Call me Mr. Early Adopter.  When people started having web pages, I figured out how to make my own web page.   That was fun, and I learned some stuff.  Then people started making blogs, so you’ve got what you see here.  Then there was instant messaging (you can reach me on AIM at “fastandbad”).  And text messaging on my phone (probably the most I have kept in touch with my daughter since she was borned).  Then someone sent me a Facebook link and that seemed interesting, so you can find me there.  And now there’s a lot of media attention on Twitter (have an account, don’t use it).

And all this stuff is cool and great and the wave of the future blah blah, but (and here’s the part that hopefully goes without saying) one has to ask–going from pages of text, to Blog posts, to a pithy 140 characters on Twitter–what are we really gaining here?  I’ve been doing this stuff for years and years, and I enjoy writing about what interests me and attempting to share what’s interesting about those interests (hopefully) to the world.  And I make no great claims for producing profound insights into the human condition as we know it, and I agree with people who would say there is a (varying) level of narcissism in all these kinds of activities (look at me!  Look at my insightful comments on contempirary culture!).

But (and here’s the cranky old people stuff), the constant move towards more and more active (and more and more limited) “communication” – what are people really communicating?  ”Gonna pick up the kids–What a weekend!”, “Love those Tigers!”, etc.  I mean, I’m as capable as anyone of making some short, pithy, funny statement that can give a friend or acquaitance a laugh or a glimmer of what’s going on with me (not that they should even care what’s going on with me–they’ve got their own lives, and their own short, pithy statements to make).  But where is this going, exactly?

If you asked me what’s wrong the world (and many, many people do), I would say one of our biggest problems is the shallowness of our thought and our arguments, our unwillingness to dig a little deeper and confront and deal with the bigger picture of what’s really going on.  And these supposed new “tools” for communication, be they cell phones, Facebook, Twitter, text messages blah blah–they are actually hurting more than they help.  I don’t want to hear what my Congressman tweets when watching President Obama’s State of the Union address–I want him to make the country a better place for me, my family and my friends.  I don’t need 500 Facebook friends-I need a couple of good friends I can depend on to watch my back.

Sorry to go on for 467 words.  Next I’ll talk about the latest book I’m reading, OLIVER TWIST.  It’s by a guy named Dickens.  Look for him on Facebook.

From Xmas 2008

You know, when the first snowfall came, near the start of the Holidays, that was awesome.  Ten inches of snow, kids and wife missed school, we went sledding.  That was fun!  And when, on the next day, we had a few extra inches, hey, that was OK–I’m a guy, I have a snow-blower, and I’m happy to use it.  But when more snow came the next day, and my daughter couldn’t even finish shoveling the walk, and then yesterday, when the snow that was supposed to come on Christmas Eve came in the afternoon instead, and the relatives called and said they would not b able to drive down for the Family Xmas party after we had spent the last three days painting and cleaning and cooking lasagna and wrapping presents…  Well you know, I think that’s kind of enough now.  And this is not even mentioning the kids and the “too cold to go outside so you destroy everything indoors”, or the 2-degree Date Night.  So I’m all for a Christmasey vibe but–whaddaya say we take a break for a little bit?

Here was a fun part, though:

Being a modern 21st century guy, of course I use a razor and shave my face every day and most weekend days (and a lot more weekend days than I used to, seeing as how as I get older I look a lot less like Don Johnson and a lot more like Walter Brennan…)

And this has not gone unnoticed by corporate America, which offers ten one hundred jillion different razors for men these days, with one blade, two blades, three blades, sideburn blades, electric blades, “lubricating strip”, etc. etc. ad naseum.

Now I have tried using an electric razor without much satisfaction (where you are basically rather than shaving your beard you are perpetually grinding your stubble until your face aches), and have tried slicing my sensitive skin to ribbons with a single blade.   Unfortunately, I have settled on one of those ULtra/Supra/Omni 5-blade thingies with lubricating strip, at an average cost per shave of something like$1.75/day, which can, you know–add up. So, being aware of the tough times ahead, I picked up some Target-brand 3 bladers and..cut the cr*p out of my face.  But figuring my skin had just been wimped out by years of over-coddling, I continued the experiment for another week, where I continued to collect a nice collection of nicks, cuts, bruises, and other facial disfigurements.  So this week I finally bit the bullet and went back to the Ultra-Fey Optra Supreme Double-Lubricating Zaptor Rinse.

