Social Networking

Warning: I am about to reveal my ignorance. Many would say it is not for the first time.

Do you remember the old AT&T phone commercials with “reach out and touch someone?” They were trying to get us to use our telephones more and the add was effective. I am expecting that any day now the “new” AT&T will come out with an ad with the tag line “reach out and touch everyone constantly.” Because that is where the world is heading.

Ease of communication has exploded with the cell phone and the internet. And now the internet is available on your cell phone, so that the world is with you at all times, if you want it to be.

I remember back in the olden days when the new ability to send and receive an email was very exciting. I liked that type of communication better than the telephone. I could pause and consider, maybe for a day, before answering. The interaction was in my control and on my terms.

But the old email was not good enough for many people. AOL began an online “buddy” system. AOL would inform you when your buddy was online and you could exchange emails your buddy. It was closer to real time connection. I never wanted to be anyone’s buddy.

Next came IM, or instant messaging. I have never done IM. All I know is that school kids did it constantly when they were suppose to be doing their homework. And there were chat rooms. All of this let people stay in touch with their friends.

And cell phones became more and more prevalent. And minutes became cheaper and more available so people used them more. And don’t forget text messaging. That’s where you tediously type short messages to others on your cell phone – not unlike the buddy system.

A new term, “social networking” was born. More modern online versions of social networking include Facebook and MySpace. I actually am a member of MySpace so that I can get announcements about my son’s band. I don’t use it for any thing else. Once in awhile I get emails through MySpace from young women who will be in my area soon and want to meet me. I think that they are probably selling Girl Scout cookies.

Lately social networking has gone mobile. You can now keep up with all of your friends or network from your mobile phone. You can even track where they are. One service will let you receive real time restaurant reviews with pictures from your friends and tell you whether they are in the restaurant or on the street outside. That is how good the locating service is. You can walk around and know the locations of all of your friends who want to be known. And they can always find you. You can always be in touch

I suppose all of this is wonderful, but I don’t know why. Why would I want people to know where I am? Why would I want them to be able to get in touch with me instantly? Why would I want to look at their pictures? I just barely tolerate talking to people on the phone. Why would I submit myself to all these other invasions of privacy?

I am missing something here. Millions of people are making use of the new social networking technology. My son sends 3000 text messages per month! To whom? About what? I just don’t get it.

And what does that say about me? It says that I am a crotchety, old, boring, introverted loner. This new technology is not being built for me. I am not the prime demographic here. Yes, I am missing something. But am I missing out?

Please, let me know what is going on here.

Donuts Make Scents

I have been looking for the connection between donuts and sex for a long time now. I intuitively knew there had to be a point of intersection, but my decades long search proved fruitless and stale until now.

My love affair with donuts began at a very young age. The dentist made me do it. Our family dentist, a high school friend of my father, was in Ball Square in Somerville, Massachusetts. Typically we would make the trek on Saturday morning for the torture session (a long and painful story for another day.) The reward for going was a trip across the street to Gail Ann’s Donuts. I can see, smell and taste the jelly donut, and the honey dipped, and the chocolate covered, and the lemon, and the powdered sugar and the cinnamon sugar, and the glazed cruller. My eyes are glazing over as I think about it.

A sugar high cannot be beat. It has helped propel me through most of my life. A couple of years ago friends and I made a pilgrimage to the newly opened Krispy Creme store. I stood in line watching the donuts glide down the conveyer belt to the waterfall of liquid sugar. I can still feel it in my body. I just wanted to jump over the rail and insert my head and mouth under that waterfall. Ohhhhhh boy!

So it came as no surprise to me when the findings were published for a study on the “Various Aromas Found to Enhance Male Sexual Response” by the Smell and Taste Treatment and Research Foundation of Chicago. The second place winner was a combination of donuts and black licorice. I do not know what the licorice is all about, but I certainly know about the donuts. It just proved what I already knew. Truthfully, it completed my life. Donuts are an aphrodisiac – the poor man’s Viagra.

