We're at it again, assuring the tourists to come on down because it's barely raining and it'll be over soon; meanwhile, the desert is thriving with record rainfall since January.
The storm came up the mountain ridges from the Gulf area, by-passing Arizona on its way to the Coachella Valley. Yesterday, with the windows open and the dogs watching what's going on in the neighborhood, the storm paused over my little piece of the landscape. The lighting was brilliant and the thunder ferocious, shaking the house with boom after boom, and sent the dogs running for cover. Sand is porous, so it doesn't absorb the water, which creates running rivers, roadway lakes, and sandslides that move alarmingly fast through neighborhoods and across roadways. Today, roads are closed and more rain is on the way, but drivers who have their own agenda fail to accommodate their driving to the conditions.
Through it all, drivers push the accelerators harder, perhaps pissed because some of the old fogies slow down to avoid hydroplaning through the rivers and lakes where once was dry pavement. The law says drivers are to drop their speed 10 miles per hour during inclement weather, but the opposite effect is true more often than not. Yesterday, for example, a man was killed on the interstate after he was involved in a rain-related accident. When he got out of his vehicle to check the damage, another speeding driver hydroplaned and killed him. In a second incident, a news van covering the weather-related stories was parked off the side of a road, taping a warning for drivers about the danger of driving too fast and hydroplaning. As the news report was being taped, a speeding vehicle hydroplaned into their news van; fortunately, the crew avoided being involved personally in the incident. The occupants of the car ran from the scene, but were later arrested and booked for driving under the influence.
My yards are drinking up the moisture, rebounding from the recent manscaping B and his lady did for the fall clean-up. If there was doubt about some of the plants surviving the cut-back, it no longer exists, thanks to the rain. The dogs are still at the windows, watching what's going on and wondering why we're not taking our walk this morning. Perhaps we'll go when I get back from work today, but that will definitely depend on how much water is either falling from the sky or obscuring the roadway we share with the drivers. Because we don't have sidewalks, it's a bigger issue which direction we walk and what time we're sharing the pavement with the speeders.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Hammered
Mercury must be retrograde or some such nonsense for all the little irritations that fill life this week, including Sunday brunch at Denny’s. Yeah, I know: living la vida loco!
Jorge hastily seated us and took our order, then disappeared. Yes, disappeared. He walked out through the kitchen with the till drawer and we never saw him again. There were 3 other employees working the floor, refilling the condiments, cleaning the ice machine, mopping the floors, and talking to the cook, but no one came back to our table. Finally, I called to one of the busy-busy employees and asked her to bring my friend’s salad, but it was "not ready" after a full 25 minutes of prep time. At that point, I was glad I had ordered coffee, for which I receive $1 off as a senior citizen and all that. My friend was steamed, but shoveled her salad when it was finally delivered to the table. We never did get a bill, so had to spend the time at the register while the cashier fumbled through the automated system to find our bill, rather than the other 3 she was going to charge us.
I called the toll-free number at the bottom of the receipt to complain and was connected to Kahleel Hasmi’s (my phonetic spelling) voice mail. Nope, I don’t know who Kahleel is or where he lives or why his number is printed at the bottom of the receipt, but I followed up by going to Denny’s website and submitting a complaint. Really? Bad service at Denny’s? I'm sure that will be a shocker to the schmuck who has to read the email comments at Dennys.com.
This past weekend was also the motorcycle weekend in downtown, an event much anticipated by some businesses and dreaded by others, but I cannot find the reason for the thinking. Bringing business to town for one event brings business to town for many businesses: why would downtown business owners be upset to experience an increase in business? Oh, that’s right: it’s the loud, dirty motorcycles and their loud, dirty riders spending money. I forgot that it makes a difference whose money it is: some money does spend better, right? Maybe that’s why Denny’s has become a vast wasteland. After all, it’s on the highway, at an overpass, and lord only knows the riff-raff, senior citizens demanding their dollar off on a cup of coffe, and bikers who walk in the door bring with them their riff-raff, senior citizen and biker money!
