Dopp Juice

This Saturday and Monday, I’ll be organizing the Geek Lab at BlogHer’s Reach Out tour in Boston and Washington DC.

So what’s the Geek Lab? Here’s the official spiel:

Every city on the Reach Out Tour will feature a Geek Lab happening in parallel to the Blogging Basics track and each city’s Custom track. Part OpenSpace, part mentoring program, part hack-fest. If you’re an advanced geek, here’s your all-day Birds of a Feather opportunity. If you’re not an advanced geek, here’s where you’ll find them…and find answers.

Whoever shows up will either get help or give help, or — in the case of most people — both.  I’m going to ask you about your experience levels, remind you that the stuff you already know is immensely valuable, and find out what directions you’re trying to grow in. Then we’ll skip the rest of the small talk and dive immediately into making our blogs better.

Between a core group of traveling smart folks (like blog hacker extraordinaire Liz Henry) and your fellow conference attendees, the Geek Lab will have the resources to help you with pretty much anything you’re looking for.

There’s a palpable energy that builds in the air whenever you get a room full of mostly-women into brainstorming and creative problem-solving mode, especially when technology is involved. It’s exciting and inspiring, and it leaves you with a renewed motivation to hack and revise your entire world.

Here’s what I’ve found from other events like this:

• If you don’t know what you want help with, you’ll figure it out as soon as you start talking.
• If you don’t know how you can help other people, you’ll figure it out as soon as they start talking.
• Getting help is wonderful.
• Being helpful is one of the most satisfying feelings in the world.

So if you’ll be at the conferences and you’d like some personalized bursts of brilliance, just show up to the Geek Lab, find the woman with the shaved head, and say hello.  The rest will take care of itself.

Technorati Tags: BlogHer, geek lab, hacking

If you had unlimited resources (including a team of brilliant developers), and you were building a website that met following requirements, which programming language(s) would you use and why?

• Spider-web-style map visualizations with drag-and-drop capabilities (in AJAX, not Flash)
• A large database with lots of cross-references (tagging, stories, user accounts with different levels of connection)
• High traffic, needs to be fast
• Clear core requirements, but the expectation that lots of other features will be added in the future

Your answer will aid the widespread rehabilitation of sex on the internet.

Thank you all for the positive responses to my story about spending time with the guy I found by the ocean who was having a bad experience on too many drugs.

Even my mother, fortunately, responded with “I’m so proud of you”… which, I think, is a pretty big deal. Most moms I know would be inclined to scream, “WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU DOING IN THAT DANGEROUS SITUATION?!”

I’ve gotten some responses, though, that put my actions up on some kind of superhuman pedestal, that’s a little weird to me.  (I got some of that after the
“homicidal drunk on the airplane” story, too)   When people need us (you, me, anyone), we help the way we know how to help, and we don’t think twice about it.  There’s nothing magical about that.  It’s just showing up.

But people can only respond to what I give them, so it seems misleading at this point not to disclose another piece of my history: I’ve gotten help for substance abuse.

Several years ago, I went through a period where I was severely depressed.  I leaned heavily on alcohol to survive it. Pretty quickly, my reliance on alcohol become more destructive than my depression.

There’s a long story here, and I’m going to give you the really short version.  I scared myself, I realized I needed help, and I went into an alcohol abuse recovery program (the famous one — the one you’re not supposed to name). I also started seeing a therapist.  I spent eight months battling my compulsive actions and the depression that caused them, until I finally got to the root of the problem:

I was queer and not accepting it.

(Ain’t that one a stinker?)

I worked through the depression, and then worked with my therapist to experiment with letting alcohol back into my life.  I drank lightly, socially, and didn’t enjoy getting drunk.  I wasn’t, by the program’s definition, an alcoholic.

The recovery program and I had a very sad breakup, in which I couldn’t really explain my story because it didn’t fit their model for recovery.  I’m still a huge fan of their program, though. I’ve seen it help lots of people — people who sincerely want to be helped — and I think, hands-down, it’s one of the best paths out there.  I know it helped me immensely.

But back to why I’m telling you this: the moral of the story is that I’ve spent stretches of time in community with people who are struggling with self-destructive behavior and trying to help each other through it.  I learned strategies that allow me to be present for people without letting their pain and flailing get too close to me.  And after a few minutes of conversation, I can usually tell the difference between someone who’s really looking for help and someone who’s still trying to control the situation.

This complicated stretch of my life, by the way, is also where I learned that hanging out by the ocean is a good way to remember that I’m not in control, either.