Maybe it’s time for the Grizzly Adams comeback…

In this very stressful end-of-the-school year rush, where business, parental, and PTA responsibilities collide, where you’re are trying to do everything at once and make everyone happy, I have one big pet peeve:  People who don’t get back to you.  You e-mail, you call…no response.  None.  Nada.  Not a “Sorry, a little busy now, but I will get back to you” or “Sorry, I can’t babysit this weekend because my parents are going out of town”, just…nothing.  Radio silence.

If and when these people do get back to you, weeks later, they will inevitably say something like “Apparently i was supposed to get back to you.”  Apparently?  What was the first clue?  The polite e-mail?  The polite phone call?  The e-mail to your co-worker or boss asking if you were out of town and didn’t leave a forwarding mesage?  Or better yet “I’ve been busy?”  Oh really?  I wonder what that must be like, being busy, trying to juggle a hundred things at once and still get everthing done.  That must  be exhausting for you!  What a stressful life you must lead!

How hard can it be to write a quick note?  Make a quick call?  Do you think we have nothing better to do than spend our valuable time trying to get in touch with you, that your opinion or participation is so tremendously valuable that we cannot take one more breath without your precious contribution?   Look–we just need to get the list together.  We just need to get a sitter.  It won’t hurt us if you say No, or beg off.  We just want this incident closed so we can move onto to the next hundred million pointless things that make up a life.  Help us attain closure!  Is it really that tough?

All together: YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I was at the Deli counter at grocery store yesterday with my kids, and the kids are jumping up and there’s people rolling their carts into us and I tell the counter guy “Turkey, please.” and he goes “Maple Smoked?  Mesquite smoked?  Flavored?  Brined?  Original smokehouse flavor?” and I say “Just whatever you have on hand.  And some Swiss cheese.”  and he says “Baby Swiss?  Aged Swiss?  Norweigan Swiss?”  And I started to wonder exactly when buying simple consumer products became like taking your SATs.

What’s even worse is when I’m at the lunch counter and someone is ordering a sandwich and they go “A little mayo–no, that’s too much!  And grainy mustard–no, a bit more, and lettuce, and no, just a bit of the onion…” to the point where I want to say “Why not just put on a  paper hat, get behind the counter and make it yourself?”  Honestly, it is a sandwich, a bit of sustinence until you get home…how important can this be?

I’m starting to feel like my idol Karl Pilkington, who insists “two kinds of toffee are enough.”  We have all this perceived choice, but to what end?  And a cynical person would say that this is to distract us from the real choice we genuinely need, in government, in life, in the future.

Now where’s my 7-grain sub roll?

I see people on Mondays and I say “Wha’d YOU do this weekend?” and they say stuff like “Oh, we went shopping” or “Watched the game” or “Nothing.”  And I say to myself — WTF?  Maybe it’s just because we have two kids and are doing a lot of our own home renovations, but I mean – come on.  Here’s a small sample of what we did this weekend:

• Made Chinese sesame string beans, rice and dumplings from scratch.  Used the leftover rice to make fried rice w/ vegetables on Saturday.
• Finished painting kitchen trim.
• Finished installing 6 inch “Rev-A-Shelf” for empty space between cabinets.
• Helped wife installed a new kitchen faucet.
• Went for a two-mile jog with the dog and my 3-year old son (who backed out early on)
• Made an awesome angel food whip cream coconut cake to bring to my brother-in-laws, who made an equally awesome Caribbean lamb stew.
• Tried unsuccessfully to set up a new garage door opener
• Ran my work reports from home due to server issues on Friday
• Watched PLANET TERROR on DVD
• Took a one-hour nap interrupted by screaming children
• Put more batteries in Bob the Builder and Muck.

Ah…the sweet release of death.

