In this season of divisive, rancorous debate over politics, with media sources entrenched on the right and the left, there's one thing you will see them in agreement on: Hyped up fear mongering of the H1N1 swine flu outbreak. My two youngest kids came down with swine flu the first week of school this fall, initially scaring the heck out their mom and I. About ten days, a couple of doctor visits, a few boxes of Kleenex, a gallon or two of hand sanitizer and some Tamiflu later, we came away a little wiser about the nature of this new flu. Sure, they got high fevers - both around 102, 103 for a few hours - and yes, they developed bad coughs, had sore throats, but you know what? It looked and acted a whole lot like any flu I've ever seen.
During the course of this, I did a lot of research on H1N1 and was surprised to see how trumped up much of the coverage about this "pandemic" was. Here are some widely reported assumptions:
1) It is disproportionately striking down the young and healthy. "Regular" flu is supposed to attack only the old, very young, and those with underlying health problems. The statement is essentially true, but it's what is not being said that tells the real story. The CDC itself is assuming that the reason older people may not be getting H1N1 is that that have been exposed to a similar strain at some time in the past. So, the real statement should not be "it's striking down young people", but "it's not striking older people". Same result, very different fear factor.
2) Swine flu is deadlier than the regular flu: The current death rate of H1N1 cases is about 1%, lower than that of the regular seasonal flu. This is a rate currently lower than the regular seasonal flu. But the significant fact here is not that it's any more virulent. It's just new. Few people have any immune defense against it.
3) Face masks work: Viruses are so small it has only been with relatively recent microscope technology that they have even been able to image them.They are thousands of times smaller than bacteria. Trying to stop a virus with a store bought "dust" mask (the disposable paper sort) is like trying to catch water with a tennis racket.
An old Poli Sci prof of mine said something once that I have never forgotten: "Media does not exist to inform you. It exists to sell advertising". And this is just as true of Fox as it is MSNBC. Whatever your politics may be, if you're concerned about swine flu, take some time to go through the CDC site's pages: Centers for Disease Control.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Why I Don't Do Follow Friday
To you on Twitter, you recognize this term as heralding the weekly day of friends referral in which you post account names to your timeline for others to consider following. Who knows how this started, but it certainly caught on. In the early days of Twitter (or at least in my early days) I was an enthusiastic participant. I've changed my views about it, however, as my number of followers increased.
Twitter, as a social network app, was originally intended to form small groups of "followers" to post updates to one another answering the basic question "What are you doing right now?" As a few trillion people joined the service, this basic concept had the doors blown off it as people (either through direct actions or by force of their celebrity) garnered thousands, even millions of followers. I have always sought to use Twitter as a means of communicating directly with people. This obviously becomes impractical, even impossible, if you have a few hundred thousand followers. Communicating with everybody is impossible, so of course some sort of selection or culling has to take place. This is where Follow Friday gets a little problematic. Let's say you have a thousand avid followers. Of these thousand, let's assume that 100 of them actively seek interchange with you. While you may be able to keep up with this many tweets as long as they don't all come in at the same time. It's kind of hard to say that you're really in communication with them, at least not on any kind of personal level. So, along comes Follow Friday, and you find yourself in the business of recommending people to others for following. Do you:
a) Recommend all 100 of them, being egalitarian? If so, all 1,000 of your followers will see that you have selected 100 of them, possible offending the other 900. At 140 characters per tweet, you will also flood your timeline, and that of your followers, with tweet after tweet of recommended account names.
b) Cherry pick the 15 or so that you really communicate with (either through @replies or DMs). This can really look snobby if not handled really well.
c) Select just one or two a week for really special reasons (offending the other 9,999 who are wondering why they aren't special).
d) or simply not engage in FF. Which is what I do. And which can also look snobby if others are recommending you and you're not returning the favor. In this regard, it can be a lot like Christmas cards (and about as sincere).
I have chosen option D, at least for now. I think in the long run, I'd rather not get into the cherry picking business at all. My favorite tweeters are those that engage me, and there are simply too many of them to refer each Friday. I guess I'd rather run the risk of offending all a little bit than offending some a lot.
I appreciate everyone who follows me. Moreover, I appreciate everyone who engages me by reading and responding to what I write. But Follow Friday has taken on the aspect of Mother's day where you are expected to show your love and gratefulness or risk offending mom. I always like my mom's view of Mother's day. 'I'd rather you showed that you loved me the other 364 days a year and not make Hallmark rich on this one day". I hope that in some way, through my tweets, I'm showing everybody who engages me that I appreciate them, and I hope they know that I implicitly recommend them all without having to prove it once a week. To me, your follower count is not a popularity contest. It's also not a marketing tactic. They are people that have chosen to "listen" to me, and the number of them is the least significant thing in the world to me. Each one is of value. Follow them all!
Later,
Jim
Twitter, as a social network app, was originally intended to form small groups of "followers" to post updates to one another answering the basic question "What are you doing right now?" As a few trillion people joined the service, this basic concept had the doors blown off it as people (either through direct actions or by force of their celebrity) garnered thousands, even millions of followers. I have always sought to use Twitter as a means of communicating directly with people. This obviously becomes impractical, even impossible, if you have a few hundred thousand followers. Communicating with everybody is impossible, so of course some sort of selection or culling has to take place. This is where Follow Friday gets a little problematic. Let's say you have a thousand avid followers. Of these thousand, let's assume that 100 of them actively seek interchange with you. While you may be able to keep up with this many tweets as long as they don't all come in at the same time. It's kind of hard to say that you're really in communication with them, at least not on any kind of personal level. So, along comes Follow Friday, and you find yourself in the business of recommending people to others for following. Do you:
a) Recommend all 100 of them, being egalitarian? If so, all 1,000 of your followers will see that you have selected 100 of them, possible offending the other 900. At 140 characters per tweet, you will also flood your timeline, and that of your followers, with tweet after tweet of recommended account names.
b) Cherry pick the 15 or so that you really communicate with (either through @replies or DMs). This can really look snobby if not handled really well.
c) Select just one or two a week for really special reasons (offending the other 9,999 who are wondering why they aren't special).
d) or simply not engage in FF. Which is what I do. And which can also look snobby if others are recommending you and you're not returning the favor. In this regard, it can be a lot like Christmas cards (and about as sincere).
I have chosen option D, at least for now. I think in the long run, I'd rather not get into the cherry picking business at all. My favorite tweeters are those that engage me, and there are simply too many of them to refer each Friday. I guess I'd rather run the risk of offending all a little bit than offending some a lot.
I appreciate everyone who follows me. Moreover, I appreciate everyone who engages me by reading and responding to what I write. But Follow Friday has taken on the aspect of Mother's day where you are expected to show your love and gratefulness or risk offending mom. I always like my mom's view of Mother's day. 'I'd rather you showed that you loved me the other 364 days a year and not make Hallmark rich on this one day". I hope that in some way, through my tweets, I'm showing everybody who engages me that I appreciate them, and I hope they know that I implicitly recommend them all without having to prove it once a week. To me, your follower count is not a popularity contest. It's also not a marketing tactic. They are people that have chosen to "listen" to me, and the number of them is the least significant thing in the world to me. Each one is of value. Follow them all!
Later,
Jim
A Reasonable Response to Swine Flu
In this season of divisive, rancorous debate over politics, with media sources entrenched on the right and the left, there's one thing you will see them in agreement on: Hyped up fear mongering of the H1N1 swine flu outbreak. My two youngest kids came down with swine flu the first week of school this fall, initially scaring the heck out their mom and I. About ten days, a couple of doctor visits, a few boxes of Kleenex, a gallon or two of hand sanitizer and some Tamiflu later, we came away a little wiser about the nature of this new flu. Sure, they got high fevers - both around 102, 103 for a few hours - and yes, they developed bad coughs, had sore throats, but you know what? It looked and acted a whole lot like any flu I've ever seen.
During the course of this, I did a lot of research on H1N1 and was surprised to see how trumped up much of the coverage about this "pandemic" was. Here are some widely reported assumptions:
1) It is disproportionately striking down the young and healthy. "Regular" flu is supposed to attack only the old, very young, and those with underlying health problems. The statement is essentially true, but it's what is not being said that tells the real story. The CDC itself is assuming that the reason older people may not be getting H1N1 is that that have been exposed to a similar strain at some time in the past. So, the real statement should not be "it's striking down young people", but "it's not striking older people". Same result, very different fear factor.
2) Swine flu is deadlier than the regular flu: The current death rate of H1N1 cases is about 1%, lower than that of the regular seasonal flu. This is a rate currently lower than the regular seasonal flu. But the significant fact here is not that it's any more virulent. It's just new. Few people have any immune defense against it.
3) Face masks work: Viruses are so small it has only been with relatively recent microscope technology that they have even been able to image them.They are thousands of times smaller than bacteria. Trying to stop a virus with a store bought "dust" mask (the disposable paper sort) is like trying to catch water with a tennis racket.
An old Poli Sci prof of mine said something once that I have never forgotten: "Media does not exist to inform you. It exists to sell advertising". And this is just as true of Fox as it is MSNBC. Whatever your politics may be, if you're concerned about swine flu, take some time to go through the CDC site's pages: Centers for Disease Control.
Later,
Jim
During the course of this, I did a lot of research on H1N1 and was surprised to see how trumped up much of the coverage about this "pandemic" was. Here are some widely reported assumptions:
1) It is disproportionately striking down the young and healthy. "Regular" flu is supposed to attack only the old, very young, and those with underlying health problems. The statement is essentially true, but it's what is not being said that tells the real story. The CDC itself is assuming that the reason older people may not be getting H1N1 is that that have been exposed to a similar strain at some time in the past. So, the real statement should not be "it's striking down young people", but "it's not striking older people". Same result, very different fear factor.
2) Swine flu is deadlier than the regular flu: The current death rate of H1N1 cases is about 1%, lower than that of the regular seasonal flu. This is a rate currently lower than the regular seasonal flu. But the significant fact here is not that it's any more virulent. It's just new. Few people have any immune defense against it.
3) Face masks work: Viruses are so small it has only been with relatively recent microscope technology that they have even been able to image them.They are thousands of times smaller than bacteria. Trying to stop a virus with a store bought "dust" mask (the disposable paper sort) is like trying to catch water with a tennis racket.
An old Poli Sci prof of mine said something once that I have never forgotten: "Media does not exist to inform you. It exists to sell advertising". And this is just as true of Fox as it is MSNBC. Whatever your politics may be, if you're concerned about swine flu, take some time to go through the CDC site's pages: Centers for Disease Control.
Later,
Jim
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Why I Unfollowed Alyssa Milano
Twitter can create the illusion of closeness. It’s easy to read a Tweet from Ashton Kutcher chatting about his lunch and think you are close to him in some way. You and 5 million other cozy friends.
I fell dead, deep, stupid in love with Alyssa Milano years ago. How on earth you can fall in love with someone you’ve never met, I don’t know. I suppose a therapist would say that I’d “idealized” love, and chosen some remote, safe, impossible epitome of love, free from any possibility of heartbreak. Which is, of course, exactly what I got.
I’ve been on Twitter for about 6 months I think. At first, I followed a few celebs just to get the feeling of the thing when someone from an old fan site of hers found me and told me she was on Twitter. I was following in 5 seconds. Amazingly, after a few weeks, she followed me back. I don’t really know how this happened, but you can imagine my delight. I promised not to geek out on her too much in a DM (direct message to you non-twitter users, only she and I could read), and things went along swimmingly for a while. Gradually, the reply tweets and even response DMs trailed off, then stopped altogether. In her final DM to me, in response to my asking if I’d said something wrong (don’t I sound like the pathetic guy in high school who just wouldn’t get a clue that you didn’t want to date him??), I got a terse response: “Been busy. Seldom check my DMs”. This is the Twitter equivalent of “I have to wash my hair tonight.” Alyssa follows almost exactly the same number of people I do. You have to follow a person in order for them to DM you. I get about 8 DMs a day. Pretty hard to miss.
In earlier days, when I’d first joined Twitter, she was open, unguarded, colloquial. But one could watch her follower count go up, literally by the minute, and as it did so, her tone became more reserved, official, distant. No longer a chat room, peer-to-peer network of any kind. She was now standing at a podium in front of a couple hundred thousand loyal faithful hanging at her every word. Her personal tweets virtually stopped. Her interaction with Twitter notables increased, however, most notably Jack Dorsey, the founder of Twitter whom she idolizes (probably because he early on ID’d her as a high end celebrity Twitter user. He’s no fool). I found myself suffering something of a heartbreak, and felt even more foolish than I had before.
Today, I unfollow her. A celebrity with 200 thousand followers who followed me, and I am unfollowing her. Most of her fans would think I’m insane. Last night, in a melancholy moment before signing off for the night, I wrote this:
Two words of endearment so casually spent,
Pliant, quiet, composed of light
I took them to heart, my heart spent their currency
And reflected the light of them harshly into a dark corner
Where there was no one to see the shimmer
The words, so impermanent, dimming, transient
I wanted to fix them to you like a brooch
You weren’t there. No one was.
A thousand million hearts at sea
Mine as small as a light bird trapped in the canopy
I want to own them, possess them – it’s not my choice
A random act of fondness lost
I run out of water before my boat has risen
Sitting in it, oar in hand, making the sign of the cross, the rose
I will, after time has passed, stand, rise, depart
And, leaving, curse the boat, not the water
Two words, misspent, like my errant youth
Two words, recalled, anonymously
Two words, released, relieved, retrieved
Two words, too quick to be believed
“Love you”
Above all, I think I am embarrassed. What a ridiculous old misanthrope. There is so much distance between the head and heart, though. The head knows too well the distorted logic I deployed throughout this. The heart, though, that lonely hunter, does not deal in logic. It was difficult to write this, to publish it. I am outing myself as a “celebrity stalker” of sorts, I guess, although it felt lot more real than that at one point. The lies we tell ourselves.
Just hit the unfollow button. There’s no fool like an old fool.
Later,
Jim
I fell dead, deep, stupid in love with Alyssa Milano years ago. How on earth you can fall in love with someone you’ve never met, I don’t know. I suppose a therapist would say that I’d “idealized” love, and chosen some remote, safe, impossible epitome of love, free from any possibility of heartbreak. Which is, of course, exactly what I got.
I’ve been on Twitter for about 6 months I think. At first, I followed a few celebs just to get the feeling of the thing when someone from an old fan site of hers found me and told me she was on Twitter. I was following in 5 seconds. Amazingly, after a few weeks, she followed me back. I don’t really know how this happened, but you can imagine my delight. I promised not to geek out on her too much in a DM (direct message to you non-twitter users, only she and I could read), and things went along swimmingly for a while. Gradually, the reply tweets and even response DMs trailed off, then stopped altogether. In her final DM to me, in response to my asking if I’d said something wrong (don’t I sound like the pathetic guy in high school who just wouldn’t get a clue that you didn’t want to date him??), I got a terse response: “Been busy. Seldom check my DMs”. This is the Twitter equivalent of “I have to wash my hair tonight.” Alyssa follows almost exactly the same number of people I do. You have to follow a person in order for them to DM you. I get about 8 DMs a day. Pretty hard to miss.
In earlier days, when I’d first joined Twitter, she was open, unguarded, colloquial. But one could watch her follower count go up, literally by the minute, and as it did so, her tone became more reserved, official, distant. No longer a chat room, peer-to-peer network of any kind. She was now standing at a podium in front of a couple hundred thousand loyal faithful hanging at her every word. Her personal tweets virtually stopped. Her interaction with Twitter notables increased, however, most notably Jack Dorsey, the founder of Twitter whom she idolizes (probably because he early on ID’d her as a high end celebrity Twitter user. He’s no fool). I found myself suffering something of a heartbreak, and felt even more foolish than I had before.
Today, I unfollow her. A celebrity with 200 thousand followers who followed me, and I am unfollowing her. Most of her fans would think I’m insane. Last night, in a melancholy moment before signing off for the night, I wrote this:
Two words of endearment so casually spent,
Pliant, quiet, composed of light
I took them to heart, my heart spent their currency
And reflected the light of them harshly into a dark corner
Where there was no one to see the shimmer
The words, so impermanent, dimming, transient
I wanted to fix them to you like a brooch
You weren’t there. No one was.
A thousand million hearts at sea
Mine as small as a light bird trapped in the canopy
I want to own them, possess them – it’s not my choice
A random act of fondness lost
I run out of water before my boat has risen
Sitting in it, oar in hand, making the sign of the cross, the rose
I will, after time has passed, stand, rise, depart
And, leaving, curse the boat, not the water
Two words, misspent, like my errant youth
Two words, recalled, anonymously
Two words, released, relieved, retrieved
Two words, too quick to be believed
“Love you”
Above all, I think I am embarrassed. What a ridiculous old misanthrope. There is so much distance between the head and heart, though. The head knows too well the distorted logic I deployed throughout this. The heart, though, that lonely hunter, does not deal in logic. It was difficult to write this, to publish it. I am outing myself as a “celebrity stalker” of sorts, I guess, although it felt lot more real than that at one point. The lies we tell ourselves.
Just hit the unfollow button. There’s no fool like an old fool.
Later,
Jim
Saturday, October 3, 2009
A Poem For the Person Who Will Never Read It
Two words of endearment so casually spent,
Pliant, quiet, composed of light
I took them to heart, my heart spent their currency
And reflected the light of them harshly into a dark corner
Where there was no one to see the shimmer
The words, so impermanent, dimming, transient
I wanted to fix them to you like a brooch
You weren’t there. No one was.