I am also being bombarded by solicitations: charities, political organizations/ candidates, and former schools I attended are not just sending out the annual donation letters, but calling, calling, calling. Enough already! I cannot afford to donate numerous times to numerous charities, so I donate once each. I swear the organization receiving the donation uses it up by doing follow-up mailings and cold calls. How about putting my donation toward the cause, rather than the on-going solicitation campaign? You aren’t going to get more money out of me and it surely cannot be cost effective to send me a donation package every single month throughout the year.
Ditto to all the pseudo medical organizations that have lined up to sign me up for their MediCare package. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and voila! I am someone special to another organization whose senior patients stand on-line for hours to receive routine medical care. I already spent 6 months reading all that crap and made my decision, so it’s yet another waste of money to prepare all the brochures and host all the social gatherings to pressure me into changing my designated medical services plan.
And, dear God, why are the colleges I attended so very long ago still playing on my “former student” status and begging for a donation? I would gladly send each of them a check once a year if they would then ignore me for the next 11 months! I’ve actually sent back letters saying, “If you promise NOT to spend this donation on asking for more money, I’ll send you this amount annually, but if you persist in sending me monthly requests for donations, I won’t send another penny.” I keep getting the Dear Former Student letters, so I’ve stopped sending donations.
And, saving the best for last, the political campaigns. OH, my God!! Millions of dollars spent over far too many months for what? Both sides tell lies, shade the truth, slant the coverage, slander the opponent, and pray that their side wins, but what is the prize? A political office? No, the benefit of being elected to a political office is the set-for-life retirement income, as well as the life-time premier benefits’ packages. I was sick of the TV ads last June, but they continue unabated. I am tired of the “personal” calls from the candidates, the recorded tracks that are automated into my phone. I have never given permission to anyone to put me on an automated call list and I resent the hell out of paying for phone service that is taken over by companies who create automated call lists and sell the numbers to … political campaigns and charitable organizations. I bought that phone number, so it should be at my discretion who has free access to it!
I’m done hammering the world into submission this fine morning. The dogs are upset because this is a workday, not a walk day. I’m packing up my gear and heading out, counting down the weeks until the semester ends and the torn meniscus will be repaired. Life without a bulky knee brace is a goal worth pursuing.
Jorge hastily seated us and took our order, then disappeared. Yes, disappeared. He walked out through the kitchen with the till drawer and we never saw him again. There were 3 other employees working the floor, refilling the condiments, cleaning the ice machine, mopping the floors, and talking to the cook, but no one came back to our table. Finally, I called to one of the busy-busy employees and asked her to bring my friend’s salad, but it was "not ready" after a full 25 minutes of prep time. At that point, I was glad I had ordered coffee, for which I receive $1 off as a senior citizen and all that. My friend was steamed, but shoveled her salad when it was finally delivered to the table. We never did get a bill, so had to spend the time at the register while the cashier fumbled through the automated system to find our bill, rather than the other 3 she was going to charge us.
I called the toll-free number at the bottom of the receipt to complain and was connected to Kahleel Hasmi’s (my phonetic spelling) voice mail. Nope, I don’t know who Kahleel is or where he lives or why his number is printed at the bottom of the receipt, but I followed up by going to Denny’s website and submitting a complaint. Really? Bad service at Denny’s? I'm sure that will be a shocker to the schmuck who has to read the email comments at Dennys.com.
This past weekend was also the motorcycle weekend in downtown, an event much anticipated by some businesses and dreaded by others, but I cannot find the reason for the thinking. Bringing business to town for one event brings business to town for many businesses: why would downtown business owners be upset to experience an increase in business? Oh, that’s right: it’s the loud, dirty motorcycles and their loud, dirty riders spending money. I forgot that it makes a difference whose money it is: some money does spend better, right? Maybe that’s why Denny’s has become a vast wasteland. After all, it’s on the highway, at an overpass, and lord only knows the riff-raff, senior citizens demanding their dollar off on a cup of coffe, and bikers who walk in the door bring with them their riff-raff, senior citizen and biker money!
I am also being bombarded by solicitations: charities, political organizations/ candidates, and former schools I attended are not just sending out the annual donation letters, but calling, calling, calling. Enough already! I cannot afford to donate numerous times to numerous charities, so I donate once each. I swear the organization receiving the donation uses it up by doing follow-up mailings and cold calls. How about putting my donation toward the cause, rather than the on-going solicitation campaign? You aren’t going to get more money out of me and it surely cannot be cost effective to send me a donation package every single month throughout the year.
