Take A Selfie!

Take A Selfie!

(Sung to the tune, "Deck The Halls!")

 

Take a Selfie while your driving, Fa La La La La, La La La La

We NEED to know how you are thriving! Fa La La La La, La La La La

Pay no attention to that red light, Fa La La, La La La, La La La

Why not hit that car on you’re right? Fa La La La La, La La La La

See the Blazer torched before us, Fa La La La La, La La La La

Strike the crowd with a grand flourish! Fa La La La La, La La La La

Follow me off to the morgue, Fa La La, La La La, La La La

So you can view those whom you gored, Fa La La La La, La La La La

Post you’re Selfies up on Facebook, Fa La La La La, La La La La

So the victims’ families can have a look. Fa La La La La, La La La La

Follow you’re ass into the courtroom, Fa La La, La La La, La La La

Where the jury will decide your doom! Fa La La La La, La La La La

Nah! We're good!

Okay, so, what's the reason for this post?

Simple. Every day when I walk down the street, I see drivers clutching tightly (not just holding... clutching for dear life!) their smart phones either texting or taking a Selfie. Guess what, folks? That's an accident waiting to happen.

So, if you insist on taking a picture of yourself, please, for God's sake, pull over, put your car in "Park" then click away to your heart's content.

Oh, and give me a heads-up, so I can stay home that day. I really don't want to look at any more carnage on the road.

Help Me Understand This

When I was growing up, like many of you, we got in the car, and usually dad sometimes mom, would start the engine, back the car out of the garage, down the driveway and onto the street.  Then, off we’d go on another adventure.

Seems pretty simple and straightforward, right?  Well, on the surface, yes, it is.

Now, fast forward 50 years to 2015.  Same scenario, except that at the end of that journey, I’m sitting in the car on a very hot, dry summer day, the windows are up, and mommy has left me to bake in my car seat while she, “… just runs in to get a few things. I’ll only be gone a few minutes, dear.”

The next thing I know, there are people outside, yelling at me, pounding on the car windows, I am getting really tired, and it’s hard to keep my eyes open. I can feel the pounding, it almost sounds like mommy’s heartbeat; hard to keep my eyes open…

BAM!

I’m out and floating in the air.  People are screaming, crying, yelling.  

“My baby!  What happened to my baby??” 

Where am I?  Where’s mommy? 

Does any of this sound eerily familiar?  I hope so, because there have been dozens of these scenarios playing out across the United States where a mother or father, “forgets” that junior is in that car seat, in extremely hot, 3-digit temperatures and runs or scoots into the store for “just a few minutes.”

How does a parent get “too busy” or “too distracted” to remember their child in that car seat?  I mean, come on, let’s get real here.  Until they are 18 years old, sometimes longer, they need and rely on you!  The umbilical cord isn’t actually severed until right around 18 years of age.

So, please, someone, help me understand this?

How is it that anything could possibly be more important than that tiny, innocent little creature that you created, being left inside that oven to bake?

1. Oh, I just thought I’d be gone a little while.
2. I forgot.
3. I didn’t know.
4. I’m so sorry.

These are just a few of the myriad of “lame excuses” that parents have produced when being confronted with law enforcement upon returning to their cars only to find out that little Johnny or little Sally was left in that car to be baked alive.

Thankfully, in most of these cases, law enforcement has shown up in the knick of time in order to not only save the baby, but arrest the hapless parent, as well.

Does it sound gruesome?  Good. Maybe that will get you thinking the next time you decide your smartphone, cellphone, tablet, or shopping is more important that than precious little life.  Your baby.

Follow these links:

http://www.kidsandcars.org/heatstroke.html

http://noheatstroke.org/

According to http://noheatstroke.org/

Relation to Child	Forgotten	% of total
Mother	98	29%
Father	115	34%
Both Parents	35	10%
Grandmother	14	4%
Grandfather	10	3%
Both Grandparents	1	less than 1%
Other Female relative	8	2%
Other Male relative	5	1%
Female Childcare	18	5%
Male Childcare	17	5%
Unknown Childcare	1	less than 1%
Other Female	2	1%
Other Male	2	1%
Unknown	12	4%
Total	338

 

These are some very scary stats, don't you agree?