A thousand million hearts at sea
Mine as small as a light bird trapped in the canopy
I want to own them, possess them – it’s not my choice
A random act of fondness lost
I run out of water before my boat has risen
Sitting in it, oar in hand, making the sign of the cross, the rose
I will, after time has passed, stand, rise, depart
And, leaving, curse the boat, not the water
Two words, misspent, like my errant youth
Two words, recalled, anonymously
Two words, released, relieved, retrieved
Two words, too quick to be believed
“Love you”
Pliant, quiet, composed of light
I took them to heart, my heart spent their currency
And reflected the light of them harshly into a dark corner
Where there was no one to see the shimmer
The words, so impermanent, dimming, transient
I wanted to fix them to you like a brooch
You weren’t there. No one was.
A thousand million hearts at sea
Mine as small as a light bird trapped in the canopy
I want to own them, possess them – it’s not my choice
A random act of fondness lost
I run out of water before my boat has risen
Sitting in it, oar in hand, making the sign of the cross, the rose
I will, after time has passed, stand, rise, depart
And, leaving, curse the boat, not the water
Two words, misspent, like my errant youth
Two words, recalled, anonymously
Two words, released, relieved, retrieved
Two words, too quick to be believed
“Love you”
Monday, September 7, 2009
How Are We Using Twitter?
I was talking to a friend last week about Twitter. He told me that he occasionally checked in on my tweets, which surprised me, since I didn't even know he was on Twitter. Turns out he just follows me (under an account name I wouldn't recognize) without tweeting. In internet parlance, he "lurks" me. My instant reaction was "Hmm. I wonder what I've said on Twitter that I wouldn't have said had I known he'd been reading." I teased him a bit for being a lurker, asked him why he didn't tweet, to which he responded by saying "People are using Twitter as a chat room. I hate chat rooms." This stuck in my head, and later that night I realized he was at least partially right. But people use Twitter for many things, and probably most of them far outside the intent of the application designers.
What are we using Twitter for?
1 Social network: Friends, coworkers, project members. Small, close knit, linked by close personal or business relationship. Ranges from business to personal tweeting. All two way communication. This is probably the closest use to the original intent of the designers.
2 Social network: Make/find new friends. Heavy personal tweeting. All two way communication.
3 Self promotion: This can range from celebrities who merely broadcast their stuff, following and responding to few if any folks, to people just trying to get others to buy their music, read their blogs, etc. Some personal tweeting, some interaction, but limited. Mostly a one way communication.
4 Marketing: These are people who use Twitter for one purpose only - to make money. Very little if any personal tweeting. Two way communication (if you buy their product...)
Subgroups: By Use
1 Chat room. Looks and acts just like instant messaging, used as same. (You're right, Kirk!)
2 Broadcasting: A one way communication designed to notify fans, friends, others of news.
3 Marketing: Open attempt to connect purely for purpose of selling a product or service.
It's easy at this to make proclamations about how Twitter should be used. I've done this myself in the past, but I have come to believe that Twitter can be used for any (legal) purpose that Twitter allows. Some tweets can be offensive, intrusive, unwanted, but we always have the option to unfollow and block if necessary.
Who knows what the future of this app is. Personally, I'm glad they are keeping it sleek and simple. By comparison, FaceBook, to me, has become so obtuse through "enhancements" that it is navigationally daunting and off-putting. I hope Twitter stays simple.
If you want to check out how I use it, I am @banjoist123. Hope to tweet you there!
Later.
What are we using Twitter for?
1 Social network: Friends, coworkers, project members. Small, close knit, linked by close personal or business relationship. Ranges from business to personal tweeting. All two way communication. This is probably the closest use to the original intent of the designers.
2 Social network: Make/find new friends. Heavy personal tweeting. All two way communication.
3 Self promotion: This can range from celebrities who merely broadcast their stuff, following and responding to few if any folks, to people just trying to get others to buy their music, read their blogs, etc. Some personal tweeting, some interaction, but limited. Mostly a one way communication.
4 Marketing: These are people who use Twitter for one purpose only - to make money. Very little if any personal tweeting. Two way communication (if you buy their product...)
Subgroups: By Use
1 Chat room. Looks and acts just like instant messaging, used as same. (You're right, Kirk!)
2 Broadcasting: A one way communication designed to notify fans, friends, others of news.
3 Marketing: Open attempt to connect purely for purpose of selling a product or service.
It's easy at this to make proclamations about how Twitter should be used. I've done this myself in the past, but I have come to believe that Twitter can be used for any (legal) purpose that Twitter allows. Some tweets can be offensive, intrusive, unwanted, but we always have the option to unfollow and block if necessary.
Who knows what the future of this app is. Personally, I'm glad they are keeping it sleek and simple. By comparison, FaceBook, to me, has become so obtuse through "enhancements" that it is navigationally daunting and off-putting. I hope Twitter stays simple.
If you want to check out how I use it, I am @banjoist123. Hope to tweet you there!
Later.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Infant Son
When I lived back across town, I used to jog down a little country road to get to the park. At the bottom of the hill on this road was a small stream with a two lane bridge. I've always been a water nut, after having grown up on a farm with a small creek running through it, and am not able to pass over a stream without at least a casual glance to see if the water's clear, muddy, any fish, how deep, etc. I'd been running across this bridge for month's, maybe even a year and never noticed anything other than a narrow clear water stream running over some rocks and moss. This day the covering of trees aligned their branches just right and allowed a shaft of sunlight straight down on something as I passed, and it caught my eye. It appeared to be a partially covered license plate, nothing of terrible interest, although I did slow to see if I could make out the year. What I saw stopped me in my tracks.
INFANT
That's no license plate, I thought. Later that day I came back with some boots on to cut through the brush surrounding the creek on either side of the bridge. Dropping into the creek somewhat abruptly, I almost landed on the object. It was a stone. Cut stone, almost immediately recognizable as a head stone. I didn't really do anything for a while. I just stood there wondering how the hell a child's tombstone wound up in a creek bed. The bridge behind me had scary looking graffiti under it. Maybe this was some sick satanic thing, I thought. Maybe this was where the child was buried?! No, it couldn't ever have been anything but a creek bed. Someone had thrown this off the bridge, perhaps stolen as a prank, then discarded. I had to repatriate it. I began digging and soon found that the stone extended deeply into the creek bed. It took perhaps five minutes of digging to even get the stone loose enough to rock in its bed. Another couple of minutes to get it to move, slowly, sliding up out of the muck. The part of the stone that lay beneath the water and mud was blackish green with algae, but words could be made out.
INFANT
SON OF
MR. & MRS..
B. F.
GILLENTINE
1918
I felt a strong wave of sadness pass over me. A nameless infant. A son. Was he the only son? The only child? Did Mr. and Mrs. B. F. Gillentine still live, and if they did, did they lay at night, just before sleep, wondering what sort of son he would have made?
I cleaned up the stone that night and made some internet inquiries into the name. The closest I could ever come - and I thought I had hit it on the head - was a Benjamin Franklin Gillentine in far West, Texas, hundreds of miles from the Dallas area where I live. I got him on the phone, a very old man, somewhat gruff and either not comprehending what I was asking, or simply thinking I was trying to sell him something. In short, I gave up, and put the stone in my garage, where it's been for nearly ten years. Perhaps I'll restart the search for a relative, a grave, a cemetery. In the intervening years, the internet has burgeoned, and perhaps more genealogical information is there now to help me find a resting place for the stone.
1918 was the year of the Great Flu Epidemic. It swept through Texas as well as the rest of the world, killing the young and old alike. I found a guy through the local library who tracked all the headstones in all the cemeteries in Arlington, Texas, and he couldn't find the name. He said there was dozens if not hundreds of nameless infant graves from that year.
It's a sad thing to have lying around the house, and I feel a little like a vandal myself, just having it here, like the remnants of some bad Halloween prank. And it may in fact be just that.
I'll try again. This headstone belongs somewhere. My daughter suggested we just take it to one of the little country cemeteries around here, but that doesn't seem right, either, like taking a child to the park and leaving him there. I'd rather have the stone here.
Later
INFANT
That's no license plate, I thought. Later that day I came back with some boots on to cut through the brush surrounding the creek on either side of the bridge. Dropping into the creek somewhat abruptly, I almost landed on the object. It was a stone. Cut stone, almost immediately recognizable as a head stone. I didn't really do anything for a while. I just stood there wondering how the hell a child's tombstone wound up in a creek bed. The bridge behind me had scary looking graffiti under it. Maybe this was some sick satanic thing, I thought. Maybe this was where the child was buried?! No, it couldn't ever have been anything but a creek bed. Someone had thrown this off the bridge, perhaps stolen as a prank, then discarded. I had to repatriate it. I began digging and soon found that the stone extended deeply into the creek bed. It took perhaps five minutes of digging to even get the stone loose enough to rock in its bed. Another couple of minutes to get it to move, slowly, sliding up out of the muck. The part of the stone that lay beneath the water and mud was blackish green with algae, but words could be made out.
INFANT
SON OF
MR. & MRS..
B. F.
GILLENTINE
1918
I felt a strong wave of sadness pass over me. A nameless infant. A son. Was he the only son? The only child? Did Mr. and Mrs. B. F. Gillentine still live, and if they did, did they lay at night, just before sleep, wondering what sort of son he would have made?
I cleaned up the stone that night and made some internet inquiries into the name. The closest I could ever come - and I thought I had hit it on the head - was a Benjamin Franklin Gillentine in far West, Texas, hundreds of miles from the Dallas area where I live. I got him on the phone, a very old man, somewhat gruff and either not comprehending what I was asking, or simply thinking I was trying to sell him something. In short, I gave up, and put the stone in my garage, where it's been for nearly ten years. Perhaps I'll restart the search for a relative, a grave, a cemetery. In the intervening years, the internet has burgeoned, and perhaps more genealogical information is there now to help me find a resting place for the stone.
1918 was the year of the Great Flu Epidemic. It swept through Texas as well as the rest of the world, killing the young and old alike. I found a guy through the local library who tracked all the headstones in all the cemeteries in Arlington, Texas, and he couldn't find the name. He said there was dozens if not hundreds of nameless infant graves from that year.
It's a sad thing to have lying around the house, and I feel a little like a vandal myself, just having it here, like the remnants of some bad Halloween prank. And it may in fact be just that.
I'll try again. This headstone belongs somewhere. My daughter suggested we just take it to one of the little country cemeteries around here, but that doesn't seem right, either, like taking a child to the park and leaving him there. I'd rather have the stone here.
Later
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Waterman, Illinois, June 28th, 1878
My dad, a successful commercial designer of some note, decided he wanted to be a farmer when he hit 40.I don't think the term midlife crisis existed back then, but I'm sure this act of vocational insanity on his part qualified as such. I was about 6 years old, and saw our move from comfortable middle class suburban Batavia, Illinois to the little farm town of Waterman as an enormous adventure. The farm had been a steal, and we soon found out why. Situated on 140 acres, the farm house was so dilapidated that the previous owners had kept chickens in the living room, which was sectioned off from the rest of the house with chicken wire and plywood. Rat holes were covered with old license plates. The original deed on the farm had been signed with an indian tribe, the Shabonna Indians, in 1865. It was the oldest building I'd ever set foot in. Dad immediately started spending every free weekend moments dragging us kids out for "work weekends" trying to get the house habitable, which, to his credit, he eventually did, making something of a local landmark of the place. In the process, he tore into walls - ancient pre-sheetrock lat and plaster walls, and discovered what I considered to be some of the greatest wonders of my young life.
Once upon a time, when people still actually used razor blades, when they changed them, they would slip the old blade into a slot at the back of a recessed medicine cabinet. If you see an old medicine cabinet, look for this slot at the back. It's just the size of an old double edged razor blade. When dad tore into the bathroom wall, a torrent of ancient razor blades came pouring out. These were startling, but not much in the way of collectibles. This was not all that came out of the walls, however. Here's a list, as best I can remember:
1 - One woman's high button "greave" shoe, with perhaps a dozen buttons running up the side. Shrivelled from age, it was still impossibly small by modern standards, and yet black, clearly an adult woman's shoe.
2 - Corn cobs. This as a complete mystery to us. At first we thought that rats had taken the ears of corn into the walls, depositing the cobs. We later learned from an old neighbor that people used to put cobs in the walls as primitive insulation.
3- A letter (copy below) dated June 28th, 1978. This floored me as a child, like taking a time machine back to the time of Civil War. The edges had been nibbled off by rats, so many of the words are missing, but the general meaning comes through shining across the decades. A young woman is not going to a dance, and most certainly going nowhere with "Georgie". In fact, she's not even going to be at church on Sunday, but safely at home. Poor Georgie. Was this a letter sent and received, secreted in a wall, or written and never mailed.
Etta, I love you across time, feel your pain, think about you sitting at home at the farm house hating on Georgie, but probably really wishing you were at the dance. Thanks for sharing your house with me, a hundred years later.
Later.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Regarding bicycles, pedestrians, and what happens when the twain do meet.
Short blog post before I piss off anymore bicyclists on Twitter. This path I’m talking about is a long very nice concrete two lane job running something like 18 linear miles along the Trinity River in Arlington, Texas. It’s a “multi-use” path, and is clearly marked as such throughout. It is also clearly marked with signs as follows:
· Speed limit 20 mph.
· Announce “Passing on left” when passing
· Bicycles yield to pedestrians.
As you can see, the warnings are mostly pointed at cyclists. Not many of us run fast enough to pass anything other than turtles and snakes. I’m pretty sure the world record 100 meter dash is not much above 20 mph, so that’s pretty much for bikes, too.
Now, the real problem lies in this whole “multi-use” business. Because of this, you have a range of users from high end cyclists on 2 thousand dollar bikes and competition dress to mother’s walking their toddlers. Not a good recipe for sharing. Having said this, though, for right or wrong, the signs say cyclists yield to pedestrians. Not “when appropriate” or “when I feel like it”, but in all cases. Are there jerky inconsiderate (mostly just clueless) pedestrians? Sure. They just tend to be outnumbered by bicyclists bent on pushing the speed limit, riding two across (in your lane coming at you) and not announcing anything except “Look out!” at the pedestrians when they get in their way.
The cyclists need their own path. That’s the real solution. But unless and until, as long as there is no enforcement out there, it’s actually dangerous to be a pedestrian. The difference is this: a pedestrian is not going to cause a pedestrian collision. Bicylces can not only cause these with peds, but also with other cyclists. I’ve seen two cyclists bitch each other out for not minding lanes. This is a pretty serpentine path. Cyclists sometimes don’t anticipate what might be around the next bend. On foot, that’s not a problem. At 19.9 mph on a bike, it can literally be a life or death situation.
So, at any rate, here’s what happened today.
I am running in my lane headed eastward. A woman jogger with child in a jog stroller in front of her is about to pass me in the oncoming, opposite lane. At this moment, a cyclist at or near 20 mph approaches in my lane from behind me. I don’t hear him, but see the woman jogger’s eyes go huge. The cyclist yells something at her while, at speed, passing BETWEEN US, in both our lanes, yielding to neither of us, not announcing his pass, not touching his brakes. If I had stumbled and fallen to my left, it would have thrown him into her path, her child’s stroller, at a speed easily high enough to kill the child. I was freaking furious. He didn’t slow down at all, but actually had the gall to call some kind of admonishment back AT US for not making way for him! If I’d been a cop, that guy would never sit on a bicycle again.
I have a theory. I was actually a cyclist too, up until I started running about 9 years ago. You don’t go to school, read books, take classes and tests to become a bicylclist like we do when we learn to drive a car. So, our dad pushes us down the driveway, let’s go, and the whole rest of the body of our bicylcle instruction is self taught. Kids don’t know about stop signs, yield signs. Ever see a kid on a bike stop at a stop sign? And a lot of that is because this sort of loose self taught, non regulated method for learning doesn’t have anything to do with the rules of the road. Most of us were too busy jumping sidewalks, hedges, sprinklers, whatever, to avoid stop signs. So, there we are, 20, 30 years later, gear strapped on, climbing onto our 2 thousand dollar bikes, with the same attitudes we had riding the neighborhood as kids.
So, yes, pedestrians can be jerks on the park path, too. The difference is that they don’t have any where near as much potential to do great physical harm. And there are a great many very good cyclists whom I pass every day. We say Hi to each other and sometimes even stop to talk.
This is not about all bicyclists. Neither is it about pedestrians. It’s about rules and safety. It is about jerks, and they can be on foot, in cars, on bikes, in planes, everywhere.
· Speed limit 20 mph.
· Announce “Passing on left” when passing
· Bicycles yield to pedestrians.
As you can see, the warnings are mostly pointed at cyclists. Not many of us run fast enough to pass anything other than turtles and snakes. I’m pretty sure the world record 100 meter dash is not much above 20 mph, so that’s pretty much for bikes, too.
Now, the real problem lies in this whole “multi-use” business. Because of this, you have a range of users from high end cyclists on 2 thousand dollar bikes and competition dress to mother’s walking their toddlers. Not a good recipe for sharing. Having said this, though, for right or wrong, the signs say cyclists yield to pedestrians. Not “when appropriate” or “when I feel like it”, but in all cases. Are there jerky inconsiderate (mostly just clueless) pedestrians? Sure. They just tend to be outnumbered by bicyclists bent on pushing the speed limit, riding two across (in your lane coming at you) and not announcing anything except “Look out!” at the pedestrians when they get in their way.