Ditto to all the pseudo medical organizations that have lined up to sign me up for their MediCare package. All I have to do is sign on the dotted line and voila! I am someone special to another organization whose senior patients stand on-line for hours to receive routine medical care. I already spent 6 months reading all that crap and made my decision, so it’s yet another waste of money to prepare all the brochures and host all the social gatherings to pressure me into changing my designated medical services plan.
And, dear God, why are the colleges I attended so very long ago still playing on my “former student” status and begging for a donation? I would gladly send each of them a check once a year if they would then ignore me for the next 11 months! I’ve actually sent back letters saying, “If you promise NOT to spend this donation on asking for more money, I’ll send you this amount annually, but if you persist in sending me monthly requests for donations, I won’t send another penny.” I keep getting the Dear Former Student letters, so I’ve stopped sending donations.
And, saving the best for last, the political campaigns. OH, my God!! Millions of dollars spent over far too many months for what? Both sides tell lies, shade the truth, slant the coverage, slander the opponent, and pray that their side wins, but what is the prize? A political office? No, the benefit of being elected to a political office is the set-for-life retirement income, as well as the life-time premier benefits’ packages. I was sick of the TV ads last June, but they continue unabated. I am tired of the “personal” calls from the candidates, the recorded tracks that are automated into my phone. I have never given permission to anyone to put me on an automated call list and I resent the hell out of paying for phone service that is taken over by companies who create automated call lists and sell the numbers to … political campaigns and charitable organizations. I bought that phone number, so it should be at my discretion who has free access to it!
I’m done hammering the world into submission this fine morning. The dogs are upset because this is a workday, not a walk day. I’m packing up my gear and heading out, counting down the weeks until the semester ends and the torn meniscus will be repaired. Life without a bulky knee brace is a goal worth pursuing.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Stuck on 7
What is it about our childhood that we are doomed to relive it endlessly until we finally die? Intellectually, we all know that is our past, but emotionally, it becomes our present every time something happens in our life that brings it back to the surface. If we didn't deal with it when we were a child, we have that chance over and over throughout our lives, but for some reason, we seem stuck on 7!
It's remembered emotion, not real anymore, but we still give in. We justify our actions/reactions on how we handled our lives when we were 7 and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that we may be 7 times that old today, as we regress to what we remember from our childhood and apply it to our adulthood. It seems silly, but it also seems right in some weird way. That was then, and perhaps there was a "something" that triggered the reaction and then embedded it into the long-term memory. It was a long time ago, yet we still cling stubbornly to it, especially in times of stress. Basically, there may be nothing wrong right now, but we still harbor the childhood action/reaction response just in case.
My youngest brother was a little boy when our father died. Yes, he lost his Daddy, but so did the rest of the family. Daddy didn't die to hurt his little boy, but his little boy is still using his Daddy's death as the starting point for most of his adult actions and reactions. The little boy is a grown man with grown children, but he's still waiting for someone to rescue him, to mother him, to give him back his Daddy and make his life all better. No one can do that for him, but it seems that he is not able/capable of changing anything about his life since age 7. Hence, he became dependent on drugs so he didn't have to grow up and/or take responsibility for his actions: my daddy died became his fall-back position for his life. My daddy died, so even though I am married, have 5 children of my own and own a business, I get to withdraw from all those realities of my life and drink myself into oblivion so I don't have to feel the pain from my past or deal with it. It does not matter that he is losing his wife, losing his children, and throwing away his business because he's emotionally 7 years old and stuck there, endlessly repeating the worst year of his life while hoping for a different outcome.
When my sister-in-law called to tell me about yet another motorcycle accident, I felt a rage inside me that threatened to explode into violent action. This time, he was arrested as he is filthy dirty, unshaven, and reeks of the booze he consumes endlessly throughout the day and into the night. He drinks himself into oblivion, puts himself and others into harm's way, and then thinks that he's doing the right thing for his family. So far, he's only physically hurt himself, but the pain he is causing his family is immense.
