When Social Media Becomes a Social Cause: Twestival 09

This is no Twestivus for the Rest of Us kind of faux affair. A group of dedicated, savvy volunteers have leveraged Twitter's microblogging power to host Raleigh's own Twestival on Thursday, February 12. Here are the deets. This a the grand dame of Tweetups, with charity at its heart. Our goal is to raise money to provide access to clean drinking water to people around the world.

H2O. The same stuff we flush away without a care. The same stuff we waste down the drain as we let hoses run amok and taps drip to their own deafening cadence. The same stuff we mindlessly guzzle from bottles, fountains (or bubblers as they say in Wisconsin), refrigerators, Brita pitchers, faucets. Charity: Water.

Thursday's soiree promises to be fun and above all, uplifting. Food, cocktails, Wii, networking, and best of all, meet your favorite tweeple face to face. Tickets are only $11.40 if you purchase tickets online in advance, or $14 on day of, $20 at door. Did I mention the awesome chow and cocktails that are included in that ticket price? Did you catch what I said about the cause we're supporting? Clean dirnking water, people. The stuff we take for granted every. single. day.

On Thursday 12 February 2009, Twestival is going global. The flagship event will be
rocking out in London, with simultaneous events happening in major Twitter cities around the
world. Look at us, little ole Raleigh. A major Twitter city!

Here's some more information from Twestival's official website:

charity: water - Everyone in the world deserves safe, clean drinking water.
Right now 1.1 billion people on the planet don’t have access to safe, clean drinking water. That’s one in six of us. Unsafe water and lack of basic sanitation cause 80% of all sickness and disease, and kill more people every year than all forms of violence, including war. Many people in the developing world, usually women and children, walk more than three hours everyday to fetch water that is likely to make them sick. Those hours are crucial, preventing many from working or attending school. Additionally, collecting water puts them at a greater risk of sexual harassment and assault. Children are especially vulnerable to the consequences of unsafe drinking water. Of the 42,000 deaths that occur every week from unsafe water and a lack of basic sanitation, 90% are children under 5 years old. The same as my Bird and Deal.

charity: water and how they work:
charity: water is a non profit organization bringing clean, safe drinking water to people in developing nations. 100% of the money raised goes to direct project costs, funding sustainable clean water solutions in areas of greatest need. They also work to raise awareness of the water crisis through events, fundraising exhibitions and other public awareness campaigns.

Since it’s foundation in 2006, charity: water has funded the construction of more than 600 wells that, when completed, will provide clean drinking water to 250,000 people. And they are just getting started.


I have seen firsthand the effects of lack of clean water. Scratch that. Make that the effects of polluted, foul, smelly, diseased water. Images of those villagers haunt me still. It is heartbreaking to see people, fellow mothers and fathers and children, succumb to desperation and illness just because they lack the one basic thing our bodies need, the very thing that comprises 75% of our very being.

Can't snag a sitter or sneak away from work to join us at Raleigh's Twestival? Fret not, my friends. You can simply click here to make a difference. Imagine if it were your child dying from a simple lack of water. Imagine not doing anything at all.

Tweet. Meet. Give. We're going to change the world one tweet at a time.

Wordless Wednesday: Sunny Disposition

Mind Your Manners

I learned the hard way what it's like to be at the sandy playground without sand toys. While all the other children whose mothers had the foresight to actually pack a bucket of shovels and molds and rakes and trucks, I was meagerly handing my sons a few twigs and a handful of pine needles to muck it up in the sand. I played it off as the beauty of imagination, not the lameness of leaving the house in a daze and having no clue what the park would behold.

Now I keep the mother load of sand toys in my car. Each item painstakingly initialed in hard to reach crevices lest the sand wear away the Sharpie.

And unlike those other moms, my kids and I share our toys. If I encountered a mom as clueless as I was that day, I'd offer her a shovel. I'd do what I could to help her save face in front of her kids. Most of all, I'd extend our universe to let in some more kids, allowing everyone to have a piece of the sandy pie. A playground is no place to be closed and provincial. It is called a PLAYground after all, not a don't-play-with-them-ground. Is it not the quintessential place to learn all of life's lessons?

Share.
Play nicely.
Walk, don't run.
That slide will be blazing hot in August.
The see saw is gonna hurt.
Don't show your panties on the money bars.
A dress is a bad idea on the jungle gym.
Sensible shoes are a must.
Don't eat sand.
Pee in the woods if you must.
Introduce yourself.
Introduce your friends.
Say please and thank you.
Don't be a hog.
Swingers don't necessarily have more fun.