The cyclists need their own path. That’s the real solution. But unless and until, as long as there is no enforcement out there, it’s actually dangerous to be a pedestrian. The difference is this: a pedestrian is not going to cause a pedestrian collision. Bicylces can not only cause these with peds, but also with other cyclists. I’ve seen two cyclists bitch each other out for not minding lanes. This is a pretty serpentine path. Cyclists sometimes don’t anticipate what might be around the next bend. On foot, that’s not a problem. At 19.9 mph on a bike, it can literally be a life or death situation.
So, at any rate, here’s what happened today.
I am running in my lane headed eastward. A woman jogger with child in a jog stroller in front of her is about to pass me in the oncoming, opposite lane. At this moment, a cyclist at or near 20 mph approaches in my lane from behind me. I don’t hear him, but see the woman jogger’s eyes go huge. The cyclist yells something at her while, at speed, passing BETWEEN US, in both our lanes, yielding to neither of us, not announcing his pass, not touching his brakes. If I had stumbled and fallen to my left, it would have thrown him into her path, her child’s stroller, at a speed easily high enough to kill the child. I was freaking furious. He didn’t slow down at all, but actually had the gall to call some kind of admonishment back AT US for not making way for him! If I’d been a cop, that guy would never sit on a bicycle again.
I have a theory. I was actually a cyclist too, up until I started running about 9 years ago. You don’t go to school, read books, take classes and tests to become a bicylclist like we do when we learn to drive a car. So, our dad pushes us down the driveway, let’s go, and the whole rest of the body of our bicylcle instruction is self taught. Kids don’t know about stop signs, yield signs. Ever see a kid on a bike stop at a stop sign? And a lot of that is because this sort of loose self taught, non regulated method for learning doesn’t have anything to do with the rules of the road. Most of us were too busy jumping sidewalks, hedges, sprinklers, whatever, to avoid stop signs. So, there we are, 20, 30 years later, gear strapped on, climbing onto our 2 thousand dollar bikes, with the same attitudes we had riding the neighborhood as kids.
So, yes, pedestrians can be jerks on the park path, too. The difference is that they don’t have any where near as much potential to do great physical harm. And there are a great many very good cyclists whom I pass every day. We say Hi to each other and sometimes even stop to talk.
This is not about all bicyclists. Neither is it about pedestrians. It’s about rules and safety. It is about jerks, and they can be on foot, in cars, on bikes, in planes, everywhere.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Why I Hate Aphorisms
Well, I really don’t hate them. I mean, what’s to hate about “A conceited person never gets anywhere because he thinks he is already there.” Or “A winner never quits -- a quitter never wins.” An aphorism is defined by Webster as: 1 : a concise statement of a principle, or 2 : a terse formulation of a truth or sentiment. They’re the sort of thing that slowly puts a wry smile on your face, or evokes a knowing nod, or a wistful sigh. And I just hate them. They always hit me as trite, contrived, sappy, corny, any of a host of negative reactions, but that’s not really my beef with them. Here, then, is a list of things I find irritating about aphorisms:
1. They really aren’t very original. When was the last time you heard one that was truly unique? For me, about 30 years ago.
2. They’re usually just a reformulation of something that you already know. Sort of a “preaching to the choir” thing. When was the last time you really had your mind, life strategy, attitude changed by an aphorism? I mean REALLY changed?
3. They tend to be things that we don’t so much follow as simply find comforting, reassuring, calming. We feel better about ourselves not for acting in response to them but in sharing them with others, as if we are the wise old sages.
4. We tend to feel better about ourselves not by following the wisdom in them, but by SHARING the wisdom with others. I watched a 5 or 6 tweet long “dueling aphorisms” episode on Twitter a few weeks ago, one aphorism evoking an “Oh, that’s a good one! Here’s another one?” like the two tweeters were passing along old family recipes.
5. They are just saccharine. I have really only ever felt truly nailed in the forehead by about 2 aphorisms, and this was because they were truly unique, truly wise, and hit me at exactly the right moment.
6. They are too clever, too contrived.
7. They don’t represent how we actually communicate. I mean, did Kahlil Gibran really speak this way? Wife: “Kahlil, honey, what do you want for supper?” answer: ;” A little knowledge that acts is worth infinitely more than much knowledge that is idle.”
8. They all tend to sound like your high school basketball coach. At least they sound like my high school basketball coach.
9. They can take the place of original thought, insight, experience, wisdom. On Twitter, at any rate, I would much rather hear what YOU have to say, and not Rumi. (Whoever he is.)
10. There’s an air of condescension, arrogance about them. If you really spoke like this to other people, you’d be branded as a tool. Even just repeating them for others implies that you are doling out wisdom from a place superior to others.
I would love to be at a dinner party where Kahlil Gibran, Winston Churchill, and M Scott Peck all happened to be at the same table. Can you imagine the aphorism showdown? It reminds me of the scene from “Tombstone” where the Doc Holiday character and the Johnny Ringo character start trading quips in Latin while others look on in awe. This may be how people write, but it’s not how they speak, at least not where I live. And even if it is how they write, they better be pretty damn wise to get away with it. I notice from looking at some of the famous aphorism websites that there seem to be certain criteria for doling out this wisdom:
· Being dead appears to give you a bully pulpit. Gives a sort of timeless wisdom aspect to them. Also protects us from copyright infringement.
· Being obscure lends an air of mystery and wisdom. If it weren’t for his aphorisms, most of us would probably think Kahlil Gibran was one of the convicted 9-11 terrorists.
· Being a world leader, religious icon, famous person is a distinct advantage. If you are nobody, you ought to be pretty damn wise before expecting to get quoted.
· Coming from another culture appears to give a boost. Adds to the air of mystery, I guess. There's a distinct bias towards Eastern knowledge, I find. From Persia to China. I often wonder how well these are even being translated.
· Coming from another era seems important. Most of these come from at least the last century.
But, really my problem with aphorisms is this: I suspect that we don’t intend to share wisdom, brighten someone’s day, make the world a better place, etc. at all, so much as we are really just wanting people to think “You know, he’s a pretty savvy guy.” It’s not about the message, it’s about us. We say we are trying to brighten another’s day, but I suspect we are just trying to brighten our own in the good old fashioned way – through hubris. They say “ I am sage. I am well read. I know who Jonas Salk is.”
Here, then, are some of my favorites, and why
· Dense, oblique: “A reasonable man adapts himself to suit his environment. An unreasonable man persists in attempting to adapt his environment to suit himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.” G B Shaw. This one makes my head hurt.
· “As the fly bangs against the window attempting freedom while the door stands open, so we bang against death ignoring heaven.” Doug Horton. The absolute impenetrable nature of this one is topped only by the fact that I have absolutely no idea who Dough Horton is. But my life has been changed forever.
· “"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."” Lewis Carrol. Truly oblique.
· “Education is civil defense against media fallout.” Marshall McLuhan. Double-U Tee Eff?
I will end this, then, with my favorite aphorism by Voltaire, whom I have now managed to suggest to you that I have read, or at least know who the hell he was, by quoting him: “A witty saying proves nothing.”
Later.
1. They really aren’t very original. When was the last time you heard one that was truly unique? For me, about 30 years ago.
2. They’re usually just a reformulation of something that you already know. Sort of a “preaching to the choir” thing. When was the last time you really had your mind, life strategy, attitude changed by an aphorism? I mean REALLY changed?
3. They tend to be things that we don’t so much follow as simply find comforting, reassuring, calming. We feel better about ourselves not for acting in response to them but in sharing them with others, as if we are the wise old sages.
4. We tend to feel better about ourselves not by following the wisdom in them, but by SHARING the wisdom with others. I watched a 5 or 6 tweet long “dueling aphorisms” episode on Twitter a few weeks ago, one aphorism evoking an “Oh, that’s a good one! Here’s another one?” like the two tweeters were passing along old family recipes.
5. They are just saccharine. I have really only ever felt truly nailed in the forehead by about 2 aphorisms, and this was because they were truly unique, truly wise, and hit me at exactly the right moment.
6. They are too clever, too contrived.
7. They don’t represent how we actually communicate. I mean, did Kahlil Gibran really speak this way? Wife: “Kahlil, honey, what do you want for supper?” answer: ;” A little knowledge that acts is worth infinitely more than much knowledge that is idle.”
8. They all tend to sound like your high school basketball coach. At least they sound like my high school basketball coach.
9. They can take the place of original thought, insight, experience, wisdom. On Twitter, at any rate, I would much rather hear what YOU have to say, and not Rumi. (Whoever he is.)
10. There’s an air of condescension, arrogance about them. If you really spoke like this to other people, you’d be branded as a tool. Even just repeating them for others implies that you are doling out wisdom from a place superior to others.
I would love to be at a dinner party where Kahlil Gibran, Winston Churchill, and M Scott Peck all happened to be at the same table. Can you imagine the aphorism showdown? It reminds me of the scene from “Tombstone” where the Doc Holiday character and the Johnny Ringo character start trading quips in Latin while others look on in awe. This may be how people write, but it’s not how they speak, at least not where I live. And even if it is how they write, they better be pretty damn wise to get away with it. I notice from looking at some of the famous aphorism websites that there seem to be certain criteria for doling out this wisdom:
· Being dead appears to give you a bully pulpit. Gives a sort of timeless wisdom aspect to them. Also protects us from copyright infringement.
· Being obscure lends an air of mystery and wisdom. If it weren’t for his aphorisms, most of us would probably think Kahlil Gibran was one of the convicted 9-11 terrorists.
· Being a world leader, religious icon, famous person is a distinct advantage. If you are nobody, you ought to be pretty damn wise before expecting to get quoted.
· Coming from another culture appears to give a boost. Adds to the air of mystery, I guess. There's a distinct bias towards Eastern knowledge, I find. From Persia to China. I often wonder how well these are even being translated.
· Coming from another era seems important. Most of these come from at least the last century.
But, really my problem with aphorisms is this: I suspect that we don’t intend to share wisdom, brighten someone’s day, make the world a better place, etc. at all, so much as we are really just wanting people to think “You know, he’s a pretty savvy guy.” It’s not about the message, it’s about us. We say we are trying to brighten another’s day, but I suspect we are just trying to brighten our own in the good old fashioned way – through hubris. They say “ I am sage. I am well read. I know who Jonas Salk is.”
Here, then, are some of my favorites, and why
· Dense, oblique: “A reasonable man adapts himself to suit his environment. An unreasonable man persists in attempting to adapt his environment to suit himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.” G B Shaw. This one makes my head hurt.
· “As the fly bangs against the window attempting freedom while the door stands open, so we bang against death ignoring heaven.” Doug Horton. The absolute impenetrable nature of this one is topped only by the fact that I have absolutely no idea who Dough Horton is. But my life has been changed forever.
· “"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."” Lewis Carrol. Truly oblique.
· “Education is civil defense against media fallout.” Marshall McLuhan. Double-U Tee Eff?
I will end this, then, with my favorite aphorism by Voltaire, whom I have now managed to suggest to you that I have read, or at least know who the hell he was, by quoting him: “A witty saying proves nothing.”
Later.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
What to Tweet
I’ve been refining and developing my Twitter style for a number of months now, and while I don’t claim to be any kind of expert Tweeter, I don’t think anyone really can. I mean, the app has only been around for a year or so, and nobody’s handing out degrees in it. There’s a lot of writing out there having to do with how to connect with people through following, but not so much on what to actually write about, so I thought I’d put down some of my observations.
Perhaps the biggest problem with getting started in Twitter is that at first you don’t have many people reading what you write. If you have a dozen followers, you may have less than 4 or 5 actually reading what you tweet. Of these 4 or 5, perhaps 1 or 2 will actually respond to your content. Because your first followers are probably pretty familiar to you, these tweets will tend to be about friends or family news, like “Are you going to Aunt Gladys’s birthday party next month?” Well, obviously you have to know who Aunt Gladys is, and care about her birthday to some degree, to even be able to relate to this tweet. I believe from what I’ve read that this was actually the original intent of Twitter; to provide for a little mini blog network of people who would all relate to the same people and events. You could speak in company or family shorthand, and everybody would know what you’re talking about. But then, as you get recommended to others, soon you have people following you who don’t know you at all, your family, your company, project, etc. So what do you tweet about? Popular topics read like the table of contents in your Sunday paper; Politics, news, views, culture, media, healh/wellness. This is where Twitter gets a little tricky, though. You still want to relate to the people you know in your immediate circle or original followers, but you also want to relate to a slightly broader audience. How do I “speak” in Twitter?
Developing a Twitter Voice
Some of my favorite tweeters handle this beautifully by blending personal messages with general interest tweets while still managing to sound colloquial at the same time. Imagine that you are hosting a small radio talk show with topics and questions coming in from people you mostly don’t know personally, but with whom you want at least a friendly interchange.
· Don’t lecture. Lecturers get unfollowed (by me, at least) pretty quickly. Twitter has become a great social media for political commentary. There is a fine line between commentary and lecture, but there is a line. Suggest, don’t command.
· Don’t speak in shorthand. In 140 characters, your challenge is to write something interesting and engaging while still remaining interesting to all of your followers. If you want to follow a thread with an individual, @reply them. Don’t post to your whole stream with something like “I can’t believe they think we’ll kowtow to this!” Who is they? Kowtow to what?
· Don’t be shy. Don’t be afraid to talk about what you’re thinking about. But when you do, make sure that you’re saying it in a way that will be interesting and relevant to all your followers.
· Have some interesting information. Either retweet something good or have something interesting to say. This doesn’t mean you have to be a White House reporter to come up with things of interest. I’ve read 140 character tweets from people who cracked me up explaining how they could not understand what their dog was trying to say to them. I’ve also been bored to tears by someone flatly reporting some epic event they attended.
· Use DMs. If you get involved in an ongoing discussion with another tweeter, remember all your followers are seeing the tweets. If it’s personal, or just not of interest to more than just you two, go to DMs.
· Don’t be too “quiet.” I follow a couple of people that tweet about once every three or four days. I follow them because a) I am related to them, or b) those tweets are very interesting (like coming from Air Force One).
· Don’t be too “loud”. Or frequent. You have to tweet enough to draw a crowd, but if you get to be like a circus barker, you will run the crowd off. Nobody wants to be in a conversation with someone who only talks and does not listen. Unless your famous and people want to hang on your every word, tweeting every 15 seconds about your life has got to be pretty darn interesting to hold people’s attention.
· Retweet, but not too much or little. Retweeting (forwarding and tacitly recommending someone else’s tweet) is a balance thing, too. It will gain you followers if done well, thoughtfully and actively, but too much is too much. Remember, people want to hear what you have to say, too. If you do nothing but retweet (and there are many) you better be really good at managing interesting content (and there are some).
· Abbreviate, but do it well. There’s a real skill to this. Tweetdeck actually has a pretty good tool for doing this for you, but I still abbreviate by hand. This is a balancing act, too. If you have so much to say such that you have to abbreviate too many words in a tweet, try rewording or breaking into two tweets. Overly abbreviated tweets get to looking like desperate telegraphed dispatches from the front.
· Be friendly, and where possible, personal. Bother to learn people’s names. Go to their profiles, learn about them. Engage. Simply using a person’s first name is an enormously effective tool in engaging someone. Many times, when people get a “bully pulpit” on Twitter through fame, notoriety, reputation, or whatever, they take on a sort of aloof, imperious tone. You better be awfully interesting to listen to if you take this approach.
· Tweet like somebody’s listening. Even if you are new and have just a few followers, develop a sort of conversational tone that sounds as if you are familiarly addressing a larger group of people. It lends an air of credibility. Don’t ever, ever, for any reason tweet either “Is anyone out there?” or “Hello? I’m bored. Is anyone listening?” They soon won’t be.
· Don’t admonish your followers. If you have a problem with what a particular tweeter or two had to say, address them in DM or at least in @reply. Don’t “blanket” your followers with admonitions. It comes off imperious and arrogant. The people you are really referring to probably won’t catch it, and the others will just be offended.
· Don’t Auto-tweet, auto-respond, ever for any reason. This is about interaction.
· If you are marketing something, attract people with tweets, not offers. If you have something interesting to say, I'l read it, even if you are selling something. If your only attempt to contact me is to spray me with offers, I'm not interested.
· Don’t repeat yourself. Don’t, for any reason, retweet the same tweet over and over. Even if you are not a bot and not auto-posting, you sure look like you are.
· Whenever possible, directly respond to ALL attempts to contact you. This is a core concept of Twitter, to me. Recently I had a surgery on a Friday and missed a whole “follow Friday” set of recommendations for people to follow me. I wound up sending out a general not-directed-at-anyone-in-particular tweet saying “Thanks for all the kind FFs”. I hate this. If someone took the time to individually recommend me, I feel I should reciprocate. If it’s simply an RT or an FF, I don’t feel this obligation. Twitter, to me, is all about interaction. There are plenty of people on Twitter (mostly famous folks) who joined with the notion that they’d use it as a networking tool, but soon found themselves followed by 100s of thousands of people who want to interact with them. Some handle this better than others. If you have 300 thousand followers, and you tweet that you attended a baseball game yesterday, and 387 people immediately ask you if you had a good time, of course you can’t respond to each. Rather than get defensive, distant, and aloof, perhaps it’s time to “close the door” (protect updates) so that people essentially have to follow the “friend request” model to follow you and ask for your approval. Perhaps it’s time to examine what Twitter means to you. If you have too many followers to relate to, perhaps FaceBook is a better solution. To me, one of the most disingenuous things a celebrity can do on Twitter is tweet really colloquial, personal stuff as if they are in a conversation, then reply to no one, (or one or two people). It comes off really manipulative and self-serving. I have followed a couple of lower level celebs with fewer than 2 or 3 thousand followers (there are tons of non celebs out there with ten times this number of followers) who followed almost no one in return and responded to no one. This has got to be the epitome of self-absorption. Unfollow. You are nowhere near as cool or hot as you think you are.
