I opened an account on twitter today. I also have an account on facebook, linked in, facebook, and something called Plaxo. I’ve got the social networking thing covered.
But it doesn’t interest me at all. I only do this stuff out of a sense of obligation that at some point, I won’t be able to make the next necessary technological move.
It’s sort of like my grandfather. I asked him – in the early 80s – to go see a movie. He said he doesn’t go to moves and hadn’t in years. Why not, I asked. “Because the quite making Clark Gable movies” Oh. He’d stopped. He couldn’t make the leap to..who – Jack Lemon? Paul Newman? – I don’t know, but I don’t want Twitter to be my Dustin Hoffman.
I must learn this social networking thing even thought being social holds limited appeal to me. Being social you’ve got to tlak to people and invariably they get annoying about their politics, religion, their kids – or worst of all – their pets. I’d like to avoid that.
I like to listen in on folks from time to time…ok…a lot. I guess you could call it eavesdropping, but I think of eavesdropping as listening in on something important – grand jury depositions, meetings of the joint chiefs of staff, human resources performance reviews, things like that.
No, I listen in on everyday conversations. Oftentimes this happens at the grocery store. A common theme lately is “things were better way back when.” However, the way back when in my sampling seems to range from anywhere from 1965 to 1999.
I think this is a lack of knowing history. Not in the sense that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to have George Santayana quoted back at them. But more in the sense of rose colored glasses. Bad perceptions of the present are always the victim of idealized remembrances of the past.
This seems to spark a great discontentment in people. The buddhist have a lot of say about this, I know.
For me, I seem to be programmed just the opppostie. the past always sucked; let’s get on with the future. It’s pointed another way, but Just as sick.
I had a realization while driving today:
I’ve never been so rich that I could pass up honest work.
But neither have I ever been so broke that I’ve needed to cheat someone.
A nice, happy medium so far although I’m working on rectifying the first.
I guess that’s a fortunate life.
The Divine Mrs. M. and I hosted another Cocktail Experience featuring the Vodka Martini. With Quantum of Solace just out, I used a James Bond theme. I’m a Bond fan, but not so much a Vodka Martini fan.
I don’t understand Vodka. I haven’t found a way to enjoy it. The closest I’ve come is our alternate drink from last night, The Divine’s French Martini. Give it a shot. Here’s the recipe:
2 oz of Vodka
1/2 oz of Frambroise (Raspberry Liqueur)
1/2 oz of Pineapple juice
shake well. Serve up in a chilled glass. Peel the skin off a lemon, fold it and rub together. This will drop some of the oils into the drink. Then drop the skin into the drink. Enjoy.
I’ll be a terrible old person.
For what seems like the 10th year, I took my 7 year old daughter to a retirement home for her dance troupe to perform. I’m told this is kindness, but it really seems like taunting the elderly. These girsl – from 3 to 14 or so come in a dance for – in this case women – in walkers and wheelchairs dragging oxygen tanks and IV bags behind them.
If I was one of these old people I’d be mad at these kids coming in a flaunting their youth, their energy, and intact hips at me. Why don’t you go eat your Thanksgiving dinner at a soup kitchen and not give any away – just let them watch?I’d scream. Or why not go to a Solzhenitsyn-esque cancer ward to bruch your long flowing locks in from of the chemo patients?
At least that’s what I’d think if I was one of these people.
But they just clapped.
I’ve been watching Weeds through my netflix instant account. Not a bad show. At least it’s different. And not a bad way to pass 26 minutes.
However, the one thing that bothers me is the opening credits. This is season one I’m talking about . It’s the song “Little Boxes”. The lyrics are here.
The accompanying video to the credits bug me but much less so.
It reminds me of the opening scene in Chaplin’s Modern Times. Youtube of it here, but if you’re not in the mood to wait the 90 seconds until the part I’m referring to it’s the opening shot of the movie. A bunch of sheep are being hearded. They’re sheep. Of course that means mindless and unthinking. After a few seconds the film transitions to workers coming out of a subway stop.
I found that and Little Boxes insulting. Look. I don’t understand the desire to live in a development. I don’t want to work as a nameless drone for a large corporation. But we can’t all be comic geniuses and folk singers. Some folks like living in the suburbs. Most folks do. Some folks like working a job they don’t take home and spend the time after as they see fit.
I’m thinking these are most people.
Leave them along and don’t insult them.
I’ve been doing a few radio appearances the last week plus but forgetting to post links to the podcast. Here’s last night.
Others are here, here, here, and here.
I sent the below out and the Bond debate got a spirited response. If you want a quiet day, don’t put down Sean Connery.
December 8 will be the Vodka Martini night at the next Cocktail Experience at the Cincinnati Athletic Club. As the attached invite shows, it is in honor of the 22nd James Bond Film. I’ve been practicing my martini’s and – much to my wife Alicia’s annoyance – my Bond accent.
I will commit a double blasphemy here in stating that Daniel Craig is the best Bond yet – better even that Sean Connery. It is a double blasphemy because most say Connery is King and until the 1940s my family held British citizenship and came from Perth, Scotland. They may disinherit me for saying this.
My quibble with Connery is simple – he’s not that good of an actor. Need proof? Well, his defining role was an English Spy…with a strong Scottish accent. He’s also know for his role in the Untouchables where he plays an Irish cop in Chicago…with a strong Scottish accent. Many loved him in The Hunt for Red October where he played a Russian submarine captain…with a strong Scottish accent.
Disagree? Come on down to the cocktail experience to argue with me.
Alicia and I continued our anniversary with a Harry Connick, Jr. concert last night. I walked away feeling somewhat low. Connick is witty, likable, charming, multi-talented, and is married to a former Victoria Secret model. i consoled myself by saying “My God is a just god and thus Mr. Connick most likely has no stamina in the bedroom.”
That’s it. Feel better by tearing down others.
But, really, a great show.
Hello Scott Sloan listeners!
If you have questions or feedback to my appearance on November 17, feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org