By the way, the first place winner was a combination of pumpkin pie and lavender. There is historical evidence that proves the accuracy of this finding. Who were the first settlers of America? Pilgrims. What did they eat at the first Thanksgiving? Pumpkin pie. How many Pilgrims were there? Not many. How many Americans are there now? 301,139,947 – I looked it up. How did we get from fewer than 100 to 301,139,947? Pumpkin pie. It could not have been donuts because Dunkin’ Donuts did not begin until 1950.

I am keeping these findings a secret in my house. I want to make sure that my wife still makes her famous Pumpkin Chiffon Pie for the holidays. And I promise not to ruin my Thanksgiving meal by filling up on too many donuts. Maybe.

Yellowstone

We spent last night in West Yellowstone, Montana, a great little tourist town. We headed into the park early and were quickly stunned by the ride in. Within the first hour we had seen a bald eagle in a nest, a mother elk with her baby lying beside the river, and a small herd of bison including many babies. What a great start.

One of our first stops was a geyser basin. I suggested that they were named after me - as in “guy”ser. My wife thought that “geezer” was closer to the truth. I saw all 4 types of thermal features: geyser, hot spring, fumarole and mud pot. I only can write this because I looked it up again in my little book. My mind can no longer hold so much new information at once. I can say that all four involve hot water. I also saw a “bacteria mat.” I did not get too close. I don’t know what it is. It sounds bad. “Fumarole” - I think that it really is a type of pasta or Italian soup - or maybe a smelly roll.

As usual, I think it is always about me. There was even a street sign about me. The sign said “Caution Wildlife on Road.” That’s me! I am having a wild life on the road.

We attended a Junior Ranger presentation, just my speed. It was about horns and antlers. Did you know that there are 4 types of animals in the park with horns and four with antlers? And only one sex has antlers, but I forget which one. And you can tell the difference between male and female horns? I knew all of this and more for about 5 minutes but I have already forgotten all of it. Memory loss is a new way of living in the moment. I could go back to the same presentation tomorrow and enjoy it because I would be learning it all anew.

I spent most of my day buying t-shirts for myself. I pretended to enjoy Old Faithful and the tour of the Old Faithful Inn, but really my mind was on t-shirts. At this rate I may have a whole new wardrobe by the time I get home.

Living Variously

The great affair, the love affair with life,
is to live as variously as possible,
to groom one's curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred,
climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day.

Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding,
and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours,
life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length.

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery,
but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.

~ Diane Ackerman ~


("found poetry" from A Natural History of the Senses)


I sat sleepily in front of the computer screen deleting the spam in an early morning fog. How many Rolexes and doses of Cialis and Viagara does one need? How many times can I lower my mortgage rate? While acting as my own anti-spam agent, I almost deleted the daily poem that comes to me from someone named Joe Riley whom I do not know. Sometimes I read them but often they seem like an imposition on my busy day. It is not so much that I am really busy, but I just like to hurry. Hurrying makes me feel important. So I often delete these poems, these bits of fluff that are meant to uplift but most often do the opposite, before they ever see the light of day.

I must have been in an expansive mood that morning. I must have felt like my little world could possibly take something in and learn from it. Or maybe it was the title of the email: “The great affair.” “Affair” is always a promising word. So I clicked on the email and opened up to this poem.

“Yes!” I shouted to no one. I knew what this poem was talking about. It was not an “Eureka!” moment when you figure out the answer that you have been searching for. It was more of a confirmation of a lesson that I have been learning over the last six months. It was a concept that I had stumbled on through experience, not through books or words. I had been trying to put the right words to the experience, but I had not been doing it well. Here, in the poem, were the words.

Six months ago I started my RV adventure. It took me to many places and experiences and added energy and vigor to my life. In some ways it made no sense. Before that time I would have told you that I did not like to travel and that I did not like to drive. Both statements were true. And then all of a sudden I was off on these adventures and I did not know why. I just knew that I had to go. And the result was a very jazzed life that I loved.

