Wild Dingo

Our old house closed escrow today. It seems sort of a un-exciting end to an 11-month tornado of heartache, stress, frustration, anger and fear. If you don’t want to read a mudslinging aching outpour of self-pity, you can skip this post. But if you want to know why Wild Dingo had been recluse in 2007, then read on. The story is intriguing and home owners can learn a lot from it.

You read it right. Free. As in no money. I’ll be instructing a Free Power Yoga class at YogaSource Los Gatos, Saturday, March 22, from 2-3:30 PM. No, it has nothing to do with Wild Dingo, or Web development or anything like that. Its just yoga. And its free. And I’m offering it, so I’m posting it here. All levels are welcome.

Clickity Clack the flyer here.

DEETS:
Saturday, March 22, 2008
2:00-3:30 PM  (Ride or Run first if you like!)
Location: YogaSource Los Gatos

This is better than finding a rare image of Jesus in a piece Ciabatta bread. Check out how this little fella wears his heart on his fur. The only thing that would rock the very foundation of my own belief system would be if this little cutie was born on February 14.

Alas, he was born last May to a breeder in Japan, who named him “Heart-kun.” Although I think the name “Cupid” suits him. Still, who wouldn’t heart this little fella?

Ok, I know I’m a wee bit late on commenting on the Whitney “Crack is Whack” statement (6 years), but I have to admit, I love to use it as fodder.

Last year, Wild Dingo took a 6-month hiatus to address an unexpected life stress that needed my undivided attention. I turned down projects and did only the minimal to maintain current clients’ web sites. I even, to my embarrassment, had to terminate a big project that I had started. So needless to say, Wild Dingo’s household contribution was meager.

After coming home from a very much needed vacation in Hawaii, we were complaining about our clean but wrinkled clothes and wishing we could send them to the dry cleaner just to press them and not clean them.  I used the opportunity to bestow my new-found pearls from Whitney, and pointed my index finger at Mr. Wild Dingo and claimed, “Let’s get something straight. I make too much money to iron. Ironing is whack.” The irony nearly killed him.

Read the rest of this entry »

Google to Store Patients’ Health Records

Hey, how about this? How about we individuals take a wee bit accountability for our own health and maintain our own health records? Maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a little bit better healthcare when we trust ourselves instead of “the system.” It’s not hard. Every time you visit your doctor or get a test done, ask for a copy. Scan it at home if you want to keep it digitized. But for dog’s sakes…don’t trust the “system.”

You have to love how the article ends with:

“It’s not clear how Google intends to make money from its health service. The company sometimes introduces new products without ads just to give people more reason to visit its Web site, betting the increased traffic will boost its profits in the long run.”

Would you jump off a high diving board not knowing how much water was below? Come on! Let’s see…hhhhmmm… how could Google make money off of this noble idea to empower people to access their own medical data? Hhmmmm… Here’s a hint: go to your junk mail folder and look at all the SPAM you’re getting for male enhancement, quick weight loss pills and make-me-happy drugs.

And how scary is it that it’s easier for the government to access individual medical records if an individual uses a third party system like Google to transfer medical records? Oy vay. It gives me agida just thinking about it.

Our problems in healthcare do not revolve around getting access to our own medical records. In fact, a system like this will doubtlessly open up more marketing channels for patients seeking a quick fix, asking for specific drugs from their general physician, who is equally pressured to make them better fast, rather than seek the real cause of their health challenges.

Yesterday, on my way to yoga class, I heard part of an interview on KGO from Charles Barber, who wrote Comfortably Numb: How Psychiatry Is Medicating a Nation. Barber reveals today’s zeitgeist of the increased pressure for Americans to medicate themselves from direct-to-consumer advertising, fewer nondrug therapeutic options, the promise of a quick fix and the blurring between mental illness and everyday problems. I haven’t read the book yet, but I sure dug what he was preaching.

Maybe I’m short sighted. I love technology. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a geek. But I love my privacy and my ability to manage my own healthcare more.

Last week, I spent 7 om-a-licious days on Isla Mujeres, an island just off of Cancun Mexico, studying to become a yoga instructor. I’ve been lightly practicing yoga since 1993, but became more of a regular practitioner in 2002, exploring Bikram, Vinyasa and had a little bit of exposure to Ashtanga. Undergoing a teacher training program has been on my “to-do” list since 2004—only 4 years to check that baby off my list. I’m all about completing my tasks in a timely fashion.

