Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Documentation, Ethics, Health, Religion, Technology

Watchtower Society Building Beth’el on Toxic Dump

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Toxins cause leukemia, at least according to Mr. Rob0t,” Angela warns the volunteers working for ‘the Society’ at their new headquarters in upstate New York. Concerns are that while the Watchtower Society may be able to protect their vested interests in the property and it’s financial value, they cannot protect their volunteers from exposure to the toxic chemicals.

This is the story of how Brooklyn “Beth’el” became “Warwick“.

The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society began as simple American religion financed by William Henry Conley (11 June 1840 – 25 July 1897). William was trained by his uncle in the printing business for ten years, and was a Pittsburgh philanthropist and industrialist. He was married to Sarah Shaffer (1841–1908). Together, they provided organizational and financial support to religious institutions in the United States.

William Conley was the first president of Zion’s Watch Tower Tract Society, from 1881 to 1884.

In December 1884, the Society was incorporated with Charles Taze Russell as president. 

In 1896, the Society was renamed Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society, and later became associated with Jehovah’s Witnesses.

In April 1909, the Watchtower moved to Brooklyn, New York.

#Jehovah’s #Witnesses are one of the largest property development #corporations in the #world–owning over 80,000…

Posted by Angela Glass on Tuesday, December 8, 2015

In 2004 the Watchtower, the society began moving their headquarters after more than 100 years in Brooklyn, NY.

The new headquarters in Warwick, New York is being built by volunteer Jehovah’s Witnesses, such as my parents Arlene and Melvin Baxley (pictured above).

The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society is suing International Nickel and several of its affiliates, which it accuses of contaminating land where the religious group is now building its massive 1.6 million-square-foot world headquarters. Watchtower is seeking unspecified reimbursement for the cost it has incurred in the cleanup and remediation. It is also seeking damages, restitution and attorney fees.

In 2011 it was reported that the Watchtower Society was being Investigated for Illegal Toxic Dumping in Hudson Valley Watershed. Continue reading

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Dear Mols

“How are we supposed to bring up the network if we can’t bring up the servers?”

Posted by Angela Glass on Thursday, December 10, 2015

 

I’m ready to create—to use the tools we created, the platforms, the surfaces, the languages, the software, the servers, the networks,…

Remember when I was a wee one on the internet
Long before we’d ever met?

Violin Recital

I was the guild leader’s girlfriend
I played first chair, first violin

Angela_Hip-Hop_Variant-670x670

A performing arts student
And touch prone to sin

Everquest Terris-Thule's The Shadow Council: Cailyn and Suntzu

Everquest The Shadow Council of Terris-Thule: Cailynn & Suntzu Soleil

Cailynn was my character’s name
A level 55 rogue or so
Before I’d never play her again

cropped-angela-marie-niblick-baxley-1500x5001.jpeg

SpunkyGidget was my pseudo-name
When the internet became a game
And life was never the same

Molly.com because she was
on the internet before
The Internet is for Porn” was born

MediaTemple

“Women in Technology” worn like a wet t-shirt
They disposed of Ms. Dewey’s digital body
Like she was a Jimmy Chou model

Ask Ms. Dewey

I train Siri daily
Temper autism with creativity
Throw tantrums, test the water
Wanna spark something bigger?

Hey Siri

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?
Say what you want to say,
and let the words fall out,
honestly, I want to see you be brave!”

We never worked together, not technically speaking.

Isn’t it about time?

Brian Rosenthal, to clear up the amibiguity

Don’t you work for free?

You inspire me, I’ve created a classroom of kids who need some of you…

tim-for-angie-voxox

I hear we can connect face-to-face through technology, almost like we were there… once, sitting around the on the carpet in living room.

Should we live or die, let us do digitally?

After all, that’s what brought us together IRL.

molly-tantek-lynda-photo-by-ang-130196201_247aee201d_o

And in my dreams, one day, I’ll see you again soon in person.

stuck behind a keyboard, characters in keystroke converted into bits and bites bypassing languages to be recorded while they carry no real content.

If the inmates are still running the asylums, let’s be creatively free:

I’m ready to create—to use the tools we created, the platforms, the surfaces, the languages, the software, the servers, the networks,…

Would it be so hard to cobble all this stuff we have laying around in our digital garages and turn it into something useful to communicate cultural and creative content?