There is no way they would be better off without him, but when you're a drunk who also suffers from chronic depression, and emotionally stuck on 7 years old, that's as far as the brain can process. The problem with being stuck on 7 is that 7 is selfish: it's all about me, the I want syndrome wherein I want what I want, I want it right now, and I'll do whatever it takes to get it, including throwing a temper tantrum to get your attention. Most of us out-grow that stage of our lives, but some people are stuck on 7 forever, especially if they have the my daddy died excuse to justify their thinking, as well as their actions.
This time, I'm not going to jump in the car and go to him, reason with him, talk reality with him. Yes, our daddy died when we were children, but that was literally almost 50 years ago. Time moves on, and we have to move with it or be crushed by it. Yes, we were both viciously hurt by what our siblings did after our mother's death, but that is on them. We didn't do it: they did it. They move on, and we move on, and life goes on. Let it go. Let it be their lives to live, their guilt to handle. We need to live our own present lives with our own families, not try to relive the family life of our childhoods, all the while hoping that it will turn out differently. No one can change the past, but the past can certainly change a person's future if that's what they let it do.
It was a long time ago, so let it go into the past where it belongs. Stop being stuck on 7 and start living the life you have today. Don't make your children's lives be stuck on "my daddy was drunk when he ... ."
It's remembered emotion, not real anymore, but we still give in. We justify our actions/reactions on how we handled our lives when we were 7 and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that we may be 7 times that old today, as we regress to what we remember from our childhood and apply it to our adulthood. It seems silly, but it also seems right in some weird way. That was then, and perhaps there was a "something" that triggered the reaction and then embedded it into the long-term memory. It was a long time ago, yet we still cling stubbornly to it, especially in times of stress. Basically, there may be nothing wrong right now, but we still harbor the childhood action/reaction response just in case.
My youngest brother was a little boy when our father died. Yes, he lost his Daddy, but so did the rest of the family. Daddy didn't die to hurt his little boy, but his little boy is still using his Daddy's death as the starting point for most of his adult actions and reactions. The little boy is a grown man with grown children, but he's still waiting for someone to rescue him, to mother him, to give him back his Daddy and make his life all better. No one can do that for him, but it seems that he is not able/capable of changing anything about his life since age 7. Hence, he became dependent on drugs so he didn't have to grow up and/or take responsibility for his actions: my daddy died became his fall-back position for his life. My daddy died, so even though I am married, have 5 children of my own and own a business, I get to withdraw from all those realities of my life and drink myself into oblivion so I don't have to feel the pain from my past or deal with it. It does not matter that he is losing his wife, losing his children, and throwing away his business because he's emotionally 7 years old and stuck there, endlessly repeating the worst year of his life while hoping for a different outcome.
When my sister-in-law called to tell me about yet another motorcycle accident, I felt a rage inside me that threatened to explode into violent action. This time, he was arrested as he is filthy dirty, unshaven, and reeks of the booze he consumes endlessly throughout the day and into the night. He drinks himself into oblivion, puts himself and others into harm's way, and then thinks that he's doing the right thing for his family. So far, he's only physically hurt himself, but the pain he is causing his family is immense.
There is no way they would be better off without him, but when you're a drunk who also suffers from chronic depression, and emotionally stuck on 7 years old, that's as far as the brain can process. The problem with being stuck on 7 is that 7 is selfish: it's all about me, the I want syndrome wherein I want what I want, I want it right now, and I'll do whatever it takes to get it, including throwing a temper tantrum to get your attention. Most of us out-grow that stage of our lives, but some people are stuck on 7 forever, especially if they have the my daddy died excuse to justify their thinking, as well as their actions.
This time, I'm not going to jump in the car and go to him, reason with him, talk reality with him. Yes, our daddy died when we were children, but that was literally almost 50 years ago. Time moves on, and we have to move with it or be crushed by it. Yes, we were both viciously hurt by what our siblings did after our mother's death, but that is on them. We didn't do it: they did it. They move on, and we move on, and life goes on. Let it go. Let it be their lives to live, their guilt to handle. We need to live our own present lives with our own families, not try to relive the family life of our childhoods, all the while hoping that it will turn out differently. No one can change the past, but the past can certainly change a person's future if that's what they let it do.
