12 frogs read think get curious

The goodness of the unread books currently in the house is almost unbearable

We went on one of our sprees last night. In other words, we had spent so much on used and remaindered books at Harvard Bookstore that we hit 20% discount time. We knew that going in: spree time involves a combination of careful planning (the need to have lists of “check for” titles ready) and being open to serendipitous discovery.

What did I get?

Jeanette Winterson’s The Stone Gods. I was feeling pretty good about her next book (whatever it might be) and then I read about it on Jeff VanderMeer’s blog: he said “If you can’t see the poetry in this book and the brilliance I kinda want to take away your birthday”

Charles Baxter’s The Art of Subtext: Beyond Plot. I loved Burning Down the House: Essays on Fiction, so as soon as heard about this I knew I had to get it. I didn’t realize The Art of is going to be a series, and Baxter is going to be series editor. (If this all weren’t excellent enough, Mark Doty is going to do The Art of Description.)

Karen Russell’s St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves. This was on my “look for” list. I’ve seen it around, and it seems the wonderfully odd kind of thing I’d like. Plus, I’ve been on a short story kick.

Jack Pendarvis’s Your Body Is Changing was my never heard of it before but decided I had to have it find. George Saunders blurbed it on the back cover, and said the guy was a “dangerously funny writer”. I happen to think Saunders is a genius, so this means he’s probably right about Pendarvis. (He blurbed Miranda July, and I loved No one belongs here more than you, so I don’t think he’s an indiscriminate blurb whore.)

I think I’ll be spending as much time as possible reading tomorrow. And probably for the next little while. Forget warm puppies, happiness is books. (Not that I don’t like puppies. But I’m allowed to have books and more books…)

The more I don’t want to hear it, the louder the echo sounds

I spend too much of my time in a hurry I don’t understand.

It’s tempting to pin it all on work (with the stream of emails, the need to have things to put up on a giant whiteboard as indicators of forward motion, the meetings with their “what will you do differently because of this, tomorrow?” questions), but not entirely accurate.

Because in the not work stuff department, there is the matter of my inconvenient and difficult feelings, and how I’d rather not have them. So I create this self-imposed pressure to hurry up and get it over with, to get back to the not-feeling-this way part, the part of my life where I’m not thinking about my mother and the upcoming anniversary of her death. Where I’m not reminded that about this time, six years ago (long enough to be over it, clearly, past it and untroubled, right?) the work I was doing involved washing sheets, doling out medication, sitting with Mom and her pastor to plan her funeral, and witnessing goodbyes.

And waiting. The terrible kind of waiting where you know the event you are waiting for is inevitable, needs to happen, in a logical way it will be a relief when it happens, but still, how can you sit around and wait for that? Will you know it when it happens, when what you are waiting for is probably going to be something not happening, the next breath that doesn’t come? The waiting that stretches out in the dark to be endless, because everything is harder in the dark, it’s some master rule of the universe that the hours after midnight and before sunrise are endless. The waiting that ends and opens up some entirely different world, where something central is missing, and how do you wait your way through that?

So I’m in the middle of a long weekend this weekend. I gave myself a time out from work, because the hurry parts were making me cranky and weepy. The hurry part where I don’t want to take the time to slow down and breathe and be here now and all that other touchy feely crap I so desperately wish did not apply to me in any way has been making me particularly irritable. I’ve learned enough to recognize when I’m irritated with virtually every person I interact with, it is really me, not them. Damn it.

This is the part where I admit it’s still hard, every March into April. Every year I think it it won’t be, I think this year will be different. I think I know better now, I’m paying attention, I’ve put in my time and I’m not going to be grief’s punching bag. Then I realize the gloves are on my own hands, I’m the one making it harder.

It’s not fair, it’s complicated, and it’s spring. Again.

Share it forward

My last post talked about paying for stuff (What have you ponied up for web 2.0?). Now I’m thinking about non-monetary contributions. You know, the good stuff. Sharing. Creating. Usable exhaust.

Is web 2.0 a gift economy?

Floating around on the web (in most cases free for non-commercial use according to Creative Commons licenses) I’m sharing: bookmarks, book reviews, blog posts, photographs. I’m responding to questions on twitter, fulfilling cubeville procrastination and de-stress needs via scrabulous on facebook, participating in discussion threads, leaving comments on other people’s blogs and photographs.