Anyway, before the envy hits you, you should know the days were filled with either practicing yoga, in a lecture about anatomy of movement, or doing homework for the next day’s assignments and practice. It was fairly busy week, and throw in the fact that I’m studying Power Vinyasa yoga, a fairly athletic form of yoga that builds strength, flexibility and a little bit of endurance, you can begin to get the picture of how challenging this has been both physically and mentally. You should feel sorry for me. Really.

The days started off fairly gently, breakfast at 7 (huh? what kind of uncivilized person gets up before the crack of noon?) then meditation at 8 AM. Uh, ok. So om it is at 8. Officially, I should receive a big fat F for the meditation, because all I could think about was swimming with the dolphins, cruising around the island in a go-cart, wondering when Tequila Time was or which ridiculous sombrero I should buy.  But apparently failing is a huge part of meditation, so I should get a big fat A, since I was pretty darn good at failing it! (Are you feeling sorry for me yet?)

After meditation, we had a 90-minute Power Vinyasa class, each day focused on a different part of the body, followed by a lecture, an hour lunch, a two-hour break for homework (of course you did this on the beach), an afternoon lecture with a some more physical practice (you practiced teaching and taking from another trainee) and ending with a group dinner.  (If I haven’t mentioned it already, your heart should be breaking for me by now.)

The last day we had to teach a full 90-minute class as well as take two 90-minute classes, for a total of 4.5 hours of pure yoga strength training. I have to admit, I’ve done a fair amount of endurance activities, including a handful of 24-hour mountain bike races, stage racing and week after week cyclocross racing, but the thought of doing 4.5 hours of Power Vinyasa scarred the lulu lemons out of me. But by the time we finished at 6:30 pm that day, endorphins were running amok and I was ready to rejuvenate with a few adult beverages and authentic Mexican cuisine.

Ya, this pose is a piece of cake. But try doing it while drinking Margaritas without spilling one drop!

This cat has an identity problem. She’s doing downward dog!

So here’s what I learned at yoga camp:

1. I have externally rotated feet, knees and hips, which means, I’ll never be able to stand with my feet pointing straight forward.
2. My ligaments are quite loose. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want a reputation.
3. They don’t serve alcohol in Mexico during elections (luckily we split before the elections).
4. You can catch a stomach ailment swimming in the ocean.
5. Mexican men don’t much care if you’re married or not.
6. Our thoughts do not define us.
7. Never twist a bent spine.
8. You can calm yourself down by breathing in through your left nostril.
9. It’s better to be “now here” than to be “nowhere.”
10. The more I know, the more I don’t know.

Visit the On Being a Pretzel in Mexico Gallery for more pictures.

Namaste babies!

Due to a severe case of “Get the Heck Out of Dodge in January” syndrome, Wild Dingo is officially shutting down, January 25-February 3. 

While you all are enjoying this lovely weather in Santa Cruz Mountains:
 

(yes, that’s SNOW on my driveway)

I’ll be trying to twist myself into a pretzel on some island off of Mexico here:

If you have a Web emergency, I apologize. I will not be available as I will be doing my best to balance on one handed handstand in lotus pose while drinking a margarita. 

Hasta la vista babies!

Privacy. It’s such a simple thing. Seems like something that everyone ought to have without having to fight for it or heck even ask for it. But sadly, each day, this very right is slipping through our fingertips. As a web developer, I enjoy all the “neat” things you can do on the web. But I draw the line at compromising even a smidge of my privacy.

Today’s social networking tools are the worst offenders.  A few years ago, I reluctantly joined LinkedIn, as a client required me to do in order to complete a work assignment. I was very careful not to list anything too personal other than what was required: school and industry and my web site. That information seemed benign enough.  Over the years, I never use the service, as I prefer to network with people in person, yet each day I keep getting requests to join someone’s network on Linked In. Like that’s where the cool kids are.  And each time I get one of these invitations I reluctantly agree to join their network so not to offend anyone. 

Online social networking has become the antithesis of what true networking should be:  personal, face-to-face, interaction, where people spend “time” with each other without the aid of a keyboard and monitor.  It has become the lure to a new kind popularity contest, and in truth, very little quality time is spent with those socially travelling in cyberspace. How could anyone spend a reasonable amount of quality time with 458 people?  What does anyone really know about the people attached to the names in their network?  Do they know each person’s astrological sign or where they hang out? After all, those were the lines most used in the ‘60s and ‘70s to get to know someone at a party. What about their criminal record?