It was a long time ago, so let it go into the past where it belongs. Stop being stuck on 7 and start living the life you have today. Don't make your children's lives be stuck on "my daddy was drunk when he ... ."
Sunday, October 10, 2010
No Good Deed ...
My next-door neighbor is a single mom with a newly-14-year-old daughter. Mom has been out of work for about a year and also is without transportation. She signed up for college classes, but the second week of the semester she was contacted about a full-time position with a child care provider. Because she has completed many different training courses and earned several certificates, she is well-qualified to work in the field and did, in the past, before moving to this isolated little part of the world. Even though her primary goal is to complete a BA degree, she could not turn down the job interview and was thrilled to learn that she was selected.
When she called me to share her good fortune, I promised we'd go out to dinner to celebrate. Tonight was the evening we set aside for our celebration dinner, but I called it off when I arrived at her door to pick her and her daughter up and found them actively engaged in a screaming match. I listened for a minute, but then was done, over it, and interrupted them to tell them that I was leaving. No way was I going to go anywhere with either of them, especially if the tab for the evening was mine to pay. The mother froze in her spot, apologized, told me she understood, and that was that. The daughter, however, went for it, making it all about her: she had been with her friends and came home for "this," pointing out that she'd changed her clothes and it was all her mother's fault. She continued to scream invectives at her mother, her dog, and her life in general, as I backed out of the doorway.
I again told the mother that I am not going to be put into the middle of this kind of behavior and that she and her daughter could argue this out without me having to listen to it. The mom again apologized, and I told her I had some errands to run, but would pick up some tacos for them from the local fast-food place and drop them off when I returned home. The mother started walking out with me, so I asked her where she was going. She had an MP3 player that did not work and was going to walk to the store and return it.
Okay, I told her, I'm heading that way to stop at the post office and then fill my gas tank, so I'll drive you.
When we got into my car, she again apologized and I simply told her that I do NOT do that kind of behavior or language between a mother and her daughter. I told her I have been looking forward to our celebration for 2 weeks, but the tacos will have to do. She told me that was not necessary, and we both did our post office errand, then I dropped her off to return the MP3 player while I drove to the gas station. When I returned to pick her up, I asked her if she wanted me to pick up the tacos or pick up her daughter so we could have our dinner, and she said she'd like to take her daughter with us if we were going to celebrate her new job.
Her daughter had a smug smile on her face when we picked her up, and she tried that I'm not going to talk to you-all thing that teenagers do, but I told her she was welcome to wait in the car while we ate -- and I'd bring her a doggie bag when we were done. She knew I meant it, apologized to me for her behavior, and we ordered our dinner.
It wasn't a win, but it wasn't a loss, either. The mom deserved some recognition, as well as support for catching a bus at 6 AM and not arriving home until 8 PM for a job that has restored her dignity. The daughter needs to back off and realize that her mother may have made mistakes in her past, but she's still here, she's still mothering her child, and she's doing her best to make a living for both of them. I'm glad we shared this evening, but I sure hate to think of what goes on when there's no one around to see it or hear it.
When she called me to share her good fortune, I promised we'd go out to dinner to celebrate. Tonight was the evening we set aside for our celebration dinner, but I called it off when I arrived at her door to pick her and her daughter up and found them actively engaged in a screaming match. I listened for a minute, but then was done, over it, and interrupted them to tell them that I was leaving. No way was I going to go anywhere with either of them, especially if the tab for the evening was mine to pay. The mother froze in her spot, apologized, told me she understood, and that was that. The daughter, however, went for it, making it all about her: she had been with her friends and came home for "this," pointing out that she'd changed her clothes and it was all her mother's fault. She continued to scream invectives at her mother, her dog, and her life in general, as I backed out of the doorway.
I again told the mother that I am not going to be put into the middle of this kind of behavior and that she and her daughter could argue this out without me having to listen to it. The mom again apologized, and I told her I had some errands to run, but would pick up some tacos for them from the local fast-food place and drop them off when I returned home. The mother started walking out with me, so I asked her where she was going. She had an MP3 player that did not work and was going to walk to the store and return it.