I mean isn’t it as easy as connecting the dots of services that are out there to explain how easy it is to … connect the dots?

Dear Mols, I miss me. Do you miss me too?

I love you.

Virtually,
Yours

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Vanessa and Cadenus


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Vampire Weekend

Dedicated to Candace Conti and other little boys and girls who are dead or molested.

www.seekYeHoWaH.com and escape Christendom.

Jehovah’s Witnesses need not apply. Where did anyone say that anyone would be serving that god in the end? Oh, you’re right. He does factor in…

Screen Shot 2014-10-28 at 8.05.34 AM

— Angela Glass (@Baxley) October 30, 2014

I wanted to design software for the Watchtower when I was 15 years old at it’s headquarters, “Brooklyn Beth’el“.

Guess what? God created Eve, and Eve was naked. And it was good. God said so. He also created weed. He also said it was good to eat.

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angela-marié-niblick-matthew-raymond-niblick-art-paradise

I was turned down. They don’t generally “take sisters“.

Now I am a Silent Lamb. Sacrifice me.

Here’s what I did instead: www.linkedin.com/in/angelamarieglass.

“Angela experienced a crisis from an ill marriage and lack of support from the congregation.”

I am a Silent Lamb?—Sacrifice me.

For the record, you don’t lose your faith when you stop believing God is Jehovah. But Melissa doesn’t know what losing my religion is all about. Girl, I was a hoarder, and I still am though that was back then. Show you a few things, pretend to be my friend? Oh don’t mind slandering the Baxley’s while you’re at it for the blood of the noble Niblick’s.

Funny, baxleyvsunitedstates.org versus the Dominican nephew determined to shame me—calling me the “shameful aunt”.

I took it in silence. I have learned how to turn away so it doesn’t sink in. No, not really. It really hurt. But hey, I haven’t got time to buy a new deodarant stick of Tom’s every two months — so I use it but it doesn’t work. I have no cash and thus I stink and am not buying it on Amazon and paying for shipping. So I am waiting until someone thinks I stink enough to do something about it. They have a pretty high tolerance.

Thanks mommy.

When I asked if they were going to stay there—in the DR—he sold me this line from his daddy’s mouth: they aren’t living there, they are missionaries. — For Christ’s sake, who hasn’t heard of God? Oh, yeah…

God isn’t Jehovah. Jehovah isn’t peddling love, he’s got Watchtowers to print and has just discovered the Internet.

Well I was in the middle of pestering this corporation called “The Watchtower” on Twitter, when I realized I needed a mood swing. Being a heavy hitter dealing with porno and pedo’s is a bit much for this do-gooder.

I mean the internet is for porn, right?

Well anyhoo, distracted again from that to get the video to prove the point that I’m not lost on how I feel about life, I’m just so DAMNED tired of having to stay up all night to work against all of you.

So I /quit.

Yeah, see I’m not a cultural fit. I’m not a woman in technology and there’s no way come hell or high water, well—we all know which—I would never have a daughter, as I could never let her see this world. Dear God, preserve my seed within me. Save my belly for the beast. I am yours and have ever been devoted. I am sorry for so long I thought that the Watchtower’s disapproval of me was somehow was the directive from God. Dear God, if you don’t love me—Um? Who could you?

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A couple of weeks before she died, Rebecca informed us that she was about to be a big girl of six years old, and Becca was a baby name. Once she turned six, she wanted everyone (not just me) to call her Rebecca, not Becca. She made it to six. For almost twelve hours, she was six. So Rebecca it is and must be.

 

Pedophile alert!

Travis Foote, you touched me one too many times. And my mother blamed me. The Watchtower will pay and you shall be certain you won’t see the outside of that cell. Enjoy.

Tangled Up in Jews

I’m ready. I’m not a clown, exactly. I’m the last generation.

I’m the joker. Hello thief, it’s time.

Sleep No More with @xtianbovine @dens

Dear Watchtower…

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Ancestry, Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Music

Closed Head Injury

Letter to a Friend

I graduated to a larger keyboard in procrastination.

I went back to do the dishes and thought to myself, ‘this isn’t the life I want’. Did I tell you? I had even tried to convince myself that I just had to get things all in order so that everything in life would be ‘ready’. See how that worked out? Needless to say these hands have yet to hit dishwater. So much for Southern.

But is there really anything wrong with that?

If someone would give me just one cup, plate, bowl, spoon, fork, mug and what else do I need?

