Recorded with the world’s suckiest microphone… my 16 seconds of fame.

My recording may be akin to Beavis and Butthead playing Bell and Watson, but all-in-all I think Odeo is simple to use and very flexible. I’m not exactly a high tech weenie, but the fact is, I dug around, found an old beige mic from some long dead PC, plugged it in, recorded and posted a brief audio file in a few minutes. While horsing around I saw that Odeo also supports telephone file creation, meaning that I can probably get a better recording off the cell than I can off this funky dixie cup on a string arrangement. Quite exciting really, and I owe it all to pouty Mike Arrington of TechHunch who thought he’d be snarky about Odeo today.

There hasn’t been enough Odeo buzz. The only thing I’ve heard about it in months is Mike Arrington’s silliness today, and that was just mean, not substantive. But what do you expect from a core values pout-meister like Mike?

I’m going to see if I can find a microphone somewhere and blog the Star Spangled Banner of something.

I realize that the author’s authority should still be contested, that multiple interpretations are still valid, and that the author is still a product of social forces. I also realize that even as i’m writing this blogpost, its reading will be out of my control, but the reality is that i’ll still - as author - get all huffy and puffy and try to be understood. Damnit.

- danah boyd 

George Vezza retoornt in the comments below, and thus one last time will I elevate his epistolary blog-mots to a spot here in the post:

Now, having read what I writ, and reading through what George replite, I am constrained by the circumstances and a reputation as an avoider of flames at this late stage in my career to seek literary and epistolary help elsewhen.  Thinking that perhaps my froostration at this lack of communication is centered more in the wicked intentionality of a master marketeer and that flamage would only serve some darker corporate purpose, and wanting trooly madly deeply to continue a reputational lifestyle of troost and attention in which there are no flies on me, nor e’s in my Web 2.0 product branding, I sought help in the texts.  I found this, which nicely speaks my mindt:

‘I carn’t not believe this incredible fact of truth about my very body which has not gained fat since mother begat me at childburn. Yea, though I wart through the valet of thy shadowy hut I will feed no norman. What grate qualmsy hath taken me thus into such a fatty hardbuckle.’
Again Frank looked down at the awful vision which clouded his eyes with fearful weight. ‘Twelve inches more heavy, Lo!, but am I not more fatty than my brother Geoffery whose father Alec came from Kenneth - through Leslies, who begat Arthur, son of Eric, by the house of Ronald and April - keepers of James of Newcastle who ran Madeline at 2-1 by Silver Flower, (10-2) past Wot-ro-Wot at 4/3d a pound ?’
He journeyed downstairs crestfalled and defective - a great wait on his boulders - not even his wife’s battered face could raise a smile on poor Frank’s head - who as you know had no flies on him. His wife, a former beauty queer, regarded him with a strange but burly look.
‘What ails thee, Frank?’, she asked stretching her prune. ‘You look dejected if not informal,’ she addled.
‘Tis nothing but wart I have gained but twelve inches more tall heavy than at the very clock of yesterday at this time - am I not the most miserable of men ? Suffer ye not to spake to me or I might thrust you a mortal injury; I must traddle this trial alone.’

Denise Howell and Reed Smith have parted ways. But she took her chair with her. When I read Denise’s post yesterday, I thought I would just sit with the information and read it again before mulling it over here, publicly. Ernie the Attorney zeroed in on the news and isolated this bit, where Denise says,

my professional roadmap henceforth will involve only things that are washed through a stringent “how much do I really love that?” filter

Denise always had a stiff upper lip about the time she was spending in the commute from Orange County to downtown LA. I think the iPod was invented for her.  I’m sure that she won’t mind reclaiming those hours to spend with young Tyler.

One outcome of Denise’s retreat to the home office that I’d like to see would be for her to turn her prodigious writing skills to a book, perhaps with an emphasis on “work-life balance!”

The coastal-tech-libertarian-enterpreneurial community will be eager to tie her down with some venture capital. I hope she can steer clear of their pouty, self-aggrandizing, greedball clutches. What the world DOESN’T need now is another cute Web 2.0 product with missing e’s in its name.