And here in this poem were the words for it. I was living “as variously as possible.” What a great phrase! The key to what I was doing was not the content. It was the variety. As the poem says, I was grooming my curiosity. I was excited about all kinds of things. I was happy.

I have spent many years looking for the key to happiness. I always thought that if I found just the right combination of activities, then I would just repeat them and I would be happy forever. I must boast about my success in this venture. Over and over I found a set of activities to make me happy – to make me want to get up in the morning. So I would repeat them, but quickly the bloom would die. And I would stagnate. I would be left unhappy, bored and eventually depressed. At some point I would be off looking for a new set of activities, but the result would always be the same. Each time my success was short lived.

I am now living in one of those bored and stuck places again. As the cold weather has settled in, the RV season has ended. Campgrounds in the Northeast have closed, so my RV is shut down and I have shut down with it. But this poem has reminded me of the new lesson that I have learned. It is not about the activities themselves. It is about the process. For me it is about grooming my curiosity which had lay dormant for so many years. It is about following new paths to new adventures. But it is not about either the paths or the adventures. It is about the “following,” the moving, the flow, and the newness.

To live “variously.” That is my challenge. I found a way to do that through my RV. Now I must find a way to do it beyond the RV. I have no idea where it will take me. Wish me luck.

Fu-un

“Girls just want to have fu-un.” I can hear Cyndi Lauper singing the song. What about boys? What about men? Can’t we “just want to have fu-un” too?

Having fun is a revolutionary idea for an adult. Sure, it’s great for kids. But for a grownup? Maybe a little bit of fun, but let’s set some limits here. Let’s not get carried away. Maybe on the weekends, after the to-do list is completed.

I have been breaking the rules. I have been riding around in my RV for several months now just having fun. Here are some of the places I have been: Frank Lloyd Wright houses in Chicago and Oak Park, a magnificent glass house, the Farnsworth house, in Plano, Illinois, Indiana Dunes National Park, an RV factory, a museum about Annie Oakley, the Football Hall of Fame, Acadia National Park, Campobello, the Bold Coast Trails in Cutler, Maine, Rangeley Lake, Quichee Gorge in Vermont, FDR’s home in Hyde Park, New York, Gettysburg, Amish country, Hershey, PA, Lackawanna Coal Mine, the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, a maple syrup manufacturing plant, a creamery, and many other places. I have found and visited old friends in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, New York and Maine. It has been so much fun!

My favorite place was Hershey. I did not visit the theme park, but there was so much to see and do, all in one day. And lots of chocolate to eat. On the trolley tour they passed around a tin full a different type of Hershey Kiss every few minutes. At the end of the day I was just infused with great energy.

Energy. Energy is what it is all about. I did not know this when I started on this RV saga. But I have found that having new experiences fills me with energy. It is strong and passionate energy for living. It expands me. It makes me bigger. It spills over into all the other things that I do in my life. Life goes better and is just more fun.

I have been trying to figure out why these experiences create so much energy for me. My theory is that they take me into “the now.” I hate to admit that. I have been an opponent of “the now” forever. I do not live in the past, but I love the future. So “the now” is an unusual place for me. I do not want to admit that those who talk about the benefit of “being in the now” are correct. But they are right. And I have found a route in that works for me.

But it is all so irresponsible! That is what I tell myself. It is not what grown men do. It is not a life full of purpose. It is not of service to anyone else. It is not valuable. It does not meet the standards of all that I have been taught and that I have taught others.

Is having fun OK? Can having fun be a purpose? It sure feels good. My friend, Jerry Jud, all the time says, “I just want to feel good. Even a worm wants to feel good.” Can a life be built around feeling good? Boy, that is a big proposition. I do not know the answer, but I am trying hard to find out.

And I need more kisses.

