TV: The Opiate of the Martins

I don’t know if I’m proud of this, but I have to admit that my family watches a lot of TV.  And if we can’t claim family bonding rituals over the Scrabble board, we can at least take pride in the fact that we are experiencing the TV together, staring in the same direction heaped under afghans on the same couch.

When my kids were little, I might have taken the initiative to hoist my keester off the couch, play a game or grab a book and curl up on the bed with my progeny spread out around me.  Now, I’ve caved in to the inertia of passive entertainment—hey, if you don’t like it, go play a computer game or zone out to your Ipod. 

Now that’s parenting.

Lest you start planning an intervention on behalf of my poor children who are obviously receiving substandard cultural influences, please know that we sometimes watch shows like “Planet Earth” and…well, that’s pretty much it in the educational column.  I’ll cop to the fact that we’re much more likely to be watching “Ugly Betty”, “Grey’s Anatomy”, “House” and my seasonal favorites, “American Idol” and “Dancing with the Stars”. 

Now my teenagers have their own shows, most of which I think caused the V-Chip in my TV to explode—“The Secret Life of Teenagers”, “Gossip Girl”, “Real World”, etc—but they will still join us for some “wholesome” family viewing.  If they are completely desperate.  Or all ready asleep on the couch.

But you know, you can make what you want out of family time.  Even when it involves staring at the flat screen.  For instance, my youngest has created a ritual around “American Idol” nights.  We like to watch together in our rec room, which has a long sectional sofa and a large TV.  So on Idol night, she stretches ribbon across the entry to the room and allows access to only those who have made a “reservation”.  She will check your name off a list in her folder and escort you to your assigned seat on the couch.  Everyone goes through this process, even the dog.  We listen carefully to the judges’ critiques—except for when Paula speaks, when I might take a quick toilet break or a catnap—and have gotten a bit of a music education.  Now my daughter understands what it means when I describe her dad’s singing voice as “completely wretched” with a British accent.

“Dancing with the Stars” nights involve a lot of dancing during the commercials.  Except for me—I’m the judge.  And I am usually handing out raspberries rather than raves—no natural rhythm in this house!  Which makes it all the more hypocritical that we have spirited discussions about some of the dancers and their very sketchy abilities.  But even my daughter could see that Steve Wozniak deserved to be booted this week before the slightly less dubious Denise Richards.  Steve’s partner, Karina Smirnoff, is virtually grimacing with embarrassment after each dance.  And the judges are searching for paddles with negative numbers on them to score him with. Surely it won’t be long before Karina (gladly, I’m sure!) and Steve get jettisoned and she can join her fiancé, Maksim “My Chest is on Fire” Chmerkvoskiy (who was attached to the beautiful but bumbly Denise Richards).

Can you see that I am just completely a loser here?

And there are sub-rituals.  I usually DVR one of my faves, “24”, since it is airs opposite the aforementioned “Dancing”.  And my oldest daughter and I try to watch this together after school the next day.  We expel the same sigh of frustration at the end of each episode that the show has shockingly, once again, left us with a cliffhanger!  My two oldest daughters together have roped me into Food Network’s “Ace of Cakes”, which follows the real life adventures of Charm City Cakes in Baltimore and the extravagant custom-order cakes they make.  That show has inspired some very interesting conversations about careers and how my kids can apply their creativity and passions to make a living.  We are even going to try to visit the bakery when we are in Baltimore in April.

Then my husband and my youngest break away for their own little ritual watching “Ugly Betty”—which I sometimes watch with them—and “Ghost Whisperer”—which you would never find me watching even if a nuclear holocaust wiped out all television transmission and this one program somehow survived.  I have to draw the line somewhere.

Every once in a while, I feel a pang of guilt that we have so many TV moments together.  I’m trying to remember what my habits were growing up, and I do seem to recall there was a good amount of couch time.  Who could forget the “Partridge Family/Brady Bunch” dynamic duo?  Or “Donny and Marie”, “Sonny and Cher”, and my personal favorite, “Lost in Space”.  Man, I loved that show! 

Now that I think about it, my sister and I had some rituals of our own.   Especially on Saturday nights.  We would get in our jammies, wash up, grab some blankets and settle in on the couch to watch Saturday Night Live.  We fully intended to fall asleep right there, and often woke up to the only program that aired after 1:00 a.m.—a static picture of the American flag set to the soundtrack of an air raid siren. 

My husband talks nostalgically of his family’s weekly TV event watching “The Wonderful World of Disney” on Sunday nights.  He and his brothers had the once-a-week thrill of eating dinner off of those foldable TV trays right there in the family room.  As they enjoyed the rare treat of TV-side dining on grilled cheese and root beer floats, my mother-in-law must have enjoyed the relative peace and harmony.   That poor woman could have used a good dose of Nickelodeon to get her through her days.

So there’s probably a genetic component at work on both sides.  But maybe it’s also the economy, the nature of the winter months, or maybe my people are just human tubers.  But we’ve managed to cobble together our own fun and family togetherness using the path of least resistance.  I guess we’ll just have to wait for the next blackout to start reading “Wuthering Heights”.  My kids will like that one—they watched it last month on The Movie Channel.

A Liberal Dose of Moderation

If you live in the Northeast like I do, you know that by the time March rolls around, you are ready for spring. I have to admit though, I like my four seasons. (I spent a Christmas in Jamaica once and watching people walk by on the beach with umbrella drinks, speedos and Santa hats did not underscore the gravitas of the season.) I always appreciate the upcoming season mainly because I get tired of the clothes I’m wearing in the current one.

As with most people who live in the northern climate zones, when the winter weather moderates, so do my spirits. And there seems to be a lucky concurrence this year of the arrival of spring and the appearance of some voices of moderation within the Democratic Party in Washington. All of a sudden, I’m starting to feel how my grass must feel after I get out there and poop-scoop my lawn. Wow! Sunlight and air! And the possibility that I might actually stand tall and thrive!

It’s sad that I can relate to a blade of grass weighed down by dog poo, but it’s true thanks to all the talk of monstrous budgets, more taxing and spending. I know we’re in a recession and there must be some infusion of cash, but we’re kidding ourselves if we think we can spend our way out of this on every front. Since Obama’s inauguration and the onset of the massive spending bills, there has not seemed to have been any cogent opposition. The Republicans can wield the equivalent of a Swiss Army knife in the Senate, and the House Repubs might as well just pull a Rip Van Winkle and snooze this one out until at least 2010.

So I have been reading with great interest about a group of 13 moderate Dems and one Independent in the Senate who have been quietly coalescing to exert their own more centrist views. Finally! I just knew that there had to be some rational voices among the Democrats, regular-thinking “Joes” who felt that the Republicans screaming “Hit the brakes!” might be onto something. Now the House is a different story. Those poor Blue-Dog Democrats are stuck on the SS “Crazy Eye” Pelosi, and that boat is listing so far to port, they’ll have to jump overboard to make any kind of splash.

I anxiously await the fight over the budget that will be upon the Congress in a matter of days. The spending of $3.6T is no small thing. The President characterizes his budget as a way to cut the deficit, boost spending on education, invest in alternative energies and reduce our dependence on foreign oil. The opposition sees this as a massive spend/borrow/tax scenario, one that could bankrupt the United States according to Senator Judd Gregg, Obama’s onetime pick for Commerce Secretary.

I predict this bill will ultimately sail through the House as breezily as pollen in the spring air, but my hope resides with the Senate. That group of 14 moderates gives me optimism that there will be some real exposition of how overzealous spending leads to crushing debt. And if members of Obama’s own party shake off their stupor and start exposing these realities, perhaps these more moderate views will gain traction with the American people.

After a true “Winter of Discontent”, I think it’s safe to say most Americans are looking forward to a season of literal rebirth for our country. Major changes are afoot and it is my pledge to pay closer attention than ever before to the breadth and scope of what our elected officials claim is necessary to move us forward. The seeds of moderation that are being planted now are barely sprouting and are in need of care and feeding. I, for one, will be lining up with my watering can.

Reining in the Madness

If you are one of those people for whom the month of March brings to mind either pre-emerging your lawn or puking up green beer, then read no further.  But for the rest of you, March can only mean one thing—though it may well involve beer, green or otherwise.  And lots of nachos. 

