • Learn to drive.
  • Pass highschool.
  • File taxes 1999-2009. Fill out my 2009 Tax Forms.
  • Take a dance class.
  • Learn something new.

    Work on my life continues to escalate, much of it thanks to Tony.

    There’s other things too, (like job hunting, love letters, cleaning my room, completing my workspace, writing and compiling the picture book, working on Thread of Grace, charting out some travel plans, getting more exercise, being more social, finalizing the groom’s party wedding planning, researching schools, and finally, finally, catching up on my massive photography back-log), but those are all being chipped at, bit by bite, and don’t feel quite as much like “one good shot and they’re done” kind of tasks. In regards to this list, I’m trying to take at least one step forward every single day. Monday I applied for five jobs, picked up my 2009 tax forms, officially requested my employment slips, had an eye exam and a contacts fitting, visited with Jay, and significantly made a dent in the clutter in my room. Today I applied for three, returned all the phone calls and most of the e-mail I’ve been neglecting, started pinning down travel plans with Lung, dropped by Dominique‘s, edited a chapter of a friend’s novel, and bought a pail of white paint. Tonight I’m going to start on my tax forms, hook up my printer and scanner and clean more of my room. Tomorrow I’m planning on finishing what I don’t get done tonight, prepping my livingroom for paint, sorting some of the front hall, visiting with Randa, and still finding time for a bike ride with Kyle.

    • shout out

    Mamihlapinatapai (sometimes spelled mamihlapinatapei) is a word from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego, listed in The Guinness Book of World Records as the “most succinct word”, and is considered one of the hardest words to translate. It describes “a look shared by two people with each wishing that the other will initiate something that both desire but which neither one wants to start.”

    I have been falling out of touch with my various spaces, posting so infrequently that my on-line identity, my journal especially, has become almost permanently paused, a silent, waiting space, the inhaled breath before a sentence held in rather than flowing as a transitory action. It was not my intention, and I hope to rectify my neglect soon. If I do not write here, how will we stay in contact? I am notorious for rarely using a phone. Without input, without interaction, I do not exist, I am invisible, a voyeur only, and do not have access to our beautiful friendships.

    The silence has reason, however. In this drawn out slumber, dreams have been fomenting just off screen. I have been collecting myself, preparing to shift from being unemployed to potentially self employed, spending my time researching my knowledge and resources, collecting materials, and planning how to mix facts and skill and memory until they all blend into a new, hopeful venture. Something, finally, my own. I will have more details soon, as almost every day I finish another step towards the great unveil. Until then, I hope I have your support, as I feel that will be vital as I smack into various snags, and that going out on my own as an artist isn’t going to be something I look back on with regret.

    In the meantime, I’ve been doing heavily discounted medical transcription for a Montreal journalist, typing for hours on stem cells, clinical trials, and how overseas clinics have been swindling desperate people with false claims of magic bullet cures. (It’s been interesting, if occasionally deadly depressing. Science Is A Verb Now, and it is The Future and it is Good, but holy cats are there some unethical bastards who firmly wave that flag.)

    That, chance, and hard work have miraculously come together to make this month’s rent, but next month is still in the air. To that end, I’m also hoping to successfully apply for EI, something I’ve never done before. The process has been slowed for me due to how many employers it seems I’ve legally never had, but I’m trying to stay positive. If EI doesn’t work out due to some paperwork mess, then I’m feeling alright about lining up for the dole, as apparently they’d be fairly likely to send me to school, which is something I’ve been toying with lately as I have a fair handful of skills, but nothing useful I’m certified for, (my only certification is in stop motion animation), or could do for long periods of time due to my car accident injuries, (cabinet carpentry anyone? furniture refinishing?).

    So, with all of that in mind, IT’S TIME FOR THE BIANNUAL SHOUT-OUT!

    -::-

    Please tell me your names, introduce yourself, post a picture! Everyone’s invited – friends, strangers, the lurking anonymous – especially those who are otherwise silent. Like a good house party, it’s always fascinating to see who turns up.

    Tell me why you’re here, how you found me, what inspires you. Even if I know you, introduce yourself to others, and tell me what you’ve done lately. I want to see your faces, I want to read what you’d like everyone else to know. Tell us your stimulations, titillations; show us your pretty hidden treasures. Journals have been dying lately, I’d like to see who’s chosen to stick around. Anecdotes are welcome, as are photos, job descriptions, awesome links, and whatever else.

    -::-