Twitter gets to be a bit like being at a large party. There are lots of people congregated in cliques talking about everything, laughing, joking, shouting, being obnoxious, being quiet and withdrawn. The trick is to manage to be engaged with as many people as you can at one time without appearing to be exclusive of people. Imagine you are at the center of one of the largest subgroups at a party. Several, if not many, folks are listening to what you say and some are replying to you. People from other nearby groups may even hear these conversations and may wander in. But remember that it’s a conversation, not a lecture. Don’t “hold forth” on a topic. This puts people off and acts as a barrier to engagement. Twitter is not very good for arguments. Flame wars 140 characters at a time, tend not to last long, and your followers get pretty tired of watching a mud fight pretty quickly. It’s too easy to block and unfollow contentious people.
So, you’re at the party. Hang around, introduce yourself to people. Initiate conversation. Listen intently and politely. Mingle. Move from group to group. Reply to everything said directly to you. If too many people are talking to you at once, maybe it’s time to go to a more exclusive party. But remember most of all that the coolest guy at the party is not the one who has the most people listening to him, or the one doing the most talking. He’s usually the guy in a spirited conversation with a few folks on a topic of interest to more than just a few, and he’s an avid listener as well as a good speaker.
Later.
Perhaps the biggest problem with getting started in Twitter is that at first you don’t have many people reading what you write. If you have a dozen followers, you may have less than 4 or 5 actually reading what you tweet. Of these 4 or 5, perhaps 1 or 2 will actually respond to your content. Because your first followers are probably pretty familiar to you, these tweets will tend to be about friends or family news, like “Are you going to Aunt Gladys’s birthday party next month?” Well, obviously you have to know who Aunt Gladys is, and care about her birthday to some degree, to even be able to relate to this tweet. I believe from what I’ve read that this was actually the original intent of Twitter; to provide for a little mini blog network of people who would all relate to the same people and events. You could speak in company or family shorthand, and everybody would know what you’re talking about. But then, as you get recommended to others, soon you have people following you who don’t know you at all, your family, your company, project, etc. So what do you tweet about? Popular topics read like the table of contents in your Sunday paper; Politics, news, views, culture, media, healh/wellness. This is where Twitter gets a little tricky, though. You still want to relate to the people you know in your immediate circle or original followers, but you also want to relate to a slightly broader audience. How do I “speak” in Twitter?
Developing a Twitter Voice
Some of my favorite tweeters handle this beautifully by blending personal messages with general interest tweets while still managing to sound colloquial at the same time. Imagine that you are hosting a small radio talk show with topics and questions coming in from people you mostly don’t know personally, but with whom you want at least a friendly interchange.
· Don’t lecture. Lecturers get unfollowed (by me, at least) pretty quickly. Twitter has become a great social media for political commentary. There is a fine line between commentary and lecture, but there is a line. Suggest, don’t command.
· Don’t speak in shorthand. In 140 characters, your challenge is to write something interesting and engaging while still remaining interesting to all of your followers. If you want to follow a thread with an individual, @reply them. Don’t post to your whole stream with something like “I can’t believe they think we’ll kowtow to this!” Who is they? Kowtow to what?
· Don’t be shy. Don’t be afraid to talk about what you’re thinking about. But when you do, make sure that you’re saying it in a way that will be interesting and relevant to all your followers.
· Have some interesting information. Either retweet something good or have something interesting to say. This doesn’t mean you have to be a White House reporter to come up with things of interest. I’ve read 140 character tweets from people who cracked me up explaining how they could not understand what their dog was trying to say to them. I’ve also been bored to tears by someone flatly reporting some epic event they attended.
· Use DMs. If you get involved in an ongoing discussion with another tweeter, remember all your followers are seeing the tweets. If it’s personal, or just not of interest to more than just you two, go to DMs.
· Don’t be too “quiet.” I follow a couple of people that tweet about once every three or four days. I follow them because a) I am related to them, or b) those tweets are very interesting (like coming from Air Force One).
· Don’t be too “loud”. Or frequent. You have to tweet enough to draw a crowd, but if you get to be like a circus barker, you will run the crowd off. Nobody wants to be in a conversation with someone who only talks and does not listen. Unless your famous and people want to hang on your every word, tweeting every 15 seconds about your life has got to be pretty darn interesting to hold people’s attention.
· Retweet, but not too much or little. Retweeting (forwarding and tacitly recommending someone else’s tweet) is a balance thing, too. It will gain you followers if done well, thoughtfully and actively, but too much is too much. Remember, people want to hear what you have to say, too. If you do nothing but retweet (and there are many) you better be really good at managing interesting content (and there are some).
· Abbreviate, but do it well. There’s a real skill to this. Tweetdeck actually has a pretty good tool for doing this for you, but I still abbreviate by hand. This is a balancing act, too. If you have so much to say such that you have to abbreviate too many words in a tweet, try rewording or breaking into two tweets. Overly abbreviated tweets get to looking like desperate telegraphed dispatches from the front.
· Be friendly, and where possible, personal. Bother to learn people’s names. Go to their profiles, learn about them. Engage. Simply using a person’s first name is an enormously effective tool in engaging someone. Many times, when people get a “bully pulpit” on Twitter through fame, notoriety, reputation, or whatever, they take on a sort of aloof, imperious tone. You better be awfully interesting to listen to if you take this approach.
· Tweet like somebody’s listening. Even if you are new and have just a few followers, develop a sort of conversational tone that sounds as if you are familiarly addressing a larger group of people. It lends an air of credibility. Don’t ever, ever, for any reason tweet either “Is anyone out there?” or “Hello? I’m bored. Is anyone listening?” They soon won’t be.
· Don’t admonish your followers. If you have a problem with what a particular tweeter or two had to say, address them in DM or at least in @reply. Don’t “blanket” your followers with admonitions. It comes off imperious and arrogant. The people you are really referring to probably won’t catch it, and the others will just be offended.
· Don’t Auto-tweet, auto-respond, ever for any reason. This is about interaction.
· If you are marketing something, attract people with tweets, not offers. If you have something interesting to say, I'l read it, even if you are selling something. If your only attempt to contact me is to spray me with offers, I'm not interested.
· Don’t repeat yourself. Don’t, for any reason, retweet the same tweet over and over. Even if you are not a bot and not auto-posting, you sure look like you are.
· Whenever possible, directly respond to ALL attempts to contact you. This is a core concept of Twitter, to me. Recently I had a surgery on a Friday and missed a whole “follow Friday” set of recommendations for people to follow me. I wound up sending out a general not-directed-at-anyone-in-particular tweet saying “Thanks for all the kind FFs”. I hate this. If someone took the time to individually recommend me, I feel I should reciprocate. If it’s simply an RT or an FF, I don’t feel this obligation. Twitter, to me, is all about interaction. There are plenty of people on Twitter (mostly famous folks) who joined with the notion that they’d use it as a networking tool, but soon found themselves followed by 100s of thousands of people who want to interact with them. Some handle this better than others. If you have 300 thousand followers, and you tweet that you attended a baseball game yesterday, and 387 people immediately ask you if you had a good time, of course you can’t respond to each. Rather than get defensive, distant, and aloof, perhaps it’s time to “close the door” (protect updates) so that people essentially have to follow the “friend request” model to follow you and ask for your approval. Perhaps it’s time to examine what Twitter means to you. If you have too many followers to relate to, perhaps FaceBook is a better solution. To me, one of the most disingenuous things a celebrity can do on Twitter is tweet really colloquial, personal stuff as if they are in a conversation, then reply to no one, (or one or two people). It comes off really manipulative and self-serving. I have followed a couple of lower level celebs with fewer than 2 or 3 thousand followers (there are tons of non celebs out there with ten times this number of followers) who followed almost no one in return and responded to no one. This has got to be the epitome of self-absorption. Unfollow. You are nowhere near as cool or hot as you think you are.
Twitter gets to be a bit like being at a large party. There are lots of people congregated in cliques talking about everything, laughing, joking, shouting, being obnoxious, being quiet and withdrawn. The trick is to manage to be engaged with as many people as you can at one time without appearing to be exclusive of people. Imagine you are at the center of one of the largest subgroups at a party. Several, if not many, folks are listening to what you say and some are replying to you. People from other nearby groups may even hear these conversations and may wander in. But remember that it’s a conversation, not a lecture. Don’t “hold forth” on a topic. This puts people off and acts as a barrier to engagement. Twitter is not very good for arguments. Flame wars 140 characters at a time, tend not to last long, and your followers get pretty tired of watching a mud fight pretty quickly. It’s too easy to block and unfollow contentious people.
So, you’re at the party. Hang around, introduce yourself to people. Initiate conversation. Listen intently and politely. Mingle. Move from group to group. Reply to everything said directly to you. If too many people are talking to you at once, maybe it’s time to go to a more exclusive party. But remember most of all that the coolest guy at the party is not the one who has the most people listening to him, or the one doing the most talking. He’s usually the guy in a spirited conversation with a few folks on a topic of interest to more than just a few, and he’s an avid listener as well as a good speaker.
Later.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Why I Follow (and Why I Don't) on Twitter
I find that as time goes by, my rules of engagement with Twitter evolve. I suppose a lot of this has to do with the fact that Twitter itself is evolving. As more people join, and more people follow and are followed by more people, the systems we all develop for how we relate to each other evolve. But, I’m evolving as well. I’ve developed – or am developing, rather – a Twitter personality (for better or worse).
My simple rule for following used to be “If I follow you, attempt to contact you, and you don’t respond, I unfollow”. That’s still pretty true, but I’ve tempered the view to be a little more flexible. There are a few “news and information” people I do follow that don’t respond to me. My hard and fast rule about “this is a social networking application” is not so hard and fast anymore. But this is still very different to me then following some celebrity who posts updates to their life with no intention of ever interacting with their followers. And this is fine; there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not anything I choose to participate in. I’d rather pick up a copy of People.
I use to automatically follow anybody who followed me. This has shifted, as well, as the porn spam bots and the “I’ll show you how to get 100,000 followers a day!” tweeters proliferated. The first thing I do now when I get a new follower is to read a page or two of their tweets. You can get a feeling pretty quickly about what sort of Tweeter you’re dealing with this way. If the follower only posts once or twice a week, no follow. Here are some things I look for:
1. Do you only retweet? I still pretty much look for interaction on here, and with a few notable exceptions, “news feed” accounts like these don’t attract me much. If you do only retweet, it’s got to be pretty darn informational for me to follow. (And there are some. @raybeckerman, for example. Highly recommend.)
2. Are you selling something to me? I’m a “pull” rather than “push” consumer. I tend to seek out the things I want to buy rather than let them seek me. No follow. To me, it’s ok to use Twitter to “market yourself”, ie. Circulate your book idea, song, poetry, blog, as long as that’s not ALL you are doing. This is not the same as direct selling indiscriminately to me. We’re all trying to “market” ourselves in some way, after all. Just don’t let it be the only reason you’re using Twitter. (I’m looking for interaction.)
3. Do you only publish inspirational aphorisms? I have to say that these things all tend to blur together after a few days of reading them. Ghandi can’t possible have said all this stuff, can he? When was the last time you read one that was truly unique and new? They’re OK in small doses and when genuinely unique, but some folks do almost nothing but speak in aphorisms on Twitter. I was reading a stream of these between two Tweeters a few days ago, replete with “Good one!” and “Wow, where did you get this one!?” Like dueling aphorisms. Appears shallow, insincere and vapid after a while.
4. If your tweets are totally focused on getting me (and you) “100s of followers a day”, we probably don’t have much in common. Why would I want 100s of followers a day if it weren’t for the purpose of selling them something?
5. If you are a “life coach” I’m not much interested. My life coach has a few letters after her name (LPC, MA.) Call me old fashioned, but there are some things I think you ought to be government certified to do, and this is one of them. And I certainly didn’t find her through a free internet social network application.
6. How many people do you follow? If you already follow 10,000 people and your bio says you’re a “social networking media guru”, I’m pretty sure you’re not going to miss my tweets if I don’t follow you. Again, looking for REAL interaction.
7. Are you in stealth mode? I understand that identity theft is a big issue, but if it’s that big an issue, perhaps you shouldn’t be using the internet for social interaction. If you have no name, no location, no profile, why would I want to follow you? Again, it’s about interaction. Still, I have some great twitter friends who are in stealth mode, but they sought out real interaction with me first. That’s the key. I have only asked for one permission to follow a protected updates account, and that was because she was referred to me. This is too much like the FaceBook and MySpace “friends request” deal which is antithetical to the whole Twitter experience to me.
8. Are you following me in response to something I said? I will almost automatically follow someone in this case. A “blind follow”, or a follower who found you by bot doesn’t present much of a promise of interaction to me.
9. Do you have anything interesting to say? To me, this is the number one reason to follow, perhaps even above and beyond the chance of interaction. But more importantly, the question I ask is “Do you have anything interesting to say to me?”
10. How much do you tweet? Too much and too little are key to me. If you tweet once every 15 seconds or only once a week, I’m not much interested in you feed.
11. Do you have “auto this and that” turned on? There are some accounts that spit out tweets ever couple of minutes that are obviously coming out of some canned app. The same tweet will recycle every couple of minutes. Like following an answering machine.
Looking at this list, I think there are two keys to following. Interaction is certainly most important. Informational can trump this, but the information has to be from someone really interesting, or be in itself very unique and informational. I really think the very core concept of a social networking application is direct interaction, and choose to use Twitter this way. Your mileage may vary, though!
Later.
My simple rule for following used to be “If I follow you, attempt to contact you, and you don’t respond, I unfollow”. That’s still pretty true, but I’ve tempered the view to be a little more flexible. There are a few “news and information” people I do follow that don’t respond to me. My hard and fast rule about “this is a social networking application” is not so hard and fast anymore. But this is still very different to me then following some celebrity who posts updates to their life with no intention of ever interacting with their followers. And this is fine; there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not anything I choose to participate in. I’d rather pick up a copy of People.
I use to automatically follow anybody who followed me. This has shifted, as well, as the porn spam bots and the “I’ll show you how to get 100,000 followers a day!” tweeters proliferated. The first thing I do now when I get a new follower is to read a page or two of their tweets. You can get a feeling pretty quickly about what sort of Tweeter you’re dealing with this way. If the follower only posts once or twice a week, no follow. Here are some things I look for:
1. Do you only retweet? I still pretty much look for interaction on here, and with a few notable exceptions, “news feed” accounts like these don’t attract me much. If you do only retweet, it’s got to be pretty darn informational for me to follow. (And there are some. @raybeckerman, for example. Highly recommend.)
2. Are you selling something to me? I’m a “pull” rather than “push” consumer. I tend to seek out the things I want to buy rather than let them seek me. No follow. To me, it’s ok to use Twitter to “market yourself”, ie. Circulate your book idea, song, poetry, blog, as long as that’s not ALL you are doing. This is not the same as direct selling indiscriminately to me. We’re all trying to “market” ourselves in some way, after all. Just don’t let it be the only reason you’re using Twitter. (I’m looking for interaction.)
3. Do you only publish inspirational aphorisms? I have to say that these things all tend to blur together after a few days of reading them. Ghandi can’t possible have said all this stuff, can he? When was the last time you read one that was truly unique and new? They’re OK in small doses and when genuinely unique, but some folks do almost nothing but speak in aphorisms on Twitter. I was reading a stream of these between two Tweeters a few days ago, replete with “Good one!” and “Wow, where did you get this one!?” Like dueling aphorisms. Appears shallow, insincere and vapid after a while.
4. If your tweets are totally focused on getting me (and you) “100s of followers a day”, we probably don’t have much in common. Why would I want 100s of followers a day if it weren’t for the purpose of selling them something?
5. If you are a “life coach” I’m not much interested. My life coach has a few letters after her name (LPC, MA.) Call me old fashioned, but there are some things I think you ought to be government certified to do, and this is one of them. And I certainly didn’t find her through a free internet social network application.
6. How many people do you follow? If you already follow 10,000 people and your bio says you’re a “social networking media guru”, I’m pretty sure you’re not going to miss my tweets if I don’t follow you. Again, looking for REAL interaction.
7. Are you in stealth mode? I understand that identity theft is a big issue, but if it’s that big an issue, perhaps you shouldn’t be using the internet for social interaction. If you have no name, no location, no profile, why would I want to follow you? Again, it’s about interaction. Still, I have some great twitter friends who are in stealth mode, but they sought out real interaction with me first. That’s the key. I have only asked for one permission to follow a protected updates account, and that was because she was referred to me. This is too much like the FaceBook and MySpace “friends request” deal which is antithetical to the whole Twitter experience to me.
8. Are you following me in response to something I said? I will almost automatically follow someone in this case. A “blind follow”, or a follower who found you by bot doesn’t present much of a promise of interaction to me.
9. Do you have anything interesting to say? To me, this is the number one reason to follow, perhaps even above and beyond the chance of interaction. But more importantly, the question I ask is “Do you have anything interesting to say to me?”
10. How much do you tweet? Too much and too little are key to me. If you tweet once every 15 seconds or only once a week, I’m not much interested in you feed.
11. Do you have “auto this and that” turned on? There are some accounts that spit out tweets ever couple of minutes that are obviously coming out of some canned app. The same tweet will recycle every couple of minutes. Like following an answering machine.
Looking at this list, I think there are two keys to following. Interaction is certainly most important. Informational can trump this, but the information has to be from someone really interesting, or be in itself very unique and informational. I really think the very core concept of a social networking application is direct interaction, and choose to use Twitter this way. Your mileage may vary, though!
Later.
Monday, July 6, 2009
A Child's Ghost Story
Sometimes a story coming from a child bears greater weight than if it came from a college professor. Something about the pure simplicity and innocence of a child’s story lends it gravity. Sure, kids can fabricate from whole cloth, but this is almost immediately identifiable. A child generally doesn’t have the language skills and sophistication to fictionalize convincingly, which makes a non-fictional story from them all the more convincing.
We were riding home from a vacation a couple of years ago, passing the time telling ghost stories. My daughter, who was then about 8 years old began telling us of something that I at first took to be a dream, even though she insisted it wasn’t. She proceeded to tell the story, which, although I remember it clearly, I still managed to file away as a sort of half remembered dream. Fast forward a couple of years. Under similar circumstances – another long car trip – the subject came up again. If you ever want to really fact check a child’s story, ask them to retell it a few years later. She recounted the incident to us, almost verbatim, and I confess to a slight chill running through me. Here it is, my best attempt to tell it in her now 12 year old voice, with my questions interjected:
“You know how you are when you’re just about to fall asleep, not really awake, but not really asleep? I was in my old bed at mom’s house which looks right straight out at the hallway where the fish tank used to be. There was a little girl standing there. I wasn’t afraid, but I knew that I was no longer asleep at all, and actually leaned up on my elbows. She was about 7 or 8 years old, long blonde hair, but the ends were curly. She had a dress or nightgown on. I couldn’t tell which. It was either a frilly nightgown or an old style dress. She was standing looking at the wall.”
“Could you see her face?”
“Oh, yeah. I could see everything about her. It was like she had her own light. It wasn’t like she was glowing, but not really. It was like she was in light, but there was no light there. It was dark in the hall. And it wasn’t like she was glowing, because she wasn’t giving off any light on anything around her. She looked confused, like she was lost. She had a blanket or something like it in her hand, hanging over her arm and it looked like she was trying to figure out which way to go.”
“Did she move?”
“Yeah, she turned and looked at me!”
“You’re kidding!?”
“She looked right at me, we looked at each other, and she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.”
“And you weren’t afraid.”
“Unhuh. Not even after.”
“What do you mean after? What happened next?” (I was totally enthralled at this point.)
“She took a couple of steps towards me. It wasn’t like she was walking on the floor, though. Not like she was gliding, but walking, but it was like her feet weren’t where the floor was.” (I remember the chill I felt when she said this).
“Did she approach you?”
“Just a little, but then she just wasn’t there. Not like she faded, or vanished or anything. Not like anything I can explain. She just wasn’t there anymore. The hall was dark and empty, but I don’t remember her going away or anything. Just not there.”
I drove for a while after hearing this story a second time imaging it, trying to put myself in the scene, imagining my daughter laying there in some sort of communication with a girl about her age. Perhaps that’s why she saw her. My dad instinct kicked in and I felt a pang of concern for this little girl, lost, with her blanket. Perhaps she was looking for her daddy.
Later.
We were riding home from a vacation a couple of years ago, passing the time telling ghost stories. My daughter, who was then about 8 years old began telling us of something that I at first took to be a dream, even though she insisted it wasn’t. She proceeded to tell the story, which, although I remember it clearly, I still managed to file away as a sort of half remembered dream. Fast forward a couple of years. Under similar circumstances – another long car trip – the subject came up again. If you ever want to really fact check a child’s story, ask them to retell it a few years later. She recounted the incident to us, almost verbatim, and I confess to a slight chill running through me. Here it is, my best attempt to tell it in her now 12 year old voice, with my questions interjected:
“You know how you are when you’re just about to fall asleep, not really awake, but not really asleep? I was in my old bed at mom’s house which looks right straight out at the hallway where the fish tank used to be. There was a little girl standing there. I wasn’t afraid, but I knew that I was no longer asleep at all, and actually leaned up on my elbows. She was about 7 or 8 years old, long blonde hair, but the ends were curly. She had a dress or nightgown on. I couldn’t tell which. It was either a frilly nightgown or an old style dress. She was standing looking at the wall.”
“Could you see her face?”
“Oh, yeah. I could see everything about her. It was like she had her own light. It wasn’t like she was glowing, but not really. It was like she was in light, but there was no light there. It was dark in the hall. And it wasn’t like she was glowing, because she wasn’t giving off any light on anything around her. She looked confused, like she was lost. She had a blanket or something like it in her hand, hanging over her arm and it looked like she was trying to figure out which way to go.”
“Did she move?”
“Yeah, she turned and looked at me!”
“You’re kidding!?”
“She looked right at me, we looked at each other, and she was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.”
“And you weren’t afraid.”
“Unhuh. Not even after.”
“What do you mean after? What happened next?” (I was totally enthralled at this point.)
“She took a couple of steps towards me. It wasn’t like she was walking on the floor, though. Not like she was gliding, but walking, but it was like her feet weren’t where the floor was.” (I remember the chill I felt when she said this).
“Did she approach you?”
“Just a little, but then she just wasn’t there. Not like she faded, or vanished or anything. Not like anything I can explain. She just wasn’t there anymore. The hall was dark and empty, but I don’t remember her going away or anything. Just not there.”
I drove for a while after hearing this story a second time imaging it, trying to put myself in the scene, imagining my daughter laying there in some sort of communication with a girl about her age. Perhaps that’s why she saw her. My dad instinct kicked in and I felt a pang of concern for this little girl, lost, with her blanket. Perhaps she was looking for her daddy.
Later.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Twitter Observations, continued.
The more I use Twitter, the more I’m aware of the complexity of the whole nature of the follower versus the followed and how to manage my interaction on Twitter. There appears to be a multiplicity of variables at play in how the service is being used, and how it can be used, and the variables are all intertwined:
· How many people do you follow?
· How many do you tweet?
· Of those, how many respond?
· How many people follow you?
· How many contact you? How many do you respond to?
· How many do you tweet to? How many respond?
· How many people do you want to follow?
· How many followers do you want? And why?
I’ve been on Twitter for a few months now and continue to come to different conclusions on how this service is being used, and perhaps how it should be used. Folks seem to be falling into three groups:
1. Those aggressively seeking greatest number of followers.
2. Those following the greatest number of people possible.
3. Those with few of either, involved instead in small group communication.
4. Celebrities. Vast number of followers, variable number of followees, variable amount of interaction.
In the case of number 1, I’m not quite sure what is to be gained by getting a vast number of followers. I suppose if I had something to sell, this would be some way of getting my brand out there, but I’m not sure Twitter has proven this to be a viable goal. Eventually, you will invariably get to the point where you can’t interact with the number of people who follow you. This is fine if you are just using Twitter to broadcast stuff about yourself to your loyal followers, but it kind of controverts the core concept of Twitter; that of a social network application.
In the case of #2 above, it becomes difficult to manage the flow of tweets from such a large number of followed twitters, whether you seek interaction with them or not. This is kind of a voyeuristic approach to Twitter, but so what? There’s no user manual for Twitter.
In the 3rd case, we’re probably closest what sort of use was envisioned for Twitter by its developers. Groups of smallish networks of people involved in one project, for example, or the members of an extended family keeping track of each other. I would love to know how many of the millions of people using Twitter actually use it for this purpose.
In the 4th case, that of the celebrity Twitter, I’m guessing the Twitter developers probably got the most unforeseen response. I doubt any of them were supposing that someone like Ashton Kutcher could come along and garner literally millions of followers. Celebrities manage this differently. Some, as in the case of Kutcher and his wife Demi Moore, use it as a sort of informal bully pulpit, promoting social causes, playing pranks, all in a sort of informal manner that leads the follower to believe they are “talking” to them. All 3 million of them. Some celebrities with relatively smaller numbers actually do a pretty good job of interacting with their followers.
Twitter Do’s and Don’t’s
1. Don’t orphan your Tweets. When responding to someone, either RT (retweet) or include a reference to the original. If I post something and get a response 15 minutes (and 15 tweets) later saying “I agree completely!” I have no idea what you’re agreeing with.
2. Don’t broadcast Tys (thank yous) If your cat died, you tweet about it, and 5 people respond with genuine compassion, don’t send one tweet to all 5 of them saying “Thanks for your support”. That’s the Twitter version of a form letter.
3. Respond to ALL direct attempts to contact you. It takes about 2 seconds to say “Thanks!” in a Tweet. If you have too many followers to respond to, well, you have too many followers! What can you do about this? Send out a tweet to the world saying “I’d love to respond to each of you, but I’m currently getting ______ (fill in number of tweets directed at you) tweets per hour, and just can’t”. THEN (this is important) DON’T cherry pick who you are going to respond to. People will see this in their twitstream and know they didn’t hit high enough on your radar to warrant a response. This is drawback to Twitter and how it handles privacy. If you follow me you will see all my Tweets that aren’t DM’s. This is not initially obvious when getting into Twitter.
4. Be brief. Don’t seek to use all 140 characters each time. Doing so presents an obstacle to those who want to retweet you as they won’t have enough space.
5. Don’t tweet too much. If you set up an almost constant stream of tweets, people will go from reading them, to scanning them, to not reading them.
6. Don’t tweet too little. If you only tweet once a day, well, you’re just not interacting with your network enough to really even justify using it. It’s a balance thing.
I suspect that we, the users of Twitter, are really the ones setting the agenda for the future of this application. We are determining the future of Twitter. It will be interesting to see where it goes, especially with the exponential growth its currently experiencing.
Later.
· How many people do you follow?
· How many do you tweet?
· Of those, how many respond?
· How many people follow you?
· How many contact you? How many do you respond to?
· How many do you tweet to? How many respond?
· How many people do you want to follow?
· How many followers do you want? And why?
I’ve been on Twitter for a few months now and continue to come to different conclusions on how this service is being used, and perhaps how it should be used. Folks seem to be falling into three groups:
1. Those aggressively seeking greatest number of followers.
2. Those following the greatest number of people possible.
3. Those with few of either, involved instead in small group communication.
4. Celebrities. Vast number of followers, variable number of followees, variable amount of interaction.
In the case of number 1, I’m not quite sure what is to be gained by getting a vast number of followers. I suppose if I had something to sell, this would be some way of getting my brand out there, but I’m not sure Twitter has proven this to be a viable goal. Eventually, you will invariably get to the point where you can’t interact with the number of people who follow you. This is fine if you are just using Twitter to broadcast stuff about yourself to your loyal followers, but it kind of controverts the core concept of Twitter; that of a social network application.
In the case of #2 above, it becomes difficult to manage the flow of tweets from such a large number of followed twitters, whether you seek interaction with them or not. This is kind of a voyeuristic approach to Twitter, but so what? There’s no user manual for Twitter.
In the 3rd case, we’re probably closest what sort of use was envisioned for Twitter by its developers. Groups of smallish networks of people involved in one project, for example, or the members of an extended family keeping track of each other. I would love to know how many of the millions of people using Twitter actually use it for this purpose.
In the 4th case, that of the celebrity Twitter, I’m guessing the Twitter developers probably got the most unforeseen response. I doubt any of them were supposing that someone like Ashton Kutcher could come along and garner literally millions of followers. Celebrities manage this differently. Some, as in the case of Kutcher and his wife Demi Moore, use it as a sort of informal bully pulpit, promoting social causes, playing pranks, all in a sort of informal manner that leads the follower to believe they are “talking” to them. All 3 million of them. Some celebrities with relatively smaller numbers actually do a pretty good job of interacting with their followers.
Twitter Do’s and Don’t’s
1. Don’t orphan your Tweets. When responding to someone, either RT (retweet) or include a reference to the original. If I post something and get a response 15 minutes (and 15 tweets) later saying “I agree completely!” I have no idea what you’re agreeing with.
2. Don’t broadcast Tys (thank yous) If your cat died, you tweet about it, and 5 people respond with genuine compassion, don’t send one tweet to all 5 of them saying “Thanks for your support”. That’s the Twitter version of a form letter.
3. Respond to ALL direct attempts to contact you. It takes about 2 seconds to say “Thanks!” in a Tweet. If you have too many followers to respond to, well, you have too many followers! What can you do about this? Send out a tweet to the world saying “I’d love to respond to each of you, but I’m currently getting ______ (fill in number of tweets directed at you) tweets per hour, and just can’t”. THEN (this is important) DON’T cherry pick who you are going to respond to. People will see this in their twitstream and know they didn’t hit high enough on your radar to warrant a response. This is drawback to Twitter and how it handles privacy. If you follow me you will see all my Tweets that aren’t DM’s. This is not initially obvious when getting into Twitter.
4. Be brief. Don’t seek to use all 140 characters each time. Doing so presents an obstacle to those who want to retweet you as they won’t have enough space.
5. Don’t tweet too much. If you set up an almost constant stream of tweets, people will go from reading them, to scanning them, to not reading them.
6. Don’t tweet too little. If you only tweet once a day, well, you’re just not interacting with your network enough to really even justify using it. It’s a balance thing.
I suspect that we, the users of Twitter, are really the ones setting the agenda for the future of this application. We are determining the future of Twitter. It will be interesting to see where it goes, especially with the exponential growth its currently experiencing.
Later.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Bobcats in the Park
February 16, 2009 - Monday
Bobcats!
I started running in December. Well, kind of run/walking. I did it in December so that I could say that it wasn't a New Year's resolution. I'm not going to join the ruck of the bobtail joggers out there all in their 50s out to change their life starting on January 1st. No, not me. I'll start two weeks earlier. I'll be a seasoned pro by the time the first rolls around. I was actually limping, I think, by January 1. I jog/run/walk/limp in River Legacy Park in North Arlington, Texas, a "linear" park that borders the Trinity River for a few miles between Dallas and Fort Worth. At times, the park bordering the river is pretty civilized - very park looking - but as it heads West the river swoops out behind a few straggling rows of apartment complexes, turning pretty wild. A cement trail runs the length of the park, approximately 8 feet across. Well, nature may abhor a vacuum, but it doesn't abhor a nice smooth cement path. I've had nearly a dozen North American bobcat sightings along it in just the past two months. These cats have become "urbanized" as they say, which means that they are living cheek by jowl with man in a setting in which they know they are protected from hunting, but where their proximity to man provides for an abundance of food down the food chain from them. We've both moved into their habitat one one hand, but also in doing so, we've provided a sort of incentive to them to hang around and even to enter suburban areas. I have come to believe they see us as something like cattle. We're big, sure, but slow moving, non-threatening, and as such, obviously not predators. We're also way too big to be a meal, so we're just kind of scenery to them.
My first encounter happened on one of those classic North Texas winter days; overcast, cold, windy with a chance of freezing rain. Sort of a miserable day to go jogging, and as such, the paths were pretty empty. I'd made it to the far limit of my excursion and had just turned around when, while making a turn in the path, I saw what appeared to be a large house cat facing away from me, sitting, sunning himself on the cement. As I approached, the cat stood and turned and I was immediately drawn up short. Brilliant black and white spots stood out on a deep golden background on this animal's coat. In standing, it had turned sideways and taken a step or two, which was enough to make it immediately apparent that this was not house cat. A stubby fluff of white flicked the air where a long cat's tail should be. Thick padded feet protruded from slightly overly long legs. Black tufts of fur stood from it's outsized ears. It was about the size of a small spaniel; much larger than a house cat. I watched, waiting for it to notice me, and even risked a step or two in its direction. It was half turned to face me but never once looked at me. Is slowly - very slowly - walked off the path not away from me, but sort of towards me but to the left. I couldn't believe that the animal acted as if I wasn't even there. By the time it made it through the little ditch at the side of the trail, and into the woods, it was no more than 20 feet from me! I felt a slight twinge of fear, but not much. There was absolutely nothing threatening about this animal's behavior. I watched until it passed deep enough into the trees to be hard to pick out amongst the limbs and branches. Then I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this, but I was alone for as far as I could see.
The next encounter was perhaps a week later. This was a different cat; larger, less brilliantly colored, and nearly the size of a small retriever. I turned a corner after having passed a stop bicyclist who was following at some distance. This cat was walking directly towards me on the other side of the path as if he knew the convention of passing on the left! These paths are about 8 feet wide throughout the park system. He was on the shoulder just off the path and as he approached - not making any eye contact whatsoever or any motion that indicated he was even aware of me - I found myself subconsciously taking a half step off the path. This was a big cat. I turned to see if I had witnesses and saw the bicyclist who had seen this encounter and had stopped, watching, about 20 yards behind me. Behind him, though, a park maintenance cart was coming up the path, making a low motor noise. This was the only thing the cat seemed to notice, and it had his full attention. Unbelievably, as the cart got within eyesight, the cat - who just opposite me on the far side of the path - stopped completely, standing staring ahead! We were absolutely no more than 9 feet from one another! I had never experienced anything like this in my life. As the cart approached, the cat thought better of things, and slowly walked away from me towards the trees, not because of my presence at all, but because of the cart. For that moment as we stood across from each other, I felt so completely a part of the world around me, the natural world around me, and yet at the same time so completely insanely juxtaposed to this suburban park setting. I was amazed and felt a sense of honor. I had been accepted, allowed, tolerated, by the most wild creature I have ever seen outside of a zoo.
