Technology Has No Age

Growing up in this day and age just isn’t what it used to be —for starters there are far more buttons. I quickly found this out when a ten-year old kid embarrassed me for even being born as he beat me soundly on a new video game being displayed at a local department store. With the score growing exponentially in his favor, I began asking him some probing questions, like: “So, do you get out much?”

I am always amazed at how much time people, specifically teenagers, spend chatting, blogging, playing video games or surfing on the web with friends, strangers and probably Dateline’s Chris Hansen. I guess the act of covering every square inch of a neighbor’s home with toilet paper is considered old fashion. I bet it would be more popular if there was a smart phone application for it.

Technology has not only changed the face of how we do business and interact, but our overall behavior as well. This was recently demonstrated during an opportunity I had of being a chaperone at a youth, spring break getaway that was held in my area; and when I say, “my area,” I am, of course, referring to my home. The situation was pretty simple, really. I volunteered to be the chaperone because the idea of several reckless, teenage kids inconsiderately invading my house during a weekend stay sounded like a great patience building exercise. Let it be known that this was not my idea. A clean freak with obsessive compulsive tendencies does not invite teenage boys to stay at his house for days on end.

When my wife first told me that her younger brother and a few of his friends —and by few, I mean somewhere in the ballpark of his entire senior class— would be coming to stay with us for a few nights, my immediate response was, “Are they bringing their own food?”

In all honesty, I am not opposed to being a gracious and hospitable host to the occasional guest we may have. I just tend to develop a large knot in my stomach at the thought of teenage boys growing stir-crazy in my home without a structured schedule to keep them busy. Nevertheless, I was kindly invited to, and these are my wife’s exact words, “get over it”. Sure it was going to be an inconvenience, but the real issue was my vivid recollection of having been a seemingly invincible teenager at one point in my life. I am well aware of the thought process, or lack thereof, that goes in to choosing a group activity. In fact, having been a teenager myself at one time, I participated in many “team building exercises”, commonly referred to as pranks, mischief or no-goodery. These exercises typically resulted in a strengthened relationship between me, my parents and various law enforcement officials —and those are just the memories I can still recall.

It wasn’t until this large group of guys stayed at my house that I realized technology has taken much of the rambunctious behavior, not to mention the social interaction, out of being a teenager. This was exemplified late Friday night when the thought came to check on the boys and see why they were being so uncharacteristically quiet. It turned out they were all diligently engaged in rapid texting conversations —cleverly referred to as “text-versations”— with, not only friends in other places, but with each other as well. I’m sure this quiet form of communication is appreciated by their parents, at least until the bill comes.

At the end of the weekend, I came to the sobering conclusion that technological advancements, while truly amazing, are quickly making many business practices, means of communication, delinquent activities and certain people completely obsolete. If I have any hope of keeping-up in the world, I had better just “get over it” and embrace the future. However, I will always prefer wiping egg off the door over having computer hackers steal my identity.

As for the house guests, I had no real reason to complain —other than the fact that one of them clogged the toilet, causing it to overflow. But that would have never happened had they turned off their phones and video games and put the toilet paper to its real and intended use —decoration for someone else’s yard.

The Answer Is Yes

From a young age, I was brought up under the tutelage of, what I consider to be, respectable role models, even though many of them happen to have been of the less reputed, and oft-criticized male classification. In fact, to this day, I don’t quite understand why men, as an organization, seem to have such a bad rap. Sure, we may find humor in the simplest forms; such as: bodily functions, jokes involving bodily functions, or any unexpected, solid-object making contact with areas where bodily functions are emitted. But that really shouldn’t be a determining factor for our overall intelligence. If anything, it is just another great example of our ability to “keep it real”. After all, it is a lot cheaper to spend side-splitting hours making fart sounds come from armpits than it is to gossip about the latest hook-ups and break-ups over a three hour shopping spree that results in hundreds of dollars worth of shoes that seem to differ only in color. But I digress.

I was always taught to respect women and treat them equal. However, I have to admit that this has been hard at times and, quite often, a bit confusing. After all, girls always seemed perfectly capable of opening their own doors. But for whatever reason, society —and by society I am referring to every woman I know— has made it perfectly clear that failure to assist in this seemingly trivial task can have a damaging and lingering effect that will undoubtedly resurface at every opportunity possible.

This is also true of a certain sensitive, yet uncomfortable situation that men get forced into all too regularly. I am, of course, referring to the interrogation that takes place whenever a new outfit is put on. At the risk of over-generalizing, similar situations may also include, but are not limited to: pants, shoes, dresses, skirts, hair styles, pajamas, cars, houses, house plants, mirrors, couches, friends, ex-friends, enemies, strangers, electronic equipment, and basically anything that a female may, or may not, come in contact with.

