Marc Maxmeister
Marc writes about ideas that fall in the cracks between science, education, and innovation. Since 2008, major themes of the ChewyChunks blog include how complex systems (such as international aid) produce unexpected effects, how innovation and critical thinking begin with curiosity and design flexibility, and about paths to prosperity – what matters vs myths about what yields prosperity. Marc is on Sabbatical from September through November 2013 to write an actual book about paths to prosperity.
He also publishes word crunching tools on djotjog.com, a free analysis website that aims to borrow from several disciplines: behavioral economics, game theory, complexity & chaos, the scientific method, and genetic & heuristic algorithm programming. He ran the Globalgiving Storytelling Project in East Africa from 2010-2012 – a massive experiment to provide all organizations with continuous feedback that informs their decisions.
Marc is looking for an opportunity to teach neuroscience and innovation at a university. Read his teaching philosophy for more information:
Why Chewy Chunks?
The name comes from a minimalist WWIV style pre-internet bulletin board system that served hundreds of users from 1990-2000 in Charlotte, NC. Since then, this blog has become more interconnected: In 1990, all a BBS needed to get traffic was a listing on the 704 area code BBS list. There was only ONE list, and only 100 BBSes to choose from. Imagine having only 100 website to choose from!
What is a BBS?
Back in the days of computers before the Internet, there WERE still communications systems and online communities. These communities thrived on regional electronic bulletin board systems, or BBSs for short. In many ways they were superior to the globally reaching and anonymously blanketing Internet that followed.
Consulting
Marc is available for hire as an innovation consultant via Thumbtack.
ChewyChunks 
02/09/09
Skeeze Whitlow
http://www.NewFiction.com http://mason.gmu.edu/~pprende1
Dear Marc,
As a former U.S. Capitol attendant, I offer you Senate Parking. A 100 K word novel about a multicultural crew of parking lot attendants who operate an escort service from the Senate lots. A good look at the underbelly of our law making process.
“Hill Intros” is the brainstorm of attendants unable to obtain employment within the confines of the Capitol. Senate Parking is the story of power structures, on a personal and national level. Done from the perspective of workers who see themselves without much chance of ‘making it’ in a culture of power drivers, Washington’s backdrop provides a tension all its own.
This book concerns every kind of shady deal for which the political arena is famous. Senate Parking is full of anecdotes which let freedom ring. I can provide you with a synopsis or with the complete manuscript – whatever you like. Either way, I’ll be in touch.
Sincerely,
Skeeze Whitlow
Now, my story is audio – like old time radio. All you have to do is listen. It’ll make you laff. Go to http://www.NewFiction,com
Choose ‘Senate Parking’
Skeeze Whitlow
The21writer@alumni.marymount.edu
Skeeze Whitlow
Estrella’s Walk
Skeeze Whitlow
In due time, I heard through the scuttlebutt word of a most amazing creature. An Indian Goddess. With iridescent beauty holding forth, standing proud, high atop a lush green hilltop in Armuelles. Our destination! And this Goddess’s name was Estrella.
Estrella.
So this was what it was all about: Estrella. They spoke of her with reverence. Beauty untouchable. Estrella’s light feminine mannerisms captivate. A ray of hope shines from above with the mention of this Goddess. Genuine seven crowned Chiriqui. Her dimensions consummate apparition like karat fixates diamond. Blamless vitality shifts through spectrum. Bizarre shades of night. The earth created for her amusement; water conceived so she might have somewhere to walk. Well formed bare feet, exquisite in their arch. She moves through dreams. And upon them. Every ethereal grace rewards those touched by Estrella.
A glimpse of her as she wanders down toward the sea, on midnight strolls with a sleek panther who comes out of the jungle to nuzzle against the firm of her thigh. Momentary pleasure indulges as they, two together, amble along the noiseless depth of riverside’s mist. As if in dance, she’d sway; he’d stretch velvety paws of guile. Heel and paw glisten over shiny slate, over garlands of flowers draped along the bank, sashaying through low fronds brushing against the calves of their legs. Touching the wily innocence of this night. Clinging vines reach for river’s succor. Before glowing orchids of Espirito Santo the atmosphere smacks of forever. They absorb the water’s babbling gurgle. In plain sight. Reptillian alertness. El grande zappo. The sensitive eyes of all God’s creatures. Below nesting birds of paradise, the cat’s haunching vertebre slithers to the tickle of brazen fingernails. Down to the river’s mouth, they step, often carelessly setting foot within the tempting flow, keeping clear of large round phosphorescent boulders. Dappled moonlight gleams.
Down to the gushing mouth where white crests of algae-laden sea lap against this peaceful flow, against these deep reflective pools which began their trickle and fall from craggy mountains, clear as day, rolling down through leafy hillsides to vast grasses, dipping to banana plantations. Estrella’s native land. Top soil takes on new meaning. Still waters span loamy banks. Aqua elements meet, touch and mingle. Rich dark silt sweats out nutrients. Shallow roots caress. Palms touch the starry starry sky. Thin trees, overgrowth of vine. Shoots and sprouts, scrubby bushes, blossoming bijous. Tiny, scurrying things thrive here. Off to the side of the pummeled footpath, beneath lush cover – small eyes blink. Noises coo. Magic escapes in effervescence. Memory bubbles!
To a hallowed opening in this suffocating jungle flora. The melding of fresh water and salt, a frothy bubbling point where the flow’s clarity is engulfed. Clouded. Enraptured. This land’s sweet nectar gives way to the sea’s stiff breeze. Estrella bids the famished cat drink. Lowering its head, the panther dips its tongue into brackish liquid. Slurping, lapping up juices of life. Sublime juices, pledging elusive powers. His sleek black whiskered mouth stitched with incisors; nimble pink lapper one notch above silence. Need pulsates like spanning rings. Desire craves this vicinity.
Estrella parts with her midnight paramour. Puma, lord God of fear and respect. She’ll walk with him tomorrow night. And ever after. Her ankles kick. Sand and salt sift through urging toes. Dry beach luminescent against crashing waves. Frothing traces of brine. The wind tugs her hair, a knowing smile glistens; she outshines. Her muscles flex. Shadowy flanks curve. Eager feet prowl. In search of dawn.
Yes, this is what I overheard from the beaten and world weary sailors as they made their ways back and forth from the meal table. I was mesmerized. Stunned. My anticipation shot up through the overhead. All I wanted was to meet this woman. Yes. I needed a Goddess like never before.
Word count: 641
Good work Marc and thanks 4 your advice in workshop “kabalagala,uganda” about work of global giving
Good work and good efforts Marc and thanks. I am with you.
Dr. Surendra Pathak