Wonderful, beautiful, always liberating technology. Or maybe not. Set in California’s Silicon Valley, OHM follows the lives of famous inventors, powerful entrepreneurs, and three ordinary people as they search for meaning in a world of runaway technology and reckless ambition. OHM will have you asking one question over and over again. Did this really happen?
Did a Silicon Valley entrepreneur really drive his new car off the edge of a mountain the same day his company went public and made him rich?
Did a line worker actually get away with shoving hundreds of valuable computer chips into a laundry bag, then dipping a motorcycle engine into a vat of gold?
Did a Silicon Valley executive with a rare blood disease really wear an IV drip into a manufacturing area just because he feared losing his share of the profit when his company went public?
And just when you think you have it figured out – the difference between the real and the imagined – you will peek around that corner we call tomorrow and ask – Will this happen too?
Reading to your baby from an early age, and reading to her often, helps her develop strong language skills. Here are nine tips for making reading to your baby a regular part of your day.
Our favorite tip is that parents should make reading fun. According to the article, parents should “be silly, make up nonsense rhymes, play word games and sing songs.”
Remember, when you read to your baby you get a two-for one special: language skill development and fun!
Babies around two or three months of age really want to look at black and white shapes, especially shapes with very distinctive edges. There are some really great books that give your baby lots of these fun shapes to look at. Baby Animals Black and White, by Phyllis Limbacher, is a great example.
Your baby will have fun looking at these other great black and white books too:
If I were going to write a new book, and we all know I might just do that, I think I would call it The Impossible World of J. Edgar Landry.
In that book, I would write about a species of beings who dream and inspire to be one thing, but who work and scurry like tortured wombats to be something else.
These poor tortured beings would know what love was, but would rarely find it.
They would believe in the awe inspiring power of music, but would rarely sing aloud (too afraid of being overheard and mocked).
They would wish for everyone to hug them and love them and call them friend, but like me, the almost author of this wobbly, half-balanced tale, they would wear headphones in public and drive around with their night blinders on even during the day.
But every now and then J. Edgar Landry, the two-legged hero in this three-legged tale, would remember, or would be struck by an avalanche of SEE ME HEAR ME REMEMBER ME DUST, and then he would rip off all his clothes and run gleefully smiling through the nearest cold-water stream, and when the cool soothing touch of beloved Mother Earth tickled his toes he would remember:
I am alive and in control and can be anything and feel anything and think anything I want, so….
I choose to be a laughing, singing, wobbly, tumbling fool.
I have made things by hand, by camera, by word, by song, by piano, and I say all of that to celebrate, to validate a life I have fought for and earned.
And as I get close to completing and sharing a novel that will have taken me 25 years to finally complete, it is hard for me to express in words (yes irony, I hear you) how much pleasure that gives me.
Here is why.
I always knew that this book might be too big for me to write, and it was, and then it was again, and then it finally became just the right size for the Philip Deal now to finish what the J. Philip Deal then had started, two Philip friends sharing my body at different ages with different levels of experience,
My novel has a cooler title now, its third – Ohm: A Novel of Resistance – and it has a mysterious black and red cover that I cannot wait to hold, and a Chapter X with a character named Philip, and only those pages remaining that need to be there. Nothing extra. Nothing less.
The life of an artist is entirely satisfying even when it burns like red hot coals. The truth is that the only real pain in my artistic life has been my being forced to retreat from it for longer than I am comfortable,
like a fish on legs moving from pond to pond to evolve.
But all of that is okay, because my life has become a work of art,
and is just like yours that way.
There are times when life is so beautiful that I wonder how I am ever anything but eternally overwhelmed with joy.
And strangely, oddly, in a way that I cannot explain, and don’t really care to, it has been death, my first real acknowledgement that it is coming, that has given me the final piece of permission I need to make any art I ever want to make.
I will die, I see, which means that
nothing will matter when I do,
so I might as well be brave enough to create
exactly the way I want to.
And because I have been practicing creating for my entire adult life I am well prepared to receive this epiphany. It appears I have won the only lottery that matters.
THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF.