In the past few days on Facebook, I've had invitations or "Like Suggestions" from a few friends for a site that purports to let you run a program and see who's blocked you, or "de-friended" (or is it "un-friended?" I still can't bring myself to get behind the concept of "friend" as a verb) you. At first I thought, Oh, this looks interesting, and I started to go for it. But then I stopped. First of all, it was an awfully long script and it made me nervous. But then I thought about it, and thought, I don't actually want to know that information. If someone's un-friended me, that's their business, right?
I've only ever removed one person from my friends list, myself. And actually it wasn't anything personal. But I think this person's computer got hacked or something, because I was getting near-constant chat messages from him challenging me to take this or that quiz (and he'd pay me varying amounts of money if I could beat his high score), or encouraging me to visit this "sweet" web offer where he got his girlfriend a computer, or some other such nonsense. This was someone who posted almost nothing on his Facebook, and I didn't truthfully know him well at all to begin with. So rather than track down his email and send him a personal communication about the Russian/Indonesian/Nigerian/whatever company that had hacked his computer and was spamming his Facebook, I just took him off my friends list. But if this guy ever uses that program, assuming it even works, and looks up who blocked him, he's going to see me. And wonder what he did to hack me off--or, just conclude (as a number of people have over the years, I'm sure) that I'm just a bitch. Which bothers me a little bit, but frankly not nearly as much as the Facebook Spam did.
And I haven't de-friended/un-friended anyone for political views, either. I have quite a few FB friends whose political views I don't share (the vast majority date from my elementary/high school years in bright red Kansas). I respect the fact that a number of them have views diametrically opposed to mine--well, except for that Fred Phelps thing. We're all unanimous on that one, I think. But other than that loathsome excuse for a carbon-based life form, there are plenty of other things about which we actively disagree. Posting some right-wing silliness isn't going to get you taken off my FB friends list (though it will get an eye roll and will likely get your posts hidden for a couple of days). But, that's fine, that shouldn't really bother anyone. The only time I came close to de-friending anyone for a FB post was when that thing was going around a couple months back about people praying for Obama to die. Did. Not. Like. Aside from the fact that I mostly dig the guy, in light of this country's nasty history of political assassinations of black leaders and left-of-center politicians, that was just not cool. But still, I didn't pull the plug because...well, let's face it. If I'd been on FB 4 years ago (was it even around then?) and something similar had gone around about Dick Cheney, I might have done the same thing. And even now would be sorely tempted if Antonin Scalia or Glenn Beck were substituted for Obama. Let you who is without sin cast the first stone, as the quote goes. So, I just hid those instead.
That's not to say I wouldn't ever do it, as the Spam incident illustrates. Status updates, comments, or re-posts/sharing of articles which are racist or homophobic, would get you knocked off. And of course personal attacks, that goes without saying. But really, other than that I'm OK. Just because I'm not myself going to Click Like If I Love My Daughter, or Re-post If I Love Jesus/America/My Husband, totally does not mean it bothers me that you post that stuff if in fact you do. It's 100% cool by me. And if you want to share the latest Ross Douthat column or a YouTube clip of Rush Limbaugh (that corpulent slug), go ahead and God bless, although I'll hide your posts for a bit until it's scrolled off my page. And if you've removed me from your friends list, I don't really need to know about it.
But really, don't spam me.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
And Now for Something Completely Different
(Because I should probably get off sports for a little while...) As summer is now in full swing, I've thinking about my kids, as parents of course often do. And I was reflecting back on my own childhood summers, how I remember--accurately or otherwise--spending them, and contrasting them with my children's summers.
I should start by saying that our neighborhood in Cleveland Heights is a pretty safe (despite the string of burglaries on our street last week), reasonably quiet, and very beautiful place to live. No place is completely safe, of course, but I don't worry living here. That said, it's a LOT more urban than where I grew up. It's admittedly difficult not to be more urban than Nickerson, Kansas--population 1200. It sounds impressive to say that when I was 9 I was riding my bicycle all the way across town, except that that can be accomplished in about 15 minutes. Less if you're racing your friends.
My brother and I, when we were Abra and Thalia's age, were unquestionably fending for ourselves quite a bit more than Abra and Thalia do. That's no doubt a function of a lot of different factors. One is the different settings. When we were their age, Mom would often give Rob and me some cash and a grocery list and have us walk to the store. We didn't live any closer to the IGA than our family does now to our nearest grocery store. But if we'd grown up here in Cleveland Heights instead of Nickerson, I don't know that Mom would have sent us on that errand that young, simply because the streets bordering Zagara's are way busier than anything to be found in Nickerson. There's no way I'd send A and T right now, unsupervised, to Z's to do the grocery shopping. If I did, somebody would probably call the police.
Besides the differences between inner-ring suburban Cleveland and Nickerson, Kansas, there was also the fact that I grew up in a single parent household--a function of my mother's widowhood at a very young age. Particularly during the school year, Mom had to work a lot of long hours, so it made sense under the circumstances to get the kids to where they could take as much care of themselves as reasonably possible, as quickly as reasonably possible. Frankly, had I not married Chris a few years ago, I'm sure I'd have been working harder in that direction than I find myself doing.
But even those factors aside, it just seems to me that the minimum socially acceptable level of adult supervision of children has shot up considerably since the time that I was a kid. Parents are convinced that the world is an impossibly dangerous and complex place, and that their children will never be able to navigate it on their own. So it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their children's complete safety, at all times, and give constant praise and encouragement for everything they do, to provide them with never-ending intellectual stimulation. It's kind of exhausting.
This summer in particular, Chris and I have been doing a bit of wrestling with how much to be having them do. On the responsibility side of the ledger, it seems clear to me that the girls could manage a few more regular chores around the house. In fact, this weekend, one of their weekly duties became cleaning the bathroom sinks and toilets. The inspiration for this is that recently we seem to be having a rather consistent backslide in remembering to, um, flush. They actually were kind of excited about it yesterday during the training session, arguing about who got to do what. But it wasn't really intended as a punishment, more a reminder that remembering to flush makes that job a lot easier and less gross. And I've also been letting them help me out a bit more in the kitchen, because I figure it's not too early for Abra in particular to start learning how to do some simple food preparation. But it also seems fair and rational that, along with the increased responsibility of becoming older and better able to contribute to your own care and upkeep, comes increased freedom to do fun things on your own without your parents hovering over you. So we've been working to teach them bicycle safety, how to ride safely in the streets versus when you really need to be up on the sidewalks, that type of thing. This is with an eye toward letting them ride their bikes unaccompanied around the neighborhood, down to the library or the playground. But other than up and down our street, they haven't gone anywhere alone yet.
All of this brings me around to the sometimes conflicting nature of our two main jobs as parents. The first is to try to keep our kids safe and out of danger as much as possible. The second is to train them to be self-reliant adults who are responsible members of society and, hopefully, good people in the bargain. On the whole I think we as a society do a great job of carrying out the first responsibility. We're so afraid of something awful happening to our kids that we make everything safe for them and constantly watch over them, far more than when I was growing up. Mind you, I don't advocate a return to the safety standards of 1972. Car seats? Pfft, most of the time we didn't even wear seat belts as we hurtled down the highway. And neither I nor any of my friends even owned a bike helmet, while Abra and Thalia basically aren't allowed to get on their bikes if they're not wearing a brain bucket.
But on some level, the more you protect and shield your children from dangers and potentially disastrous consequences of what they do, the harder time they have learning how to navigate those dangers and learn that their actions have consequences as they get older. Eventually, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, bad crappy stuff is going to happen to your kids, because bad crappy stuff happens to people in life. Part of getting along in life is learning for yourself how to avoid the avoidable bad stuff, and how to cope when bad stuff happens despite your best efforts.