Our family celebrated our long awaited taste of spring yesterday by heading to the park, sand toys and lunch in tow. Deal promptly dumped out the toys and began digging his way to China, unearthing gold along the way. I sat filling castle mold after castle mold to help build our new city. A colorful pile of sand toys at the park holds a magnetic attraction to everyone in the five and under set. A veritable swarm of children pounced, grubby little hands stretching to pluck a rake or shovel from the pile. Wails of "But I waaannnnntttt the ggrreeeeeennnn one!" ensued. And ever so calmly, Deal handed over the green shovel. When one kid took the elephant mold right out of Deal's hand, he simply picked up another toy, walked over to the culprit, and held it out for a trade.

I don't know about you, but if it were my kid playing with someone else's toys, I'd be a hawk making sure my kid played nicely. I'd be all annoyingly ingratiating to make sure the mom and kid knew how grateful were were to play with their made in China shovel. Not so for the moms and kids we encountered yesterday. Oh, not so at all. Harumph.

I was kneeling in the sand building with Deal. Actually interacting with my son. Getting dirty. Sand all under my nails. The other moms, upon seeing their children distracted by our toys, plopped down on a bench and gabbed away the afternoon, leaving me to tend to the minor battles, tugs, and tussles. When it was time to go, those moms simply took their kids' hands and walked away. No thank yous, no smiles, no waves. Nada. Zip. Zilch. They played with our stuff, left the mess, and trapsed off.

Poor Deal shared like a champ and made me beam. Those other moms and kids made me steam.

How can we possibly teach manners to our children if we don't model them ourselves? Well, good manners, that is. I'm pretty sure the bad manners are the ones that are innate to our very being. Those mothers at the park should have made a concerted effort to thank Deal for sharing (or made their children say thank you). They should have helped collect the strewn toys. They should have shown some grace and class and manners.

Painful as it is for Mac Daddy sometimes, we spend a lot of time focusing on our manners at our house. Napkin in lap. Use your fork. Say please. Wipe your mouth...not on the placemat! Look her in the eye when you say thank you. What's the magic word? It's admittedly a lot of blah blah blahing, but I have to believe it will one day pay off. Granted, there are many days I feel it isn't working at all. Don't judege me by my children. Oh, that's another post in and of itself! For the record, I don't blame those little kids. But I fully blame their rude moms. Even Deal sullenly noted that no one said thank you. How 'bout that Ladies, called out by a three-year old. Shame on you.

5:00 Fridays

I'm mixing things up in a whole new way this week. I'm hosting Dirt & Noise's first ever 5:00 Fridays giveaway! Woo hoo! Yeehaw! Yowza! Please, people, try to contain your excitement. It's not even 5:00 yet.

As my regulars know (Warning, sidebar coming: Hey, bars have regulars, and so do I! Cool, eh?), I have a special affinity for Dirty Sue. Dirty Sue has changed my cocktail life. Let's just say I've come an awfully long way from the Virginia Gentleman bourbon mixed with ginger ale and occasional white zinfandel I drank college. Blech. Blech. Gag. I have featured Dirty Sue before, and continue to love the good ole Dirty & Noisy martini.

Dirty Sue, for those folks who aren't regulars...yet, is pure and fine olive juice. Just the juice. I use it in the obvious dirty martini. I also add a splash to my bloody mary (shhh...it's my secret ingredient, along with just a tish of dill pickle juice). The other night I even added Dirty Sue to my wok. Gasp! I did. Really. I sliced up some chicken sausage, tossed in diced fresh garlic, chopped red onions, slivers of red peppers, and pitted black olives. Splash of Dirty Sue, dribble of chicken broth, and voila! Dinner. Splendid with a cucumber salad and pita bread to sop up the divine sauce. As usual, I'm digressing. And now I'm hungry.

So on to today's giveaway...

2, count 'em 2, bottles of Dirty Sue and a Dirty Sue T-shirt! Mac Daddy and I have T-shirts, and trust me, they are way awesome. Mine red one is particularly kicky and make my boobs look fantastic.

All you have to do is leave me a comment telling me which Dirty Sue recipe is going to be your new favorite. I'll let random.org do the rest. The winner will be announced on next week's 5:00 Fridays post. So go ahead, check it out. Pass it on. Tweet it. Facebook it. What? You don't tweet or use friend as a verb? Well then, we gotta talk. But not today. I have drinks to shake.

And if you don't want to roll the dice, go here to buy your own Dirty Sue. Also, Amazon.com over there in my sidebar has a great deal on four bottles. Stock up, friends.

And now, a special deal for Dirt & Noise readers only: If anyone wants to order six or 12 bottles, contact Eric at et1969@mac.com, mention Dirt & Noise for a spectacularly deep discount.

