NaniVision :: a look back and beyond today

Facebook, unlike MySpace, has created this seemingly more wholesome connection tool that brings people together in a familiar, yet veiled, sort of way, resembling a cloud-like dating scene. And I say that with some humility. It makes me look at my own reasons for "friending" someone, as Mira puts it. I guess my reasons are not without selfish intent... we put our best (if not honest) face forward in an imperfectly created virtual world. We never touch. We never talk. So, how honest is it? I think in this day and age, these networks resemble high school all over again. The high school of being able to drive to a friend's house and hang out when we wanted to. The high school before work and family sucked the time out of the weekends to pay back the time our parents sacrificed for us. It's the continuum of karma. But I digress. Remember when it was easy to see your friends everyday and hang out with the ones you clicked with, when you wanted to? Easy access, I call it. T

I have a love/hate relationship with lists. On one side, I despise being beholden to any "thing" that tells me what I need to do. On the other, I desperately neeeeed them to make sure I don't forget anything I am beholden to. Savvy? I'd say not. So, where is my master list of the lists? It's a piece of paper on a notead among many notepads, shrewn here and there within my growing pile of To Do. I still can't find it. But what I can find are old lists that were once referenced by the master list. These I go through when I find them and scratch out the Completed items, then rewrite a new master list. It's complicated. But it's also a good exercise for my brain which seems to be failing lately. Slightly. Sporadically. I was once a major list-maker, aka Project Manager. I have tried all kinds of tools to get a project organized and keep a project organized and make sure other people within the project were organized until the very end - even when deadlines

Sometimes a cup o' joe in the afternoon really hits the spot.  Sometimes it just leads to more disorientation and jitters.  Inevitably, though, the aroma is what draws me in most... It makes me think I want a smooth, delicious cup to sip genteelly - when in actuality, it gets in my way and I end up gulping it down before it's too chilled.  I don't fancy cold coffee, unless it's iced and pretty. A paradox ?

I had a most wonderful dream this morning of which I recall very little now. It was embracing and comforting, and I smiled in spite of having to get up and start my physical day. There was a time, and I can sometimes practice this without being frustrated, when I could surf my dreams and alter the outcome. I used to practice this when I was in my teens because I felt the need to rid myself of many irrational fears that I kept to myself and never told anyone - until now. It was then that I began to actively "fly" in my dreams to get away from a perceived, scary situation or encroaching, nameless foe. I remember passively doing this when I was younger, and I thought I was special. As it turns out, many people fly in their dreams, however, not knowing that back then had allowed me a cushion of courage, that I possessed certain powers, to help control myself - "myself" being my ego which cast fear and doubt on just about everything I attempted. Today, I realize that it

I love how technology allows customer service reps to copy and paste scripted rebuttals and offers during a chat session. The chat session was the "only" way to cancel my eFax account (other than hunting for a phone number, cleverly embedded within the knowledgebase). So, I had to install another piece of software I'll use this once just to get this: (btw, "this" was the second go around, having nearly completed the cancelation the first time until my computer decided to reboot) Welcome to chat. The session has been accepted. {- Stanley K.} Hello, Cynthia. Welcome to j2 Global online support. I am Stanley, your online Live Support Representative. How may I assist you? {cynthia} I was disconnected earlier when I was trying to cancel my acct {- Stanley K.} I am sorry to hear that you wish to cancel. Could you please provide me with your Fax number and PIN for verification? {cynthia} I am not interested in your offer for a couple of months free {cynthia} fax\PIN {-

Seriously, we've been in a personal recession since the bubble burst back in 2000.  That's right... we're dotcom refugees. Nothing huge or grandiose.  It was just our career path for about as long as the Web was around.  We had fun . We had faith. We invested our own cash into tech stocks and our own companies as much as we could. Did I say we had faith? It's true. We had fun.  We met great, talented people - both young and old, green and seasoned - and worked together to build SOMETHING. That was what we did. Did I say we had fun? Well, we did.  Startups are a crazy style of company . Your development group or sales group or even the operations people - possibly all the same person - become your second family. We'd eat together and work insane hours to make deadlines. In the daily passing of time, many stories are shared and you get to know each person as the person they really are - beyond the interview - when you realize you were spot-on in hiring this pe

For as long as I can remember, I have these thoughts - auditory visions if you can stretch this analogy - when seemingly, my mind should be turned off and relaxing, enjoying the mindless broadcast from the tube or sitting in the spaces between material and natural, visiting it seems, the edges of my own sanity. In other words, I talk to myself. Not out loud, of course, because that's just crazy. My ego speaks to me when I seek quiet. A noisy respite from my own daily doings. It really should be more quiet, and often I can turn down the volume or shut it up - literally sometimes - I say out loud, "enough!", as if that is required to make my ego listen and pipe down for a moment. I choose this action when there is repetitive, negative haranguing of someone I am clearly not speaking with at the moment - a dress rehearsal of sorts for the actual moment when I may pick up my skirt and read the riot act to someone that my ego has deemed unworthy of "live and let live"