I’m speaking of course of March Madness, the most extreme incarnation of basketball fervor, the likes of which surely could never have been imagined by James Naismith, the founder of modern-day basketball.  When Dr. Naismith nailed a peach basket to the wall of a gym at Springfield College in Massachusetts circa 1891, he was just looking for a way to encourage indoor physical activity during the long New England winters.  More than 100 years later, we still look for ways to keep ourselves active during the winter months.  Though it more likely involves lying prone on a couch watching others play basketball on TV.  And the physically active part entails a repetitive motion of hand to mouth, with the occasional fist pump or leap of excitement (e.g. three pointer at buzzer or completely blind ref).  Believe me, I have been known to have heart palpitations and struggle for breath while watching games, so I know I’m getting some sort of workout!

It’s hard to imagine a day when spectators calmly enjoyed the simple pleasure of men tossing a ball into a basket that hours before had held actual produce.  Today the NCAA tournament is big business—sponsors, media, bookies, crazed fans—a moveable feast spread out across the country for three weeks.  It’s impossible to think of any other single US sporting event that elicits so much excitement and attention over such a prolonged period as does the Big Dance.  By the time it’s over, I actually feel a little blue.  In fact, this is probably the best way for men to experience something akin to post-partum depression in women.  We build up the main event for so long, once the new champion is born, we realize the hoopla is over and we may have a baby we weren’t expecting…like one that isn’t wearing navy and white with a big, ugly Blue Devil head. 

Have I mentioned that I went to Duke?  Yes, I’m SURE I have (ad nauseum), so I don’t need to tell you where my sympathies lie.  And because I went to Duke, I am prepared to be hated and reviled during the NCAA tournament.  I think it’s safe to say that Duke might be the most despised team in college basketball.  (NY Yankees—we feel your pain!)  I’m sure the evil plotters down the road at Chapel Hill are responsible.  But we can’t help the fact that just about anybody can go to Carolina and Duke actually has standards.  People think of that as elitist.  That and the fact that that half of Duke’s student body is from New Jersey which is never something a southern school wants to advertise.

But I digress…the tournament is way beyond the marquis programs.  It’s as much about the dreams of the “who’d a thunk?” teams—can Robert Morris get by Michigan State?  Does Stephen F. Austin have a prayer against Syracuse?  Anything can—and does occasionally—happen in a one-and-done bracket.  After all, 2008 was the first time since the tournament started seeding teams in 1979 that all four #1 seeds competed in the Final Four. Remember also that in 2008, #10 seeded Davidson made it to the Elite Eight and #11 seed George Mason to the Final Four in 2006. 

So even though you may think you’re hosed little #16 seed Radford, having drawn the short stick for Thursday’s match up with #1 Carolina, take heart.  Ty Lawson might not play and maybe Tyler Hansbrough slips on a well-placed banana peel.  A victory could be just one undercooked burrito or late season flu attack away.

As excited as I am about the upcoming spectacle, I had a philosophical epiphany about our collective sports-watching psyche recently.  In the lead-up to the tournament, I was watching one of the Duke’s home games and observing the infamous “Cameron Crazies”—legendary student fans so queasily over-the-top, yet so creative and zealous, you have to give them props.  (I can remember sitting in the stands of Cameron Indoor Stadium myself yelling, “I beg to differ!” in unison with the crowd at a questionable call by a referee.  I mean anybody can drop the f-bomb—it takes true inspiration to take it to the next level!)

As I watched the rabid fans, I realized how easy it is to lose perspective on the barest essential of the game—that these are just young guys playing a game of basketball.  Teenagers still, some of them. The players aren’t robots—they’re just kids.  Albeit very talented, athletic and well coached ones.  But think of them as human beings for a second—can you imagine being under the same pressure they are under and still performing at the highest levels? 

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m as guilty as the most fanatical student fans—I scream at the TV, rant at players in frustration and take it personally if they don’t hit that crucial shot at the buzzer. But this year, I’m going to make the effort to remember that these are actually boys in the greatest pressure cooker of collegiate sports and I’m going to cut them some slack.  (I can hear their collective sighs of relief right now.)  I’ll try to think of them through the eyes of their parents who undoubtedly made sacrifices along the way to encourage and shape their natural talents. As a parent, I can’t even imagine having a child with this kind of ability—how proud they must be!  Now if the NCAA ever decides to have Texting Play-offs or How-Long-I-Can-Go-Without-Checking-My-Facebook-Page Endurance Matches, I’m nurturing a brood of champions!

So whomever you are pulling for this year, as the game is about to start and the players are warming up, take a minute to think back on the humble beginnings of basketball and the human face of the young players who are the engine of today’s vast tournament machine.  But by all means, pile on the nachos, ice down the beer and hand me the remote! 

Fight Blue Devils, Fight!!

Obama's Confidence Game

Our economy is saved! The market is up 300 points! Let the milk and honey flow and private jets once again course the heavens!

Oh, wait a minute. I lost my head there for a moment. We're still in the neighborhood of 6800 for the Dow which means now my investments are down only 40% rather than 42% from last week. A little premature to be popping open the bubbly. Tomorrow the whole fragile victory could disintegrate like spun sugar.

Such is the new reality. One foot in front of another, small victories celebrated cautiously. Followed by the inevitability of some bank toppling or a genius pundit tossing out the "D" word. Can't we just wallow in the recession for a while? Is it necessary to force us into a deeper ditch?

But I'm not ready to give up. Are you with me people? What do we need? Give me a C! Give me an O! Give me a...oh just spell it out all ready--CONFIDENCE! And who's our head cheerleader? BARACK OBAMA HE'S OUR MAN! IF HE CAN'T DO IT...then we're screwed.

Because really, who else is there? The American people are like the frightened townsfolk in “High Noon”. They’re huddled behind saloon doors and post office counters waiting for Gary Cooper to stride out and mow down the bad guys. They’re not looking for Elmer Fudd or Don Knotts. And they don’t want to see Gary Cooper pulling a bag of marbles out of his holster. They want the sheriff to haul out the AK-47 and git ‘er done!

Right now, I think the American people have more confidence in the aim of Simon Cowell than of anyone in Washington.

But why is that? Because apparently at the moment, there is no one attached to the White House that can call the plays and make the pitch like Obama. I mean it’s not even close! And they have tried to run others up the flagpole (think Tim Geithner doing his best deer-in-the-headlights impression during that Congressional hearing) with pretty horrendous results. For better or worse, for the moment, Obama has to play all the positions on the field. But he’s about to throw himself out if he doesn’t watch it.

Yes, his approval numbers are still high. But they should be because of the promises he made last fall. Obama campaigned as a blast of "The Master Cleanser" for the sludge-caked bowels of Washington. The public was tired of back-room deals, broken promises, presidential obfuscation. We needed someone to ride in on the white horse and throw the bums out, promising "Change We Can Believe In!"

Other than what I consider to be negative change—i.e. the trending toward socialism--I’m not sure I see a lot of positive changes, or even the momentum for change. And the things I remember Obama campaigning on that would inspire my confidence in his words--transparency, bipartisanship, an end to government waste and “business as usual”—don’t seem to be panning out either.

Take transparency. I swear I remember our President promising not to hire lobbyists to work in his administration. Yet, there are waivers to his anti-lobbyist requirements being granted behind the scenes for just that purpose. And bipartisanship seems deader than Chris Brown’s endorsement prospects. It was clear from the budget and stimulus bill process that Republicans got the Heisman stiff-arm pretty much the whole way. Let’s face it—a White House tea and cookies reception or Super Bowl party invite do not constitute “Mission Accomplished” for productive bipartisan collaboration.

Here’s the one that really gets me steamed—President Obama’s vigorous and persuasive admonitions that there would be an end to pork barrel spending and government waste. And yet, the 2009 Omnibus Spending Bill sailed through Congress, dragging along 8500 earmarks totaling over $7B in spending on behalf of both parties! It is now sitting on his desk, waiting for signature.

I don’t care what excuses Capitol Hill throws out there to deflect attention away from the President on this one. Do you mean to tell me that Obama could not take a stand and send that bill back for some trimming? At least make a show of living up to his campaign promises? Of course he could! So why won’t he? Politics as usual, knowing that one hand washes the other. I do this for you this time, and you owe me a solid next time.

So my confidence in his abilities to be any different than any other politician is sinking fast. And on top of that, I’m worried about his ability to focus on and prioritize his “To Do” list. Is there any doubt about what needs to happen right now? Put the basketball down and listen to me please. Banks and financial markets need to be stabilized, not through wholesale takeovers, but through temporary government intervention that allows for relief from toxic assets so money can flow again. Because if I can get a loan to buy a house, then I go shopping for furniture to put in it. And that furniture purchase will allow the furniture retailer to keep the doors open. And that will funnel new orders to the furniture manufacturer who can keep his workers employed who will then go out and buy new TVs and DVD players so they can watch old movies like “High Noon” in “High Def”.

But Obama is spreading himself too thin. Like the Health Care Summit—was that necessary at this moment? Other than a lipstick-covered rear end, did Obama reveal any quantifiable result from this? And his pronouncements on Education and Stem Cell funding—all worthy causes, but our kids are still going to school, research is soldiering on and even health care is still available. Each needs attention, but they are not in danger of becoming extinct. Like my 401k.

I know how it is to want to be all things to all people. I have those instincts myself. But if you take on too much and don’t live up to your commitments, people lose faith. And faith (or the lack of it) seems to be trumping facts in the markets these days.

I was watching comedian Jimmy Fallon this morning on TV talking about trying to build an audience and confidence in his abilities as he starts his new late night talk show. He was giving himself 3 months to “figure out” his style, what worked and what did not. I think that’s fair. And I think he’ll succeed. He’s got good people around him, a great house band and a well-established format to work with. No matter what, though, the host has to be able to carry the show.

Like Jimmy Fallon, Obama’s got the established format to step into, but I’m not so sure about the people around him. And I don’t think he can afford the luxury of 3 months to figure out his style. Now if the President would just hire a (White) house band, I would be very confident in his hipness, but he’s still got to be able to live up to his hype and carry the show.

RIP to my Hard Drive (and My Optimism)

I’m one of those eternally optimistic people who never think the “worst case scenario” will happen to me. I never buy extended warranties on electronics, sign on for the extra insurance they try to sell you when you rent a car or get suckered into buying travel insurance when I’m planning a vacation. That’s all for losers, gloom-and-doomers who think every step they take is just another excuse to step in dog poop. So after the stock market crash wiped out my retirement/college savings and my husband and I both lost our jobs, I guess I should have adjusted my own view, become more cautious and stopped brazenly spitting into the wind.

Right now, I feel like I’m covered in loogies.

On top of everything else that has happened to us lately, here’s the latest: my hard drive crashed. Completely fried and deceased. I now realize I completely ignored the warning signs. My trusty computer was a Mac, after all. Aren’t they practically indestructible? Their clean, sleek forms lull you into a false sense of technological invincibility. I have to admit, my PC never makes me feel that way. It’s kind of like comparing Gwen Stefani and Heather Locklear. One seems smooth, hip and totally in control, out in front of the next trend. The other has held up well through the years and managed to stay relatively current, but really could self-destruct at any moment.

But I digress. Did I mention there were warning signs? Even as the trusty PC lumbered along like the steady tortoise, the Mac was the speedy hare and definitely the favorite thanks to its cool features. But a couple of months ago, we all noticed that the Mac seemed to be getting a little overloaded, asking us to delete files before more could be added.

Did I also mention that the two main users of the Mac are my teenage daughters? For those of you who don’t enjoy the privilege of housing teenagers in your home, here’s a simple equation: teenagers + Mac = Itunes. And Facebook. But Facebook doesn’t fry your hard drive. Massive Itunes libraries do. At least that was a major contributor. But I found out later that my hard drive was relatively puny by current standards—only 160 GB—and really was not able to withstand the amount of data and downloads that were being heaped on.

My bad. I forgot that a two-year old computer is really just one snotty-blow from being a used Kleenex these days.

Anyhoo, after the first signs that the computer was about to blow, came a real hard slap of reality. One night about a month ago, my daughter was on the Mac trying to get on the internet and the screen just froze. She eventually turned the computer off and when it came back on again, there was a grey screen and folder with a question mark in the center, blinking…and blinking. No amount of mouse clicking or rebooting could erase that malevolent, pulsing, question-marked folder of doom.

I ran to the Apple store the next morning. The Genius at the store sucked in her breath when I described the symptoms. It was clear this was terminal—the hard drive was gravely wounded and would not recover. However—I told you bad things didn’t happen to me!—the hard drive still had a pulse and the data could be saved. She recommended a larger hard drive be put in and nodded in a knowing way like Yoda when I mentioned that I had children in high school.

The Mac was scheduled for immediate surgery. The augmentation of my hard drive would take it from a boyishly-bosomed Kelly Ripa to a bodaciously-buxom Anna Nicole Smith overnight. (That’s from 160GB to 500GB for those of you who actually care.) Eureka! My luck was NOT turning for the worse! Could employment and a robust retirement portfolio be far behind?

We got the computer back and WOW! Faster, better, stronger—invincible once again! They even gave me the old, burned out hard drive as a souvenir and mentioned that backing up data once in a while might be a good idea. Whatever! Now all the data that had been overwhelming the old hard drive was just bouncing around in all that 500GB of space!

That was three weeks ago. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Last Thursday night, the same thing happened. My daughter attempted to access the internet, the Mac froze, then the blinking folder of doom again. HOW COULD THIS BE? I rushed the computer in again on Friday morning and they called me with the diagnosis that afternoon. Actually, before they gave me the bad news, they asked if I had kept the old, almost dead hard drive “souvenir” from when the hard drive was first replaced. Uh-oh. My mind flashed back to the day, about a week after we got the “new and improved” Mac back from repair, where I looked at that old, dead hunk of metal that had started this mess, and unceremoniously dropped it into the garbage. What use other than as a doorstop could it possibly be to me now! (Remember—I don’t ever think “worse case scenario”).

When I confessed to the technician that that old sucker was landfill bound, there was a moment of silence. When he told me that this time, there was no hope of reclaiming any of my data, that the new hard drive had some fatal flaw and would have to be replaced, I was stunned. I was actually at the grocery store at the time and had mindlessly wandered away from my cart as I took in this news. I found myself leaning against a freestanding display of precooked bacon and only snapped out of it when the whole display came tumbling down. I hung up with the repair guy, picked up the bacon, checked out and shuffled dejectedly to my car.

On the way home, I mused over the losses: the Itunes, the homework, the unfinished columns and worst of all…the photograph library. This computer only has two years of files on it and we did make prints of all the pictures, but still, that is a very painful loss.

We get the new, replaced hard drive installed on Monday, and should be back in business. But my sunny outlook on life has finally taken a hit. If losing jobs and crashing portfolios weren’t enough to do it, this event was the final straw. I’m buying an external drive and will actually “back up” my important data.

I really hate to give up my optimistic nature, but all of a sudden the thought of booking a rental at the Outer Banks in August is conjuring up the word “hurricane” in my brain. Did I say I never bought travel insurance? Time to start thinking like a “blinking folder of doom”. At best, a cautionary tale and at worst, an unfortunate reality of the times.

Obama's Flying Leap Into the Unknown

Whatever deodorant President Obama is using, I want to use it too.  Because if there is one person on this earth that must be getting a little moist in the pits, it’s him.  I can’t help but wonder if he could have foreseen the enormity of the job at hand when he launched his presidential campaign two years ago. I mean, I’m wondering if ANYBODY would have jumped into the ring if he/she could have had a preview of what was to come. 

 

When I take stock of Obama’s journey over the last six to nine months, I am reminded of one of those cartoons where the character does a gorgeous flip off the high dive, sailing acrobatically through the air, only to realize he’s overshot the pool.  And when he peels himself up from the pool deck, dazed and confused from the seemingly fatal fall with stars and birdies circling the bump on his noggin, he looks dazed and wobbly, but at least he’s alive.

 

Kinda like President Obama.

 

Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit here.  He doesn’t seem dazed and I don’t see stars and birdies over his head--yet.  But Obama seems to be wobbling, ever leftward, even as he campaigned with a centrist zeal. 

 

And his approval numbers are staggering slightly southward too.  The President’s poll numbers posted by NBC News/Wall St Journal on 3/3 show a fall from a 79% approval rating right before the inauguration to 60% this week since he unveiled his most recent 2010 budget proposal. Even more telling, only 54% of people believe he has the right goals and policies for the country.  This suggests that though people think highly of the President personally, they are becoming more skeptical about what he’s doing.

