...and I just don't get Twitter #overthehill

It’s not a good feeling to wake up one day and realize the game has passed you by. In what seems like a blink of an eye, it feels as if I’ve been transported from a spot at the head of the pack to some inconspicuous viewing position where I’m no more than a casual bystander watching the parade go by. The worst part is that I’m simply not clear on how it all happened so quickly.

Sure, I’ve always been an old soul…but at least for most of my professional life, I’d managed to more or less stay ahead of, or at least in, the game. It certainly didn’t hurt that a good part of my career was spent in an organizational culture where being in your 40s was tantamount to being a teenager, but suddenly I woke up at 50, just plain feeling old. The exponential growth of a social media culture that has managed to infantilize younger adults to the point where they almost seem incapable of glancing up from their smartphones hasn’t helped, but sadly whatever caused my rapid decline can’t be blamed on others. This is clearly something that is wrong with me and there is no better manifestation of this swift aging transformation than my inability to understand or even care about Twitter.

The real irony is that at least among my peers, I have one of the oldest Twitter accounts around. I opened it in the Fall of 2006 ahead of a social media presentation I was doing with a colleague to a large group. Most of the folks at the time had never heard of the information network…or even the concept. It took a long time to actually compose my first tweet…I just couldn’t figure out anything that warranted the need to put it down in 140 characters…and more importantly…rose to the level that required sharing. (BTW… u can follow me by clicking here #bored2tears). I don’t check my twitter application on my smartphone too often (can’t read the small print) but when I do, it’s clear to me most others are struggling with the same dilemma…that is…what exactly warrants passing along.

 Sure…there is some value in following groups for breaking news or minute-by-minute updates on public transit or local traffic, but most of the personal tweets I read are mind numbingly boring. Some are interesting or informative, and some are pretty funny. But too often it seems people are trying too hard and that the humor is motivated by some odd need to provide biting comments at the expense of others.

The bigger issue to me though is the odd presumption by habitual tweeters that other people give a rat's ass about where they are, what they're doing or most importantly of all, what they think. This may sound strange coming from someone that hammers out a 20,000 character (that's just a guess) blog most Fridays, but let's put that aside for now (for good). To be honest, reading most of the 140 character or less offerings leads me to believe that most folks are composing messages just because they can…or worse, because they’re in some competition and worried what folks will think if they are not seen as hip tweeters. What else would be the rationale for why some celebrities and high-profile folks need to have their tweets composed by others?

This  phenomenon reminds me of many of the useless conversations you’d hear during the advent of cell phones. My wife and I used to spend a few weeks in Hawaii each winter (staying w/ her brother #freeloading). While siting on the beach each day, we'd observe person after person arriving in the magical tropical setting, putting down their towel and glancing out at the Pacific and Diamond Head in the distance. After a few minutes they'd seemingly get bored, pull out their cell phone and place a call where at least the caller's side of the conversation went something like this.

"Hey...what's up?" "Where are you?" "What are you doing?" "Is it cold  there?" and then came the real intent of the meaningless call “Guess where I am?

Now sadly, I'm old enough to remember when a phone call was a pretty big deal. You could actually tell folks were calling long distance by the crackling on the line...sometimes, there'd even be a delay.  Actually, if there was too much clarity on the line...you might even excitedly (or horrifically) presume the normally long distance caller was in town. After hearing their unusually clear voice you might even ask “are you here?” The point is you had to restrict these calls to instances where you had something of value to say. You usually didn't call just to rub in the fact that you were in some tropical clime while your call recipient was freezing their ass off. The bigger point was there just wasn't the presumption that you mattered that much. So many of the tweets I read now seem to be screaming "I'm important and "I'm doing something you're not." Even many of the hashtags seem to suggest the tweeter is doing something you’re not.

So…I actually took a look at some random personal tweets on my account. Most are retweets of messages from people I don’t know. I know they matter…I’m just begging someone to tell me why.

·         Inaugural parade set to begin. Waiting for Obama. That’s a spine-tingler I needed to be aware of right now…especially since there was absolutely no way to know this by watching the 407 channels of non-stop cable coverage of this snorefest.

·         Aahhhh "I want to look one more time" -BO Really? Nice sentiment sure but does this warrant a tweet? I’m guessing the answer is yes…but again…I’m completely lost as to why?

·         Sound cutting out on speakers on the mall. Ppl listening on their phones. Guy says: "This is what happens in steerage." OK…this is somewhat funny…but again…why do people need to know this and why did this need to be retweeted?

·         It’s reasonable to hope that the images landing on her retinas were influencing the sounds bursting from her throat: http://wapo.st/WVyzST This means something to somebody I’m sure…but not me.

·         "The new status symbol isn’t what you own — it’s what you’re smart enough not to own" http://wapo.st/10oTi47 #SharingEconomy Drats...this was actually pretty interesting.

·         "...The top 1% of income earners took home 93% of the growth in incomes in 2010..." - Joseph Stiglitz, @NYTimes: Zzzz @boringashell #whogivesash*t?

