So what’s my problem? Am I just old before my time and wishing for the days of snail mail and the rotary telephone? Not at all. My issue is the feeling that facebook isn’t actually connecting us as much as it’s feeding our vanity and laziness.

The facebook “news” feed provides a platform for all kinds of inane blather. We see photos of people’s dinner, hear their plans for the next few hours, scroll past their political views, and anything else a person deems so riveting that the internet needs a record of its happening. I imagine some sociologist of the distant future uncovering the code from a day of facebook postings and concluding “no wonder their civilization collapsed, no one actually did anything but yet they considered everything important. “. If you have a facebook account, and you’ve ever posted a status, you are saying “this is important enough that everyone should know.” Sheer vanity, fed by the relentless content black hole that is the internet… a beast in need of constant feeding. So we update again. And God help us if someone actually likes what you post.

Which brings us to the lazy part of the equation, spearheaded by the “like” button. Someone else posts something for all the world to see, you read it and conclude that you are so impressed you must: call them, write something back, smile and pass it on to others… no, none of those. Instead you show your appreciation for their “news” by a single mouse click, less energy than it actually takes to scratch your own nose. Now the world knows we are a supportive audience of someone else’s vain chatter but we literally barely lifted a finger. We’re a part of the conversation! Yeah, us! Vanity and inaction in one little click.

Birthdays encourage similar lazy interaction in the supposed name of connection. As we scroll through Facebook everyday it automatically provides us with mass lists of birthdays without a need to actually keep track of important dates in the lives of others. And so our birthday passes and dozens, hundreds, thousands of people comment on our wall with some generic “have a great day” which they’ve probably copy/pasted on every birthday wall of every friend for the past year. I find it an interesting litmus test for my own quality of friendship. When a birthday reminder strikes me, I write my friends a private email. Or call them. Something where they can hear from me directly and the rest of the world has no idea. Sure, I appreciate the reminder from the facebook overlords… but if I can’t take the time to step out to personally and privately connect with that friend, then how important do I really count their friendship? And similarly, I seem to receive more facebook birthday wishes from acquaintances than folks I call real friends.

So here we are, not closer at all but on our own stage with our own megaphone screaming “look at me, I’m the greatest thing ever”. Meanwhile, all around us everyone else is doing the same thing and raising the inconsequential moments of our lives into an overwhelming din of point and click vanity.

I long for those moments of one on one time with the handful of people who know me, sharing things they wouldn’t dare put on facebook. Struggles, private victories, or even a shared experience, allowed to land with the private resonance of real connection.

But the facebook experience has grown to a strange blending of Cyberdine and big brother. We can’t unplug the beast, it knows all our secrets and has begun to shape the very culture which gave it life. We even continue to feed it with special shout outs to other members @WhoeverTheyAre. The same members who probably don’t have a picture from the last decade, or show anything but their children, or give us any real pertinent information about their lives, their truth, and their day to day. We know what TV shows they like. Where they grew up. And what day to post an ingenuine birthday wish on the home of their digital avatar. Yet we call them friends.

We’ve all been assimilated. The Matrix is real, and I’d like to unplug.

But for now you’ll have to excuse me, I need to go update my status with something car related… and I should probably tweet some inane moment of driving I just saw.

And one of you people will probably click “Like”.

So since my son has been born he’s flown many, many times. Frankly, I’ve lost count, and I applaud my wife for surviving the recurring madness. However, I have only taken one flight with the two of them and it established airports and airplanes as places where new and exciting things can happen with your child.

When we all flew a couple of months ago my son wasn’t walking yet. He’d stand up, sway like a drunken sailor, and fall to the floor with a spine-shattering violence. Then crawl away at a speed which defied logic. So, as we waited to board, our little man was crawling around a bit. He found an empty bit of carpet and stood up. And people noticed.

Then he tried to take a step, with much swaying and falling over. But he kept trying. Standing. Falling. Stepping. Swaying. And before long it only took a cursory glance around the terminal to see a good number of people watching our little guy try and walk.

And walk he did. Right there in the Southwest Boarding Area of the Salt Lake City Airport. He stood up and defined the term toddler as he tromped around in circles. I actually heard “ohs” and quiet applause when he put it all together.

I was awash in thoughts and feelings about this moment. Of course, I was damn proud of the little guy. And I enjoyed the irony of sharing this very personal family moment with a horde of other people.