 

Now, I will certainly concede that these numbers are still pretty impressive.  And even Santa Claus probably has a drop in approval ratings after Christmas Day.  But I’m just saying, there are definitely some people out there who are nervous about what’s coming down the chimney.

 

I know, I know.  “Change We Can Believe In”, “Yes We Can”, blah, blah, blah.  But people—and the collective markets made up of those people—don’t like change for change’s sake.   Obama this week was almost dismissive about what he called “the current market gyrations”.  Since those “gyrations” equate to the headlong crashing and burning of people’s retirement and college savings, I don’t think he should be so offhanded.

 

And what about Obama’s must-have Treasury Secretary, Tim Geithner, the expert who should be out front inspiring confidence and revealing the new playbook?  Geithner seems to playing a game of “Whac-A-Mole”—where is this guy? Say what you want about Henry Paulson, but at least he was out there, explaining himself.  Obama seems to be rushing in to fill this void with his smooth delivery and incredible charisma.  But eventually, the markets want to see some expertise, stability, an endgame and a structure with rules and principles.  They don’t want to see our leaders throwing darts and wobbling out of the bar. 

 

Feeding into this has got be some worry that Obama’s 2010 budget is just too expansive, not to mention expensive.  Trying to completely reverse course is one thing, but do you have do it all in the next 15 minutes?  We know we have to cough it up for all the regular infrastructure items, but right now do we have to take on expanded welfare, cap and trade, universal healthcare and more on top of everything else? Maybe I’m watching too many hospital dramas, but it looks like to me that the patient—the economy—is in danger of bleeding out.  Let’s triage, hang a couple of bags of O Neg and get the patient stabilized before we schedule further surgery.

 

While Obama is sweating it out, I know a couple of people who are happier than the cast of “Slumdog”—John McCain, for one.  He’s like the lucky slob who arrived to board the Titanic as it was pulling away from the dock.  Don’t you know when he gets home at night, throws on his slippers and smoking jacket and turns on the news, he clicks his heels together murmuring "There's no place like the Senate...there's no place like the Senate..."?

 

And the other blissful guy?  George W. Bush.  He’s the happiest private citizen in the world.  He’s just a regular schlub now, popping up at hardware stores and diners, surprising the folks around town in Dallas after leaving behind a flaming bag of poo on the White House steps. 

 

I’m sure no one envies the job Obama has been handed.  I certainly make no claims to being more capable or having all the answers.  But if he asked for my advice, I’d say he needs to take it a little easier, stop rushing along at breakneck speed.  Take another crack at diving into that pool.  But this time, use the low board, not the platform.  And just give us a clean, swan dive without all the crazy acrobatics.  By lowering the degree of difficulty, he might actually hit the water, not the pavement.

Have Your People Text My People

I came upon a scene in my house the other day that gave me pause. My 5th grade daughter had two friends over after school. At some point as I walked by the living room, I saw the three girls sitting there facing each other, but they were not talking. They were looking down at their cell phones, thumbs busily hunting and pecking at the keys. I thought, oh geez, here it comes. The day I’ve been expecting. They’re sending little notes to the boys, giggling an oogling. A rite of passage that marks the onset of the teen years. So I walked in the room and peeked over my daughter’s shoulder. And do you know what I saw? She was texting her two friends. The ones that were sitting arm’s length away. And they were doing the same!

I shooed them away and told them to go actually PLAY somewhere. They got up and I went on about my chores. A few minutes later as I turned the corner to descend the basement stairs, there was the little trio, sitting clustered together on the risers, heads almost touching, STILL TEXTING EACH OTHER!

This incident got me thinking on a larger scale about this generation of kids that has significantly retreated from human contact—what type of communicators will they be when they hit the business world? With the advent of texting, Facebook, IM-ing and the rest of electronic communication, will we even need telephones? Hell, will we even need voice boxes?

Indulge me, please, as I take a trip down memory lane to the good old days when I was a kid. First of all, calling your friends meant waiting for your sister to shut her piehole and get off the phone (which was green, had a rotary dial and was mounted to the wall) so that you could make a call. Actually dialing the number took some time with those rotary dials, and pack a lunch if your friend’s number had a lot of zeroes.