But getting to my point…

To keep competitive in the popularity contest, people sell out. They set up “free” accounts on Blogspot, TypePad, MySpace, Flicker, Google organizer and they start publishing. Overall, the concept seems harmless, but as well all know, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Make no mistake that once you set up a “free account” anywhere, whether online or even offline; you’ve sold a piece of your identity. And the more information you use to define yourself, the more you sell.  And the more you sell, the more you are harassed on the phone, online, in your e-mail box or your postal mail box. And try as you may, once your privacy is violated, there’s no turning back.  Blogspot’s profile page is one of the worst offenders of privacy. As a web developer, I have several blogs that I develop for clients through Blogspot, but I’ve had to repeatedly monitor my profile page in order to keep my list of blogs private, so not to violate any of my clients’ privacy by associating one client blog with another, simply because I am one person who administers many blogs that have nothing to do with each other.  It’s amazing the lengths I have to go through in order to “turn off” information about me available to the public.  One of my clients is extremely sensitive to this keeping his, albeit public blog, specifically targeted, so it was crucial for me to keep my identity and my other client’s identity disassociated from him.

On my LinkedIn account, one of the names recommended to me in a social network, was the director of a conference I went to in Paris, over seven years ago. Never mind that I never met the man, nor did I ever do work for him or anyone in his company. I simply attended a conference (with thousands of attendees) that he organized. There is no reason I should be remotely connected to him socially. To me, this is the worst kind of violation. I actually paid for that conference, but I did not pay for him to list my name on his LinkedIn account. As a past direct marketing professional, I might have seen this as harmless, and might have had the opinion that the names on the conference list belongs to the conference owner to use for future direct marketing, but honestly, I never anticipated direct marketing uses going so far as to use names to connect with an online social networking tool, as if I somehow actually personally knew this person. For all I know, he could be a criminal. A few pieces of postal or e-mail junk mail here and there was all I ever imagined would come out of my name being listed on a conference list. It becomes more and more offensive to me each day. Attending a conference and meeting someone face to face are completely separate things. Why not link me to Lance Armstrong since I ride a bike or Ben Stiller since I saw one of his movies?

Privacy was one of the reasons why it took me so long to get a blog started on Wild Dingo. And yes, I share plenty of personal information online. But the difference is that I control it (at least to the best of my ability). I programmed the blog tools on my own server and should I for any reason ever want to delete my material, I can be confident my material is deleted and not held for future marketing purposes. I don’t delude myself into thinking it is forever deleted. There are plenty of web archiving companies that exist today for the sole purpose of direct marketing dollars, even though they claim to be “historical documenters.” Still, this is as close to maintaining control of my information while maintaining a web presence as possible.

This blog isn’t big enough to detail the thousands of ways free (and some paid) Web tools violate your privacy every day. So when it comes to using social networking tools, free or paid, take a conservative approach. Balance your objectives for publishing with your absolute right to privacy. Find out about how free services are using your information and if you can’t find a service that lets you maintain absolute control, seek out a developer to help you. After all, your content and your information belong to you.

Recommended Reading

The Right to Privacy by Ellen Alderman & Caroline Kennedy
I read this book in the early ’90’s (oy, I’m old!) and it ignited my passion for the subject. It’s a good read.

About Facebook  |  Privacy.Org

I came home from a short tropical vacation to a pile of post office mail sitting in a large bin at my front door. Ah! Victory! I thought for sure my letter must have convinced them. But I spoke to soon. We still do not get mail. They must have felt the holiday spirit and decided to gift us with 5 months of our mail which has been sitting in the post office which included a few pay checks, bills and magazines. I noted they kindly removed our junk mail. (What service!) They must have felt the spirit of Christmas for a day. Either that or they were running out of space to keep our mail. The war has just begun. I’ll continue to feed those postal moroons bananas and wait until they slip on their own peel.

Founder, CEO, Legacy

Anyone who knew Maggie knew her to be bossy and loud. But those were her outward appearances. To really know Maggie, you had to look past her barking to truly appreciate her brilliant, colorful character. Above all, Maggie was dignified, discerning, proud, intelligent, loyal, funny, agile, resilient and full of vitality.

Maggie valued anyone who brought her joy.  The morning after I moved in with Scott was the first time I was left alone with both Maggie and Moosh. When he left for work, I sat down on a bench to put on my sneakers. Both dogs studied me closely wondering what I was going to do. I knew the magic words and as I finished tying my shoes, I got up and said them. “Do you want to go for a walk?”  The look on both their faces was priceless, like a child on Christmas morning. Their eyes grew large and their ears perked up in disbelief.  When I said it again, they shot up, yapped happily and ran around in circles, flabbergasted. I imagine they were yelling, “Yeee Haw! Jackpot!” Right then, they both realized that my living there guaranteed long walks in the reservoir every day, something that Scott could only afford to do on the weekends. And I kept my daily promise, exploring all that the reservoir offered and playing ball with them until they were exhausted enough to let me work for most of the day at my computer.