Okay, I told her, I'm heading that way to stop at the post office and then fill my gas tank, so I'll drive you.
When we got into my car, she again apologized and I simply told her that I do NOT do that kind of behavior or language between a mother and her daughter. I told her I have been looking forward to our celebration for 2 weeks, but the tacos will have to do. She told me that was not necessary, and we both did our post office errand, then I dropped her off to return the MP3 player while I drove to the gas station. When I returned to pick her up, I asked her if she wanted me to pick up the tacos or pick up her daughter so we could have our dinner, and she said she'd like to take her daughter with us if we were going to celebrate her new job.
Her daughter had a smug smile on her face when we picked her up, and she tried that I'm not going to talk to you-all thing that teenagers do, but I told her she was welcome to wait in the car while we ate -- and I'd bring her a doggie bag when we were done. She knew I meant it, apologized to me for her behavior, and we ordered our dinner.
It wasn't a win, but it wasn't a loss, either. The mom deserved some recognition, as well as support for catching a bus at 6 AM and not arriving home until 8 PM for a job that has restored her dignity. The daughter needs to back off and realize that her mother may have made mistakes in her past, but she's still here, she's still mothering her child, and she's doing her best to make a living for both of them. I'm glad we shared this evening, but I sure hate to think of what goes on when there's no one around to see it or hear it.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Social Networking
Perhaps a half-dozen or so years ago, I fiercely debated the growing social trend of allowing young children, most especially teens, to lock themselves in their bedrooms and re-create themselves on the internet as avatars of who they wish they were, while effectively avoiding learning how to be who they are. I argued that social networks isolate kids at a critical time in their lives, a time when they need to be dragged, kicking and screaming if necessary, into appropriate face-to-face social situations so they develop the skills they need to function within the family, as well as on the job and in social settings that are part of the adult life experience. I was booed, called old-fashioned, and sent to my (class)room.
I was vindicated in a gruesome way when one of our very large student body population went home from school, refused to join his family for dinner, locked himself in his bedroom, communicated with his on-line family/friends that he was going to kill himself, and pulled the trigger. After his real family finished dinner and Mom was cleaning up the kitchen, some of the boy's on-line "friends" appeared at the door and asked if their son was okay. No, he was dead, and it was not okay, perhaps even more so because his family in the downstairs dining room had no idea their son was this isolated, this depressed, this desperate to be accepted.
Even more shockingly, after his death was made public, many of the on-line friends had to admit that they really didn't know him very well, although they had been classmates since elementary school. It's so much easier to be friends with someone you don't have to know, as the three film-makers of a documentary, Catfish, discovered as they recorded Nev's on-line relationship with a woman whose entire life is a fantasy that she creates so she can function in her real world. This is a condition I call virtual agoraphobia wherein the victim becomes a prisoner of the fantasy life created to avoid living in a world that may not accept or appreciate the reality self.
The recently-released movie, The Social Network, is outstanding in many different ways, and its lead character, Mark, the creator of The Facebook, reminds me in many ways of the sudden, shocking death of a student who felt socially isolated from real humans, but bonded to his virtual family. The film's opening scenario shows a socially awkward college student who desperately wants to be one of "them," the guys who know the moves, who wear the clothes, who get the girls. It is almost as if he has paid a young woman to be seen with him so he can blend in and partake of the college experience. The male is brilliant beyond the bounds of human comprehension, but that is another isolate, not a crowd-pleaser. He has limited understanding of social discourse, social behavior, and social networking, and he is a geek to the nth degree who opens his mouth and offends everyone in range with his blunt pronouncements, behavior somewhat typical of Asberger's syndrome.
He has one friend, Eduardo, who accepts that Mark is what Mark is. Eduardo tries to be a friend, but Mark has never internalized the concept of friend, much less friendship. When "those guys," the Winkelvoss twins, contact Mark to help them with a project, he leaps on-board because "those guys" need him. Mark sees this as an opportunity to become one of them and escape himself, but his basic (Asberger?) nature does not allow him to follow through on the deal he made to create the twins' Harvard Connection network. Mark's mind takes him to a new level. He previously crashed the Harvard computer network with a game he developed for rating "hot or not" college females, and with that success sitting in the back of his mind, he leaps beyond the Winkelvoss twins' limited concept and develops what he calls The Facebook. Social networking is released upon a world that will never be the same as "friend me" becomes the new "call me."