Once the call was made, you may or may not have gotten a “busy signal” when you called your friend. If the line was busy, well, shucks—you just had to call back a few minutes later. If you got through and your friend was not home, you might have to leave a name and number with an adult person, often using phrases like, “Please tell Susan I called,” and “Thanks Mr. Peters,” as you hung up.

In college, same thing. No cell phones, no email. And no caller ID. You could stalk that dude you met at the kegger last night by calling him and hanging up when he answered as many times as you wanted! Good times…

But in general, I had pretty good phone etiquette instilled in me by my parents. This behavior prepared me for the business world. When I got my first job, whenever I was in the office, I would answer the phone. There was no call screening, no voicemail. Every time you picked up the receiver, you rolled the dice. It might be a hot prospect or it could be your mom, but you took all comers.

Little by little this direct contact with the outside world started to break down. First we got voicemail at the office and answering machines at home. Then I remember in the late 80’s early 90’s, the advent of email, though it was rudimentary at best. But that was the beginning of the slow, insidious march from human to electronic handshake.

Flash forward to today. Because I spend a lot of time doing recruiting, I am probably more likely to actually talk to people on the phone than a lot of professions. But there are definitely days when I can get almost everything I need done via email. I am ashamed to say, that I don’t mind that too much sometimes. It just makes it easier to get to the point without all the niceties and human kindness. Hey, I’m usually in a hurry…isn’t everyone?

So I’m copping to buying into the non-human/human interaction hybrid that now dominates our business and personal relationships. I have told my dear geographically dispersed college friends that it’s a good thing email came along or I’d probably have ditched them long ago. But I have to say that the kids who will be running the show in the near future have taken this to a whole new level.

Like my 5th grade daughter and her friends, kids barely talk to each other anymore. But the electronic communication is almost constant and there do not seem to be any boundaries. During school, during dinner, while they’re in bed or at church—how much could they possibly have to say?

A lot of this texting-type behavior is pretty much time wasted. Prime examples are my two teenage daughters. Their ability to stretch what would have been a 30 second phone call into a 30 minute texting session is a case study in inefficiency.

Here’s a transcript of just such a texting session:

Daughter: Whr r u? i hv gtg 2 th mall

(10 minutes passes)

Friend: B thr in 15…sry 2 b late

Daughter: OMG cud hv got ride w/Kev u b!

I know there are several disturbing elements to this encounter, not least of which is that none of our kids will be able to compose a formal letter, much less spell half the words. And I am certainly concerned with the fact that my daughter could have easily resolved this issue, figured out that her friend was going to be late and gotten a ride with Kev in about 15 seconds of actually speaking, person to person.

When I suggest to my daughters that they might get quicker response if they actually call rather than text in certain situations, they look at me like I’m wearing a hoop skirt and a corset. Which leads me to believe that our kids are actively avoiding talking to each other. That sounds bad to me.

The same is true for the computer. I have seen my daughter spend 30 minutes composing a message on Facebook, trying to resolve some ridiculous he said/she said dispute that could have been much more effectively solved in person. Not only that, there is now a cyber-record of her ridiculous rantings that can easily be passed around and will likely come back to haunt her and all the people she threw under the bus.

So when we put our future in the hands of this generation, what can we expect? I’m guessing normal workdays are out the window—our kids are used to having instant results and communication 24/7. I’m also wondering how efficient they’ll be. The good news is technology will help them compensate and they are certainly not afraid to embrace it.

But will they have the ability to understand social nuances? Know when to don the velvet glove versus when to go in for the kill? I’m wondering if they will have the patience to stick with something, get to the bottom of it and see it through. Or is their need for instant gratification undermining their ability to think long term and big picture?

The greatest deficit of all is the ability to resolve conflicts. To have to look someone in the eye, settle a dispute, give an apology. I am picturing my daughter in the professional world, sitting across a desk from a colleague. And when the conversation gets tough, will she look down at her Blackberry and fire off a text to express her dissent?

I feel like I may have let this communication issue get away from me in my house. But it’s pretty hard to unring a bell, especially if the bell is ringing away in everyone else’s house too. So I will plant my stake in the ground and demand a higher standard for my own interactions with my kids. Step away from the electronics and go low-tech with me for a while…at least until your cell is done charging.