Velveteen Mind

Content of Character

"I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

Martin Luther King, Jr.

March on Washington

August 28, 1963

Sign up for free delivery of new posts from Velveteen Mind via email or feed reader.

Follow me on Twitter! and

Subscribe to the free audioblog podcast of Velveteen Mind on

Sunday Serendipity: The Idea

Spending money on coffeehouse coffee right now is not in our budget.  Particularly a café au lait, which is essentially drip coffee with hot milk.  We have coffee and milk at home, very near heating devices.

Planning ahead is going to be our key to survival during this personal economic crisis.

Yet, as I drove past the Mockingbird Cafe on the way to my Bay St. Louis studio this morning, my car found itself in the parking lot.  Apparently the previous owner of this little white wagon trained it well.  Who am I to break its spirit?

Very few coffee-splurgers were in attendance this morning, save for a few disheveled-looking middle-aged men leaning into their laptops and murmuring into cellphones.  I made my way to the counter, placed my what's-the-cheapest-thing-on-the-menu-board order, and then wandered over to browse their from-scratch bread selection as the barista slaved over my drink that I should have made at home.  Sourdough is a weakness of mine and the Serious Bread company, housed in the back of the Mockingbird Cafe, makes a mean rosemary garlic sourdough.

Wondering how I could justify $7 for a coveted loaf, I wandered back and hopefully asked the barista if the day-old breads were on sale.  On occasion, I knew I had been charged half price and was hoping it was because of slight staleness and not simply generosity.

As I was embarrassing myself with my bread haggling, a man approached the counter beside me.  It was clear that he needed something that would take only a moment, perhaps a refill or a napkin?, but was going to try to wait out my literal dough crisis ramblings. 

I glanced at him to offer an "I'm almost done if this chick will just cave and give me the bread for half price because, um, yeah, that's where I'm stuck" smile when his face made me do a subtle double take.  I knew this man.  Possibly.

He was an older black gentleman, in charcoal pants and a button down shirt kept tidy under a fitted lemon meringue hued sweater.  He stood erect, far more formally than the situation suggested, and smiled back in a slightly curious way.

I know him from somewhere.

When I worked in the French Quarter of New Orleans, I realized that I have a sharp eye for celebrity.  I can spot one a mile away and from behind.  Even if their only claim to fame was a TV movie in the 80's.  I won't always know their name, but I can usually place their resume loosely enough to acknowledge them.  That being said, I prided myself on not acknowledging that I recognized them until after I had already won them over with my "we're all just regular people here" approach. 

The pleasant surprise on their faces when I slipped a quick "For instance, I Know My First Name is Steven was an interesting move for..." into the end of the conversation was always a sweet reward for my patience.

The things you do to occupy yourself during the long hot months of summer in Louisiana.

But this man today, I simply could not place in the two glances I allowed myself.  Double takes are strictly against my celebrity-spotting rules, as it was.

So here I am, hours later, and it is pestering me.  Not so much that I still can't place him, but that I didn't just say something.  For all I know, he's an international broadcast journalist hanging around the coffeehouse looking for quotes from us poor Mississippi folks before the inauguration.  I bet he was just waiting for someone with something to say to walk in that door.

You know that is so me.

Which brings me back to my frustration.  Because I know better.  After all, today is Sunday. 

Sundays hold some kind of mystical power over my inhibitions and I consistently find myself striking up conversations with strangers.  Learning about the community around me and about myself, as we so often do as we attempt to truncate our interesting peccadilloes into bite size pieces for these new acquaintances to take home.

Sundays are always far too beautiful to stay home.  The light is always a shade more inviting outside than it was even a day before.  Rain or shine.

Sundays smell different to me.  Crisper.  Cleaner.  More layered.

I wake up on Sunday mornings and feel a pull from outside of myself.  As though some magnet has been placed overnight in some seemingly random spot across the county and activates upon my waking.

Sundays pull me to flea markets.  Sundays attract me to museums.  Sundays pry free my lips and shake my voice loose.

And I'm not a shy person to begin with.

I have so many stories to tell you about my Sundays.  Stories jotted down in notebooks and then buried under to-do lists.

These happy accidents can only inspire more fortuitous finds and I think it's time I shake them loose from my memory.  Making my Sundays an act of sheer will may prevent moments of missed opportunity like today with my mystery man.  Hopefully, these moments shared may inspire you to find your own bit of serendipity on Sundays.

Starting next Sunday, I'm going to start sharing a chance encounter story a week with you.  My own little feature, however reticent I have been to do anything predictable...  because predictability is just one more ball for me to drop.  But I'll give it a shot and see what pries free.

In the meantime, how do you spend your Sundays?  Am I alone in sensing something different in the Sunday air?  What do Sundays make you do?  How do Sundays make you feel?  What are you going to do about it this year?

If you prefer to write about it on your own blog, feel free to snag the graphic above.

Let's call this my Delurking Day post, too (brilliance courtesy of of Rude Cactus and Greeblemonkey). 

If you've never commented before or rarely do, let me know you are there. 

This is me shaking your voice loose.

Tell me about your Sundays.

Sign up for free delivery of new posts from Velveteen Mind via email or feed reader.

Follow me on Twitter! and

Subscribe to the free audioblog podcast of Velveteen Mind on

In the Absence of a Sarcasm Font: Audioblogging

{Audioblog} Listen to or Download 'In the Absence of a Sarcasm Font' read by the author

We recently published a post at Blog Nosh Magazine that suggested the word "sarcasticate" be added to our vernacular.  "Sarcasticate" would be a verb and it would mean "to make something sarcastic" as applicable to writing text. 

"You see, I can make things bold. I can italicize. I can underline. I can even strikethrough. But, I can’t sarcasticate."

Gone will be the days in which people misunderstand your tone of voice when reading your brilliant writing! 

The Nerdist suggested a special font for sarcasm, after a couple of sticks-in-the-mud griped about a recent Wired article of his:

"I think both gentlemen failed to grasp the tongue-in-cheekity of it all. This is why there should be a font for sarcasm."

Hell.  yes.  Ditto.  Amen.

He went on to suggest that allowing such vocal readers to complain probably saves random strangers from being gunned down in the park.  "Gripes Not Snipes, I always say."  The Nerdist and The Bloggess should get together, is all I'm saying.

But unless Chris Hardwick figures out how to get more than just free gadgets out of all of these tech-gurus he knows, we won't be getting a font for sarcasm any time soon and I'm sick of either explaining myself or becoming a better writer.  Humpf.

That leaves us back where we started, with the burden of conveying tone remaining squarely on our shoulders, whispering into our ears, "No one is going to read that in the high-pitched nasally whine you are imagining.  Try harder.  Devices!  Devices, I tell you!"

Writing devices.  All of the little tricks of the trade that we use to convey tone.  You know...  ellipses... 

Blank space.

ALL CAPS!

wordssmushedtogethertoconveyimpatienceorrambling

Um's and er's and pfft's built into our text to help pace the reader.

Yeah, uh...  no.  kthanxbye

Despite our best attempts, we all still end up with comments that take us off guard with their level of misunderstanding.  Those "are they serious?" comments that make you think that someone involved in this equation must have been reading something other than what you wrote because forchrissakes that's not what you meant!

This, people, is why my posts are so damn long.  I try to cover every possible angle, anticipate every possible interpretation and conclusion and then address it before you force me to mutter, "But that's not what I'm saying" or "Yes, I already knew that but it was redundant to spell it out."

Then I don't end up with any comments because there's nothing left to say.  Crap.

(insert ;) emoticon, which is yet another device meant to convey that I'm yanking your chain but that I really hate to use in blogging because are we twelve?)

So...  in the absence of the sarcasm font and therefore the ability to sarcasticate, I have decided to start cheating: 

I'm adding audioblog versions of my posts!

A huge fan of audiobooks, I'm totally putting my melodrama hat on for you.

Oh yes, dear readers-come-listeners, you can now listen to my breathless tones as I read my posts to you live!  Well, -ish. 

There is currently a delay of about a day before I get the audioblog versions posted because I tend to furiously type and hit publish all within the same twenty minute period.  I've heard I could save things to "draft" until the audio version is done, but I've also heard that you shouldn't send emails when you are angry.  Or drunk.  Now, where is the fun in that?  Delayed gratification.  Pfft.  Maybe for you, but clearly not for me.

I'm also working on an easy link so that you can subscribe to my audioblogs via iTunes, but that takes some planning and I think we've already established my take on that.  I'll get back to you.

In the meantime, I've recorded some of my favorite posts and would love your feedback.  For instance, is anyone even going to listen to them?  Yeah, I'm thinking that would be a good place to start.

On the downside, I can't find anyone else that is doing audio versions of their blog posts, so I don't know how mine compare.  On the upside, I can't find anyone else pretending to be an audiobook performer, so I don't know how mine compare.

Posts with audio versions, so far:

I Am a Have but I Happen to Have Not

Hierarchy of Suffering. Who wins?

Gravel Paves the Road to The White House

The Trouble with Pies

Coffee Cup Lipstick

I Own This

iPod Identity

Be warned that I tried to read them more slowly than I speak so that you can actually follow along in the car (or wherever; that's your business) and I also apparently didn't find it necessary to stick entirely to script.  Before I do any more, let me know if anything doesn't work...  though if you just can't get them to play at all, I probably can't help you.  Gripes not snipes, people.  Gripes not snipes.

Most importantly, I have to say that reading what was written to be read silently was actually more challenging than I expected. 

All of those devices I spoke of earlier?  Yeah, just try to read a strikethrough out loud.  Jesus.  Good Lord.  Man.

Sign up for free delivery of new posts from Velveteen Mind via email or feed reader.

Follow me on Twitter! and