Walking down to the beach last night after dinner, I noticed there was a young athletic-looking guy lying on his back on a platform, shirtless and in basketball shorts, staring at the sky.  It looked like a nice place to rest and look up. I walked past him.

Before I got to the water, I heard a loud yell.  Like an “AAH!”  Then a pause.  Then another one.  Then I realized it was coming from him.  No one else was close enough to notice it or respond.

For a minute, I rolled my eyes and shot an accusatory glance at the ocean. That’s nice, but I have to work tonight. Get someone else, okay?

Two more yells.

Okay, fine.

I walked up to him.  “Hey! Are you okay?”

He shook his head like he was trying to talk, and nothing came out.  I saw that he was shivering, and took a few steps closer.

“Hey.  Do you need me to call an ambulance?

He found my face and said, “No. No. No. Please.”

“Okay. No problem. What do you need?  Are you cold?  Do you need a blanket?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.  Did you take drugs?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of drugs?  Did you take LSD?”

“No.”

My brain ran out of other drug ideas.  “What did you take?”

No response.  I looked at his scattered stuff.  There was a backpack, a textbook, a book called Kama Sutra for Gay Men, a towel, and a jacket wrapped around his leg.  He couldn’t move.  I climbed onto the platform and wrapped the towel across his chest.  I pulled the jacket off his leg, lifted him up by the shoulders, and placed it underneath his back.

I ended up spending four hours with him.  The first two were just sitting there, in the cold, trying to get him to talk.  He passed out a few times and I shook him back awake.  His name was Joey. He was 31.  His parents were in Arizona.  He hadn’t seen them in a long time and they didn’t accept him. He was gay.  He was a massage therapist.  He wanted to join the military.  He loved to cook.  He was addicted to meth, and was in a harm reduction program. He was homeless.  He wouldn’t say whether this was a suicide attempt or not. Read the rest of this entry »

Sooo….. this week, we accidentally launched a startup.

We were quietly going about our business, scheming and building and testing our hearts out, keeping things nicely under wraps… when all of a sudden we ended up on Valleywag. And then CNet News. Um, hai.

So… you want to know what we’re building. That’s a great question. Here’s a hint: it’s a lot less scary and outlandish than the press is making it out to be.  But hey — why take the fun out of things?  Go ahead and keep pretending that we’re out to ruin lives. We think it’s funny.

Oh, and by “we,” I mean there are four of us.

We’ll let you in on the action soon.  Until then, we recommend using your twitter, tumblr, and flickr vision.

Happy boffing!

Technorati Tags: , boffery, crazy fear-based reporting

I heard a rumor that September starts tomorrow.  I’m certain this rumor is false and I fully intend to hunt down and interrogate whatever mischeivous internet prankster is trying to end summer early on us, so don’t worry.  But before I go do that, I just wanted to jot down a quick bulleted list of neat stuff that happened this summer which I would have blogged about if I hadn’t been so busy… you know… doing life.

• I managed the redesign of BlogHer.com (via Cerado and with the help of BlogHer’s awesome staff).  Here’s the before and after.
• I was quoted in the New York Times in an article about blogging.
• I launched QueerOpenMic.com (and I LOVE my new gig there as co-host).
• I secretly started working on an incredibly interesting new startup that I’m not going to tell you about for awhile.
• I joined the BlogHer Reach Out Tour, which will host conferences in six east coast cities in October, and I’ll be facilitating their Geek Lab.
• Genderfork (my androgyny photo blog project) received an excellent review in Coilhouse yesterday.
• I went to Burning Man.
• I’m going to be performing (a hillarious story that I’m not going to share on the Internet) in the Sept 13 show of Working for the Weakened. You should come!

And you already know about my grandmother.  So I guess I had a pretty full summer.  And yeah.  Okay.  I think maybe it’s alright for it to end now.

Hello, Autumn.  Missed you.

First of all, thank you for all the kind notes of support you’ve been sending me over the last month. I’m so grateful for your comfort, inspiration, and encouragement.

I just got back to San Francisco after that three-week emotional roller-coaster. In a nutshell: I got to NH just in time (thanks to you). I held my grandmother as she died. I picked out her casket. I spoke at her funeral. I held the hands of two young cousins as they walked through everything they feared about death. I wrote. I worked. I spent two weeks living with my grandfather, helping him sort through details, clothing, trinkets, sympathy cards, visions for the future, and messy smatterings of sadness. I missed two Queer Open Mics. I left my car parked illegally. I forgot to pay my rent. I attended my cousin’s wedding. I fixed issues on four family computers. I found people. I held space for grief. I invented a new card game. I flew to Colorado and hiked beside the Continental Divide.  I threw a snowball in August.