In fact, just the other day, as I was watching a sporting event on the television, I found myself backed in to one of these tight-fitting corners. My wife sat down next to me on the couch and, with a heavy sigh, asked if I thought her arms were skinnier than an acquaintance we had made earlier in the week. It is actually quite a surreal experience to be in a pickle, such as this, and also be simultaneously watching the infielders on the TV put a base runner in a pickle between first and second. In either case, you had better be a quick thinker or a fast runner.

My answer was obviously, yes. I passed the test. But, honestly, did I really have a choice? I mean, what options did I have? I am not insinuating that I lied. It’s just that, unless you have a combination of poor judgment and a lofty moral code or you’ve been slapped in the face too many times to remember the proper response protocol, there really is only one viable answer for situations like the one I found myself in. The real problem comes when you begin to wonder if they really believe the answers we give them. After all, for the thousands of years we’ve spent together on this giant, co-educational rock we call earth, women have to be aware of the fact that men are constantly being less than honest with them.

I wouldn’t even call it lying, really. Nor would I say that our lack of complete honesty is specifically done in an effort to spare feelings. If anything, the answers we give in situations like this are probably more for our own welfare then they are for the women with the probing inquisitions. In fact, I wouldn’t even label them as answers or responses. They are reactions. Our reactions, I would say, are typically made in an effort to get us out of the uncomfortable situation as fast as possible and back into the mindless, easy-going world we know and love. It’s all just part of the “fight or flight” instincts that kick in when we are put in imminent peril.

When it’s all said and done, wondering if women know this or not really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that our answers, whether brutally honest or exactly what they want to hear, achieve both agendas and placate all parties involved. After all, constantly worrying if the pin stripes on the uniform make the player look fat just makes the game go slower.

When the Situation Gets Difficult, the Difficult Get Situation

Every year I celebrate an anniversary. Sometimes these anniversaries are significant; other times they are just random. These anniversaries typically mark some sort of achievement or milestone I have accomplished in my life. I know this sounds pretty vague and rather obvious, but even the slowest of wits can claim an anniversary in one form or another.

I am speaking more specifically of my momentous graduation from college; and by momentous, I, of course, mean: not completely thought through. College and university studies are often referred to as “higher learning” which, simply translated, means: spend as much time here as possible as a way to put off the murkiness of grown-up life. And by grown up life, I am refering to the reality of waking up every morning to a job your degree has absolutely nothing to do with.

Isn’t it good to know it was all for something.

I don’t want to sound completely cynical about post-graduation life, but doesn’t it seem odd that students come and go but professors are the only ones who seem to hang around? It’s probably because they are the only ones smart enough to have figured out that staying in school is the best way to avoid having to move back in with the parents or live where a high-speed connection isn’t free. In fact, not only are they living the carefree college life, but they have made a paying career out of it.

I don’t know what it is about careers and jobs that make them, well…jobs. The problem is that, even if you are lucky enough to be doing what you always dreamed of doing, somehow reality strikes on your already bruised skull and that once golden career turns out to be plain and boring work. You may even start to wonder if that fantasy of a perfect job is a reality waiting to be discovered. It’s for this reason that I began brainstorming formulas to find the career options that, I feel, would hold their value and be a pleasure to wake up to every morning.

First, you have to think of the things you enjoy doing the most. My first thought was swimming, and to be more specific: relaxing by the pool. The problem with this is my options are limited to lifeguard or pool boy. The first entails the taxing responsibility of being vigilant and possibly having to save someone. While the idea of resuscitating some hot babe doesn’t sound all that bad of a responsibility, the likelihood of it being a hairy, obese, sea lion of a man that decided to ingest his complete lunch plate in one bite is far greater —and that grosses me out. The later involves work, which is what I am trying to avoid. So obviously that won’t work, but I’m on the right track. I also like going on vacation. So why not make vacation a career?

Every year corporate allotted vacation days go unused in our workaholic society, and every year these poor, forgotten vacation days become void and unusable as the accruing begins anew in January. So, my simple solution would be to start a firm that specializes in making use of people’s unused vacation days. For a moderate but realistic price, I would be happy to take a cutthroat work-addict’s forgotten vacation days off their hands and use them at my discretion. For a small additional fee, I’d even in send a postcard to the person’s family, friends, co-workers, and boss stating how great it has been to get away and enjoy some time away from the office.

Who knows, a year from now I could be celebrating the one year anniversary of putting this job into effect. Maybe, I’ll celebrate by going on vacation somewhere nice.