But I kept thinking that he’d been able to stand for weeks. He’d toyed with the idea of walking and never really dedicated himself to making it happen. He waited. Then, when he had a captive audience… showtime!

Which means he’s like his Mom.

By the time we got to his latest plane-ride, walking had become a well refined part of his life. The downside is that sitting still is now deemed completely unacceptable and he wants to walk everywhere he can… right now. My wife took on the task of flying with him anyway, and I watched her pack things to try and keep him occupied instead of climbing the seat in front of him.

A portable DVD player has made him an easy-going car traveler, so she packed the player and a set of noise-cancelling headphones for the plane. I scoffed at this, because even though he likes to watch “the glowy box” in any form, he won’t leave anything on his head for more than 30 seconds. And he has a bad habit of dropping or throwing anything which begins to bore him.

When they landed I got this picture from my wife:

He sat for more than an hour and watched his DVDs. Meaning my wife had one of her least stressful plane rides with the little guy. And again I was awash in thoughts on this moment.

Yes, I was proud of him again. And the picture made me laugh. Then there was the thought that we’ve done him a great favor by helping him engage with screens at such a young age. The whole world is screens anyway. Or… maybe we’ve scarred him for life… Anyway, no matter what, the kid was stuck in a boring situation and was perfectly content to kick back and watch a movie.

Which means he’s like his Dad.

This is your in-flight entertainment. But fasten your seat-belts. It’s gonna get bumpy.

And the phenomenon has turned the corner from people famous for doing something we love, to people who are famous for just being famous.

Which leads me to my recent irksome line of questioning:

What is Ashton Kutcher known for? Why is this guy famous?

His Nikon commercials seem like the only thing on TV right now. But he’s not a famous photographer. And I don’t want to see another scenario of him as the handsome rule-breaking rouge who snaps amazing pictures with lingere models while using a camera the size of gum.

The role that made him famous was playing an attractive idiot on “that 70s Show”, a painful comedy about a decade which was better left in history. How is this a license to a career?

And now he’s in a new movie “Killers” where he plays a husband who forgot to tell his wife he’s actually a spy. I swear I’ve seen this movie a dozen times with different actors plus read it another ten or more as the first script from some newbie screenwriter. Personally, I liked this film best when it was called “True Lies”.

Arnold Schwarzenegger’s celebrity is the topic of a different post…

Somewhere along the way he starts the show, “Punk’d” which is essentially him getting paid to bully and embarrass others. Cause after high school what you really want to watch is the attractive guy still picking on everyone else… right?

Then he marries Demi Moore, creating the first account of two strange phenomenons: 1) He marries the only woman in Hollywood who somehow becomes more attractive with age. 2) He married a woman whose daughter’s dreamed of dating him until mom stole him away.

Oh… and he decides his life is interesting enough to should challenge CNN to a duel. Who can get the first 1million followers on Twitter? Let me restate that… He essentially said “Hey massive news provider – I bet you more people will want to know what I’m doing than hear what’s going on in the entire world.”

And he won.

What does that Twitter feed read like:

Nikon brought the dump truck of cash today. Told them to put it next to last weeks pile. – 1 day ago

Played practical jokes on three more people. Made one of them cry on camera. It was awesome. – 12 hrs ago

Shot another Nikon commercial. Laughing and joking with beautiful women is so tiring. At least they pay with dump trucks. – 4 hrs ago

Had sex with Demi Moore. Took a picture with my Nikon camera. No, you can’t see it. – 1 hr ago

I just got paid to mention Nikon in my last tweet. Oh look, I mentioned them again. – 58 mins ago

Nikon. – 47 mins ago

Considering challenging Jesus to a Twitter duel. I bet I’ve got more followers than him. – 2 min ago

Now I know you’re probably shaking your head and saying “You’re just jealous”. You’re damn right I’m jealous. I can’t get a job and this guy seems to get paid for… well… I’m not even sure exactly. But every time the Nikon commercial sears my eyeballs I know I’ve been punk’d.

He’s probably a nice guy too. And a hard worker.

But he’s everywhere, for no good reason. So, that settles it, I gotta stop watching TV. Go out and do something so I don’t see his face.

Maybe I’ll buy a Nikon.

Damn you Ashton.

Here’s the short version: A 20 year old girl in Detroit has been put on probation at her job. Why? Well, she’s a waitress at Hooter’s and she’s getting a bit fat for her shiny orange shorts.

And this made the news. Redefining the “fluff piece”. Ah-hem.