So, we sort of plug along, wrestling a bit every now and then with what new levels of freedom we think they can handle and what new responsibilities we think they should shoulder. We, or at least I, worry along the way that we're not always making the right call. But we do our best and hope for the best, which is kind of what parenting is anyway.
I should start by saying that our neighborhood in Cleveland Heights is a pretty safe (despite the string of burglaries on our street last week), reasonably quiet, and very beautiful place to live. No place is completely safe, of course, but I don't worry living here. That said, it's a LOT more urban than where I grew up. It's admittedly difficult not to be more urban than Nickerson, Kansas--population 1200. It sounds impressive to say that when I was 9 I was riding my bicycle all the way across town, except that that can be accomplished in about 15 minutes. Less if you're racing your friends.
My brother and I, when we were Abra and Thalia's age, were unquestionably fending for ourselves quite a bit more than Abra and Thalia do. That's no doubt a function of a lot of different factors. One is the different settings. When we were their age, Mom would often give Rob and me some cash and a grocery list and have us walk to the store. We didn't live any closer to the IGA than our family does now to our nearest grocery store. But if we'd grown up here in Cleveland Heights instead of Nickerson, I don't know that Mom would have sent us on that errand that young, simply because the streets bordering Zagara's are way busier than anything to be found in Nickerson. There's no way I'd send A and T right now, unsupervised, to Z's to do the grocery shopping. If I did, somebody would probably call the police.
Besides the differences between inner-ring suburban Cleveland and Nickerson, Kansas, there was also the fact that I grew up in a single parent household--a function of my mother's widowhood at a very young age. Particularly during the school year, Mom had to work a lot of long hours, so it made sense under the circumstances to get the kids to where they could take as much care of themselves as reasonably possible, as quickly as reasonably possible. Frankly, had I not married Chris a few years ago, I'm sure I'd have been working harder in that direction than I find myself doing.
But even those factors aside, it just seems to me that the minimum socially acceptable level of adult supervision of children has shot up considerably since the time that I was a kid. Parents are convinced that the world is an impossibly dangerous and complex place, and that their children will never be able to navigate it on their own. So it is the parents' responsibility to ensure their children's complete safety, at all times, and give constant praise and encouragement for everything they do, to provide them with never-ending intellectual stimulation. It's kind of exhausting.
This summer in particular, Chris and I have been doing a bit of wrestling with how much to be having them do. On the responsibility side of the ledger, it seems clear to me that the girls could manage a few more regular chores around the house. In fact, this weekend, one of their weekly duties became cleaning the bathroom sinks and toilets. The inspiration for this is that recently we seem to be having a rather consistent backslide in remembering to, um, flush. They actually were kind of excited about it yesterday during the training session, arguing about who got to do what. But it wasn't really intended as a punishment, more a reminder that remembering to flush makes that job a lot easier and less gross. And I've also been letting them help me out a bit more in the kitchen, because I figure it's not too early for Abra in particular to start learning how to do some simple food preparation. But it also seems fair and rational that, along with the increased responsibility of becoming older and better able to contribute to your own care and upkeep, comes increased freedom to do fun things on your own without your parents hovering over you. So we've been working to teach them bicycle safety, how to ride safely in the streets versus when you really need to be up on the sidewalks, that type of thing. This is with an eye toward letting them ride their bikes unaccompanied around the neighborhood, down to the library or the playground. But other than up and down our street, they haven't gone anywhere alone yet.
All of this brings me around to the sometimes conflicting nature of our two main jobs as parents. The first is to try to keep our kids safe and out of danger as much as possible. The second is to train them to be self-reliant adults who are responsible members of society and, hopefully, good people in the bargain. On the whole I think we as a society do a great job of carrying out the first responsibility. We're so afraid of something awful happening to our kids that we make everything safe for them and constantly watch over them, far more than when I was growing up. Mind you, I don't advocate a return to the safety standards of 1972. Car seats? Pfft, most of the time we didn't even wear seat belts as we hurtled down the highway. And neither I nor any of my friends even owned a bike helmet, while Abra and Thalia basically aren't allowed to get on their bikes if they're not wearing a brain bucket.
But on some level, the more you protect and shield your children from dangers and potentially disastrous consequences of what they do, the harder time they have learning how to navigate those dangers and learn that their actions have consequences as they get older. Eventually, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, bad crappy stuff is going to happen to your kids, because bad crappy stuff happens to people in life. Part of getting along in life is learning for yourself how to avoid the avoidable bad stuff, and how to cope when bad stuff happens despite your best efforts.
So, we sort of plug along, wrestling a bit every now and then with what new levels of freedom we think they can handle and what new responsibilities we think they should shoulder. We, or at least I, worry along the way that we're not always making the right call. But we do our best and hope for the best, which is kind of what parenting is anyway.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Jesus to Judas in the Blink of an Eye
Cleveland, like some other cities with pro sports teams, has its arenas in relatively close proximity to each other. Browns stadium sits right downtown on the shore of Lake Erie. About a half-mile up Ontario Street from Browns Stadium sits Jacobs--er, I mean, Progressive Field, where the Indians allegedly play Major League baseball. And practically butting up against the outfield is Quicken Loans Arena, a.k.a. The Q, home of the Cavaliers. Directly across the street from The Q and The Jake sits a large, urban downtown building that since I've moved here has had a giant picture covering its side. It's a 3- or 4-story tall picture of LeBron James. His eyes are closed and his head reared back, facing skyward. His arms are outstretched, showing off his wingspan. I've always told out of towners that it's not by accident that they made him look like Jesus.
Obviously if the owners of that building want to avoid possible arson, they're now in the process of removing that picture. As everyone not living in a Tibetan cave now knows, LeBron James is no longer a Cleveland Cavalier. And to say that people here are angry doesn't begin to cover it. I just can't help thinking that he handled this whole thing unbelievably badly. One could say that in the space of 11 seconds, the time it actually took him after all the hype to announce his decision, he went in most places not Miami from being one of the NBA's favorite players to the guy you most love to hate. And in his home town, he went from Jesus to Judas almost instantly.
Except that at least here, it really wasn't instant. It started in the playoffs, frankly. LeBron looked, by his outsized standards, bad. He looked vulnerable late in the series against the Bulls. For the most part the Celtics took his (and everybody else's) lunch money. He looked outclassed and overmatched. And particularly in the critical Game 5, it really looked to everyone watching like the guy just quit. To this day, nobody really knows why, though of course the locals' favorite rumor is that it was because he found out before that game that teammate Delonte West had sex with his (LeBron's) mother. But for whatever reason, the superstar choked. And when your superstar chokes, the rest of the team loses its way--or, the rest of this team did anyway. The championship we were finally supposed to win, the one that has eluded the city since 1965 (the year after the Browns won), evaporated in front of us. And a lot of people grumbled that it was in no small part LeBron's fault.
And then everything really went down the crapper. He did that weird interview with Larry King during the NBA finals, which even a lot of local LeBron lovers felt was a pretty bush league, transparent attempt to turn the spotlight from Kobe back onto himself, since he wasn't going to get the chance to do it on the court where it should have happened. And once the finals were over, the three-ring circus started in earnest. There was the ridiculous business with Tom Izzo, whose phone calls LeBron wouldn't even return when he was trying to decide whether to take the Cavs' coaching job. And then, good Lord, July 1 hit and free agency became official. He summoned all the teams in the running to his lair to kiss his ring, and the streets lined with diehard Cleveland fans begging their superstar to stay as he surely knew they would. The fans did this even though they also knew he was playing all these teams--they just hoped hard that the teams he was playing were the Knicks, Nets, Clippers, Bulls, and Heat.