And the lesson I’m taking home from all this is actually about dancing in China six years ago. It may seem completely unrelated, but it’s not.  Here’s what happened:

The “Dancing in China” Story

In 2002, I spent four months living in China. More than half of that trip was unplanned — I attended a 5-week study abroad program, and then just didn’t get on my plane home. Instead I set up shop in Qingdao, connected with other ex-pats, taught English under the table, and rented an apartment illegally. I spent many nights at a local bar called the Jazz Bar, which was the central hub for foreigners (and Chinese people who wanted to meet foreigners).

The bar was large and had great floor space. A local band named Angel Hair Tobacco played covers of American rock songs three times a week. It was a neighborhood pub set up for drinking, chatting, and playing darts. No one there danced.

My friends and I spent most nights playing cards, where the winner of each game always dared the loser to do something small and silly. After one particular card game, where I came out as the loser, the winner dared me to get up and dance to the next song at the front of bar.  This was a hugely bold dare and my pals laughed at the idea, figuring I would refuse to break the no-dancing taboo.

Read the rest of this entry »

“How Do You Make a Handkerchief Dance?”
My grandmother is lying on a hospital bed,
holding a small square of paper
in her hands
and pausing between words
as she reads it to the nurse.
“I don’t know, Sally,”
the nurse says.
“How do you make a handkerchief dance?”
“You Put a Little Boogie In It.”
She tells it to the next nurse, too.

Grandma kept things simple.
Red lipstick, jigsaw puzzles,
and photo albums.
Chicken salad on finger rolls and
As the World Turns at 2 o’clock.
Judge Judy, Star Magazine,
and the National Enquirer every evening.
But she read the Wall Street Journal, too.

And she focused on the details,
placing towels and a fruit basket on the bed
for every guest.
Suggesting a nap if you looked tired,
and complimenting your outfit.
She wouldn’t start eating until the hostess
had lifted her fork,
and always passed the food counter-clockwise.
She kept her elbows off the table, too.

But it was in between those moments
that I finally found her.
In between the hugs and kisses,
the pleases and thank-yous,
the celebrity gossip and 9 o’clock news
that I cornered her in a La-Z-boy
alone one day
and asked her about her life.
I found the pearls and blossoms of her wisdom
in those reflections, that narration,
those worries, her hopes, and all the angles of her spirituality.
My grandmother was never afraid of death.
But as long as living was comfortable, she preferred to keep going with that.

She loved through the details and I loved around them
and we met each other someplace
where line meets line.
Hand to cheek,
hour to minute,
we lost our barriers when our thoughts
melted fear back down into love,
and we decided to sit in that space for awhile,
because the weather was nice
and we had a lovely view of the birch trees.

I couldn’t fluster her.
Every time I shapeshifted,
grew into a new awkward and challenging angle of myself,
she looked me in the eye consistently,
the same way she always had,
with adoration and eager hope
for my happiness.
She loved
constantly
thoroughly
and fully,
teaching me by example
that we can overcome our egos
if we find footing in honesty and acceptance.

I’ve only met one person in my life
whose sole job was to love
and she raised me
through a family with thick, strong arms.

I loved being loved by her.

I think she knew that, too.

- Sarah Dopp
August 1, 2008
Rest in peace, Grandma Sally

(Extra mushy thank-you hugs to Dawn, Shaun, Amy, Devil Crayon, Marcie, John, and Jon for the last minute editing help.)

I’m doing two things right now that feel a little… strange.  One is that I’m spending days on end by the bedside of my dying grandmother, holding her hand and carefully watching her body shut down.  The other is that I’m writing about it in real-time.  On the Internet.

My grandmother, Sarah “Sally” Dopp (they gave me her name but not her nickname) is going to die soon. The fact that she hasn’t yet is shocking. She’s come really close. Twice.

The first was Friday afternoon, when my mother called me to say they had stopped her chemo and dialysis treatments, and that she was dying. The doctors didn’t think she’d last a few hours, let alone the whole night.  They were in New Hampshire, I was in San Francisco, and the only bookable flights I could find were red-eyes that would get me there at 6am.  I panicked, packed anyway, and shot a message out to twitter:

sarahdopp: Grandma’s dying. I need a flight from SFO or OAK to BOS or MHT *right now*. Cant find anything that lands before 6am tomorrow. Can you? Help

I was flooded with messages. More sites to check, tips on how to approach and talk to airlines at the last minute, offers of frequent flier miles, specific research on possible flights, offers to help raise funds to pay for the expensive last minute ticket, ideas for other airports I could fly into, echoes to broader networks of people, and messages of love and support. A few people even started calling airlines on my behalf, asking which flights were already booked and what my other options were.