The third encounter ocurred no more than 10 days ago, and was perhaps the most moving. It was kind of a misty morning, so hardly anyone was at the park. There's a bridge about 50 yards in length that carries the bike path over the Trinity as it heads west to Collins/157. This is pretty close to the main park, and as such it's pretty unusual to see any kind of wildlife there, but here I am, approaching this bridge and I see a full grown bobcat standing at the other end, right in the middle. I walk to about midway down the bridge and she begins slowly approaching me. It's one thing to be on a path with one of these animals, but to be on a bridge 20 feet over the river which is about a foot deep there, well, I wasn't above backing up, but my options were beginning to narrow. She proceeds slowly, and as she does so, I notice that she periodically stops and sticks her muzzle through the bars of the bridge railing and mouthes something. I never did hear her - it must have been quiet - but she was clearly vocalizing for some reason. I wondered if she was confused at finding herself suddenly 20 feet above the river or something like that, but then as she got about 20 feet nearer to me, it became clear what was going on. Pop! Up comes this little fluff of grey fur up onto the bridge from the far side. She was calling her cub! The cub, which was about half her size, or about the size of a regular house cat, only stockier, ran to her and brushed up against her. Mom turned and nonchalantly began walking towards me, once again pretty much ignoring me. Not so with the cub who was all eyes as they approached, hanging back just a little bit. Ok, so this is now one of those wilderness situations that you see on the Discovery Channel where some idiot finds himself between a mother bear and her cub, but here I am, half way across the bridge and twenty feet in the air myself at this point, so I just stood still while they proudly walked past. We were not 4 feet apart. The mother just casually turned her head a little towards me just like she was making sure it was OK, but for the most part she just kept marching while junior followed up the rear. I watched them all the way to the far end of the bridge and off into the brush before I could even bring myself to move. There wasn't another soul in sight.
Most recent experience, no more than 4 days ago, and I'm walking near where the first encounter happened. This time, I round a bend in the path to see no less than three bobcats no more than 20 yards ahead of me. It's a mother an two cubs, larger than the last, maybe a year old, I'd guess. This time, however, we're all going in the same direction. I followed this threesome for 5 minutes before it became apparent that not only did they know I was behind them (I'd even begun calling to them to see if I could just get one to turn around), but they didn't seem to be much concerned about getting out of my way. They were walking very slowly, half the speed I was walking, so I had to stop from time to time. Finally, the mom heads them off the path, almost as if she was annoyed at my impatience. This time she made eye contact, though. As she was just about to disappear into the understory growth, she turned her back to a downed tree, peed on it, and locked eyes with me. The message was clear: "Just in case you were wondering, these are MY woods!"
I started carrying a camera after the second encounter but so far have not had a camera on a day I see them, but when I do, you will see a YouTube posting, if I have any luck at all!
Bobcats!
I started running in December. Well, kind of run/walking. I did it in December so that I could say that it wasn't a New Year's resolution. I'm not going to join the ruck of the bobtail joggers out there all in their 50s out to change their life starting on January 1st. No, not me. I'll start two weeks earlier. I'll be a seasoned pro by the time the first rolls around. I was actually limping, I think, by January 1. I jog/run/walk/limp in River Legacy Park in North Arlington, Texas, a "linear" park that borders the Trinity River for a few miles between Dallas and Fort Worth. At times, the park bordering the river is pretty civilized - very park looking - but as it heads West the river swoops out behind a few straggling rows of apartment complexes, turning pretty wild. A cement trail runs the length of the park, approximately 8 feet across. Well, nature may abhor a vacuum, but it doesn't abhor a nice smooth cement path. I've had nearly a dozen North American bobcat sightings along it in just the past two months. These cats have become "urbanized" as they say, which means that they are living cheek by jowl with man in a setting in which they know they are protected from hunting, but where their proximity to man provides for an abundance of food down the food chain from them. We've both moved into their habitat one one hand, but also in doing so, we've provided a sort of incentive to them to hang around and even to enter suburban areas. I have come to believe they see us as something like cattle. We're big, sure, but slow moving, non-threatening, and as such, obviously not predators. We're also way too big to be a meal, so we're just kind of scenery to them.
My first encounter happened on one of those classic North Texas winter days; overcast, cold, windy with a chance of freezing rain. Sort of a miserable day to go jogging, and as such, the paths were pretty empty. I'd made it to the far limit of my excursion and had just turned around when, while making a turn in the path, I saw what appeared to be a large house cat facing away from me, sitting, sunning himself on the cement. As I approached, the cat stood and turned and I was immediately drawn up short. Brilliant black and white spots stood out on a deep golden background on this animal's coat. In standing, it had turned sideways and taken a step or two, which was enough to make it immediately apparent that this was not house cat. A stubby fluff of white flicked the air where a long cat's tail should be. Thick padded feet protruded from slightly overly long legs. Black tufts of fur stood from it's outsized ears. It was about the size of a small spaniel; much larger than a house cat. I watched, waiting for it to notice me, and even risked a step or two in its direction. It was half turned to face me but never once looked at me. Is slowly - very slowly - walked off the path not away from me, but sort of towards me but to the left. I couldn't believe that the animal acted as if I wasn't even there. By the time it made it through the little ditch at the side of the trail, and into the woods, it was no more than 20 feet from me! I felt a slight twinge of fear, but not much. There was absolutely nothing threatening about this animal's behavior. I watched until it passed deep enough into the trees to be hard to pick out amongst the limbs and branches. Then I looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this, but I was alone for as far as I could see.
The next encounter was perhaps a week later. This was a different cat; larger, less brilliantly colored, and nearly the size of a small retriever. I turned a corner after having passed a stop bicyclist who was following at some distance. This cat was walking directly towards me on the other side of the path as if he knew the convention of passing on the left! These paths are about 8 feet wide throughout the park system. He was on the shoulder just off the path and as he approached - not making any eye contact whatsoever or any motion that indicated he was even aware of me - I found myself subconsciously taking a half step off the path. This was a big cat. I turned to see if I had witnesses and saw the bicyclist who had seen this encounter and had stopped, watching, about 20 yards behind me. Behind him, though, a park maintenance cart was coming up the path, making a low motor noise. This was the only thing the cat seemed to notice, and it had his full attention. Unbelievably, as the cart got within eyesight, the cat - who just opposite me on the far side of the path - stopped completely, standing staring ahead! We were absolutely no more than 9 feet from one another! I had never experienced anything like this in my life. As the cart approached, the cat thought better of things, and slowly walked away from me towards the trees, not because of my presence at all, but because of the cart. For that moment as we stood across from each other, I felt so completely a part of the world around me, the natural world around me, and yet at the same time so completely insanely juxtaposed to this suburban park setting. I was amazed and felt a sense of honor. I had been accepted, allowed, tolerated, by the most wild creature I have ever seen outside of a zoo.
The third encounter ocurred no more than 10 days ago, and was perhaps the most moving. It was kind of a misty morning, so hardly anyone was at the park. There's a bridge about 50 yards in length that carries the bike path over the Trinity as it heads west to Collins/157. This is pretty close to the main park, and as such it's pretty unusual to see any kind of wildlife there, but here I am, approaching this bridge and I see a full grown bobcat standing at the other end, right in the middle. I walk to about midway down the bridge and she begins slowly approaching me. It's one thing to be on a path with one of these animals, but to be on a bridge 20 feet over the river which is about a foot deep there, well, I wasn't above backing up, but my options were beginning to narrow. She proceeds slowly, and as she does so, I notice that she periodically stops and sticks her muzzle through the bars of the bridge railing and mouthes something. I never did hear her - it must have been quiet - but she was clearly vocalizing for some reason. I wondered if she was confused at finding herself suddenly 20 feet above the river or something like that, but then as she got about 20 feet nearer to me, it became clear what was going on. Pop! Up comes this little fluff of grey fur up onto the bridge from the far side. She was calling her cub! The cub, which was about half her size, or about the size of a regular house cat, only stockier, ran to her and brushed up against her. Mom turned and nonchalantly began walking towards me, once again pretty much ignoring me. Not so with the cub who was all eyes as they approached, hanging back just a little bit. Ok, so this is now one of those wilderness situations that you see on the Discovery Channel where some idiot finds himself between a mother bear and her cub, but here I am, half way across the bridge and twenty feet in the air myself at this point, so I just stood still while they proudly walked past. We were not 4 feet apart. The mother just casually turned her head a little towards me just like she was making sure it was OK, but for the most part she just kept marching while junior followed up the rear. I watched them all the way to the far end of the bridge and off into the brush before I could even bring myself to move. There wasn't another soul in sight.
Most recent experience, no more than 4 days ago, and I'm walking near where the first encounter happened. This time, I round a bend in the path to see no less than three bobcats no more than 20 yards ahead of me. It's a mother an two cubs, larger than the last, maybe a year old, I'd guess. This time, however, we're all going in the same direction. I followed this threesome for 5 minutes before it became apparent that not only did they know I was behind them (I'd even begun calling to them to see if I could just get one to turn around), but they didn't seem to be much concerned about getting out of my way. They were walking very slowly, half the speed I was walking, so I had to stop from time to time. Finally, the mom heads them off the path, almost as if she was annoyed at my impatience. This time she made eye contact, though. As she was just about to disappear into the understory growth, she turned her back to a downed tree, peed on it, and locked eyes with me. The message was clear: "Just in case you were wondering, these are MY woods!"
I started carrying a camera after the second encounter but so far have not had a camera on a day I see them, but when I do, you will see a YouTube posting, if I have any luck at all!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
The Twitter Ratio: To Follow or Not to Follow. That is (Part of) the Question
I posted a while back about the Ashton Kutcher/Demi Moore/fill-in-the-name-of-about-a-100-different celebrities phenomenon and what it meant for the future of Twitter. Over the last month or so Twitter has gotten even bigger, more heavily used, and has risen even higher on the cultural radar to the point that Kutcher in his competition with CNN to get to a million followers made headline news. Which begs the question:
Why does one need a million Twitter followers?
Well, if one is a celebrity, I suppose it would not be a bad way of marketing oneself. And that’s fine, I suppose. If a person’s goal is to get a bunch of followers in the interest of forwarding their popularity, and if a bunch of followers are satisfied (as they seem to be, in their millions) with this one-to-many relationship in which their chances of getting a tweet responded to by said celebrity are about as great as getting struck by lightning, that’s fine. My first reaction to this is “But this is not what Twitter was intended for.” It’s a social networking app. It supposed to be this place where you and your group of friends, confidants, coworkers, etc. join to follow one another and post little quickie updates on how each other is doing. Because of the homogenous nature of the application, a tweet from Ashton Kutcher about what he had for lunch looks just like a tweet from Aunt Sarah on the same subject. It doesn’t say “And, oh by the way, 1.97 million other close intimates of Ashton just got this same post”. So your response “Was it good?” to Aunt Sarah will probably get a response. Chances of a response to your question to Ashton are about that of hitting the next Powerball. But should we criticize Ashton Kutcher for simply drawing millions of followers? Depends.
Let’s say I’m an up and coming actor, breaking into Hollywood. I set up a Twitter account and immediately start Tweeting to anyone I can find trying to get them to follow me. Ok, no problem there, either. But there is a certain form of etiquette in Twitter, at least in how it was initially envisioned. You are expected to respond. “Follow back” as it is called. If you follow me, I notice you are following me, and decline to follow you, well, I’m certainly free to do that. Perhaps I don’t know you, or like you. But what if 10 thousand or so people respond to my overtures to follow me, I in turn respond by following 5 people (there are actually worse examples of this), and, to make matters worse, when my followers tweet me, I don’t respond to them. To me, this is beginning to look more like fan mail than a social network. Penn Jillette has 625,000 followers and follows 2 people. That can't even be all the people in his house with a Twitter account. This pretty much sends the message "You must hang on my every word, but I couldn't care less what you have to say."
Now, of course, a celebrity with 40,000 followers can’t follow back all 40,000 of them (although some do. You can set up Twitter to “auto-follow” people who follow you. At first, I thought these celebs were Twitter champs until it became apparent that they were actually responding or interacting with any of those they were following). But some of them do yeoman’s work in this regard. Alyssa Milano has about 90k followers. She follows a couple hundred which is a pretty good number of people to follow. And she responds to them.
To me, there are some countervailing factors at work here.
1. How many people follow you AND attempt to communicate with you? Lot’s of people follow folks simply to get the twitter stream updates. Of the people who contact you, how many do you in turn respond to?
2. How many people do you follow? Personally, I think this number can’t go much above 200 and still allow you to maintain some kind of communication with your followers.
3. Do you attempt to contact your followers, or simply wait for them to contact you? Simply following them back is deemed courteous, but is it really if there’s no subsequent communication?
4. You may have a 1 to 1 twitter ratio based on 100 followers and 100 followed. You will have the same ratio if you have 100,000 followers and follow 100,000. The amount of interaction between you and your followers is going to be vastly different in the latter case.
5. In my experience, there are two kinds of people with extremely high twitter ratios. First are the celebs who simply put their accounts on Twitter and who through no direct action of theirs garnered thousands of followers. Second, though, are the folks who are out to garner the greatest number of followers they can for whatever reasons. Their intention may not be to interact with followers at all other than to broadcast to them.
6. Whom do you follow? Consider this scenario: I am a celebrity. I have 40,000 followers. I follow 100 people. Not a bad follow number, but they are all other celebrities. Meanwhile, the 40,000 other people who do follow me are not followed in return at all. Celebrity broadcasting system in disguise.
7. Do you respond to people who follow you, even if you don’t follow them? This is even more confusing. I tweet with a person who has a few thousand followers, and even though she doesn’t follow me, she does respond to my tweets. To me, this is just as important, if not more important than whether she follows me or not. You don’t have to follow someone to communicate with them.
8. Spam factor: You may have 1,900 followers and follow 1,900 people. Great Twitterratio, but you may also be a “bot”. No real interaction going on at all.
To me, all ratios aside, optimal use of Twitter would be based on:
1. How many people contact you (either direct, or reply) that you don’t respond to?
2. Why do you want a number of followers so high that you can’t manage their attempts to contact you?
3. If you have an insane number of followers and in turn follow less than 10 people, is this a social networking app to you at all? Or a celebrity broadcasting network?
One of the underlying elements of Twitter that leads to this confusion is that it differs from other social networking apps in that you don’t have to have permission to follow someone. This doesn’t happen in Facebook or MySpace, for example, since a “friend’s request” is necessary to set up a communication. So this is new ground being tilled, and we’ll be discovering more uses (and misuses) of it as we go along.
Later.
Why does one need a million Twitter followers?
Well, if one is a celebrity, I suppose it would not be a bad way of marketing oneself. And that’s fine, I suppose. If a person’s goal is to get a bunch of followers in the interest of forwarding their popularity, and if a bunch of followers are satisfied (as they seem to be, in their millions) with this one-to-many relationship in which their chances of getting a tweet responded to by said celebrity are about as great as getting struck by lightning, that’s fine. My first reaction to this is “But this is not what Twitter was intended for.” It’s a social networking app. It supposed to be this place where you and your group of friends, confidants, coworkers, etc. join to follow one another and post little quickie updates on how each other is doing. Because of the homogenous nature of the application, a tweet from Ashton Kutcher about what he had for lunch looks just like a tweet from Aunt Sarah on the same subject. It doesn’t say “And, oh by the way, 1.97 million other close intimates of Ashton just got this same post”. So your response “Was it good?” to Aunt Sarah will probably get a response. Chances of a response to your question to Ashton are about that of hitting the next Powerball. But should we criticize Ashton Kutcher for simply drawing millions of followers? Depends.
Let’s say I’m an up and coming actor, breaking into Hollywood. I set up a Twitter account and immediately start Tweeting to anyone I can find trying to get them to follow me. Ok, no problem there, either. But there is a certain form of etiquette in Twitter, at least in how it was initially envisioned. You are expected to respond. “Follow back” as it is called. If you follow me, I notice you are following me, and decline to follow you, well, I’m certainly free to do that. Perhaps I don’t know you, or like you. But what if 10 thousand or so people respond to my overtures to follow me, I in turn respond by following 5 people (there are actually worse examples of this), and, to make matters worse, when my followers tweet me, I don’t respond to them. To me, this is beginning to look more like fan mail than a social network. Penn Jillette has 625,000 followers and follows 2 people. That can't even be all the people in his house with a Twitter account. This pretty much sends the message "You must hang on my every word, but I couldn't care less what you have to say."
Now, of course, a celebrity with 40,000 followers can’t follow back all 40,000 of them (although some do. You can set up Twitter to “auto-follow” people who follow you. At first, I thought these celebs were Twitter champs until it became apparent that they were actually responding or interacting with any of those they were following). But some of them do yeoman’s work in this regard. Alyssa Milano has about 90k followers. She follows a couple hundred which is a pretty good number of people to follow. And she responds to them.
