http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/27/tech/web/linked-in-cleveland-job-bank/index.html?hpt=hp_bn5

Some people spend an incredible amount of time cultivating their God-complexes. This article about Kelly Blazek appears to be such an example. It is usually helpful doing business with people who value partnership as opposed to looking down their noses and keeping their boots on other people’s throats… or backs as they pursue their upward climbs. I do not accept every invitation to link in that I receive (of which there are many – I ignore a number of recruiters and sales people), but I do accept some of them and most invites in general.

A couple years ago, I participated in a thread on Linked In on this very topic, in essence: “with whom should we connect?” A number of people stated that they did not think that they could be helpful to the person requesting the connection, but it was also revealed that many others simply felt the requester could be of no use to them. The unabated God complexes caused my screen to glow. That conversation left me temporarily discouraged because “connections” were being coveted and were treated as if they were “talents” to be being buried in the sand or otherwise held tight. This was also particularly ironic, because it took place in a group to which I belong focused on open networking, LION500.

Clearly, we should not subject ourselves, our friends, and colleagues to rampant exposure and abuse by those seeking to build empires or at least networking pyramids. However, we should be able to rely on our presumed savvy and discernment (there are also ways to delete connections). And just because we can not readily identify a way to be helpful or to be helped precisely at this moment, does not mean that at no time will this connection be useful to either of us. Even at the precise moment, our analysis may be flawed or deficient in concluding that there is no professional goodness of fit. Further, who among us can say that we are where we assumed we would be when we first got out of college? Was there at least one “knuckle-head” destined for the ditches who has risen remarkably to be someone of good repute and success? Maybe that person is you. And maybe it was because someone took an interest and gave you a break. People gave this “jobs bank lady” a break – how quickly we sometimes forget. She was right about one thing though, this IS the “humility lesson of the year”… one that she is never going to forget, even if she is ever able to recover from it.

A friend sent this to me yesterday. An interesting (if foul-mouthed) and often unexplored perspective on gentrification. I can’t say that I disagree. The disparity in the treatment of “ethnic” or minority neighborhoods is staggering in a multitude of arenas.

http://gothamist.com/2014/02/26/spike_lee_goes_off_about_the_mother.php

No one who tests and institutes controls for a living would think about doing this. Then again Darwin wasn’t an auditor, but in some ways I raise my glass..

Man Accidentally Kills Self With Gun During Demonstration On Gun Safety
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/25/man-shoots-himself_n_4853983.html

As I ride along the Hudson right now (via train), the windows encase the river and cliffs as if framing a black and white image.
Despite the absence of a color palette beyond sparse bits of black, considerable amounts of white, and innumerable shades of grey in between; it’s one if the most arresting images I’ve seen in a while.

People most often think of spring and fall as being interesting, which they are, but winter also deserves it’s due. In thinking about the diversity of things that have harmonized to create this unaltered black and white landscape; trees, rocks, cliffs, bodies of water, the sky… It should be apparent that there is hardly a more beautiful time of year.

I’ve been bad recently at writing. I have many thoughts as is typical, but I don’t feel like agitating. Drug use has been prevalent in the news, seemingly more than normal. My opinion on mortality is predictably morbid.

I’ve spent the last 6 days studying Spanish using duo lingo. I think that it’s incredible. In one week doing 40 minutes a day roughly, I feel comfortable with some basic things. Even the vast majority of what I hear on the street or the radio, which still makes no sense, has slowed down considerably. I feel confident in my lack of knowledge because I feel like I’m getting my arms around it.

I bought a heater for my office that I can turn on my feet. It’s louder than I would like, therefore conspicuous such that I am now telegraphing when I’m cold, though in reality it’s only my feet. I’m disappointed with this.

I had a long of meetings today about something boring, but that I still shouldn’t discuss on the internet. I am a co-chair of this project that will span about a year. We are in the vendor selection phase and fortunately, I made some recommendations and suggestions that went over well with leadership. Team effort, but a decent feeling in terms of building credibility and “my brand” (that’s the phrase that came to mind and I don’t intend to rework my thought).

I’m ready to finish my book and publish it. Contrary to what any mother will tell me, I do think that I know what protracted labor feels like. I love this thing, but I’d like to push it out already.

The Broncos disappointed me, but I actually feel sorry for them because I’m sure that they are more sad about it than anyone else.

I need to do laundry, buy toothpaste, and maybe some dinner because the leftovers from a rice casserole with shrimp and sausage probably won’t be enough.

For the last two mornings I’ve eaten yogurt and granola. Awesome breakfast. I want some right now, but I’m on a train.