My parents never left us in the car, because we were actually important to them.

My Bucket List

I started a “bucket list” a few days ago.  And while I was typing, it occurred to me that nothing on the list was of any consequence to anyone.  Nothing remarkable.  Nothing memorable.  Just random thoughts, and random places:

1. Go to the beach
2. Go to the mountains
3. Go to the east coast
4. Go to Washington, D.C.
5. Do something that is remarkable, for which I will be remembered fondly.

Seems rather forgettable, doesn’t it?

It’s a painful reminder that for the past 15 years, I have been unremarkable and very forgettable.

The pain I have inflicted on others, my family in particular, I cannot take back, and I cannot say, “I am truly sorry” enough times to make up for it.

Now that I am retired, maybe in some small way, somehow I can redeem myself before my time is up.  I wish I could undo those terrible, horrible things I did so long ago that got me to where I am today. Oh, how I wish I could.

And now, I feel as though I am racing against the clock on my final lap, yet somehow, fast as I run, much as I try, it’s just not enough.  It will never be enough. 

I won’t be remembered as a great, or even a good father.

I won’t be remembered as a good or even fair husband.

I won’t be remembered as a true or even adequate friend.

No, I’ll be remembered and defined as “that guy that broke the law in November, 2000, and ruined everyone’s life ever since that time.  An evil, distraught, disgusting, retched monster.”

So many regrets.  I wish it was over with yesterday.

I don’t know that I would be any better a second time around either.

Lemonade

“When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade!”

I don’t recall where or when I first heard that, probably in junior high, maybe high school.  The basic premise is that when life, for example, sends trouble or a problem or tragedy your way, you figure how to work through it.  Or, in other words, you make lemonade.

Over the years, through various circumstances, life has thrown me many a curve-ball, and bushels of lemons.  I like to think that I’m pretty good, for the most part, at solving problems and working my way through tough times.

I survived marriage and divorce, the death of my mother (at the tender age of 44, just shy of her 45^th birthday), the passing of both sets of grandparents, my step-father and father, legal issues, and many, many potholes on the autobahn of life.  And, pretty much, came out on the other side in one piece, nonetheless for wear and tear.

How do we manage making that lemonade?  Well, we have our friends, our families, our co-workers, occasionally our bosses, our pets (ever the optimists), Facebook “friends”, our “higher powers”, our online blogs, and well, ourselves.  We talk to ourselves in the mirror every day, console each other, send out tweets and texts, and just generally help each other muddle through.

I’ve found that sometimes I can solve these problems by “sleeping on them”.  That is, letting it go when I’m very tired at night, and then somehow, miraculously in the morning things just seem to work themselves out.  Couldn’t tell you how, but yes, they don’t seem to be the oversized monsters that they were a day earlier.  Other times, listening to music is just enough of a distraction that I drift away, tap my foot, hum or sing along, and then… *BAM!* There it is, plain as the nose on my face.  Still other times, I manage to work through things while putting together a blog piece, like right now.

As I am writing this piece, well, technically, typing it in MS Word, I am 5 days in to moving from a furnished studio apartment (that’s being very generous, by the way) into a completely unfurnished 3 story townhouse just east of the downtown, urban center of the city.  The neighborhood is primarily multi-family homes, townhouses, apartments, and single family house of varying architectural designs.  It’s a pretty typical, bustling neighborhood, lots of activity, average amount of traffic, and very middle class. 

Work hard, play hard, have a sense of humor about yourself and life, and make the best damn lemonade that you can! 

Oh, and don’t forget that lemon slice on the side of your glass as a garnish.

We’re Completely, Absolutely Entitled

It’s a pretty sad state of affairs, actually, but it’s also absolutely true.  We’re entitled. Absolutely and completely.  As a nation, we’re better than everyone and anyone else on the planet, and we make no bones about telling anyone who’ll listen.