Then the cherry on top of the bull___t sundae was that ridiculous, overhyped, fake-drama ESPN special. When it was first announced, most people around here thought the same thing that people everywhere else thought: A one-hour special? Really? What the hell are you going to do for an hour? But then, that made nervous Cleveland fans take heart. He's the home town boy. He KNOWS what he means to this place and how bad it will be if he goes. The only reason to do this is to add some admittedly unnecessary drama to his decision to stay right here and win us some championships. He cannot possibly be setting up a whole one-hour special to give the finger to the place that loves him more than any other place possibly could, with a desperation unknown anywhere else. Obviously, the fans were wrong. And beyond that, it's become clear that before the special started, he didn't let teams where he wasn't going know his decision. They got to find out on national TV along with all of his fans. This hurt Cleveland in particular, because with their bloated payroll they weren't in a position to start looking around for other people until after they knew what LeBron was doing. But, that wasn't important to LeBron. And the resulting vitriol around here is jaw-dropping.
Owner Dan Gilbert posted a well publicized open letter to the fans calling out his former superstar in no uncertain terms. Local sports radio this morning has an anger on the air that is unbelievable. It's tempting to say that it approaches what I remember hearing on the air after 9/11; this of course isn't 9/11 and I don't want to draw a potentially offensive comparison, but in terms of the on-air reaction right now anyway, the fierce and fearsome anger does almost approach it.
A refrain I'm hearing a lot is, "I'm not mad he's leaving, I'm mad about the way he did it." It's patently absurd for Cavs Fan/Local Sports Announcer to say that you're not mad he's leaving--of course you are. You'd be angry and disappointed that he's leaving even if he'd handled himself in a more circumspect, mature, businesslike fashion, just as you'd forgive this dog and pony show he put on if at the end of it he'd decided to stay. But the fact is that the dog and pony show has added a layer of serious, kind of frightening hatred to it, that honestly might not be there if he'd just behaved better. I said before that if he was going to break up with the city, he should do it quickly and not string everybody along. We now feel not only like he broke up with us, but did it at the prom in front of the entire school and then laughed at us. So now, we hate him and I think it's permanent.
It will be sort of interesting to see how this plays out. He undoubtedly has a better chance of winning a championship, or several, now. He did have a strong supporting cast here--a cast that owner Dan Gilbert spent hand over fist trying to assemble to his specifications, leaving the team with its aforementioned bloated payroll. But Mo Williams and Antawn Jamison are indisputably not Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh. And maybe he can make The Heat into His Team--but I doubt it. It's Dwayne Wade's team. His numbers aren't going to be what they were here, and assuming he does win some rings it's going to be because he ran to where the other superstars were. As I said before: Have fun being D-Wade's little brother, the guy whose total number of rings will always be Wade's Minus One. And have fun being the most hated guy in the history of the hometown you supposedly love and understand. You can't come back here. You can't bring your family back here. You can't.
A fond little video goodbye to close out what should for my sanity be my last sports rant for a little while.
Obviously if the owners of that building want to avoid possible arson, they're now in the process of removing that picture. As everyone not living in a Tibetan cave now knows, LeBron James is no longer a Cleveland Cavalier. And to say that people here are angry doesn't begin to cover it. I just can't help thinking that he handled this whole thing unbelievably badly. One could say that in the space of 11 seconds, the time it actually took him after all the hype to announce his decision, he went in most places not Miami from being one of the NBA's favorite players to the guy you most love to hate. And in his home town, he went from Jesus to Judas almost instantly.
Except that at least here, it really wasn't instant. It started in the playoffs, frankly. LeBron looked, by his outsized standards, bad. He looked vulnerable late in the series against the Bulls. For the most part the Celtics took his (and everybody else's) lunch money. He looked outclassed and overmatched. And particularly in the critical Game 5, it really looked to everyone watching like the guy just quit. To this day, nobody really knows why, though of course the locals' favorite rumor is that it was because he found out before that game that teammate Delonte West had sex with his (LeBron's) mother. But for whatever reason, the superstar choked. And when your superstar chokes, the rest of the team loses its way--or, the rest of this team did anyway. The championship we were finally supposed to win, the one that has eluded the city since 1965 (the year after the Browns won), evaporated in front of us. And a lot of people grumbled that it was in no small part LeBron's fault.
And then everything really went down the crapper. He did that weird interview with Larry King during the NBA finals, which even a lot of local LeBron lovers felt was a pretty bush league, transparent attempt to turn the spotlight from Kobe back onto himself, since he wasn't going to get the chance to do it on the court where it should have happened. And once the finals were over, the three-ring circus started in earnest. There was the ridiculous business with Tom Izzo, whose phone calls LeBron wouldn't even return when he was trying to decide whether to take the Cavs' coaching job. And then, good Lord, July 1 hit and free agency became official. He summoned all the teams in the running to his lair to kiss his ring, and the streets lined with diehard Cleveland fans begging their superstar to stay as he surely knew they would. The fans did this even though they also knew he was playing all these teams--they just hoped hard that the teams he was playing were the Knicks, Nets, Clippers, Bulls, and Heat.
Then the cherry on top of the bull___t sundae was that ridiculous, overhyped, fake-drama ESPN special. When it was first announced, most people around here thought the same thing that people everywhere else thought: A one-hour special? Really? What the hell are you going to do for an hour? But then, that made nervous Cleveland fans take heart. He's the home town boy. He KNOWS what he means to this place and how bad it will be if he goes. The only reason to do this is to add some admittedly unnecessary drama to his decision to stay right here and win us some championships. He cannot possibly be setting up a whole one-hour special to give the finger to the place that loves him more than any other place possibly could, with a desperation unknown anywhere else. Obviously, the fans were wrong. And beyond that, it's become clear that before the special started, he didn't let teams where he wasn't going know his decision. They got to find out on national TV along with all of his fans. This hurt Cleveland in particular, because with their bloated payroll they weren't in a position to start looking around for other people until after they knew what LeBron was doing. But, that wasn't important to LeBron. And the resulting vitriol around here is jaw-dropping.
Owner Dan Gilbert posted a well publicized open letter to the fans calling out his former superstar in no uncertain terms. Local sports radio this morning has an anger on the air that is unbelievable. It's tempting to say that it approaches what I remember hearing on the air after 9/11; this of course isn't 9/11 and I don't want to draw a potentially offensive comparison, but in terms of the on-air reaction right now anyway, the fierce and fearsome anger does almost approach it.
A refrain I'm hearing a lot is, "I'm not mad he's leaving, I'm mad about the way he did it." It's patently absurd for Cavs Fan/Local Sports Announcer to say that you're not mad he's leaving--of course you are. You'd be angry and disappointed that he's leaving even if he'd handled himself in a more circumspect, mature, businesslike fashion, just as you'd forgive this dog and pony show he put on if at the end of it he'd decided to stay. But the fact is that the dog and pony show has added a layer of serious, kind of frightening hatred to it, that honestly might not be there if he'd just behaved better. I said before that if he was going to break up with the city, he should do it quickly and not string everybody along. We now feel not only like he broke up with us, but did it at the prom in front of the entire school and then laughed at us. So now, we hate him and I think it's permanent.
It will be sort of interesting to see how this plays out. He undoubtedly has a better chance of winning a championship, or several, now. He did have a strong supporting cast here--a cast that owner Dan Gilbert spent hand over fist trying to assemble to his specifications, leaving the team with its aforementioned bloated payroll. But Mo Williams and Antawn Jamison are indisputably not Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh. And maybe he can make The Heat into His Team--but I doubt it. It's Dwayne Wade's team. His numbers aren't going to be what they were here, and assuming he does win some rings it's going to be because he ran to where the other superstars were. As I said before: Have fun being D-Wade's little brother, the guy whose total number of rings will always be Wade's Minus One. And have fun being the most hated guy in the history of the hometown you supposedly love and understand. You can't come back here. You can't bring your family back here. You can't.
A fond little video goodbye to close out what should for my sanity be my last sports rant for a little while.
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