I finished The Sopranos (for the first time) yesterday. Yup. That far behind, but I like enjoying something after the crowds have dissipated. I feel exactly the opposite way about relationships. Obviously. Controversially? (I don’t care, FYI – I did promise several blogs ago to stop saying that).

What else?

Hmmm…

More duo lingo. More snow. More simplifying life…

I could sure use some chicken souse and Johnny cake. Or stew conch. And Johnny cake. Or a cracked conch. Or some dumplin’ (if you don’t know that that should end in “soup”, you probably never had “soup”). And a vita malt. But for sure I could use some guava duff.

And that’s what’s really on my mind.. And I’m not gonna proof read this (read: REBEL).

The day after the Richard Sherman evisceration began, I looked up the definition of “thug”, though I had considered this word many times before. It originates from the Hindi word “thag”, and referred to a robber who often engaged in murder, generally by strangulation. In India. Strangulation is certainly one of the most vicious and violent ways of committing a murder. Generally, one would be facing their victim, perhaps even staring directly into their eyes bulging with the life being squeezed out, bulging with the victim’s effort to keep it in. Strangulation, bulging; all part of an event where the fullness of life is forced out of the very lenses through which it was to be consumed and enjoyed – life going the wrong way down a one way street. Whether or not these “thags” faced their victims to actually see it, they would always feel life violently erupt in an attempt to escape. Yet, life would succumb to the attacker’s malice until it finally did escape, but only in defeat; only once it was fully gone from the crumpled package that once and recently contained it. After such an event, to celebrate the spoils of a conquest… this is what it meant to be a “thug”.

I have grown weary, but darkly amused at the loaded and often thinly veiled racist language that has emerged in the decades since burning crosses became passé. Too smoky, too messy, too much to carry; if only there was app for that. Nevertheless, we do love our four letter words. How neatly and well they carry. The “comments” section of the internet is constantly smoldering though, when it is not being set ablaze anew, full of smoke signals. Lynchings occur on smartphones instead of in the backwoods. Ear-buds are the 21st century hoods and it is even harder to know who is underneath, because everybody is wearing one. It is easy for twits to tweet and enemies to facebook.

Our scales are off, under surreptitious thumbs. There is much ado when non-sexual events and objects are referred to as “gay” for example, but little outcry when tacky and shabby things are “ghetto”. Black and Hispanic men who are anything but demur are “thugs”. The NHL has fights that are a part their “tradition”, even premeditated ones that commence seconds after teams take the ice. They are not called “thugs” there, but not because cooler heads prevail. Many of those players also come from ghettos, just not any in the United States. They are called “enforcers” – how positive a connotation! In another league though, it’s “Malice in the Palace”, and how the sky falls and calamities befall us when big black men get out of control! Nevermind that most of those men come from middle class, two-parent homes. I conclude that those who would use the word are more “thug” than anyone. They would strangle honest efforts at tolerance, even blatant bigotry; which I would much (much) rather over the sneaky plausible deniability of “if you know what I mean”. And I think you do.

I just ate the deadest orange you can imagine. In fact, you probably can’t imagine, so let me tell you about it. It was not sour, refreshingly; but it was not sweet, disappointingly. One would hardly even knew that they were alive except for all the chewing. It wasn’t even all that juicy. In taste, it was like a slightly citrusy version of a lame cantaloupe. Even the knife was unenthusiastic in cutting this thing open, I had to stab it first. I should have known. I also should have burned those seeds to help bring that lineage to an end. That orange was so lame though, that it hardly even had any seeds…

Thought of the night: A kind word spoken leaves an indelible mark, but a kind word written grows in potency every time it is read.

“Bees do not enrich only themselves when visiting flowers, they also enrich the flowers.”

This is my first idea worth sharing today, and it was prompted by a travel article lamenting the “worst places” for certain types of people to travel. The article presupposes and implicitly promotes the idea that travel is about consuming the experience and the culture, while leaving no mark and contributing nothing. The entire point of travel though, is to engage in an exchange – to be an open-minded supplicant and a benevolent ambassador.

This can, and probably should, also be cross-applied to most of our endeavors and involvements. We should take what we can from each experience in the interest of learning and constructing a more robust self, while contributing as significantly as possible to said experiences (and others).

Last night I went to sleep around 11, though I was in bed by 9:30. I wanted to get an early night because I’d had an early morning, but it didn’t happen. I got an unexpectedly early morning this morning instead when I woke up a few minutes before 4. I laid there trying to go back to sleep. I relaxed my muscles, dropped my shoulders, breathed slowly and deeply; all very relaxing, but not sleep inducing.

I’ve read online for a couple of hours already, made breakfast, took my time showering, getting ready and walking to the train (I’m now on the second one). I’ll probably get sleepy later, but it’s a great feeling not starting the day off with jarring and alarming noises in a state of panic.