· I'm at Walter E. Washington Convention Center for The Inaugural Ball w/…I’m @ home in my pajamas stoned on my 3rd glass of Malbec…but really…do/should u care?

What’s the point of all this? Not sure…probably just further evidence my weekly rantings about being on the threshold of assisted living are warranted. The perpetual need to tweet however does remind me of a sign that hung over the door of Mr. Piteski’s 7^th Grade band class at Palms Junior High School in Los Angeles. I used to glance up there from the clarinet section each day and it read simply “Silence is the only real substitute for brains.” That advice is golden, and I prove most Fridays why it’s a bad thing to ignore. Seems to me a lot of tweeters could benefit by not making that same mistake.

Start the weekend with some music...

...and here's what you shouldn't do

So…the new year is almost three weeks old and my pledge to try to be a better person, or to at least treat people with a little more consideration is going about as poorly as most of my other failed resolutions (see last post). Because I usually receive abysmally low marks on follow-through with goals of this nature, I can’t be too surprised things aren’t going particularly well. Sure…I’m trying to do it in some small ways…things like unloading the dishwasher without being asked, smiling more, composing better-toned emails, saying please and thank you more and even remembering to walk on street-side of the sidewalk (at least some of the time). So, while my resolution performance has been characteristically unimpressive at best, I did have a particularly un-resolution-like setback last week that bears mentioning. If nothing else, it might serve as yet another good blueprint of something you shouldn’t do.

After a relaxing morning that including a fast-paced (at least by my assisted living standards) 4am 3-mile run, some trash TV reruns and a light breakfast, I left the house and hopped in my car for the short commute to work. As I headed up the narrow street in my urban residential neighborhood, there was a taxi parked in the middle of the street of the next block up which appeared to be waiting for a traveler. The cab was not parked as far to the right as it could have been, and it was questionable at best if I could navigate to the left and make it between the taxi’s driver’s side and the cars parked on the left without significant damage to the cab, my car, and the vehicles parked to my left.

Seeing the inconsiderate taxi in the middle of the street caused the flame on my blood burners to go up a notch....however, I tried to relax by listening to the Pimsleur Italian language CDs and waiting for the cab’s passenger to come out of the house to begin their leisurely cab ride so I might be able to continue my commute to work without scrapping paint off both sides of my automobile.  I waited about 30 seconds (maybe 15) and then decided to inch up to the rear of the taxi in hopes of conveying the urgency for him/her to stop blocking the street. Shortly after working my way just up to the taxi’s rear bumper, the cab driver flipped on his hazard lights. As far as I could discern there was no flat tire, steaming radiator, or any other “hazard” that should require the activation of those lights, so it was hard to interpret the move as anything other than a luminous way of him or her telling me to go fornicate myself.   

Now…at this point I had a couple of more cerebral options. I could just chalk the moron up to a world of wasted-flesh idiots and let it go. I could have put my car in reverse and backed up about 100 feet and then proceeded west toward Reno Road and taken a detour to work. I could have even got out of my car, remembered my Emily Post training,  gently tapped on the driver’s window and politely asked him/her to inch over slightly to the right so that I (and the rest of his/her fellow man commuting on that street) could get around. But comminted to few things with the fervor as I am to proving I’m a painfully slow learner, I chose none of those courses.

Instead, cognizant of my previously simmering blood now transfering to a slow boil, I backed up car, and proceeded to navigate around the left side of the cab. It was tight, and there couldn’t have been room for a gum wrapper on either side of the car as I squeezed by. As I did, the cab made no discernable attempt to move over. Once by the cab, I pulled ahead of the cab, blocking about the same amount of the street as the taxi. Then, I backed up a bit until I was immediately in front of the cab and put my vehicle in park (leaving the engine running).

Shortly after doing so, the cab’s passenger came out of the house and jumped into the waiting taxi. Not long after the passenger’s door closed, the cab driver lightly tapped on the horn apparently informing me he (I know knew it was a male) needed to move forward.  So, thinking like an inconsiderate moronic taxi driver…I flipped on my hazard lights in an attempt to let him know that he too was more than welcome to find another way to continue his journey.

Now, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I’m not an hot-headed idiot looking for a unnecessary fight that could easily be avoided by a couple of deep breaths and some basic perspective. I wasn’t about to get into a pre-dawn, pre-work altercation with some jackass without reasonable assurances that I might prevail. Though my back window was fogged over, I watched closely out my driver’s side mirror ready to assess the cab driver’s size and perceived fighting ability. If some 6’6”, weight-trained, 240 pound, chiseled golden-glove like young man emerged, I was prepared to be content that I’d made my point and quickly put the car in drive to continue on my merry way (run). However while the man that exited the driver’s side in anger was more like 250lbs, he was also closer like 5’8 and maybe even  balding a bit so I liked my chances. At first glance I saw no sign of a weapon, so being the deep-thinker that I am, I too flung open my car door and jumped out of the car.