A Lump Among Lumps

I know only one poem. I have only bits and pieces of all the other poems that the nuns drilled into our heads. It is by Emily Dickinson:

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

At the time I memorized this poem, I was trying very hard to be somebody. It was the time of John F. Kennedy and he was our model in the Catholic elementary school. He was among “the best and the brightest.” I wanted to be president some day. I settled for president of the eighth grade, ruling over 50 kids. I do not recall exactly what “ruling” meant, but it made me a somebody.

In high school being a somebody meant being in the right group. For me it was the jocks. I never quite made it and I was always just on the outside looking in. I told myself that it because I was not a good enough athlete, but that was not it. My best friend was not an athlete and he was in the group. I just did not seem to fit.

In college I became dorm president when the first one, the good one, resigned. So what? I did nothing. I desperately wanted to join a residential group. I wanted to be part of a group, any group. No one would have me. I was a nobody.

I can recall many times that I did something in order to be a somebody even though I really did not want the job – secretary of Rotary, town finance committee, etc. All so that I could be a somebody. “There goes Jim the Secretary, Jim the Board Member, Jim the Partner – a real somebody!”

I have shifted. I do not want to be a somebody any more. Now I want to be a lump – just a lump. Lumps are not noticeable – a lump of sugar, a lump of coal. Lumps just are.

Some people strive to be “just another bozo on the bus.” That sounds too active for me, with all that bus riding. That sounds like trying to get somewhere. And Bozo was a big star.

No, I want to be a lump. A lump is immobile. It just sits there. It is a lump among lumps, not particularly noticeable. That’s it! I want to be a lump among lumps. Just a lump – a real nobody.

I’m nobody who are you?

Brown Hair, Blue Eyes

I believe in always telling the truth. And the truth was always right there on my driver’s license: “brown hair, blue eyes.” All my life I have been “brown hair, blue eyes.” It is who I am.

My wife and I decided to get passports in case I ever agree to travel beyond a thirty mile radius of our home. Filling out my passport application, I came to the question of hair color.

“What color is my hair?” I asked my wife.

She was silent. That question is the equivalent of a woman asking, “Does this dress make me look fat?” There is no good answer.

“What color do you think it is?” she asked.

“Brown.”

She laughed.

I bolted for the mirror. I did not turn on the light because that would have been too revealing. I lowered my chin and pulled at the top of my head.

“It’s brown on the top,” I said. I knew it was. And if my hair is cut correctly, the top falls over the sides, which have some gray or which maybe are gray. Okay, the sides are not gray, they are white. But the top is brown. At least, some of the top is brown.

“Your hair is not brown,” she said.

“Liar,” I thought to myself.

“How about if I write in ‘brown with silver overtones?’ ”

She laughed again. “I don’t think they want that much information.”

“How about ‘brown with silver overtones with volumizer?’ ” My new shampoo gives my very fine hair “volume,” which I desperately need.

She laughed some more.

I recall the first time that I faced the issue of hair color. Twelve years ago I was in California for some training. A group of us were on our way to lunch. While crossing the street a woman whom I had just met asked me, “What color was your hair before is turned gray?” What a question! It had to have been the bright sunlight because my hair was still brown. I hated that woman then and I still hate her now

So you can see that this is still a difficult issue for me. It is not that I care what color my hair is. It does not matter to me that gray hair would indicate that I am aging or that I may, in fact, be old. It does not matter that my older brothers have hair darker than mine. No, none of this matters. I just want to get the answer on the application right. I do not want some border guard refusing me entry into some important country.

I stood over the application staring at the blank, but then walked away from it. I have found that it is better to put off difficult decisions when there is time. I wait for the answer to reveal itself. So I walked away.

But I did not want to be hounded by this dilemma. I did not want to spend the next three days thinking about it. So I gave in. I rushed over to the application and wrote in “gray.”

She made me do it. She made me lie. It is all her fault.

Thank God I still have those beautiful blue eyes. At least I think I do. Let me go look.