The darker side of Mark comes into the light when he meets The Napster, Shawn Parker, the teenaged wonder-whiz who distributed copyrighted music through the internet to anyone who wanted it. To avoid losing the fortune this grand theft created, Parker declared bankruptcy that he cashed in for a free-wheeling lifestyle of social networking in the clubs. Because he is a relatively attractive man, and because women want what women want -- fashion, shoes, and boy candy on their arm -- and are willing to pay for it with sex in a bathroom stall, Parker seems to have it all. Mark wants what Shawn has. Because Mark has zero social skills, he brings Shawn into his world to be the guy Mark can never be. In the process, Mark cuts off Eduardo, the one person who believes in Mark, the man, and works to make his idea a success, while everyone else in Mark's life believes in what Mark can do for them.
The movie is Gordon Gecko for the Me generation: bright kids from wealthy families who live as if there is no tomorrow because someone else always picks up the tab for their lifestyle. It isn't about what you know, but about who you know and how you can use them to advance your own agenda. Because Mark is so totally socially inept, he comes across as ruthless, but I believe that is the Asberger's, not the man who has it. Of all the minutes in the film, there are only about 3 minutes when Mark truly connects with another person on a one-to-one level, openly and without artifice, in the conference room where one of his lawsuits is being deposed. The person is a young female lawyer who seems to "get" Mark in a way no one else understands, and it's a perfect, poignant moment hidden in the glaring superficiality of the rest of the movie characters and action.
The Social Network is a movie I recommend without hesitation or qualification, and I plan to see it again. It's an important film in a way that some films are, capturing a moment in time when man has the opportunity to do the right thing, but fails to make that choice. The indictment against the colleges is strong, with booze/drugs/sex parties the norm for a mere $60k in tuition. A completely bumbling Harvard President, who has no idea what is going on nor really cares, has been put out to pasture in a position that obviously requires no talent in any area of either administration or education. He will retire quietly to bask in the glory of yesteryear; meanwhile, his students are already living far into the 21st Century.
The casting is outstanding and the actors don't just nail their roles, but they also get the nuances of their characters. Justin Timberlake pays his dues with this role, as well as the challenging and demanding performance turned in by Jesse Eisenberg, who portrays Mark with a fierceness that is beyond merely believable. Eisenberg seems to understand Mark in a way that outsiders perhaps never will, and that is what comes across on the screen. The supporting cast creates the superficial social environment in which this phenomena explodes, using the wealth Mark creates to their own personal advantage, while Mark sits alone, waiting for the world to notice him as "that guy." Remember that this is just a movie, not an autobiography, but loosely based on Mark Zuckerburg's rise to billionaire status with Facebook.
Interesting note: Mark Zuckerburg recently donated a large sum to the California campaign to legalize marijuana possession and use. Still trying to be "that guy," I guess.
I was vindicated in a gruesome way when one of our very large student body population went home from school, refused to join his family for dinner, locked himself in his bedroom, communicated with his on-line family/friends that he was going to kill himself, and pulled the trigger. After his real family finished dinner and Mom was cleaning up the kitchen, some of the boy's on-line "friends" appeared at the door and asked if their son was okay. No, he was dead, and it was not okay, perhaps even more so because his family in the downstairs dining room had no idea their son was this isolated, this depressed, this desperate to be accepted.
Even more shockingly, after his death was made public, many of the on-line friends had to admit that they really didn't know him very well, although they had been classmates since elementary school. It's so much easier to be friends with someone you don't have to know, as the three film-makers of a documentary, Catfish, discovered as they recorded Nev's on-line relationship with a woman whose entire life is a fantasy that she creates so she can function in her real world. This is a condition I call virtual agoraphobia wherein the victim becomes a prisoner of the fantasy life created to avoid living in a world that may not accept or appreciate the reality self.