A dear friend got to my apartment as soon as she could and drove me to the airport. I spent the ride checking messages and calling people, trying to narrow down what airline would be the most likely solution. For each possible flight someone had found for me, I only had a window of 15-30 minutes to buy the ticket and board the plane.  I ran. I got a direct flight. It landed me in Boston at 10:25pm.

I would not have gotten there on Friday without your help.

Read the rest of this entry »

I spent four long days at my grandmother’s hospital bedside in New Hampshire and got back here just in time for BlogHer.  That is to say, I’ve been on emotional input overload for the last week, and my brains are a little muddled.  That is to say, the post that I’d like to write about where BlogHer is in the context of its own history and the broader evolution of social media will have to wait.  And so will the post about all the neat stuff I learned at panels this weekend.  In the meantime, I want to give you the post where I shower lots of people with the love that’s still ricocheting around in my brain from the last few days, because that’s what matters right now. That is to say, if you don’t like love, you should probably just stop reading.

Still here? Great! I’m in love with…

• Mle-Mle for being extraordinarily gracious about the fact that I accidentally locked her out of my apartment and made her roam the streets of San Francisco without sleep for an entire night.
• Susan Mernit for inviting me to speak on such an inspiring and affirming panel, and for moderating it with such skill and compassion.
• Fivestar for showing up, for pointing me in the direction of the queers, for helping me flirt with the mommybloggers, and for sporting the hottest blog redesign I’ve seen in awhile.
• JenB for being so beautifully warm, welcoming, and open when she sat next to me on the panel that I felt like I was chilling out with family instead of speaking in front of 100 people.
• Shuna for letting me turn into a cuddly fuzzy pet cat on more than one occasion, and for raising her hand to say (something like) When we own something about ourselves and put out it into the world, the people who want to criticize us can no longer use it against us.  
• Elkit for hugging me for a full five minutes to help me get my bearings after a painful-to-face serious of panels when my mind and heart and body were already completely exhausted.
• Amy for making so much space for me.
• Koan for showing up and telling a hard story to tell, and an important story for people to hear.
• Nicole Simon for laughing with me as we ate messy Chinese food over a display of $900 shoes at Macy’s.
• Lisa Williams for wearing dead sexy cowboy boots and for calling me the “Queer Oprah.”
• Angryrock for crashing the conference (crash! smash! bash!) and for griping up a storm of entertainment.
• Debbie and Laurie for being consistent voices of strength, reason, guidance, and encouragement. Always.
• Liz Henry for licking chocolate off my face and letting me bounce my breasts gratuitously on her head.
• The Queen of Spain for attempting to introduce me to one of the heads of the Obama campaign while I bounced my breasts gratuitously on Liz Henry’s head, and for gracefully changing the subject by asking me to go hug her husband innappriately on her behalf.
• Deb Roby for becoming stronger and more gorgeous every day.
• Maria Niles for slipping me a new vibrator (shhh!).
• Stephanie for telling her story with an honest smile.
• Jess for telling her story with honest eye contact.
• Schmutzie for being a totally charming real person and getting into a mutual-fangirl-oglefest session with me.
• Denise for hugging me just slightly more often than she teased me.
• Carfi for getting the word out about the fact that we’ve built the best damned conference widget EVAR, for making me continually proud of my work, and for always wearing a conspicuous hat.
• Jenijen for kissing me on the cheek whenever she walked by me.
• Kirrily for pre-stalking me, finding me, and getting me super excited about the direction women’s spaces are moving with O’Reilly conferences.
• Beth Kanter for sidling up to share tech tips, happy life news, and stories about how her kids are becoming dangerously similar to me.
• Sean for being the most attractively dressed human being at the conference (sorry, ladies).
• Genie for standing up tall in all the ways I like to think I would, too, if I were paying as much attention to the world as she does.
• Lisa, Jory, and Elisa — BlogHer’s founders and fearless leaders — for winning my heart, devotion, and adoration forever and ever and ever.

There’s more.  I’m just too wrapped up in love pillows to keep typing.  You’ll have to take my word for it — the rest of them are amazing, too.

And on that note, thank you everyone for fantastic weekend!  See you again in the fall for the BlogHer Reach-Out Tour (which — yay! — I’ll be tagging along for)!

Technorati Tags: blogcrushes, BlogHer08, gratuitous linklove