Notice what I haven’t called these things: content. If web 2.0 is a gift economy, the gifts simply aren’t content. See Joshua Green and Henry Jenkins The Moral Economy of Web 2.0 for more about “a rift between the ‘gift economy’ of fan culture and the commodity logic of ‘user-generated content.’”

The power of because

Despite the endless hype, web 2.0 isn’t all about money. Money might be driving the VC investments, it might (more likely, might not) be the primary motivation of startup founders, but it sure isn’t what’s driving most of the people participating. It’s about passion.

It happens without feedback, but you can get “paid” in attention when you write something and share it or take a photograph and post it to flickr. Some folks get enough attention that they choose serve up ads along with their thoughts, and they make some money that way. Others go for for the because effect over with. As in, your make money because of your blog, not with it. Because of is, ultimately, more powerful.

What are we doing?

You know the stuff you did when you were little, when you knew you could draw, before you ever worried about what do for a living (for a paycheck?) and learned that very few get paid to make art, to be creative, to tell stories? The web is now the big box of crayons, the shiny new typewriter, the paint set you always wanted. It’s lego pieces and missing instruction sheets and the gears you sketched, bored, in study hall.

It’s all these things, and it combines the ability to find other folks like you or not like you, but interested in what you are interested in. Sure, money makes things easier (when doesn’t it?) but cost doesn’t have to be an insurmountable barrier to participation anymore. Fear is that barrier. Forgetting how to share is that barrier.

See what I can make, do, think… Here’s what I’m asking, puzzling over. Here’s a story. Another chapter. A new version. It’s all out there, here, uploaded, connected. What are you doing?

What have you ponied up for web 2.0?

Recently the swissmiss blog had a non-visual post that grabbed my attention: What Sites Do You Pay For? Her answer:

2 x Flickr ($25 year)
Typepad ($14.95 month)
Skype Pro ($3 month)
Quicken ($2.99 month)
Blinksale ($12 month)
Backpackit ($7 month)
.mac ($99.95 year)
creative hotlist ($30 for 6months ?)

That got me to thinking about the web stuff I pay for (hosting from dreamhost, several flickr accounts, several domain names I renew every year, DSL from Verizon, and a lifetime membership to LibraryThing I got pretty much the second I heard there was such a thing), why I pay for it, and what I’m not paying for now, but I’d be willing to pay for.

Why I pay for the stuff I do

I noticed she pays for a lot more sites than I do. I really pay for connectivity and running my own stuff. I’m probably paying more for hosting than I really need, but a combination of inertia (easier to renew existing arrangements than make new ones) and anxiety over not being able to do whatever I want (have multiple domain names, customize WordPress to my heart’s content) keep me from switching.

Generally speaking, I don’t pay for sites now — so I guess web 2.0 isn’t directly getting much of my money. (No, I don’t click on ads.) The worthy exception here is flickr. I love flickr and can’t imagine not having it. I’ve given gift memberships; I can see why people would need more than one pro account. For me, it hits the sweet spot in David Armano’s usefulness, utility, and ubiquity diagram.

What I’m not paying for

The two sites that I’m not paying for that I think also hit that sweet spot are twitter and del.icio.us. To put in in terms of Darmano’s 3 U’s, they serve (at least one!) purpose, they foster meaningful (to me) interaction, and they are effective across multiple touchpoints. Would I pay for them? Absolutely.

But I don’t see facebook getting my money, or LinkedIn. Yeah, I use them, but I don’t love them. When I think of the web, I don’t consider them vital. If they started charging for what they offer, I imagine people (meaning: my scrabulous friends and professional contacts) would leave for freely available alternatives. I’d rather use claimID as my resume replacement — or even the search box on Google, for that matter.

What about you?

What are you paying for on the web? Do you think about the usefulness, utility, or ubiquity of a service before you pony up? If you’ve switched from paying for hosting to relying entirely on platform accounts (wordpress.com, flickr, etc.) I’d love to hear about that, too.

Even better than the real thing

It’s not that I’m against change — it’s that I don’t think you should fuck with things that were fine just as they were. There was no need to make Apple Jacks green, for example.

Yet, I love garfield minus garfield. I would argue that Garfield was not ever (or hasn’t been, since the way beginning before Garfield became extra googly-eyed) just fine. Garfield seems ripe for parody. How else can you explain remixing Garfield with Final Fantasy? I keep thinking my affection for garfield minus garfield will diminish, but it doesn’t.

It grows.

Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle.

Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb.