Thanks, Max Wastler, for turning me on to this awesome video series by Jay Carroll of One Trip Pass. ”Made Here” chronicles Carroll’s trips around the country as he discovers amazing things to be sold by Levi’s.

Since I’m on my way to Austin, Texas, today for SXSW, I thought this one was especially appropriate. This video focuses on Folk Fibers of Austin, which deals in natural dying and quilting. Enjoy.

See you in Austin?

[via All Plaidout]

When I was in high school, my favorite class was AP English. It allowed me to simultaneously feel smart and artsy, which rarely went together. In this class I was assigned to write an essay, the subject of which was “I Wore a Mask, And My Face Grew to Fit It.”

(Side note: A quick Google search shows that this essay topic is still handed out to the chagrin of high school students everywhere.)

I was reminded of this piece recently when I was having a discussion with a friend about Internet personalities. She was saying that some people try too hard to fit a certain image online; to craft exactly what they want people to think about them. They’re trying too hard, and it comes off as inauthentic, she argued.

I asked a counter question: if you work really hard at not being one of those people, aren’t you doing the same thing? It takes the same amount of effort. If you care so much about what people think that you are willing to say yes or no to something based solely on the opinions of others, aren’t you just as guilty of being a poser?

I love the Internet. It’s a fantastic medium for meeting new people, learning, being inspired. Hell, it’s my livelihood. I feed off of the free exchange of ideas.

But those ideas can also be small and petty, as can be the people you meet. With the Internet being a microcosm (or macrocosm?) of the human experience, the idea milieu often deteriorates into name calling, worrying about social status, confusing arrogance with confidence. High school bullshit of the highest order.

Back in high school, writing my essay, I looked around at my classmates and realized we were all wearing masks. Whether or not those masks were the result of peer pressure, or parental expectations, or rebellion, they were all masks of our choosing. We were trying to define our images by what we were for and what we were against.

And here we are on the Internet, years later, trying to do the same thing. My how we’ve grown.

The truth that I know now, that I was trying to communicate to my friend, that I wish I could travel back in time and tell the younger, less-grey version of myself: there is no avoiding the mask. Not completely. We all put one on the minute we step into any kind of social setting. The only question is which one it will be.

They can serve a noble purpose. The masks we wear prevent us from telling the annoying person across the train to shut up, we’ve had a long day. They allow us to pretend that we have a shred of human decency, even when we feel like yelling at our kids or telling them to make their own damn dinners. They can also push us to help people, or encourage people, even the strangers we meet online. They can give us an ounce of bravery when inside we feel none.

So my humble advice: stop worrying about wearing your mask, online or off. And care more about which one you’re putting on. The masks we wear, if we want them to, can make us better versions of ourselves.

And if we’re lucky, our faces will grow to fit them.

So this happened over the weekend.

I conceptualized the idea, but I had a great artist that helped bring it to life. It commemorates my turning the dreaded 3-0. I still want to get one for my two amazing boys as well, but I decided to wait to see whether or not I need to get one for three amazing boys before I commit.

What do you think?

[via Instagram]

I’m obsessed with this short film, Deus Ex Machina. It chronicles the process of Jack Churchill, the friend and mentor of the film’s creator, Seth Brown, as he repairs and rebuilds motorcycles.

As Jack loses himself in his work, you lose yourself in his process – the intentionality and beauty with which he approaches building a beautiful, dangerous machine – and his personality, as it comes out in his passion for his work.

Enjoy.

[via Etsy]

I’m big fans of both Asha Dornfest and Christine Koh, so when they put their heads together to write Minimalist Parenting, I naturally became giddy with excitement. The book promises to be a relief to any parent who feels overwhelmed, over-scheduled, and generally sick of the amazing about of noise that comes with bringing little people into this world.

Now Asha and Christine have made the anticipation for Minimalist Parenting even more fun with the addition of MinCamp, a two week-long companion workshop that promises to tackle some of the most basic problems parents deal with on a daily basis, like mealtimes, managing clutter, and basic self-care.

Camp starts March 1, so sign up now to participate. (You even earn badges. How fun.)

And make sure to order Minimalist Parenting now, to make sure your copy ships on March 19. Mine is definitely in the queue.

This post is brought to you by Together Counts, a nationwide program inspiring active and healthy living. A balanced lifestyle is something we could all use, no? Read on to hear more about how I’ve partnered with them in the coming year.

Maybe “chaos” is a strong word. But life has felt as such during the last four months since the birth of Jack.

When you add a newborn to the mix of an already busy family, you don’t have the time to do the things that used to be important, like writing, exercising, relaxing, breathing, eating as a family (or sometimes eating at all). Until recently, everyday hung by a very thin thread, with my wife and I barely keeping life together in the midst of a thousand demands on our attention.

Given the circumstances, we were lucky if we could squeeze a meal in without a baby in one hand or a preschooler in the other.

When Jack finally grew old enough to have a set bedtime, it freed us up to begin having meals together again as a family. I realized how much I had missed this simple routine. Because it was one of the only things we did together every day, it made us feel more connected to each other. It also helped us make better meal choices. (You’d be surprised at the sorry excuses for meals you can pull together when you’ve only got one free hand. )

As another step on our quest to restore the balance to our lives, we recently joined the local YMCA. The facilities have not only given us winter activities for the children, they’ve provided a mental break for me and Caroline. It has felt good to be active again at something other than chasing a pretend Superman around the house.

With this being the state of our lives, partnering with Together Counts was a no-brainer. Backed by the Healthy Weight Commitment Foundation, a CEO-led organization that has a commitment to reducing childhood obesity, Together Counts provides resources for parents and educators to help them educate children on living healthy, balanced lives. More kids on the playground; less in front of the TV. That is a cause I can get behind.

Since the program is managed by Edelman, my former employer, I’ll admit that I’ve been familiar with Together Counts for some time. This actually made the decision to lend my voice to the cause even easier. I’ve known about Together Counts, but I’ve never had the opportunity to fully throw my support behind it personally. So I’m glad that I’ve now been given the opportunity to do so. Whether I’m an agency employee or blogger or Internet citizen, reducing childhood obesity and teaching kids moderation and balance are causes that are worth my time and attention.

Over the next few months, I’m joining a group of blogger-parents who will help start a conversation on behalf of Together Counts on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest and the Together Counts blog. Follow along to see how you can contribute your own voice to this issue, and how you can get your family involved.

Even with all we have going on, our family is making being together and being active a priority. If we can do it, I know your family can too. Looking forward to hearing how it goes, and sharing with you our journey as well.

This list of “46 Reasons My Three Year Old Might Be Freaking Out” from Jason Good has had Caroline and I cracking up all week. There is so much parental truth in this ridiculousness.

Some of our favorites:

His sock is on wrong.

His brother looked at him.

His brother didn’t look at him.

His sleeve is touching his thumb.

Netflix is slow.

He’s not allowed to touch fire.

See the full list if you have or have recently had children this age. Everything is applicable. Such a fun age.

How is your week going?

[Jason Good]

With time to kill, I’m sitting at a seafood restaurant in the Houston airport. I’m reading, sitting quietly while trying to get a meal in before my flight takes off. But Dad 2.0 Summit has, as good conferences are known to do, stimulated my brain to the point of not being able to concentrate.

So I start people watching. Who are my fellow seafood-goers? Why are they in Houston? Where are they going?

Take for instance, the young couple sitting next to me in matching fedoras. Obviously coming back from vacation. They would never have the chutzpah to wear matching hats in their hometown. But where is home? Somewhere cold. He wears a heavy leather jacket, and she wears a bulky, long shawl sweater. It was 70 degrees in Houston today.

What about the older couple next to them? They’re barely talking to each other, which makes me sad. But should it? Does their lack of communication mean that something went wrong in their relationship? After their kids left the house, did they realize they no longer had anything in common? Did they struggle to find common interests? They must be in Houston to visit grandchildren. Are they now only together out of a sense of duty?

Or maybe I am just cynical. Maybe the time spent with their grandchildren was fulfilling but tiring. And now they have a mutual satisfaction that has no need for words.

The man in the overly large, button up white shirt is obviously on a business trip. He desperately checks his BlackBerry, but finds it unfulfilling. He hates his job; would rather be home with his kids. But he’s afraid. With the job market like it is, he thinks there is no opportunity for him.

Scanning the room, I try to find people that radiate some sense of contentment with their lives. Two men at the bar. One with his eye on the game, the other animatedly describing something to him. Different races. Best friends? Coworkers? Lady Gaga fans? She was, after all, playing Houston last night. What if these two have a secret Gaga pact? They’re the only two who know about their mutual obsession, and the thrill of keeping the secret from their office coworkers has made them fast friends.

The older woman sitting directly in front of me, in her 60s. What has compelled her to travel alone? Does she have a sister who is ill? She reminds me so much of my grandmother. Maybe she has a husband who refuses to travel, and she insisted on going to see her grandchildren in a different state. Now that she is here, she seems to be having second thoughts. Can she make the journey alone? Will she be able to navigate the confusing airport, city, culture that she is about to fly in to?

And then there is me. What would someone think about me? Sitting solitary, reading my New Yorker fiction, typing on my MacBook. Geeky glasses. Do they consider me some kind of upper middle class snob? Heading north, by the looks of my sweater and accompanying peacoat. Democrat? Probably.

Definitely not from Houston.

Tomorrow I’m jumping on a plane to Houston to attend the Dad 2.0 Summit, the annual gathering of men who procreated and then wrote about it in public.

I can’t stay for long, because I have to get back to Jack (who is already almost four months old, by the way). But I’m looking forward to the little bit of time I get to hang out with these glorious bastards.

On Friday, I’m part of a five person short format talk presentation called “I Was a Three-Headed Father,” about how to balance being a professional, a father and a blogger. Because I know how to do this so well. Wish me luck.

See you there?

In the past three months, I can easily count the days when I was in perfect health. Because they were few.

I’ve been more sick this winter than I have been in the last five years combined. The formula that has been my downfall has involved sleepless newborn nights, stressful work days, and a three-year-old who brings home germs from daycare like trophies.

The result has been weeks upon weeks of either being sick or getting over being sick. The draining of our healthcare FSA. Phlegm. Short tempers. And coughing. Lots of coughing.

Somehow the rest of my family has been largely immune to the diseases I’ve carried around with me like the closest of friends. My two children especially have weathered this winter with barely a cough between them. My wife has had her bouts of illness, but only I have had real stretches of debilitating, ass out, head-about-to-explode sickness. The latest virus has even been so kind as to remove the hearing from my left ear.

I’m not usually one to complain about being sick, really. It happens. But this streak has begun to seriously dampen my spirits. Not because of the unpleasant physicality of the experience itself, but because of what it means to the world around me; what I have to sacrifice. As I shift into survival mode, everything else in life slows to a crawl. I stop writing. Work backs up. My kids spend less time with me, as I push them away to avoid my germs.

As someone who is constantly dreaming, planning and doing, stopping seems like a waste of time. As I’m sprawl out on the couch watching reruns of Arrested Development, nothing gets done. I feel like my body and mind atrophy.

This was not how I wanted to start the new year. I had made big plans, and was well on my way to executing them. Now I’m having to readjust timelines, get back in the game, and try to clear my head (mentally and otherwise). It can be done, as long as I don’t let a few colds hold me back. And find someone willing to give me an IV of Vitamin C.

How has your winter been going? Have you gotten ill as much as me? Apparently this is a common experience this year, which is why I’m confident in calling it the worst winter on record.