Dopp Juice Archive

Dear Dad,

Tonight I’m going to San Francisco’s El Dia de Los Muertos celebration to be in community, and to mourn. You died almost nine years ago and yet, I still can’t seem to get rid of you. You’re in me, despite all my best intentions, and though you’ve backed off nicely, you’re still not going anywhere. I can’t make you go away.

So let’s make peace. Going on nine years later, I’ve grown up, and you’ve grown deader, and it’s time we both learned to get along.

I miss your promises. I miss the lottery, the “We Just Sold a Bridge!” sushi celebrations, the what-if games, the scheming, the adventures. I miss how casual you were when you announced you were taking me out of school for the seventh grade to travel the country. And I miss how hard you fought for it when the rest of us told you: No way. I miss your self-made cliché one-liners: Know your environment, respect your environment, but don’t fear it. I miss watching new doors open just because you knocked on them. I miss your ego, your pride, your disregard for assumptions and expectations, your frankness, your vision, the laws you constructed for the people in your world, your kingdom. You named me princess for a reason, and I always hated that name, but sometimes I do miss our castle.

I think you’d be proud of me. I’m smart like you. I find the holes in the rules and exploit them to my advantage, like you did. I love lots of people, like you did. I learn new technology and I use it, like you did. I make up my own titles and I tell people how I’m valuable, just like you used to. And whenever I’m not sure about where I am, I stop what I’m doing and go on an adventure. Just like that. Just like you.

And I have faith. It’s incredible — watching God dress in drag and quote Pema Chodron at me, bellydancing and holding an earth’s worth of messy people in a steady, loving, flirtatious, and deeply accepting embrace. God and I finally get along.

And I’d like to think that if you’d lived, nine years would have been long enough for you to have broken down and opened up to a few more ways of relating to the world. I’d like to think that I could tell you stories about the life I’ve found, and introduce you to the crazy, beautiful, outlandish people I’ve met. I’d like to think you’d find them just as heart-healingly wonderful as I do.

I’d like to think we’d get along. And we’d scheme more adventures and more ways to be gods among men.

I’d like to think you’d accept me and see me and love me as a human being, separate from you and just as flawed, but just as fierce, and just as fabulous.

And I’d like to think we’re there now — with the you that is in my bones riding my life with joy and appreciation. But maybe nine years of the silent treatment doesn’t end in acceptance. Maybe I need a few more years in San Francisco, marching with thousands more lovers and mourners before I will reach you as I am —

your child.
your adult.
yours, independent from you.

I hear the drums now. Rest well.

Love,
Sarah

Take a look at Lifehacker’s post today on the Top Ten Google Products You Forgot About. The Monster is alive and well. And here’s one I hadn’t heard about (which is blowing my mind particularly fiercely at this moment):

Googe Page Creator!

That’s right. Google created a full-featured WYSIWYG editor that allows you to build entire websites just by filling in the blanks. It’s free, the hosting is included (your URL is http://your_google_id.googlepages.com), and unlike most webpage builders, it appears to have some pretty decent quality and reliability behind it.

I have two (contradictory) gut-reaction responses:

• “WTF?!”
• “It’s about damned time!”

Check it out and tell me what you think.  I’m crossing my fingers, hoping this will solve the age-old “I have no money and I need a pretty website right now — what do I do?” quandry and make the world a better place.

The most common question I get is “How much does a website cost?”

My usual response is, “How much does a house cost? It depends on a lot, doesn’t it? Websites are like that, too.”

Their common reaction is persistent disbelief, and they want me to name numbers. So I tell them: “A website can be $5, or $50, or $500, or $5,000, or $50,000, or $500,000.”

They usually can’t wrap their brains around this, so they ask how much it would cost for me to make them a website.

And at this point, I give them a sad look and tell them that right now, I only build websites with an enterprise-level development team, and our websites cost about as much as a house.

It’s usually not a very pretty conversation.

Here’s what they really want to know but are afraid to ask: “What do I need to do to get the kind of website that I need?” Because there’s more to getting a website than paying what’s on its price tag, and there are many, many, many different kinds of web solutions available. So the first question, really, is “Do you know what you need?”

I’m going to turn it over to Seth Godin now, because he pontificates beautifully on the subject. He recently posted two articles:

How to Create a Good Enough Website – Because, admit it, this may be all you need.

How to Create a Great Website – Ten principles not to avoid.

I know you don’t want to believe me, but the first article is actually a lot more enlightening and useful than the second. Most of the people who ask me “How much does a website cost?” are really, when they get down to it, only looking for this level of solution. And that’s okay! But it’s hard to admit, isn’t it? I know they would be immeasurably happier if they came to terms with this fact before the end of the project.  I’ve seen too many of them end up with websites that feel way too expensive and don’t actually do what they need them to do.

So read Seth’s advice, alright? He’s got it.

And get your priorities in place before you shell out a dime.