Don’t believe me, just open up your web browser and go to just about any site.  You’ll find people displaying bad behaviors and then getting upset at being called out about it.

You’ll see people shouting at workers in drive-through windows at a fast food place, people shouting at customer service people on the phone, people punching and beating each other up, and then posting videos of these atrocities online.  All of this because we can, not because we should, but because we can.

Inside, we feel like we have to.  It’s our duty.  We’ve been “wronged” by this other person and we have to let the entire planet know about it. 

We upload videos and audio clips, pictures, graphics, just anything we can in our desperate attempt to get back at this person for what he/she did to us.

We’re so livid, and so angry, and so pissed off that we don’t take time to think about whether or not we should.

And it’s way beyond just entitlement.  It’s to the point of flat-out stupid behavior. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.

“But what do I do about this?”

That’s a very good question, actually, and the possibilities are limitless. 

One solution is to simply stop using that service, or retail store, or whatever the business happens to be.  

There was a news report on TV recently that sited the number of times a “typical” American teenager posts to the most popular sites online, Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. 

Facebook status updates:              50 in one hour.

Instagram “selfie” uploads:           600 in one hour. 

Twitter updates:                             75 in one hour.

This was just for one teenage girl.  What did her mother have to say about it?

“Well, I tried to stop her.  I took her cell phone away, but she just got on her iPad and did it anyway.  So, I took that away and she got on her computer.  What can I do?  I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Wow, really??  My suggestion is to take those things away and have her earn them back.  One at-a-time, and then you, her parent, monitor everything she does with those devices.  Parenting is not a spectator sport.  It is, however, one in which you actively participate.  Daily. Hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute.

Now, not being a “user” on any of these sites, I can only assume that there must be a fire somewhere in which those teens are involved, otherwise, why the “need” to post pretty much the same information on those particular sites over a sixty minute period?

Instagram is the one where you’d post pictures, selfies, if you will.  600 in one hour though?  Yeah, that seems a bit excessive.  I mean, really, does one physically change that much in one hour?  Now, I could understand, particularly with teenage girls, if you’d just gotten your hair or nails done and you wanted to share that with your friends, sure, it almost makes sense.

Facebook status updates. Hmm, not sure about the “need” for these at all. 

Got up.  Went to bathroom.  No movement this morning; will try again in an hour.  Having coffee. Cat scratched me for “stealing” the newspaper from her.  (Note to self:  No kitty treats for Ms. Fluffie this afternoon.)  Ha! Even I don’t find updates that interesting.

Twitter?  Aren’t those just text messages from mobile devices that go through a server at the Twitter Offices in Cupertino, California?  Hardly seems worth it just to let a third party read your private texts.  Unless, of course, they’re “sexts”.  That would almost be worthwhile.  (Oh, wait.  Teens are already sending each other nude pictures through Instagram.)

It’s one thing to report bad behaviors of a certain nature (inappropriate behaviors from wait staff, or a sales clerk), but to then publicly shame that person on social media for the entire planet to see.  Yeah. Wow. Way overboard.

Step back, and take a deep breath.  Count to 10, because I’m telling you, in 10 years, hey, in 5 years, none of those rants and nasty comments and explicit videos or audio clips will matter to anyone, anywhere.   Remember the "Yer gettin' a Dell, dude?"  Yeah, me neither.  Or "Alex-From-Target"? 

But, those things could very well get your fired from your job.  It’s happened, more often that you think.  Employers absolutely follow your activity on social media.  And some even, DO, have eyes in the back of their heads.

So, just perhaps, the next time you feel like going off on someone “just to prove a point”, the next time you’re about to press “Send” in order to upload that video to YouTube, step back and breathe.

Bottom line:  It’s probably not worth it.

Your Favorite TV Places

What are some of your favorite fictional TV, comic book, and other literary places from your childhood?

These are some of mine.