As I fight back an onslaught of ever dirtier jokes I suggest you watch the CNN video for yourself. Then, I suspect you’ll see what I did:

First off, I agree with Hooter’s on this one. Their entire business and perception is based on a physical standard. The Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleaders are a good example to cite, even though the average Hooter’s girl is as likely to make the Cheerleaders as I am to become the first long haired man on the moon.

You go to Hooter’s to have your waitress bend over the table and show you things that aren’t on the menu. And for those of you giving the classic line “But, wait… the food’s awesome. My wife loves to go for their Hot Wings.” Sit down and shut up. I’m not buying it for a second. And if your wife does like to go, she’s enjoying making catty remarks at the same waitress you keep asking for a refill.

Hooter’s is not about the food. It’s more like a soft-core stripclub with an extensive menu. And if you’re going to come in for a bucket of hotwings and a cooler of beer the last thing you want to do is have a tubby waitress waddle over and cause lunch to come back up.

And the company gave her the tools to address the problem. A free gym membership. That’s a perk. It’s on the job training. Literally. Think of it this way, if you suddenly forgot how to do something vital to your job would you accept a free opportunity to relearn and keep your job? Of course you would.
I’m sure she was thinner when she was hired. If you don’t want to stay slim to keep your job… here’s a hint… don’t work at a place where the shorts double as napkins.

But this is not even the strangest part of this “news” story.

Everyone is quick to mention her height and weight. But, it’s not about the numbers, it’s about how the body carries it. And one quick look at this girl and I’m instantly thinking… please find bigger shorts.

Yet, I feel for her when she talks about losing her role “in the Hooter’s family”. Forget the fact that it must be a family petri-dish of dysfunction for a moment and ponder this: She was told all this in her two year review. That means she’s had this job since she was 18. And she’s teary-eyed at the thought of no longer sliding beer across tables while sporting polyester daisy-dukes? May I suggest you aim higher… reach for, well… reach for the sidewalk I guess cause this is a road to nowhere.

Speaking of NoWhere… how sad is your day if a Hooter’s on the outskirts of Detroit, Michigan sounds like fun?

But all of this pales in comparison to my favorite moment: If the company wants to impose a standard for its employees, fine. However, may I suggest that the manager of the restaurant not look like a planet. It’s impossible for me to take you seriously as a critic of other people’s appearance when you’ve got your own gravitational pull.

Terribly insensitive of me? Yes. Absolutely. But if we’re gonna talk standards, it should apply across the board. I don’t care how good the wings are.

I say take the gym membership, and turn yourself into a chiseled specimen. Then take your new look and boosted confidence out and find a new job.

Two Southern California Teenagers are in the news. One, a sixteen-year-old girl currently solo-sailing around the world… non-stop. The other, a thirteen-year-old boy trying to scale Mt. Everest.

They get press because their endeavors bring outrage. Shock. Calls to child protective services because their parents are clearly unfit. People whisper about how these kids are going to die and any proper parent would never support such aspirations.

Maybe that’s true. Or maybe… Just maybe…

We’re all scared alarmist chickens and these parents are doing it exactly right.

What about the fact that this 13 year old climber has already done 5 of the world’s 7 summits? (The Seven Summits refers to the highest peak on every continent…) Most climbers in the world will never do the seven summits. Nearly all the folks who’ve done Everest, including the sherpas, haven’t done all 7. And he’s climbing with his parents who happen to be hard-core adventure racers. The result is a 13 year old with goals and enough dedication to train harder than most adults. This is hardly a kid going from PS3 to Crampon boot.

Or how about the fact that the 16 year old sailor comes from a family of sailors and her brother did the trip a year ago? I’ve met this family. I worked with this boy who did the trip. I don’t agree with everything they’re doing, but I know that their daughter wanted to do this long before her older brother decided to pull up anchor.

Truth be told, I’m pondering all of this for one simple reason: I have dangerous pastimes. I was jumping my bike as soon as I could balance, and when I was a kid we weren’t wearing helmets and kneepads! I’m obsessed with performance driving. I love rock climbing. I enjoy solo trips deep into the backcountry. And my favorite kind of skiing is cutting fresh tracks through tight trees. Yet I still feel like I never really pushed the envelope enough. I’m not half as daring as I’d like to be, and yet my interests scare the hell out of a lot of people.