The recently-released movie, The Social Network, is outstanding in many different ways, and its lead character, Mark, the creator of The Facebook, reminds me in many ways of the sudden, shocking death of a student who felt socially isolated from real humans, but bonded to his virtual family. The film's opening scenario shows a socially awkward college student who desperately wants to be one of "them," the guys who know the moves, who wear the clothes, who get the girls. It is almost as if he has paid a young woman to be seen with him so he can blend in and partake of the college experience. The male is brilliant beyond the bounds of human comprehension, but that is another isolate, not a crowd-pleaser. He has limited understanding of social discourse, social behavior, and social networking, and he is a geek to the nth degree who opens his mouth and offends everyone in range with his blunt pronouncements, behavior somewhat typical of Asberger's syndrome.
He has one friend, Eduardo, who accepts that Mark is what Mark is. Eduardo tries to be a friend, but Mark has never internalized the concept of friend, much less friendship. When "those guys," the Winkelvoss twins, contact Mark to help them with a project, he leaps on-board because "those guys" need him. Mark sees this as an opportunity to become one of them and escape himself, but his basic (Asberger?) nature does not allow him to follow through on the deal he made to create the twins' Harvard Connection network. Mark's mind takes him to a new level. He previously crashed the Harvard computer network with a game he developed for rating "hot or not" college females, and with that success sitting in the back of his mind, he leaps beyond the Winkelvoss twins' limited concept and develops what he calls The Facebook. Social networking is released upon a world that will never be the same as "friend me" becomes the new "call me."
The darker side of Mark comes into the light when he meets The Napster, Shawn Parker, the teenaged wonder-whiz who distributed copyrighted music through the internet to anyone who wanted it. To avoid losing the fortune this grand theft created, Parker declared bankruptcy that he cashed in for a free-wheeling lifestyle of social networking in the clubs. Because he is a relatively attractive man, and because women want what women want -- fashion, shoes, and boy candy on their arm -- and are willing to pay for it with sex in a bathroom stall, Parker seems to have it all. Mark wants what Shawn has. Because Mark has zero social skills, he brings Shawn into his world to be the guy Mark can never be. In the process, Mark cuts off Eduardo, the one person who believes in Mark, the man, and works to make his idea a success, while everyone else in Mark's life believes in what Mark can do for them.
The movie is Gordon Gecko for the Me generation: bright kids from wealthy families who live as if there is no tomorrow because someone else always picks up the tab for their lifestyle. It isn't about what you know, but about who you know and how you can use them to advance your own agenda. Because Mark is so totally socially inept, he comes across as ruthless, but I believe that is the Asberger's, not the man who has it. Of all the minutes in the film, there are only about 3 minutes when Mark truly connects with another person on a one-to-one level, openly and without artifice, in the conference room where one of his lawsuits is being deposed. The person is a young female lawyer who seems to "get" Mark in a way no one else understands, and it's a perfect, poignant moment hidden in the glaring superficiality of the rest of the movie characters and action.
The Social Network is a movie I recommend without hesitation or qualification, and I plan to see it again. It's an important film in a way that some films are, capturing a moment in time when man has the opportunity to do the right thing, but fails to make that choice. The indictment against the colleges is strong, with booze/drugs/sex parties the norm for a mere $60k in tuition. A completely bumbling Harvard President, who has no idea what is going on nor really cares, has been put out to pasture in a position that obviously requires no talent in any area of either administration or education. He will retire quietly to bask in the glory of yesteryear; meanwhile, his students are already living far into the 21st Century.
The casting is outstanding and the actors don't just nail their roles, but they also get the nuances of their characters. Justin Timberlake pays his dues with this role, as well as the challenging and demanding performance turned in by Jesse Eisenberg, who portrays Mark with a fierceness that is beyond merely believable. Eisenberg seems to understand Mark in a way that outsiders perhaps never will, and that is what comes across on the screen. The supporting cast creates the superficial social environment in which this phenomena explodes, using the wealth Mark creates to their own personal advantage, while Mark sits alone, waiting for the world to notice him as "that guy." Remember that this is just a movie, not an autobiography, but loosely based on Mark Zuckerburg's rise to billionaire status with Facebook.
Interesting note: Mark Zuckerburg recently donated a large sum to the California campaign to legalize marijuana possession and use. Still trying to be "that guy," I guess.
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