I’ll tell you what, just a really cool place to put them!

I need to figure out how to be happy, or this is going to suddenly feel like a very long life, I get the feeling, from here on out…

Today is the day that my daddy died, 30 years ago today, or some time within 12 hours or so either way, because I can never quite remember if the accident happened the night before, or if it was already considered the next day, and when it was that he died, or rather, how long it took him to die. And since I move so damn often, the paper which answers this question every year when I inevitably go searching for it to determine once again, for another year, just it was ‘when’ that ‘what’ happened, is buried in boxes which are worn and disheveled from the packing, repacking, and moving again, again, and again.

Any way, I’m listening to Yo-Yo Ma do Johan Sebastian Bach while considering doing my dishes, or just throwing out all my clothes, …or just moving to a life I’d prefer to be living?

It wouldn’t take a psychiatrist to be able to tell you that if I could have anyone with me here tonight to have a glass of single girl microwaved a few seconds to knock the chill off red refrigerated wine it would be my dad. No, not the one who called yesterday to make sure that I was okay, I think because he knows even if only from the signs from my mother’s odder than usual behavior triggered by it nearing that day again… No, I mean my father, the one who gave me life. He was an artist and a lover, a singer and a movie maker, although I have to tell you his song in the band is pretty much dreadful.

Here’s Dog Sweat, by Matthew Raymond Morris Michael Niblick. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, you’ll want to cover your ears. But to me, it’s music. That’s my daddy’s voice. When I heard this ‘song’ this past year, it was the first I’d heard my daddy’s voice, since he died thirty years ago. Still, Dad! What were you thinking?!

My Daddy, the artist Matthew Raymond Morris Michael Niblick (movie footage 1979-1983) from Angela Baxley on Vimeo.

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Daddy and Father Al

Years ago my aunt, the nun, apparently worked in the same parish as Father Alfred Kunz, a rebel Roman Catholic priest who performed exorcisms. They became friends, and like all friends of the Niblick’s at some point he was at the house with the family. Father Al admired my father’s art and invited Matthew out to work on his church in Dane, Wisconsin. What artist would deny the Church as a patron, not even Da Vinci?

Just a few years later, my father dies in a tragic accident in the lonely hours of that pre-light March morning.

Nobody foresaw it on that cold, gray March morning, but the aftermath of Kunz’s death would get strange, and then even stranger. There would be stories of exorcism referrals, a satanic assassination and, eventually, innuendos of sexual impropriety by Kunz, who was known at St. Michael simply as “Father Al.”

Later, there would even be allegations that his murder could somehow be linked to evil in the most unthinkable of places: the vast Catholic hierarchy that Kunz was tied to as a diocesan priest. Some even blame the Vatican in Rome.

In the absence of an arrest, the Kunz case also has developed into a religious Rorschach for many — certainly among those close to the case who consider themselves traditionalists within the troubled Roman Catholic Church, which all but invented the Easter holiday as Western civilization knows it today.

Fifteen years later—March 4, MCMXCVIII—fifteen years ago today, Father Al was found murdered.

“Fifteen years later, someone could still be haunted…

The all-consuming rage at the cockeyed old priest; the uncontainable hatred, day after freezing winter day. The wee-hours confrontation in a dim school hallway outside the priest’s office, where he’d slept like a castaway for the past 31 years.

The attack, the frantic struggle: It all ended in a heartbeat, when the killer plunged a razor-sharp blade into Father Alfred Kunz’s neck, slicing the major artery below his jaw.

And then came all the blood — warm, slippery torrents of it, coating the painted cinderblock walls and the worn, gritty floor tiles. Almost instantly, Kunz fainted into a lifeless heap, his white T-shirt and black slacks soaked from the gaping wound. According to emergency room medical experts, he would have lived for about another minute, probably in a deep, dreamlike haze.

Asperges me domine… Thou shalt sprinkle me, O Lord…

… et mundabo. …and I shall be cleansed.”

Pedophilic Satanism in the bed of Roman Catholicism—the Vatican, otherwise known as the house of Babylon the Great—exorcisms, animal sacrifice, Luciferians; it’s a terrifyingly truthful tale entitled “The Devil and Father Kunz: An Easter tale about murder, the Catholic Church and the strange paths of good and evil“.

Kunz had also traveled to Rome and met Pope John Paul II as the pontiff prayed alone one morning at a secluded Vatican chapel.