To me, there are some countervailing factors at work here.
1. How many people follow you AND attempt to communicate with you? Lot’s of people follow folks simply to get the twitter stream updates. Of the people who contact you, how many do you in turn respond to?
2. How many people do you follow? Personally, I think this number can’t go much above 200 and still allow you to maintain some kind of communication with your followers.
3. Do you attempt to contact your followers, or simply wait for them to contact you? Simply following them back is deemed courteous, but is it really if there’s no subsequent communication?
4. You may have a 1 to 1 twitter ratio based on 100 followers and 100 followed. You will have the same ratio if you have 100,000 followers and follow 100,000. The amount of interaction between you and your followers is going to be vastly different in the latter case.
5. In my experience, there are two kinds of people with extremely high twitter ratios. First are the celebs who simply put their accounts on Twitter and who through no direct action of theirs garnered thousands of followers. Second, though, are the folks who are out to garner the greatest number of followers they can for whatever reasons. Their intention may not be to interact with followers at all other than to broadcast to them.
6. Whom do you follow? Consider this scenario: I am a celebrity. I have 40,000 followers. I follow 100 people. Not a bad follow number, but they are all other celebrities. Meanwhile, the 40,000 other people who do follow me are not followed in return at all. Celebrity broadcasting system in disguise.
7. Do you respond to people who follow you, even if you don’t follow them? This is even more confusing. I tweet with a person who has a few thousand followers, and even though she doesn’t follow me, she does respond to my tweets. To me, this is just as important, if not more important than whether she follows me or not. You don’t have to follow someone to communicate with them.
8. Spam factor: You may have 1,900 followers and follow 1,900 people. Great Twitterratio, but you may also be a “bot”. No real interaction going on at all.
To me, all ratios aside, optimal use of Twitter would be based on:
1. How many people contact you (either direct, or reply) that you don’t respond to?
2. Why do you want a number of followers so high that you can’t manage their attempts to contact you?
3. If you have an insane number of followers and in turn follow less than 10 people, is this a social networking app to you at all? Or a celebrity broadcasting network?
One of the underlying elements of Twitter that leads to this confusion is that it differs from other social networking apps in that you don’t have to have permission to follow someone. This doesn’t happen in Facebook or MySpace, for example, since a “friend’s request” is necessary to set up a communication. So this is new ground being tilled, and we’ll be discovering more uses (and misuses) of it as we go along.
Later.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Coach John Burkett
Running is like walking. We all think we know how to do it because we’ve pretty much done it all our lives. You parents hoist you up, give you a nudge, and off you go. No instructions necessary. Running, if not altogether instinctual, is at least learned by example from watching others. I mean, what’s to learn, right?
I see a lot of runners in the park, including some pretty hard-core types that are there every day, mile after mile. I see lopers. I see bouncers. I see draggers. I see lurchers. I see stumblers, but unfortunately, I see very few people who really know how to run.
I grew up in a small farm town in rural Illinois. Illinois isn’t just a big basketball state. It’s also well known for cross-country running at the high school and college level. I am long legged with a spare build, not enough upper body strength to be much of a force on the basketball court, but it just so happens bone thin, long legged, spare build is just what the doctor ordered when it comes to distance running. Running, like just about any other farm kid, was just about the most natural thing I did. In school, I could either get off the bus at the end of the farm block when the Watkins kids got dropped off – about ¾ of a mile from my house – or ride the bus for an extra 45 minutes and be the last kid let off at my own driveway. I often rode my bike down to the Watkins’ house, and thought that it couldn’t be that much of a walk. I wasn’t really as concerned about the distance as I was the time. I figured it ought to at least cut off a few minutes from the circuitous bus route. And it did, but I soon discovered that if I ran it, I could really chop off some time. Like 20 minutes. Carrying schoolbooks, I remember running this distance and getting home neither winded nor sweating. Ah, youth.
One fall day we had a school wide physical fitness run scheduled for all boys of all grades. I was a freshman that year. We were to run part of the school’s cross country course which wound around behind the school, back behind the Lion’s club pavilion, back up around the parking lot, baseball diamond, and then to the rear of the gym, about a mile and a half. I don’t think I much even really knew what cross country was, much less what they did or who they were. I knew the junior and senior track guys, and had some idea that some of them ran cross country in the fall, although what that meant was foreign to me. I don’t remember much about the run except for two things. I came in third, behind the two top varsity runners, and the cross country coach, who’d never spoken to me before, barely let me alone long enough to take a shower and change. Very soon I was being sneaked into varsity meets and placing well.
We moved when I was a junior to a fairly large city with a much larger high school. I’d been touted as something of a basketball player (which never really played out) but kind of made it in under the radar as a cross country runner. One of the reasons for this was that the little school I ran for prior to that couldn’t begin to compete – either individually or as a team – with larger school. The cross country coach was a short, squat man with a growling voice and a constant grimace on his face. I’m pretty sure that in the 2 years that I knew John Burkett I never saw him smile. I suppose that everyone has a teacher, or coach, or minister; someone who impacted them and “changed their life” in some way. John Burkett was that man for me. I hated him. Or feared him, or both, maybe. I know the sense of fear was purposeful (he was actually kind of a big teddy bear of a man, now that I look back on these days). He had to keep us on edge. On meet days we met at his house at 6 am. No running. It was a day of total rest. His wife brought out plates of scrambled eggs and steaks. I’m not so sure it was even legal for us to go to his house under Illinois High School Athletic regs, but we did, and we ate well. Then no more food all day. Woe betides you if you got caught with a Twinkie. Then, by 4 pm we were well fed, digested, rested, and ready to run. He also had us on a program of these packets of vitamins (this was years before any sort of vitamin craze). We took two packets a day. Each packet had twelve tabs, each one about a half inch long. Our pee was bright orange. And in the summer (this much I’m pretty sure is completely outside of the ISHAA regs) we had TWO A DAY practices. We met on a golf course off campus, across town. Each morning, 5 to 7 miles. Each afternoon, 7 to 10. When I was a junior in high school, I was 6’3” tall and weighed something just a bit more than 140 pounds. I could hold my breath for nearly 3 minutes. My resting pulse rate, (diligently recorded per Coach Burkett, three times a day) just before dropping off to sleep at night was just over 40 beats per minute. I could hear the powerful thump in my chest if it was quiet enough.
And I could run. Oh, how we could run. At the time (if memory serves) the regulation distance for cross country was 3.25 miles. This was not run on a track, either, but very often over hill and dale on golf courses, country clubs, forest preserves. The best time I remember posting was just over 15 minutes. Today I run 5 miles a day in 45 minutes.
The first thing that coach Burkett did with us was teach us to run. Some of us had already met with some success and were just a little dismissive of this squat little man presuming to tell us how to run. And he never did run by example, either. But he talked. Or shouted. A fiddle maker friend of mine tells me that Ishtaak Perlman’s violin instructor never touches a fiddle, pointing and gesturing instead with a cane. Burkett got us to look at how we ran from the outside. To notice what our legs were doing. Our arms, our posture. Almost the first thing he said to me when he saw me run was a pretty typical remark from him: “You could be a pretty good runner if you’d learn how to use your legs.” And then walked away, purposely leaving me to hang on the words.
I watch these scufflers and draggers, bouncers and flouncers, bumpers and plodders in the park and I think of John Burkett. I can hear his words. “Pick your feet up! Your shoes shouldn’t make any noise when you run! Heel, toe. Heel, toe, Heel toe!” But mostly what people don’t do is the simple thing that he taught us; use the legs that you have. We assume that because we learned to run somehow that we know the only way – perhaps the optimal way – that our body is capable of doing this. I know for a fact that he got me to increase each on of my strides by nearly a foot. He got me to know where my head was. Your head should be on a string. Straight, not bouncing up and down. Torso upright, shoulders back. Arms serve a purpose – they are for balance. You are not running if both your feet aren’t off the ground at the same time. You are walking with style or spirit or something, but you aren’t running.
My junior year we went to an invitational meet that included the small conference that I had come out of. I would be running against some of my old competitors from my freshman and sophomore years. I can even name some of these guys, they had been such nemeses of mine then. Of all the runners in that conference in that meet that day, the nearest runner to my time was over a minute behind me. And I didn’t win the meet. I don’t remember where I placed, but I remember standing with my coach, nearly fully recovered, watching these runners coming in panting and wheezing. And I remember the tiny half smile that coach Burkett gave me as he turned to walk away.
Coach Burkett was probably 50 then, in 1970. He may still be alive, but judging by his beer gut and lifestyle back then, I’d be surprised. He taught me something else, too. Something that I didn’t know I’d even learned until well into adult hood. How to go through pain. When you think you’re done, you still have about 20 percent left. I can hear him say it. You always have more.
Thank you, coach.
Later.
I see a lot of runners in the park, including some pretty hard-core types that are there every day, mile after mile. I see lopers. I see bouncers. I see draggers. I see lurchers. I see stumblers, but unfortunately, I see very few people who really know how to run.
I grew up in a small farm town in rural Illinois. Illinois isn’t just a big basketball state. It’s also well known for cross-country running at the high school and college level. I am long legged with a spare build, not enough upper body strength to be much of a force on the basketball court, but it just so happens bone thin, long legged, spare build is just what the doctor ordered when it comes to distance running. Running, like just about any other farm kid, was just about the most natural thing I did. In school, I could either get off the bus at the end of the farm block when the Watkins kids got dropped off – about ¾ of a mile from my house – or ride the bus for an extra 45 minutes and be the last kid let off at my own driveway. I often rode my bike down to the Watkins’ house, and thought that it couldn’t be that much of a walk. I wasn’t really as concerned about the distance as I was the time. I figured it ought to at least cut off a few minutes from the circuitous bus route. And it did, but I soon discovered that if I ran it, I could really chop off some time. Like 20 minutes. Carrying schoolbooks, I remember running this distance and getting home neither winded nor sweating. Ah, youth.
One fall day we had a school wide physical fitness run scheduled for all boys of all grades. I was a freshman that year. We were to run part of the school’s cross country course which wound around behind the school, back behind the Lion’s club pavilion, back up around the parking lot, baseball diamond, and then to the rear of the gym, about a mile and a half. I don’t think I much even really knew what cross country was, much less what they did or who they were. I knew the junior and senior track guys, and had some idea that some of them ran cross country in the fall, although what that meant was foreign to me. I don’t remember much about the run except for two things. I came in third, behind the two top varsity runners, and the cross country coach, who’d never spoken to me before, barely let me alone long enough to take a shower and change. Very soon I was being sneaked into varsity meets and placing well.
We moved when I was a junior to a fairly large city with a much larger high school. I’d been touted as something of a basketball player (which never really played out) but kind of made it in under the radar as a cross country runner. One of the reasons for this was that the little school I ran for prior to that couldn’t begin to compete – either individually or as a team – with larger school. The cross country coach was a short, squat man with a growling voice and a constant grimace on his face. I’m pretty sure that in the 2 years that I knew John Burkett I never saw him smile. I suppose that everyone has a teacher, or coach, or minister; someone who impacted them and “changed their life” in some way. John Burkett was that man for me. I hated him. Or feared him, or both, maybe. I know the sense of fear was purposeful (he was actually kind of a big teddy bear of a man, now that I look back on these days). He had to keep us on edge. On meet days we met at his house at 6 am. No running. It was a day of total rest. His wife brought out plates of scrambled eggs and steaks. I’m not so sure it was even legal for us to go to his house under Illinois High School Athletic regs, but we did, and we ate well. Then no more food all day. Woe betides you if you got caught with a Twinkie. Then, by 4 pm we were well fed, digested, rested, and ready to run. He also had us on a program of these packets of vitamins (this was years before any sort of vitamin craze). We took two packets a day. Each packet had twelve tabs, each one about a half inch long. Our pee was bright orange. And in the summer (this much I’m pretty sure is completely outside of the ISHAA regs) we had TWO A DAY practices. We met on a golf course off campus, across town. Each morning, 5 to 7 miles. Each afternoon, 7 to 10. When I was a junior in high school, I was 6’3” tall and weighed something just a bit more than 140 pounds. I could hold my breath for nearly 3 minutes. My resting pulse rate, (diligently recorded per Coach Burkett, three times a day) just before dropping off to sleep at night was just over 40 beats per minute. I could hear the powerful thump in my chest if it was quiet enough.
And I could run. Oh, how we could run. At the time (if memory serves) the regulation distance for cross country was 3.25 miles. This was not run on a track, either, but very often over hill and dale on golf courses, country clubs, forest preserves. The best time I remember posting was just over 15 minutes. Today I run 5 miles a day in 45 minutes.
The first thing that coach Burkett did with us was teach us to run. Some of us had already met with some success and were just a little dismissive of this squat little man presuming to tell us how to run. And he never did run by example, either. But he talked. Or shouted. A fiddle maker friend of mine tells me that Ishtaak Perlman’s violin instructor never touches a fiddle, pointing and gesturing instead with a cane. Burkett got us to look at how we ran from the outside. To notice what our legs were doing. Our arms, our posture. Almost the first thing he said to me when he saw me run was a pretty typical remark from him: “You could be a pretty good runner if you’d learn how to use your legs.” And then walked away, purposely leaving me to hang on the words.
I watch these scufflers and draggers, bouncers and flouncers, bumpers and plodders in the park and I think of John Burkett. I can hear his words. “Pick your feet up! Your shoes shouldn’t make any noise when you run! Heel, toe. Heel, toe, Heel toe!” But mostly what people don’t do is the simple thing that he taught us; use the legs that you have. We assume that because we learned to run somehow that we know the only way – perhaps the optimal way – that our body is capable of doing this. I know for a fact that he got me to increase each on of my strides by nearly a foot. He got me to know where my head was. Your head should be on a string. Straight, not bouncing up and down. Torso upright, shoulders back. Arms serve a purpose – they are for balance. You are not running if both your feet aren’t off the ground at the same time. You are walking with style or spirit or something, but you aren’t running.
My junior year we went to an invitational meet that included the small conference that I had come out of. I would be running against some of my old competitors from my freshman and sophomore years. I can even name some of these guys, they had been such nemeses of mine then. Of all the runners in that conference in that meet that day, the nearest runner to my time was over a minute behind me. And I didn’t win the meet. I don’t remember where I placed, but I remember standing with my coach, nearly fully recovered, watching these runners coming in panting and wheezing. And I remember the tiny half smile that coach Burkett gave me as he turned to walk away.
Coach Burkett was probably 50 then, in 1970. He may still be alive, but judging by his beer gut and lifestyle back then, I’d be surprised. He taught me something else, too. Something that I didn’t know I’d even learned until well into adult hood. How to go through pain. When you think you’re done, you still have about 20 percent left. I can hear him say it. You always have more.
Thank you, coach.
Later.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Mary Elizabeth Penson Sept 14th 1917 - May 16th 2009
My father died twenty years ago. Long enough ago that I really barely remember the service. I got to hold his hand while he died in the hospital, and this is the significant memory I carry from his passing. When my mother passed away last weekend, most of the services were setup to take place at the same places my father’s were. This necessary tie in helped to underscore the notion that they were together again.
My mother wrote the following article about 3 months ago for the local paper which was doing a series on married couples and how they connected. This is the article in full:
Features@ Star Telegram.com
For FEATURE, “I Do! I Do!”
"How do you know when you’ve met the man you are going to marry ? It’s not hard when you read the signals right.
We had just graduated, he from Morgan Park High in Chicago, and me from York High in Elmhurst, Illinois. We were both enrolled in a newspaper writing class on the downtown campus of Northwestern University. Two young men seemed interested in me; one had red hair, the other looked like Tyron Power. Both offered to do my research as I worked the latest and barely made it to a six o’clock class. Shameless hussy that I was, I accepted both offers, gleaned what was useful from both, and turned my paper in as the professor walked through the door. When it came time to discuss how to write an attention catching opening line, the professor used my paper as an example. That did it for the red-head. He no longer offered to do my research. But Tyron hung on. Actually he was an artist, and more interested in the composition of the newspaper.
We both now lived on the south side of Chicago, he with his parents in Beverly Hills and I with my widowed mother in a south side apartment near the lake. After class he got on the same elevated train I did, and sat down next to me. There was a little talk about where we both lived, and then he offered to buy me a White Castle when we got to my station, and we got acquainted over those mini burgers. And then there was that historical weekend when beer became legal and I got my first taste of what a hang-over was like.
But the true taste of mate-for-life material came one Sunday afternoon when we were walking along the lake shore toward the Loop. Large boulders extending into the lake for six to almost a dozen feet formed an embankment. We stopped to see what the crowd was watching. A small white poodle was trying desperately to gain pawhold and get onto dry land. I stood there mesmerize and then horrified as the waves slammed the pup against the rocks. I knew then that he was fighting for his life. So did Jack. Beside me he yanked off his shoes, rolled up his pant-legs and jumped over the boulders and onto the sand. He caught the dog and threw him up onto dry land where the pooch shook Lake Michigan all over the spectators and trotted away.
That was the day I knew whom I was going to marry. Before Jack died of cancer in 1980, we had forty-eight wonderful years and four great kids."