Bartenders love it. I love it. What more do you need? And for the record, I'm not getting paid for this giveaway. I just happen to love the stuff and want to share the goods with my crew.

Cheers to your favorite Dirty Sue recipe! Mwah!

Wordless Wednesday: The Case of the Disappearing Baby Cheeks

Wise Words from Garrison Keillor

Garrison Keillor's comments on Obama's election

An excerpt from a wise Midwestern man:

"Be happy, dear hearts, and allow yourselves
a few more weeks of quiet exultation.
It isn't gloating, it's satisfaction at a job well done.
He was a superb candidate, serious, professorial
but with a flashing grin and a buoyancy that comes
from working out in the gym every morning.
He spoke in a genuine voice, not senatorial at all.
He relished campaigning. He accepted adulation gracefully.
He brandished his sword against his opponents
without mocking or belittling them.
He was elegant, unaffected, utterly American,
and now (Wow) suddenly America is cool.
Chicago is cool. Chicago !!!
We threw the dice and we won the jackpot
and elected a black guy with a Harvard degree,
the middle name Hussein and a sense of humor
he said, "I've got relatives who look like Bernie Mac,
and I've got relatives who look like Margaret Thatcher."
The French junior minister for human rights said,
"On this morning, we all want to be American
so we can take a bite of this dream unfolding
before our eyes." When was the last time you heard
someone from France say they wanted to be American
and take a bite of something of ours?
Ponder that for a moment.
The world expects us to elect pompous yahoos,
and instead we have us a 47-year-old prince
from the prairie who cheerfully ran the race, and
when his opponents threw sand at him,
he just smiled back. He'll be the first president in history
to look really good making a jump shot.
He loves his classy wife and his sweet little daughters.
At the same time, he knows pop music,
American lit and constitutional law.
I just can't imagine anybody cooler.
It feels good to be cool, and all of us can share in that,
even sour old right-wingers and embittered blottoheads.
Next time you fly to Heathrow and hand your passport
to the man with the badge, he's going to see
"United States of America " and look up and grin.
Even if you worship in the church of Fox ,
everyone you meet overseas is going to ask you about Obama,
and you may as well say you voted for him because,
my friends, he is your line of credit over there.
No need anymore to try to look Canadian."

Read the entire Salon.com article here.

The Birth of a Writer: On Why I Blog

I've been blogging at Dirt & Noise a little over a year now. I started just to have an outlet to write and get thoughts out of my head and onto paper. Well, proverbial paper. I missed my gig at the local newspaper and figured a blog was the next best thing. Soon I learned that blogging was even better. My readers are my editors. And my fans, my cheerleaders, my challengers.

Then blogging became a part of me. An addiction if you will. It also transformed me.

I think it's safe to say that all the crazies having a dance party in my head were causing a fair bit of anxiety in my overall being. I often felt overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time; a strange paradox of an existence. I was full of energy and ideas. And admittedly full of piss and vinegar. I was a veritable rolodex of zany ideas and blasphemous thoughts. I was all dressed up for the dance, but there was no high school gym decorated for the big event. And so there I sat alone with my thoughts, billowing tulle falling at my ankles, patent leather slingbacks slung through my manicured fingers.

And so I created my own dance party.

I blog for the obvious reasons. It's fun. It's an exercise in writing. It's a storytelling wonderland. It's a walk down Memory Lane. It's a way to share out of the ordinary anecdotes with friends and family. But it's so much more.

Blogging is therapy, but a whole lot cheaper. And thankfully for Mac Daddy, it's also way cheaper than retail therapy. Blogging forces me to dig deeper than I would otherwise let myself go. I come face to face with some buried emotions and experiences. I reflect on my own brand DNA, my shortcomings of motherhood, my worries, my celebrations, my fears. Some things I've seen crop up in my head are still too painful or controversial to manifest into words. But thanks to blogging, they're there, off the so called back burner and poised for capture and introspection.

Blogging also makes me think. I see life's events great and small through a different lens now. Rather I see them through various lenses. I can leverage my words to share ideas, heartaches, causes, or simply reflections. I can even use my words for good. Through my writing I vent, rant, judge, wail, and whine. I also use my cyberspace real estate to inspire, promote, tease, and tickle.

I have always aspired to be a writer. When my hopes were dashed to get into medical school, I turned my dreams to writing. Then the real world whacked me upside the head and forced me to get a job. A paying job. After years of building a retirement nest egg from the tender age of 22, funding an obscenely expensive graduate school run, and starting a family, I have decided that now is the time. The time is now to put my writing goals in overdrive. So my blog provides me with fodder for that book deal I covet. I won't see my name embroidered on a lab coat but I just might see my name on a book jacket. A girl can dream, right?

And so, my blog gives me a voice.