One of Kunz’s closest associates was best-selling novelist Malachi Martin, a one-time Vatican insider under Pope John XXIII, who convened Vatican II. Martin would later leave the Vatican circle and become an exorcist, as well as the author of six religious novels, one of which, “Windswept House,” was compared to “Dr. Zhivago” by the Washington Post in 1996…

“What Luciferians resent is interference with someone they regard as theirs,” Martin told me in that interview, adding that his friend believed his life was in danger in the weeks before his death. “We are all convinced beyond anything that Father Kunz was killed in hatred of the faith as punishment — and as an example for the rest of us.”

Martin also repeated his belief that the aftermath of Vatican II was nothing less than a coup by Satanic forces – that, he said, was why he eventually broke with the church’s new mainstream after Vatican II. Martin wrote about the alleged dark influence often in his novels. In “Windswept House,” for instance, he described a satanic animal sacrifice linked by telephone to the Vatican’s Chapel of St. Paul – and the account does bear eerie similarities to a calf mutilation that occurred near Dane almost exactly 24 hours before Kunz was last seen alive.

It’s been thirty years later now, and I wonder more than ever of the short days of my father on this earth. I find 33 a little young to feel so world weary, just look at all my father got in by 23.

I had wondered about whether or not my dad had ever made it to San Francisco the year he hitch hiked across the United States to California for his summer vacation when he was 15. As I realize that he escaped from a Moonie camp, whose home base was in Boonville north of San Francisco out past wine country, it dawns on me, of course he did.

And maybe one day I’ll make it out to Father Al’s church in Dane, Wisconsin, to see my father’s art, though I doubt it… I imagine it would be hard to concentrate with the image of the slain Father Al, hanging before me, throat cut from ear-to-ear, beheaded and bled.

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We fly away…

I am emotional. I feel betrayed. I was raised in faith that the Watchtower was God’s organization. I believed that my mom and dad knew the answers that one day I’d come to learn. I just felt slow and stupid and that eventually I’d get it. I trusted. I had faith. I believed. I knew my parents were smarter than me. I had read it in the poem that hang on his bedroom wall.

I now learn that while they can’t answer me from the scriptures when will my father live again they will deny the scriptures as they are written as truth.

“And the rest of the dead do not come to life until the end of the thousand years.” — Revelation 20:5

Despite that verse, and the one which precedes it which clearly defines who will partake in the first resurrection (which is immediately followed by this verse—”And the rest of the dead do not come to life until the end of the thousand years.”) she’d say that “apparently” my father, and all other loved ones, such as my uncles and my best friend, will come to life again during the thousand year reign.

“But who will they rule over?”, she asked. Continue reading

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Correspondence, Religion

ChannelC OneApart

Association

Baptized at 12 years old coming from multiple generations on my [step] dad’s sideMelvin George Baxley—and my mom and [deceased] father came in [to the truth] together, baptized at the same time arm-in-arm, literally.

Now I am a Silent Lamb. Sacrifice me.

Family all still are “JW”, but I’ve been disfellowshipped twice.

I got back “in” this year to be able to speak with family but my parents pretty much shun me because my intent was to share and research the information I had learned of late about the religion.

Left

I’ve faded, immediately after reinstatement.

I live on the west coast and the timing went well as I moved for a job right after reinstatement.

So I am a ghost now. My family is east coast.

Perspective

I believe in God—even more so than before when it was a religious thing.

I am trying to learn what the bible really says.

Dealing with shunning

Nothing makes you crazier than being ignored and feeling as though you don’t belong.

My family wasn’t strict about it near the end this time around, but our relationships will never be the same after more than 5 years of shunning.

What is your objective for the Channel C panel?

To find association among like-minded people.

Somewhat more private and probably more intellectual than the posts I’ve read on the other public forums.

I’m not into bashing as a past time—Looking for a place that’s more mature [than www.jehovahs-witness.net].

Any other information you think is pertinent or interesting?

I recently started a site (I’m in technology as a profession) : seekjehovah.org.

It’s a work in progress with the intent to be found by witnesses, not immediately repel them, and instead perhaps reach people with information I wish I would have had sooner in life.

Thank you!

On Aug 12, 2012, from “cc-questions@channelc.org”

Angela:

Based on your responses and candor (below), I think you would be an excellent contributor to the Channel C forum.