I know I’ll definitely introduce my son to these pastimes. And there’s a good chance he’ll like one or two of them and want to push the envelope himself. Which means… he’s going to get hurt. And it’s going to be on my watch.

Now before you start filling the comment section, know that I’m far from reckless. I’ve embraced the use of helmets, and I wouldn’t tree-ski without one. I don’t go out into the backcountry without leaving plenty of info on where I’ll be. And anyone who’s climbed with me will tell you they felt very safe.

But I hope I never embrace the growing fear that permeates our culture and is shouted through megaphones toward all parents. I stand astonished to find that everyone can tell you a horror story about everything from sleeping to vaccinations. Do not go onto the internet to see if something is bad for your child. I’ll save you the google time; yes, it’s terrible. Someone knows someone whose child died from it… Anything you can think of, no matter how innocuous, can kill your child.

Into this stupefying din I accept the fact that there will be blood: From skinned knees, and scraped palms, and probably some random headwound which will bleed like a broken damn but only leave a tiny scab on a big lump. That’s growing up.

Heck, that’s just life.

We could all die doing anything. Hanging a picture or hanging from a cliff-face. But I truly believe that taking risks and pushing yourself is the only way to stay young. And my son IS young… so hopefully I can push myself long enough to at least keep up for a while.

A part of me really hopes he ends up world-class at taking risks. I’ve accepted that I won’t be a cutting edge climber or F1 racing driver. But if that’s in his future then I’ll be on the sidelines grinning so much it hurts.

I’ll like it almost as much as doing it myself. Almost.

The real battle will be everyone else. Because now, suddenly, the tiny percentile chance of something going wrong is the only percentage we’re supposed to care about. It’s like believing you will definitely win the lottery every time… and the prize is pain and suffering. Best to not play at all!

Dream big. Take risks. Do something that scares you.

I say that for me. I need to remember. I need to hear it over the rumble of doom. And if I’m really blessed, I’ll raise a son who’ll hear it too.

You see – “It’s that time of year…” and just starting off with that quote already has you singing a Christmas song in your head, right? And that’s both my point and my problem.

Don’t misunderstand me, there are some things I enjoy about Christmas. But one thing leads the charge in my dread of this holiday and my hope for its quick departure:

Christmas Music.

Now I’m not known for my great musical taste, and I understand that the music a person likes is a very personal thing. But my issue with Christmas music is the unending repetition. Every year someone new puts out a Christmas album and guess what… it’s the same damn songs on every other Christmas album just done their way. “Oh… he added strings to that section”. “Listen to the choir here… that’s wonderful.”

No, it’s the same thing as last year. And the year before that. And that.

Let me put it another way. Think about the Beatles. Even if you’re not a fan of them, they wrote some song you wouldn’t mind sitting through. And they wrote a lot of stuff. Classics. Iconic tunes that the world knows just by their title.

But what if that was it? What if the songs of the Beatles were the only songs available? Every year new bands would come out. And all they’d do is release an album with their version of the Beatles classics.

“Did you hear U2s new album! I love their version of ‘Let it Be’”. Dave Matthews does “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”. The Jonas Brother’s do “Sergeant Pepper”.

Interesting? Possibly. But how long until you can’t stand to hear another version of “Help” or “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” with a slightly different mix?

That’s Christmas Music. The same 20-30 songs redone indefinitely. Some like the traditional version. Some the version by Perry Como or Dean Martin or some Crooner. Or the version you first heard during Christmases with your family. I know my parents still have the albums we listened to… and by that I mean they have the records. You remember records, right… big black CDs with a needle instead of a laser? Yeah. Those things.

And this incessant repetition is inescapable. Walk through any store, restaurant, mall, car-wash, or video store after Thanksgiving and you don’t have to guess what kind of music they are playing… only which version.

So I live with my earbuds permanently planted in my ears. The iPhone/iTunes combination has liberated me and I’ve become so reliant on it that I’ve done something I never imagined… I’ve worn out my headphones.

I didn’t know you could wear out a pair of headphones. I still have the ones I used during my years in Radio. That was nearly twenty years ago and they survive til this day and still sound great. But their total hours of use pale in comparison to these little white buds that keep me from hearing Kenny G’s “Frosty the Snowman” on the elevator.

So now I need new headphones to survive ’til February when the world puts away “Santa Baby” for another eight months. But when it comes to getting new stuff I’m actually in luck… cause it’s Christmas.