One of the many, many, many, manythings I do not understand about contemporary modern life these days is the propensity of certain people to use their car horns rather more indiscriminately than one would think would be recommended in this difficult day and age.  Here in the Detroit area, where everyone drives (because it would be a sin against nature to use public transport) some people will honk to let you know they want your parking space, or for some real or imagined slight, or because you paused at a light one millisecond too long, or to make a pretty girl look up, or any of a number of seemingly endless reasons, few of which can be adequately interpreted or understood.

Why?  Because horns are LOUD, people.  They are OBNOXIOUS.  They BLARE SUDDENLY, SCARE and CONFUSE their intended recipients and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of said horn blast.  There is no subtlety and no way to respond, except perhaps by blaring your OWN horn, or flipping the bird, and generally creating even more sudden chaos. 

Has a horn blast ever really stopped anything bad from happening, except in movies?  The last time I tried to use my own horn, when a guy didn’t see me and was going to back into me, I couldn’t even find where to pound my hand to beep. Has anyone ever come up to you after being beeped to say “Good job ‘ole chap-you really turned things around for me.  I am a changed man, thanks for the horning!”

Like the quoteman sayeth, when you only carry a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.  So people please, I beseech you…be careful and aware while you drive, and for God sake’s–lay off the horn!

Went to see Nick Lowe last night at the Ark in Ann Arbor.  He was in really fine form.  As he’s gotten older (he’s 58 now), his music has gotten more and more straightforward and direct.  He really lays it out there.  I’ve heard his newer music described as “country”, and whlile this is not true in instrumentation,  I think what people are reacting to is the emotional directness of what he is saying.  And what is he saying?  Well, certain themes couldn’t be more clear:  Regret.  Ending up a bitter, lonely person.  The slim chance at redemption that is, nonetheless, a chance.  He is not pussyfooting around what he thinks is really important, and there are no Elvis Costello crosswood puzzle lyrics.  It’s just out there.  Oh, and it’s very catchy, too.

The lowlight of the concert (though I’m sure it will be a highlight to read about!) is that for the first time ever at The Ark we had the kind of drink, unruly losers you normally see at metal concerts, screaming out at inappropriate times, drumming along in double time, talking loudly, etc.  I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here to say the average audiences at the Ark are white middle-class forty-something college-educated professionals who hired a babysitter for a night out (myself included here!), so needless to say no one was very happy about this.  Intimidating liberal stares did nothing.  “Shush” from audience members did nothing.  The Brad-meister actively thought about asserting his adult male, ntesterone and Wine-tini infused self, and whether or not a head butt really works in real life.  The ushers  came by and there were loud shouts and they refused to move.  So during “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love and Understanding” (can you say “irony?”), the Ann Arbor bike cops showed up, and there was a scuffle, and one guy “fell” to the floor and was handcuffed, and the other guy and their girlfriends were escorted out (the other loser in the Savoy Brown T-shirt wisely clammed up when the 5-0 showed up).  I musy say, it certainly made for a memorable evening’s entertainment!

 Encore:  “The Beast In Me” (but of course!)

Let’s get something straight off the bat:  I’m a guy.  I like boobs as much as any other guy.  Maybe more than any other guy.  But I gotta come out and say something –What is it with clothing trends these days?  Specifically, what’s with the baby doll tops all women, young and old, grandmas and babysitters, are being forced to wear?  You know the deal –it’s got this big, scooped-out top, and this kind of elastic band under the breastal area, and then this kind of frilly thing underneath.  What is with that?  Because a) it practically forces a lady  to put her chestal area on complete, unfettered display, usually in a combo with some Victorian push-up thing, until your boobs, if you’re blessed that way, are forced out so far and so up that you practically need a tray underneath to hold them.  And then the bottom part, unless you are Kate Moss model-thin, kind of sticks out and makes you look pregnant, or worse.  I mean, who came up with this thing?  Russ Meyer?  I mean, and I repeat here, I am a guy, and from a guy point of view…well, we won’t go into that.  But from a Dad point of view, from a “women are equal partners in society” good liberal point of view, this is, well… not right!  Is there any lingerie left for the bedroom anymore?

What really worries me is, what’s next for us guys?  Man sheaths?  Am I supposed unzip my junk wrap my junk in a gaily colored silk sock? What is happening here?  Hello?  Hello?  Is this thing on? **BRRZRRPP**