I looked at your seekjehovah.org Website and it appears excellent as well. What a genuinely Christian endeavor, appropriate for Jehovah’s Witnesses.

What would you like for a user name and a password? I will register you and look forward to your participation in the discussions.Thanks for your interest in Channel C.

Blessings,
Channel C Admin

Angela M. Baxley <abaxley@gmail.com> 8/12/12 to cc-questions

thank you. How about “oneapart”.

Rosalie the Channel C admin, and friend of Franz.

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

To Thy Own Self, Do Not Be Truest

It’s incredibly exhausting to be happy all the time.

People just don’t get it, and that means you end up in a state of performance for a good portion of your life.

“All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.”

Showing off my Team in Training practice jerseyI get that.

I look back and recall Brian being upset because he didn’t get the same spunky Angie that others did. We shared the private intimate space of a couple, and thus he really knew me.

 

Why did I leave Microsoft?*

Because my manager was found guilty of sexual harassment on multiple accounts: one of which was harassing me, another was of harassing a girl who worked on our team after I had (in the end with the help of another female co-worker/manager on the team) shut him down.

* Edited to stop protecting the not so innocent. I’m sorry Mackenzie. I should have realized it wouldn’t have been just me.

Wayne Smith, Microsoft 2008

How did it happen?

Gump asked me to report to “The Brit” in the “new org”. Professionally, I found The Brit brilliant. But I told Gump I wouldn’t be comfortable, and kept my mouth shut about why. I don’t know why he waited so long to push for why, but for weeks the “new org” was held up apparently by me.

Eventually Gump pushes and I explain how he made me feel uncomfortable, which was tolerable as a peer, but I couldn’t report to him since it was already a problem. I recall mentioning how my mother would look at the situation, and then feeling embarrassed for raising my mother’s perspective in defense of my own.

That’s where Gump then explains to me about European culture set against our American (puritan) cultural backdrop. I was insulted. I had traveled to Europe, and I had already run from European rapists.

Gump said he’d send The Brit to “sensitivity” and “management” training classes, to make him U.S. Corporate Office ready, and let me work from Rome with UW over the summer.

You’ll find it ironic then that the man who then reported that The Brit was harassing me was also from the U.K.

My friend walked into my office and caught something on my screen in an email from The Brit.

Microsoft found The Brit guilty, but also, on the same report, found that his harassment did not affect my performance. How is that even possible?!—I’m not Super Woman.

That was that—just keep working and ignore the guy on the other side of your office wall.

I never asked for a raise at Microsoft.

“Angela left and went to Yahoo!”

My new manager told me it was SxSW or my job.

Bam. That was my first year at SxSW.

So I got a job, a raise, and left Microsoft and Seattle—Yahoo!

SXSWi08

And now you know the rest of the story.

Brian would have been the only person to see me slip from Angela, the “Spunky Gidget”, to one given to hypomanic states induced by psychoactive drugs, namely Clonazepam.

Unfortunately, he had a perspective of the unfairness. Like life was playing a cruel joke on him. They got the girl, and he got what was left over.

I left Microsoft, Seattle, and the great Pacific Northwest that I love for San Francisco.* More sunshine, more freedom, and a future. Unfortunately the bottle of Clonazepam and the few pills it held went with me.

10-10-10 photo booth

In San Francisco I enjoyed my new found freedom and lit up like a firefly to the light. I joined the nightly happy hours and brought my wardrobe up to snuff, relishing in eclectic pieces which finally did some justice to the style that was suffused in my cells but not on my palette. Oh, remember the white sailor girl dress, black boots (I coupled it with various pairs, the short retro looking bootie boots, the classic riding black boots, the pointy skin tight witches boots…) and white hat?

Digg Meetup SF

Oh how I loved to dress!

Jeez, do you guys know how you kill me day to day as I try to fit into this boring life you lead and love? The fantastic stories my clothes could tell you, era-by-era, multiple stories I could tell per day?

I’m a creative person, and I’m happy. Can you just get used to that idea?

Then I met Fabien. On our first date we met at a Luna Park, it was loud and his English wasn’t nearly as good as his French, and that did neither of us any good. I had left friends (some guy friend who I’d been having a blast with, but just a friend… was that Bill?) and was measuring the date against the moments I had left just before. Completely unfair, but a reality given the circumstances. I mean, I had been having tons of fun, and left it for what?… a date?! But I’d made plans, and I stuck to the plans. I don’t really recall what we talked about, or if there was even really any talk… between the loud music and his charming heavy accent, that is.