Maggie never wandered away from me purposely off leash, and in fact, always kept me in close sight. I think she was afraid of never finding home. In her youth (before I or Moosh arrived), she had run away from home during a rainy season and couldn’t find her way back. Three days later, she showed up on the lawn, bloody-pawed and looking sorrowful and defeated. Soon after, Scott acquired Moosh and although Maggie merely “tolerated” him, she never ran away from home again. We think she really liked him.

Although Moosh was the friendlier, likable dog, Maggie quickly honed in on coveting me. When lounging around the living room, she made sure to get the spot closest to me, even if it meant sitting on my lap. And that was a stretch for Maggie, because she was so independent. She was too dignified to be a lap dog and certainly too distinguished to “shake” hands or chase a ball. But Maggie’s insecurity led her to play the game. She reluctantly chased balls and sat on laps. And she did those things better than Moosh. For more than anything, Maggie was afraid of being sent back to “jail,” and in her mind, being better than Moosh guaranteed her staying.

Over the years, Scott and I joked about dingoes having a lifetime warranty, but in truth, there wasn’t anything in the world to make us part with her. She was our friend.  She had a great sense of humor and loved to be the center of attention. Maggie loved dressing up and often entertained us or our guests by wearing tiaras, glasses or costumes. We’d gush over how pretty she was and that would be enough for her to enjoy playing dress up. She often sat with a tiara on her head and never tried to remove it (as most dogs would) because she knew we thought she was pretty. She was a loveable ego maniac who delighted in being “made over.”

Maggie was a creature of habit and each night after dinner, she found a soft spot, either on her bed, the sofa or our bed, where she would rub her face, from side to side as if she were using it as a napkin. Then she would gleefully wiggle around, celebrating her tasty meal. For in the last 4 years of her life, she was regularly served chicken, beef, steak or occasionally, fish for dinner, combined with brown rice and vegetables. She knew she had it good and performed her special “thank you” schmeg every night.

Maggie was a regular Houdini, proud of her agility and too dignified to be confined. In the early days, Maggie would regularly jump her six-foot fence, from a standing position, to roam the ‘hood or climb on our neighbor’s roof to visit her dog friend. Since a six foot fence did little to contain her, Scott tried a jump harness. Within 15 minutes, he felt guilty and returned home only to find Maggie had chewed through the leather harness and was free, sitting in the yard, looking at him, proudly, as if to say, “Is that all you got?”  Scott had also tried an electric collar to keep her inside the fence. It didn’t take long for Maggie to outsmart the collar, consistently getting it wet to keep it from zapping her.  When we drove to L.A. with Maggie, I buckled her into a doggie seat belt. Ten minutes into the drive I turned around to find Maggie peacefully sitting beside her doggie seatbelt. I should have known better. Maggie realized our trip would be long and that she needed to be still and I respected her need to be free so I never tried to confine her again.

Early on in our daily walks with the two of them, I didn’t have much control over Maggie. She did what she wanted and didn’t pay me any attention. In the reservoir, I let them off leash since there was never anyone there except wild life. And did they love to chase the wildlife: ducks, birds, geese, squirrels or anything that moved. One day, at about 2 miles into the middle of the dried reservoir which was now a running river, Maggie actually caught a duck. Mortified, I demanded her to stop, but she kept walking toward me with the duck in her mouth, proud. As she got closer she realized I was angry and dropped it, cowering because she knew she’d been naughty. I chased them away from the duck and hurried home with them. I went back to the reservoir to see if the duck needed medical attention, only to find it had played dead and flew away.  That night I signed Maggie up for obedience school. She was 8 years old and never trained. I had my work cut out for me. Her dog sitter, who was also the trainer at school, knew Maggie was “difficult” and questioned if she would be trainable.  Scott was convinced there was no hope for Maggie’s independent, anti-social behavior and warned me to be very careful with her in public.

Once again, Maggie surprised us all, excelling at school, completing all her requirements and passing with a straight A. She made the smartest dogs look like dunces. I couldn’t believe this, but Maggie actually loved school and the one-on-one attention. I had just begun to appreciate Maggie’s true needs and her genuine personality. She needed the challenge of daily learning and to be able to communicate with me. Her face lit up when she understood things I asked of her. 