Porn in all its forms is vilified, discussed as a cancer on society, and those with an open interest are often looked upon as degenerates. Meanwhile many others are privately interested in Porn and don’t discuss it or admit their interest in order to avoid being labeled among those said degenerates.

Let me clarify by summarizing two of the big concerns about Porn:

1 – It objectifies women, claiming they are only sex objects without goals or intelligence of their own.

2 – Creates unhealthy escape for men, allowing them to fulfill their sexual fantasies and believe they have a connection without actually engaging in healthy relationships. And this can affect the relationships they do have with women because of #1.

So. With those benchmarks established I can get to my actual point:

Porn for women is all around us. And no one seems to care.

Don’t believe me? I have 3 words for you:

Twilight: New Moon.

Yes, I saw it. Not because I have any interest, but with my wife who really wanted to go and didn’t want to go alone.

And it was just the latest proof of this phenomenon. I was a fly on the wall of female fantasy. Teen girls cooing at the screen in unison in an octave so loud and piercing that all the movie sound was drowned away and car alarms went off.

$150+ million later, and all I can think is that the books and media women devour create the same problem porn does for men: Unhealthy fantasy which affects real world relationships.

And it’s true across the other forms of media consumed by women: Romance Novels, Soap Operas, A long line of movies, and even modern network shows like Brothers & Sisters,

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not angry. I’m not asking for anything to be done. I’m not demanding anything… I’m just saying lets call it what it is.

Porn for women.

In fact, let’s compare with the 2 things above:

1 – These shows objectify men, claiming they have no real goals of their own other than the desire to protect and care for their woman. They are never angry. Never poor. Never dealing with any emotional or personal issues of their own.  And there is no amount of fickle activity or terrible treatment which will drive them away.

In Twilight both major males wind up shirtless in the film with long scenes going by to show off their great abs. And they both want nothing more than to love her unconditionally, protect her fiercely, and be available to her at all times. They are unrestricted by jobs, finances or even pesky things like personal goals or time at the gym to maintain their abs.

2 – These shows create an unhealthy escape for women, allowing them to fulfill their emotional fantasies without having to engage in healthy relationships. And this can affect their actual relationships because they begin to believe that real men should be like #1.

In these romance Novels, or Soap Operas, movies, or Brothers & Sisters someone is always meeting the perfectly backlit guy with a killer body and an artistic streak. And he will want to sweep her away. He will want to listen during long walks and never leave her. Thus, allowing her to not make up her mind, string him along, and probably debate between him and someone else equally great. (See Twilight, the Notebook, and most female centric romance films ever made). All the while these women are allowed to be fickle, unreliable, and indecisive, because none of these men will ever decide these heroines are high maintenance or too difficult to love.

So here we are… Porn for everyone.

12 year old girls go to Twilight: “OhMyGAwd, he’s so cute, look at his stomach and he loves her just as much as the other one. They’re both so perfect… and look he wants to fly her in his private plane to his amazing house”

14 year old boys go to Transformers: “Dude, she’s HOT. I like boobs… and look there’s robots! And stuff’s exploding!”

Adult women wind up watching the ladies on Brothers & Sisters decide between which rich and dedicated man they want… while those unlucky in love characters will find some scruffy perfect artist who only wants to pour them wine and take care of their kids.

Harmless, you say. One is naked people, the other is drama of people engaging. They aren’t anything close to the same!

But… here’s the problem.

A guy watches Porn and begins to wonder why his wife/girlfriend/whoever doesn’t want to constantly have sex. Why does she actually want to talk about her feelings? Why does she really want me to fix the sink?… I thought that was just the reason she called me over here. And why does she have goals and dreams and a desire to wear sweatpants instead of a nightie?

A woman watches her Porn and begins to wonder why her husband/boyfriend/whoever doesn’t want to whisk her way from all her problems. Why does he want to go out with the guys? Why doesn’t he make more money than we will ever need? Why doesn’t he have perfect abs and a constant desire to protect me from the world? And why does he get angry when I treat him terribly?

For every man who’s ever said “I wish my girl/wife/etc wanted sex like that”…. there’s a woman saying “I wish my guy/husband/etc treated me more like Edward (Hero of Twilight)”.

Folks. It’s all a fantasy. It’s all Porn. Just some of it has a wardrobe department and some doesn’t.

So go find your significant other. And see them for who they are. And who they aren’t. Cause they’re real. And it will take work on both sides to keep that relationship going.

Even though that reality would make for bad porn for everyone.