We stepped outside to the corner to part ways. We went to hug goodbye.

It was an embrace.

Wow. What was that?!

In that moment he won the second date.

Alas, while we shared a romantic convertible ride to wine country, a day written in someone else’s daydream between sparkling Chandon, strawberries, dinner at Angele, and a moonlight drive with music on the way home… it was a short lived romance in the pages of our overstuffed technology dayplanners. He was a CEO, and I had no interest in being the CEO’s wife.

giving up

We parted ways to remain friends. I later took him to New York for his birthday—tons of fun and drama between the serendipitous Fuerza Bruta: Look Up show, wine, cheese, dinner and dessert, with Rachel, at Pastis, dancing until we fell asleep at Cielo, the passionate fight wound through the sidewalks of a brisk and cold walk in Central Park, back to the Waldorf Astoria, into the cab, and onto the plane home to the cool grey city of Love.

In the end I found San Francisco to be the leftovers of what once was. It’s the mecca for artists and lovers and dreamers, to be sure. But it’s overrun with abundance, confusion and people. It’s not Kerouac’s city, and it wasn’t to remain mine. There’s something of an arrogance to just being there. As if residence is validation in and of itself of having arrived, of not just being alive but living. I found it to be a surface level dream with no depth. I was lost and lonely and couldn’t have had more friends if I tried.

Abuse of Power

Every holiday was an excuse for an escape.

My first July 4th took me on a road trip to L.A. to spend the weekend with my friend who makes dreams come true by making tools for Spielberg. He proudly peacocked the city of Angels knowing good and well I both enjoyed it and found it profoundly lacking. I’ll never forget our debate via Twitter regarding women’s rights and who’d get to drive. He knew all along that I long for an era back in the day where men loved to drive women, and women loved to look out the window to day dreams of ways to make more love.

Furry Critters make everything better

Halloween was a race to Los Angeles which was marked by my descent down the wrong escalator into the San Francisco Virgin America gates back when they were in the International Terminal… I turned to race up the escalator, was reminded of my silliness, and ended up on my knees, jeans shredded against the ridges of steel, my flesh fairing not much better. Stickel and I made it, but not on that flight, but we made it ultimately. You see I was the maid of honor in my best friend’s wedding, Tara Brown to her Sean Bonner.

2008-10-31-12-11-48_2

Words are flowing out in endless… pools of sorrow, waves of joy, possessing and caressing me… nothing’s gonna change my world. Nothing’s gonna change my world.

2008-10-31-12-25-26

At the top of the Runyon Canyon I witnessed Tara and Sean exchange vows, officiated by none other than Optimus Prime. Just a little while later, I feel a tinge of guilt when I learn she’s pregnant. I know it wasn’t in their plan, though Tara had long held dreams of being a mother. She absolved me from my guilt, and I attended a baby shower in LA that confused every bit of my sense of reality.

2008-10-31-11-33-23

Tara had left, she’d found her love, her life. I’d left Microsoft, and Seattle for San Francisco, and she’d soon followed. I found Cindy in San Francisco, but now they’d both gone.

The city no longer seemed amusing, but cold and grey, dingy and dirty.

Oh, wait, but did I tell you about Memorial Day yet?

No, we save the best for last, and I’m perpetually amused at how America’s major holiday’s serve merely as markers for memories in my life.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

101010kcc

Jeez, what do I do when I know the matrix exists? The connections, the lack of coincidence? Divine, meddlesome, controlled, variables left tied up in neat little bows on packages that don’t seem to be the right presents. You made it right this time? Only if my mustang shows up, and heavy is limited to a state of mind and not a reference to my brother. He strolls in, and I wonder where are my hemp sandals? Black toe nail polish, blue on his fingers. A look as if death has washed over him, but he may yet be clean? I’m sorry what you see as my being stubborn is nothing but the exalted standards by which I deem myself deserving. Or maybe you could say I find myself divinely so. Oh, is it ironic or merely coincidence that the sun warms my keyboard for those few strokes, only to hide again at thought’s completion?

I’m beginning to love all the hidden tracks. Reel Big Fish, Gorillaz.

It’s enough to tempt a girl.