By this point the cab driver  and I were nearly face-to-face, and he was screaming in some barely intelligible high-pitched foreign accent. He asked “What are you doing…are you trying to start something?”  “Why do you ask I responded?” The cab driver then shouted that he was simply “waiting for a passenger.”  “Yeah…I’m waiting to pick up someone for work”…I retorted…  “feel free to go around.” He then informed me I was “blocking the street,” to which I replied “yes…I may be…but I flipped on my hazard lights to let you know that your problems didn’t matter to me.” He continued to scream as he walked back to the car, calling me “crazy.” I followed him over to his car door and ask him what the problem was…and then inquired…”what’s wrong… you seem pissed.” “I am” he shouted… “you’re an as$hole.” “Good” I said… “now you know exactly how I feel.” He said some more words...and I responded in a fashion which made it clear he shouldn't get into a cussing match with a product of  the Los Angeles inner-city and the son of a WWII U.S. Navy electrician.

What was accomplished by this? Not a damn thing if I had to guess. I’d like to think the shithe*t cab driver will give a little thought to his actions the next time he double parks, but I’m thinking that’s probably not likely. It would be good to believe the bigger sh*thead would learn a lesson too and just avoid unnecessary altercations going forward, but I’m not liking my chances.  It  was probably a total waste of my energy and just regrettable behavior,  then again, I needed some Friday blog material so risking my life (he could have had a gun…or worse...have been a wrestler) for a relatively uninteresting story wasn’t completely insane.

It’s inauguration weekend so try to have some fun.  If you get Monday’s MLK day off, use the extra time and spend it with the people and pets you love doing the things that matter most. You may want to start the three-day break with a little good music. If you have a chance to chill this weekend, kick back, put on some good tunes, and reach for the high shelf booze.

...and it's resolution time

New Years’ resolutions have never really been my thing. Most years I don’t even bother, knowing full-well my dismal record of throwing in the towel on my latest flavor of the year pledge sometime well-before March demonstrates I won’t have any luck pulling it off for twelve straight months. I’ve tried them all…better diet, learning more Spanish, watching less Housewives’ Reunions, playing the piano better, shedding unwanted pounds, implementing a more rigorous fitness regime, brushing up on German, brushing up on my teeth, learning the Uke, and even just trying to just be a better person (I know what you’re thinking on that last one…low bar). I’ve even tried stuff that’s easy to quantify…like drinking two bottles of water a day, or imbibing alcohol no more than two days a week, taking the metro at least once a month or even just taking at least one shower a week…but nothing seems to stick (except when I don’t regularly bathe).  

This year I considered a couple of things that seemed  pretty attainable. I’d love to cuss a little less, but I had more freakin’ F-bombs than Tannenbaums in December so I’m thinking I’m doomed. I haven’t had a drink of alcohol yet in 2013,  but it’s only January 4^th  (and it’s still early in the day) and I’m not even counting the two beers (which really is the same as nothing for me) I had at Guapo’s on New Years’ Day. Thought about being a little nicer to people, or being a more considerate husband, or being a better friend and spending more time with the people that matter, but even after a year that included the loss of two good friends, an honest glance in the rearview mirror of late shows there’s really not much evidence to expect any perspective gained by those painful experiences are going to hold.

Treating people better in the workplace would be a noble resolution goal, but despite routinely committing to do so, my constant transgressions in that area reveal I’m not liking my chances over the long haul. I could strive to just do my job better, or to serve and support my selfless boss more effectively, but again…I’ve got the mirror problem. Actually just trying to live by the Golden Rule would be a good aim, but if I did onto myself the way I’ve done unto some others of late, I’m not sure I would even like me. This probably seems kind of depressing, but in all candor, I’m just being honest and really can’t really think of anything fresh that might work…and more importantly, that I might be able to apply for 365 straight days.

There is one reason to be optimistic though, and while I don’t like my chances to stick to anything new in 2013, there is always the chance (and even the likelihood) I can keep the streak going I’ve managed to maintain every work day for three straight years. In late December 2009, I committed to walking up the stairs from the parking level (9 floors) every day for one year. Amazingly, and quite out of character, I was able to pull it off. Just as a side note I also committed to lose 10 pounds in 2010, but I recall ending the year heavier than I started it…so the stair thing didn’t seem to help in fat reduction department (probably all muscle weight in my quads). I was so emboldened by the first year stair performance that I continued it in 2011…and then again in 2012. So far, at least for the 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th of January, I managed to walk up all flights in 2013 too (mostly while cussing in pain in English, and thinking about consuming red wine while watching the NJ Housewives when I got home after skipping my evening speed-bag workout).

What’s the point of all this? If you know, you must have resolved to decode more drivel in 2013.  It isn’t easy coming up with meaningful content every  week, and if you don’t believe that, just subscribe to this blog. Enjoy the first weekend of the New Year and if you have any resolutions, do your best to stay with them (unless it’s to be an even bigger A-Hole). If you don’t, feel free to grab any of the ones where I’ve miserably failed. For what it’s worth…you may want to start with the “spending time with the people that matter most” pledge. Just like the people, at the end of the game, it is that kind of time that will matter the most.

See you in the stairwell…or at least at the wine store.          

As always…sorry for the poor writing, typos, bad grammar and misspellings. No time to proofread…too busy providing links to good music.

Remember those days hanging out at the Village Green...