my first publication (that someone could actually buy!)

I've been writing over the last several years and have been able to eek out a few publications. The problem as been that all of the manuscripts have been been published for academic audiences, which means that in most probability, only a handful of people (academics) will ever read it.

It's the nature of academic writing: You write for a very small and specialized group.

Well, my fourth piece is a little different. I was asked to contribute a chapter for a book titled: "Sexuality Matters: Paradigms and Policies for Educational Leaders." And from what I could initially tell, the audience was going to once again be academics, which means that only a handful of people would ever even see it, much less read it.

But then I got an email from my one of the contributing editors. The email contained a link to Amazon.com, where in, ... believe it or not, ... one could actually purchase the book!

During a lunch this week, I asked "said" editor, "am I going to be able to go to ... say ... Barnes and Noble and actually see this book on a shelf? To which he replied, yes, but you will probably be getting your own copy from the publishers, so don't go buy one.

I smiled and said, "I don't want to go to a bookstore and buy the book, ... I just want to be able to go to a bookstore and see that I have something there, that I wrote, that I could buy!" He laughed and understood that this is probably a bigger deal for me than it is for him.

So, I've kind of done it, ... sort of. I have a piece of my writing that will be sold in the same store as Chuck Palahniuk or Anne Lamott, ... not that I have any delusions that I am of their writing calibre.

But, it's neat. I feel pretty good about the accomplishment.

Sexuality Matters is published by Rowman & Littlefield (September 28, 2009). The title of my chapter is: "Deconstructing Silos: Non-LGBTQ Educators and the Subjects of the Urban Classroom."

If you are so inclined, ... check it out. I am really proud of the piece.

betrayal is hard

wow

hankerin' for a hunk o' cheese?

underpants

I started thinking about this post because I've figured-out pants. Actually, what I figured out is that I like wearing pants. But really, it's a specific pair of pants that I'm talking about, ... and that's not the whole story.

It's more that I have become accustomed to wearing a specific pair of pants: Black Dockers.

But it's not these pants that ... I love, ... nor is it that I really like pants that much. Rather, it's becoming "accustomed to" that which I've grown to "being accustomed."

The black dockers sort of ... fit me (emphasis on "sort of"). I wear them everyday, no less. They are indeed black, ... although they are starting to turn a lighter shade of reddish-grey where the sun sees them, ... or where my hands hit them when slapping my thighs while laughing or crying, ... feeling nervous and alone, ... or where my hands rest while living ridiculously and pleasantly as oblivious as an ostridge is to a sandstorm.

Black pants go well with shirts and ties, particularly when wearing black shoes and black belt ... and more importantly they go well with the rest of my mess. Pants are one less thing that, ... I think ... need to be worried about. They are "automatic" -- always available when I need them, busted stitches and fade. No working for, no thinking about, ... just comfortably available to abuse.

And there's the rub.

We took 12, ... yes twelve, bags of clothes to "Good Will" recently. Eee-billy-Gad, what a relief! To get rid of all baggage, ... some of those things that weigh us comfortably-down, is mighty, mighty nice.

But, my black dockers were not a part of that party. And it's not for the fact that many other garments deserved a lesser destiny than to ... succumb to thoughtless and effortless slaps from the sun.

They, my black dockers, were salvaged much like other things in my life because ... I am afraid to give-up, to turn-over, to live, to be alive, ... to trade-away those things which make me feel ... safe????

The fact is that I am afraid, and becoming "accustomed-to" is the hole-in-shifting-sand that I find myself hiding in. I hold onto those things which by no means, ... as they say, ... "become me," ... as told in a story greater than I have the capacity, proclivity and authority to write about.

And for anyone looking, these pants are terrible. I imagine that onlookers gawk. They are most probably asking themselves, ... in small groups comprised of hip-folk in smart shorts and neck-ties, or in cooly-ripped and prefabed-damaged jeans, "why is this weird guy wearing these stupid pants ... and why is there sand in his hair?"

So, from now on, ... when I perceive that my head is buried, ... when I am hanging onto things that clearly are not "becoming," ... perhaps the very first thing that I should do is take the pants off, ... leaving, ... for all on-lookers, ... the sight of arms and legs dangling in the air like a naked Halloween ornament.

And now for underwear, ... marching on.

root's rights

Os novos direitos humanos from Mauricio Campos - COMMO design on Vimeo.

can you believe this?

A friend of ours is currently teaching in S. Korea, and during a recent visit back to the states he was telling me about how it seems that the people there often seem to be operating with a "singular collective mind." I sort of see what he was talking about here. Amazing.

sensemaking in cincinnati: wait a minute!

sensemaking in cincinnati: wait a minute!

wait a minute!

... this kid is one ham sandwich

is this healthy consumerism?

Yikes!