Art Show @ GRSF

In my play I’m happy and creative.

I want to day dream, write, sing, dance, make movies, and music. I want to fall in love and live forever in paradise.

In my play I get to write the ending.

Now, whether it’s God or Natasha Bedingfield, well, that’d be a debate I’d take up over a fine deep red wine and a beautiful bleu cheese and pears.

Spunky

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Ancestry, Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

Send in the Clowns. Roger Dale Niblick, 1928-2011

Listen to He Walks With Me (In The Garden) “Song for Grandpa” by Tina and Herbie Niblick

My grandpa, Roger Dale Niblick, was Roscoe the Clown in the style of Emmett Kelly, and had also stepped into Ronald McDonald’s clown shoes.

Niblick Family of Hessen Cassel, Fort Wayne, IndianaHe and my grandma Madonna conjured up fifteen kids to fill up an old large white house on Hessen Cassel in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to go to school with the Niblick kids. My momma has a clue, rumor has it that it was not just one, but at least two of the Niblick boys that she’d dated.

You’ll note that there are just three girls, and twelve strapping handsome boys—my daddy is the long haired one, cross-legged, front and center, Matthew Raymund Morris Michael Niblick.

Roger Dale Niblick (1928-2011), as Roscoe the ClownIn 1983 when my daddy died, I remember my momma “getting sad” from a song on the television. It was Judy Collins on the Muppet Show, Send in the Clowns (video below).

Until now, it had never occurred to me whether or not any of her sadness came from the fact that his daddy was a clown,… and how it must feel for a parent to lose their child. Isn’t enough that she was just 21, widowed with two children, and pregnant with her third?

Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

I had wanted to talk to my Grandpa Niblick about his time in Nicaragua. A little bit after my grandma died a few years ago he up and moved to Nicaragua.

It wasn’t entirely shocking as my Aunt Tina had been in Barbados for what seems like forever. She, known in her work as Sister La’el, tells me, “he clowned for MANY years, even while in Nicaragua. During the service years he was also in Africa and Greenland.”

I think it’s only appropriate, twenty eight years later, to play Send in the Clowns.

This time, it’s for my grandpa, who was always the only clown that mattered in my life.

 

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Documentation

Academically Gifted

“Angie has so much potential. I hope she will work hard to achieve the maximum.”

Academically Gifted

5th grade, studied Self Actualized Leadership, World Community Systems, Communication & The Media, Science Technology & Energy Sciences, Geometry and Spatial Relationships.

Only satisfactorily respects the ideas and opinions of others and expresses ideas clearly. Noted; something’s don’t change much.

Academically Gifted

In fifth grade they said I’d never finish, and in 8th grade I knew they were right. In 9th grade I dropped out to go to college, but they wouldn’t let me in until I was 16. Thus I started college on December 1, 1995.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

My last “good” report card: Note the number of absences. Never was good at sitting still when bored out of my mind. I have crazy feet, Dr. Seuss diagnosed me so.

One of my last "good" report cards.

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget

The House of Glass

  1. ‘wow, I haven’t seen you since you were, like, a teenager!’ — Darryl messaged Angela

    First Facebook message July 12, 2011 7:05pm

  2. Ang just thought she saw your Angela.” — Mom responds to Darryl

    Momma responded July 20, 2011 5:13am

  3. It’s Angela (Baxley). Saw your post. Reposted. Thinking of you. Going to my grandfather’s funeral today. On Facebook you’ll see photos of me as a clown.

    Via SMS; Accepted Facebook Friend Request: August 8, 2011 6:29am.

I saw her first.

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Neuroscience, Technology, Writing

Creative Tools Specification

Stephen Jenvey, as per my style I am listening to waves crash to some

[thesaurus: words for beautiful sounds; retrieve:images, music; sort: color, timbre; todo:look for a better word here. i’m trying to capture how magical it is to be able to think freely and design the future because you can see clearly, now the rain is gone.]

does that designer language speak to your interface?

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Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget, Culture, Technology

The Internet, Mass Media Pervasiveness

The Internet is a pervasive medium that enhances personal communication, access to information, and freedom of speech, while making obsolete borders, reversing isolation even as it reduces tactile and direct experiences with real people, which retrieves a sense of tribalism a global village.

By means of the Internet, the ways in which we can communicate have been forever enhanced. The Internet is here to stay and it will ever continue to grow in popularity. Continue reading

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