Soon, Maggie proved to be the exact opposite of Scott’s notion of her anti-social behavior. She reveled in the social interaction at school and I discovered her public persona to be polite. After she graduated, I’d take her running regularly in parks where people and young children alike approached and pet her. She’d sit quietly while they fawned over her. Scott admitted he’d never seen this side of her. He’d only ever seen the aggressive, uncontrollable dog that existed at our home. At the downtown square, Maggie was the one dog who attracted everyone’s attention, even over the dozens of retrievers and gentler dogs who roamed with their owners. I never understood why young children preferred to pet a dingo over a big soft fluffy golden. But they did and Scott and I enjoyed many jokes over the irony.

Although her public behavior was polite and contained, her home behavior remained territorial. No matter how hard I tried, she always treated most visitors aggressively, warning them that they didn’t belong. When I learned about Maggie’s illness, I had stopped trying to correct her and just let her be.

Maggie honed in on the few who really understood her.  She loved our neighbor Anouk and her basset hound ShyGuy. The first time meeting them, Maggie pulled her usual stunt, greeting them with aggressive barking and circling them as if they didn’t belong. Anouk smiled and greeted her calmly and ShyGuy wagged his tail and I knew it was love at first sight for him. He seemed to like loud, bossy broads. In 2005, we enjoyed the Summer of Love, going on daily walks, adventures and hikes with the dynamic duo, Maggie and ShyGuy. Soon, the entire neighborhood coined us as the dog-walking club, and yearned to join us, even if they didn’t have a dog. It was evident that Maggie and ShyGuy knew how to have fun and everybody wanted to be a part of the show.

Maggie lived by her own moral codes. Unlike most dogs that wagged their tails with delight when you returned home, she would greet us happily for a minute or so before she realized she was mad at us. She’d then promptly walk away looking back and barking at us over her shoulder, scolding us for leaving her for too long. Whether we were gone for 1 day or 1 week, she’d scold us equally, for she had in her mind an appropriate time period that was allowed for us to be away from the den and if we exceeded it, she’d let us know.

For as many people Maggie truly liked (a handful), there were a few who she truly disliked. For everyone else, she held no opinion. Scott recalls a friend who taunted Maggie, offering her a treat, only to pull it away at the last minute. No matter how hard he tried after that, Maggie would never accept his friendship. She was unforgiving and never forgot those who disrespected her.

Dogtor Hilary, Maggie’s veterinarian/acupuncturist was one of the few who truly understood her and Maggie accepted. In general, Maggie disliked vets, mainly because she associated them with “being behind bars.” (Scott had boarded her and Moosh for business trips prior to us marrying.) Like Anouk, Dogtor Hilary greeted Maggie calmly and accepted her wacky barking behavior. She called Maggie the “Rough-Tough-Cream-Puff” and I knew she “got” Maggie.  Maggie soon came to realize that it was Dogtor Hilary who gave her back her dignity–her ability to walk for the last six months of her life. For above all, Maggie was proud of her agility, and her cancer had kept her from being able to walk this summer. So Maggie tolerated her regular acupuncture treatments and she walked very well, even on her last day.

I could go on endlessly over Maggie’s intelligence. She used strategy instead of brute force to obtain toys in Moosh’s possession. Like a chess player, she thought three or four moves ahead, fawning over us, making Moosh jealous enough for him to drop his toy and come to us, only to have Maggie cut and run for his abandoned toy. When we first took her to Nitwit Bridge, a 90-foot long suspension bridge on our new property, she refused to cross it, sensing its danger, until we fortified it with netting. 

But Maggie’s most impressive attributes were her resilience and will. Diagnosed in 2004 with aggressive liver cancer and only 6 months to live, doctors warned me to keep Maggie quiet and calm in her last few months. As if that were possible. Maggie rested several days after being diagnosed, but sure enough she started demanding her rituals back. On the advice of a holistic vet, we gave her organic food, real meat and veggies and supplemented with milk thistle and worm wood. And Maggie resumed life as if nothing were wrong. For three and a half years, she went for hour-long walks, adventures in town, enjoyed the good life and scoffed at the notion that she was sick. She showed everyone that love and will was all it took.

I feel honored to have come into Maggie’s life at the just the right time to help reveal her genuinely good qualities which were so easily overshadowed by her more challenging behaviors. I used to say, “Maggie’s not evil, she’s just misunderstood.” Scott would agree, “She gets a lot of bad press.” But the truth is, Maggie’s character held so many life lessons: respect yourself, be distrusting of others who don’t respect you, value those who love you, learn something new each day and get out and enjoy the great outdoors, every day. These were her secrets to happiness. These were her gift to us.

  Maggie Starling
August 18, 1993-November 23, 2007