Mom, I love you. Angels speed you on wings to heaven.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Bluegrass Music
I grew up in a home with a commercial designer and an English teacher. Great music and literature abounded. I remember listening to Liszt, Chopin, Boots Randolph, and Thelonius Monk. My mom, now 92 and a children’s author after retiring from teaching, read me Huckleberry Finn every day after lunch during one Summer vacation from school. By age 10, I was reading Robinson Crusoe, watching Masterpiece Theatre and going to the Art Institute of Chicago, where my father had studied art during the Depression, to see the Rubens and Rembrandts. I was a spotty performer in school. If a subject didn’t interest me, I’d get middling grades. If it did, I’d ace it. Big things were expected of me. I was encouraged to take Latin in high school by a counselor who was laying the groundwork for a medical school future.
One summer day I was going through my oldest brother’s album collection. He’s a good bit older than me, so he was off to college or some job; no longer living at home, at any rate. Mostly it was the college stuff of the day; The Lettermen, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and the like. I happened on an album by the New Christy Minstrels, checked it out with some mild interest until it came to a song titled “Billy’s Mule”. Folk, by this time (about 1964) was in the process of changing. In a few years it would take on nearly a unified protest theme, but for the time being, it was kind of nudging up gently against country music (its own form of folk, really). The song started out quietly and slowly, with a single instrument playing. I haven’t heard this song in over 40 years, but I can remember those notes clearly enough to be able to play them today. It was a 5 string banjo. The notes plinked, then “bent” or slid, one tone to the next, like an acoustic pedal steel guitar. I had never heard anything like it. I couldn’t tell you about the rest of the song because I just kept picking up the needle and dropping it over and over on the first few notes until the album was so scratched the song would hardly play.
I filed this experience away for perhaps a year. One evening I was watching The Andy Griffith Show with my family. I recall this episode pretty clearly. In fact, it airs fairly frequently on the classic TV channel here. In it the bluegrass band The Dillards appear as a family of mountain folk who come down to town to create trouble for Andy. Can’t tell you much else specific about the episode (which I later learned was not the first in which they appeared) except for a scene in which the boys play “Shady Grove”, an ancient Appalachian song, in the jailhouse. I was by now about 10 years old, interested in baseball and basketball mostly, fishing at the creek (I was lucky enough to grow up on a farm after my Chicago parents decided to do a “Green Acres” mid life move), running the fields with a couple of dogs, playing with friends in old hay lofts. The banjo player, Douglas Dillard, was leaned back in a chair, slacked faced, relaxed, staring blankly ahead while playing a crystal clear rapid fire staccato of notes that machine gunned out of the TV and shot me dead in the soul. The ancient tone of the 5 string banjo resonates with some Celtic corner of my soul. Within 24 hours, I owned a banjo.
A turning point came to me about 1973, while a freshman at college. Rather than study – ever – I would find a friend, some beer, and pack off with a banjo and guitar to play in a park, or down the railroad tracks. One night, a close friend, Russian exchange student and I packed off to play an open mic night at a club. As we were leaving the dorm, a pair of perfectly collegiate young girls passed us at the door, me with a banjo slung on my back. To this day, I can remember the disgusted stairs as they looked at the ragtag couple. At that moment, I realized that I had fallen off the merry go round. I had – unintentionally, inadvertently – made some decisions that would put me on a very different road. No more med school. No more pre-med. I had become a misanthrope.
Bluegrass music has always run just under the cultural radar. From time to time a song will come along that will cause it to perk it’s head up and get noticed. “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”, the theme song from the movie Bonnie and Clyde.. ‘Dueling Banjos” from the movie “Deliverance”. More recently, the movie “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou” brought some interest with its semi-bluegrass, mostly just old rural Southern music. At these times, we bluegrassers take some pride in our music and occasionally get a little notice. Mostly, though, you can listen to the radio from now until Christmas and not hear one bluegrass song. It is niche music. I guess all music is niche music, but some niches are extremely broad and deep. Not bluegrass. If popular music is a mile wide and an inch deep, bluegrass is an inch wide and a mile deep.. If you go to a blues festival or rock concert, you will see big name bands on stage and spectators. Go to a bluegrass festival, and there will be more music going on in the park, campground, parking lot than on stage. Most people who follow bluegrass also play it.
When people ask what I do for a living, I softball my answer and just say “Musician”. If asked what type of music I play, I usually prefer “Acoustic”. If really pressed, I will more accurately respond with “bluegrass”, but only when I think the audience is open to it.
If you want to understand bluegrass music, do this. Find a good three day festival near you. (They’re there. Guaranteed. Just have search a little). Listen to the name acts on stage if you want, kill time, lay under a tree, but wait until dark. Then, as campfires light walk around and listen to the small groups of rank amateurs and band act pickers all gathered doing bluegrass communion in the night. Then, in the small hours when the night breezes come through the low branches of the cedars and elms, listen to Bruce Hornsby’s lyrics and hear the banjo wind and mandolin rain . You will hear the ancient tones.
“A cool evening dance
Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill
from the air till they play the last song
I’ll do my time
Keeping you off my mind but there’s moments
That I find, I’m not feeling so strong
Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break every time she runs away
Listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go”
Later.
One summer day I was going through my oldest brother’s album collection. He’s a good bit older than me, so he was off to college or some job; no longer living at home, at any rate. Mostly it was the college stuff of the day; The Lettermen, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and the like. I happened on an album by the New Christy Minstrels, checked it out with some mild interest until it came to a song titled “Billy’s Mule”. Folk, by this time (about 1964) was in the process of changing. In a few years it would take on nearly a unified protest theme, but for the time being, it was kind of nudging up gently against country music (its own form of folk, really). The song started out quietly and slowly, with a single instrument playing. I haven’t heard this song in over 40 years, but I can remember those notes clearly enough to be able to play them today. It was a 5 string banjo. The notes plinked, then “bent” or slid, one tone to the next, like an acoustic pedal steel guitar. I had never heard anything like it. I couldn’t tell you about the rest of the song because I just kept picking up the needle and dropping it over and over on the first few notes until the album was so scratched the song would hardly play.
I filed this experience away for perhaps a year. One evening I was watching The Andy Griffith Show with my family. I recall this episode pretty clearly. In fact, it airs fairly frequently on the classic TV channel here. In it the bluegrass band The Dillards appear as a family of mountain folk who come down to town to create trouble for Andy. Can’t tell you much else specific about the episode (which I later learned was not the first in which they appeared) except for a scene in which the boys play “Shady Grove”, an ancient Appalachian song, in the jailhouse. I was by now about 10 years old, interested in baseball and basketball mostly, fishing at the creek (I was lucky enough to grow up on a farm after my Chicago parents decided to do a “Green Acres” mid life move), running the fields with a couple of dogs, playing with friends in old hay lofts. The banjo player, Douglas Dillard, was leaned back in a chair, slacked faced, relaxed, staring blankly ahead while playing a crystal clear rapid fire staccato of notes that machine gunned out of the TV and shot me dead in the soul. The ancient tone of the 5 string banjo resonates with some Celtic corner of my soul. Within 24 hours, I owned a banjo.
A turning point came to me about 1973, while a freshman at college. Rather than study – ever – I would find a friend, some beer, and pack off with a banjo and guitar to play in a park, or down the railroad tracks. One night, a close friend, Russian exchange student and I packed off to play an open mic night at a club. As we were leaving the dorm, a pair of perfectly collegiate young girls passed us at the door, me with a banjo slung on my back. To this day, I can remember the disgusted stairs as they looked at the ragtag couple. At that moment, I realized that I had fallen off the merry go round. I had – unintentionally, inadvertently – made some decisions that would put me on a very different road. No more med school. No more pre-med. I had become a misanthrope.
Bluegrass music has always run just under the cultural radar. From time to time a song will come along that will cause it to perk it’s head up and get noticed. “Foggy Mountain Breakdown”, the theme song from the movie Bonnie and Clyde.. ‘Dueling Banjos” from the movie “Deliverance”. More recently, the movie “Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou” brought some interest with its semi-bluegrass, mostly just old rural Southern music. At these times, we bluegrassers take some pride in our music and occasionally get a little notice. Mostly, though, you can listen to the radio from now until Christmas and not hear one bluegrass song. It is niche music. I guess all music is niche music, but some niches are extremely broad and deep. Not bluegrass. If popular music is a mile wide and an inch deep, bluegrass is an inch wide and a mile deep.. If you go to a blues festival or rock concert, you will see big name bands on stage and spectators. Go to a bluegrass festival, and there will be more music going on in the park, campground, parking lot than on stage. Most people who follow bluegrass also play it.
When people ask what I do for a living, I softball my answer and just say “Musician”. If asked what type of music I play, I usually prefer “Acoustic”. If really pressed, I will more accurately respond with “bluegrass”, but only when I think the audience is open to it.
If you want to understand bluegrass music, do this. Find a good three day festival near you. (They’re there. Guaranteed. Just have search a little). Listen to the name acts on stage if you want, kill time, lay under a tree, but wait until dark. Then, as campfires light walk around and listen to the small groups of rank amateurs and band act pickers all gathered doing bluegrass communion in the night. Then, in the small hours when the night breezes come through the low branches of the cedars and elms, listen to Bruce Hornsby’s lyrics and hear the banjo wind and mandolin rain . You will hear the ancient tones.
“A cool evening dance
Listening to the bluegrass band takes the chill
from the air till they play the last song
I’ll do my time
Keeping you off my mind but there’s moments
That I find, I’m not feeling so strong
Listen to the mandolin rain
Listen to the music on the lake
Listen to my heart break every time she runs away
Listen to the banjo wind
A sad song drifting low
Listen to the tears roll
Down my face as she turns to go”
Later.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Front Porch Boys Days
I moved to Texas in the mid summer of 1976 after having failed to become a doctor or lawyer, scholar, or even a college sophomore much to my parent’s chagrin. My freshman year at Illinois State University just served to underscore how completely lost to music (and alcohol) I had become. Having come from a family of advanced degrees, artists, authors, professors, I became a… bluegrass banjo player. This affliction first struck me watching the Andy Griffith Show somewhere around 1964. The bluegrass band The Dillards portrayed the hillbilly family “the Darlings” (headed by the great character actor Denver Pyle) on this show after the success of Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs on the competing show The Beverly Hillbillies. I don’t remember anything about the episode I saw other than that they played the song “Salty Dog Blues” in the jailhouse and their banjo player Douglas Dillard lay sprawled against a chair looking like he was about to fall asleep playing the banjo breaks to the song. It was an earth moving moment for me. 45 years later I can still get goose bumps watching this episode. I owned a banjo within about 48 hours.
A bluegrass banjo player in Northern Illinois in the late 60s had very little to occupy his time. I spent mine mostly dodging the scornful stares of my parents, working day jobs that ran from sporting goods sales to canning factories. My oldest sister moved to Texas with her first husband, and after a couple of visits during which I was able to find a little bluegrass, I moved to. My brother, who had taken a teaching spot at Texas A&M convinced me to have another go at college, and so I settled in College Station, living in a trailer with someone who drank almost as much beer as I did. One day my roommate asked me if I wanted to go hear some live music. We went to a pizza place where noisy A&M cadets and their dates ate pizza while a pale, long faced kid sang and played guitar for tips. I was immediately struck by the fact that this curly haired kid a few years younger than me had absolutely the smoothest voice I’d ever heard. My roommate introduced to the young photojournalism major and aspiring songwriter. His name was Lyle Lovett.
Within a few days I had worked music connections through Lyle to meet with a few other musicians that actually played bluegrass and lived on Church Street in an old house two blocks behind the bar strip near campus. Lyle lived nearby on Old Main, but spent much of his time there. I found the boys were actually a band, “The Front Porch Boys” and although students, were pretty accomplished musicians. The leader, himself an aspiring songwriter asked me if I’d like to join. This kid would later become one of the best of a good lot of Texas singer songwriters, co writing songs with Lyle. His name was Robert Keen, although he goes mostly by Robert Earl Keen today.
We lived, ate, and breathed bluegrass music. It was not at all unusual for us to play 10 or 12 hours a day. Any time two people weren’t at class, the instruments would get picked up. Although this band only lasted about a year and a half, I still see it as the most significant years of my life.
I met and married my first wife who owned a club that we played in, had two kids, divorced, moved to Arlington, got sober, met and married my second wife, had two kids and divorced about 6 years ago. I worked during my child raising years as a technical writer and web developer, but now do music full time. Bryan Duckworth, one of the FP Boys, is my closest friend still, and runs a violin shop in New Braunfels. Lyle won an Emmy, acted in some Robert Altman films, met and married Julia Roberts, and built a rock solid career as a musician. Robert continues to shine as a singer/songwriter.
I see Duckworth about 5 times a year if lucky, but have lost touch with Lyle and Robert. Wives, careers, my own sobriety gained around 1988, intruded on old relationships.
Robert’s parents had a ranch on a fresh water bass creek near LaGrange, Texas. We spent summer weekends there. Duckworth even lived there for a while. We spent as much time fishing as we did making music, but nights would be filled with bonfires, friends, songs. Years later, married to my first wife, long after the Front Porch Days, long after the crystal swimming fishing water August days on Cummins Creek, long after friends parted, listening to a recording of the Country Gentlemen sing the song “Letter To Tom” could take me there, choke me up, and get me to stare out a window.
“I've wandered by the village, Tom. I've sat beneath the tree
Upon the school house playing ground, that sheltered you and me
But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know
That played with us upon the green just fifteen years ago
The river's running just as still. The willows on its side
Are larger that they were, dear Tom. The stream appears less wide
But kneeling down beside the stream, Dear Tom, I startled so
To see how sadly I am changed, since fifteen years ago
But when our time shall come, dear Tom
And we are called to go
I hope they'll lay us where we played
Just fifteen years ago”
This post isn’t very well written. It reads kind of stiff. I think I’m unwilling to spend too much time thinking about it. Just write it, post it, and it’s done. Sorry. It’s an account of things, and nothing more. I’m sure I’ll write about elements of this in the future, but for now, just this terse piece that reads more like an obit than a memoir.
Later.
A bluegrass banjo player in Northern Illinois in the late 60s had very little to occupy his time. I spent mine mostly dodging the scornful stares of my parents, working day jobs that ran from sporting goods sales to canning factories. My oldest sister moved to Texas with her first husband, and after a couple of visits during which I was able to find a little bluegrass, I moved to. My brother, who had taken a teaching spot at Texas A&M convinced me to have another go at college, and so I settled in College Station, living in a trailer with someone who drank almost as much beer as I did. One day my roommate asked me if I wanted to go hear some live music. We went to a pizza place where noisy A&M cadets and their dates ate pizza while a pale, long faced kid sang and played guitar for tips. I was immediately struck by the fact that this curly haired kid a few years younger than me had absolutely the smoothest voice I’d ever heard. My roommate introduced to the young photojournalism major and aspiring songwriter. His name was Lyle Lovett.
Within a few days I had worked music connections through Lyle to meet with a few other musicians that actually played bluegrass and lived on Church Street in an old house two blocks behind the bar strip near campus. Lyle lived nearby on Old Main, but spent much of his time there. I found the boys were actually a band, “The Front Porch Boys” and although students, were pretty accomplished musicians. The leader, himself an aspiring songwriter asked me if I’d like to join. This kid would later become one of the best of a good lot of Texas singer songwriters, co writing songs with Lyle. His name was Robert Keen, although he goes mostly by Robert Earl Keen today.
We lived, ate, and breathed bluegrass music. It was not at all unusual for us to play 10 or 12 hours a day. Any time two people weren’t at class, the instruments would get picked up. Although this band only lasted about a year and a half, I still see it as the most significant years of my life.
I met and married my first wife who owned a club that we played in, had two kids, divorced, moved to Arlington, got sober, met and married my second wife, had two kids and divorced about 6 years ago. I worked during my child raising years as a technical writer and web developer, but now do music full time. Bryan Duckworth, one of the FP Boys, is my closest friend still, and runs a violin shop in New Braunfels. Lyle won an Emmy, acted in some Robert Altman films, met and married Julia Roberts, and built a rock solid career as a musician. Robert continues to shine as a singer/songwriter.
I see Duckworth about 5 times a year if lucky, but have lost touch with Lyle and Robert. Wives, careers, my own sobriety gained around 1988, intruded on old relationships.
Robert’s parents had a ranch on a fresh water bass creek near LaGrange, Texas. We spent summer weekends there. Duckworth even lived there for a while. We spent as much time fishing as we did making music, but nights would be filled with bonfires, friends, songs. Years later, married to my first wife, long after the Front Porch Days, long after the crystal swimming fishing water August days on Cummins Creek, long after friends parted, listening to a recording of the Country Gentlemen sing the song “Letter To Tom” could take me there, choke me up, and get me to stare out a window.
“I've wandered by the village, Tom. I've sat beneath the tree
Upon the school house playing ground, that sheltered you and me
But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know
That played with us upon the green just fifteen years ago
The river's running just as still. The willows on its side
Are larger that they were, dear Tom. The stream appears less wide
But kneeling down beside the stream, Dear Tom, I startled so
To see how sadly I am changed, since fifteen years ago
But when our time shall come, dear Tom
And we are called to go
I hope they'll lay us where we played
Just fifteen years ago”
This post isn’t very well written. It reads kind of stiff. I think I’m unwilling to spend too much time thinking about it. Just write it, post it, and it’s done. Sorry. It’s an account of things, and nothing more. I’m sure I’ll write about elements of this in the future, but for now, just this terse piece that reads more like an obit than a memoir.
Later.
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