As a plucky, young sophomore in high school, my friends and I practically begged our theater director to let our school perform the stage production of Grease for our spring musical. It all seemed like a good idea. After all, a play about high schoolers in the late 1950's fits a high school play perfectly. The characters are relatable, the songs are catchy, and we could wear leather jackets and jeans. All in all, Grease kicks Oklahoma's ass.
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I know, I know. It's been a while since I had time to sit and write on Losing the Internets, frustrating my fan to no end. I missed it too. The writing; the lack of response; the endless criticism from my editor of my grammer and speling. (Don't worry Queen, I misspelled those words on purpose for comedy's sake. I know that grammer is really spelled with a o.)
The reason for my absence is that I've been busy with work. In the last month, I created a database of over 5,000 grocery stores where I had to look each one up individually, and that takes an extraordinary amount of time banging away at a computer. On top if that I had two conventions where I acted as a knowledgeable exhibitor and a 100-foot sandwich to promote. By the time I have a chance to write, I'm so sick of the computer that I mostly just close my eyes and dream of bunnies. Horrible, horrible bunnies. I'm hiding on my bed in the dark trying to be as quiet as possible.
"Is there a psycho killer loose in your house?" You ask, hopefully quietly. No, it's a three-year-old child who has relocated herself from her room to the couch. I foolishly said that if she actually pooped during the day, she could have sleep wherever she wanted to tonight. Usually she poops in her Pull-Up during the night, which leads to all sorts of shenanigans. Today, right before her bath, she pooped, and then declared that she was going to sleep on the couch. Between eating my morning bowl of cereal and pouring my first cup of coffee, I flipped on the TV to Morning Joe. The featured guest sitting at the table happened to be some economist from some magazine who had the solution to this nation's economic woes. It turns out that there are millions of unfilled "blue collar" jobs, like manufacturing or plumbing, that could be filled if we could steer young people to them. Unfortunately, we keep directing people to college, telling them that's the only way to get ahead in the world.
For anyone who has children--or was once a child who was not raised by leopards--you know that story time is an integral part of the bed time ritual. In our family, we allow the Princess three story books, with a fourth story if she gets ready for bed quickly. She can pick whatever books she chooses from her collection in her room provided that they are short and not horribly banal. We then sit on her floor with her in Mommy's lap and Daddy reading her each book, precisely in the order she dictates
Lately I noticed the word "need" floating around the castle lately. It's a weird word to notice, since it's usually pretty mundane. However, with the right context, it conveys an urgency that no other word can substitute itself properly. For example,. "I'm going to the emergency room," makes you seem like a wuss that can't stand a little blood. "I need to go to the emergency room," lets everyone know that your liver just fell out one of your orifices.
I once heard that 96% of all human verbal communication comes from non-conversations. At least I think I heard that. Maybe I just contrived that percentage. Could well be, since 86% of all stats are made up.
Whatever the percentage, most of our talking comes with predefined scripts that happen automatically. For example: when I'm at the store and check out, the cashier should tell me to "Have a nice day." In which I reply, "You, too." I don't even have to think of a response; it just happens. My brain actually hears Charlie Brown's teacher, and issues the generic statement when there's silence. I know this routine because it happens every single time I go shopping. If you haven't been aware, Robocop came out this month and disappointed a whole bunch of people. There the kids who wanted something grittier than a watered down version of Iron Man. There's the folks who can't stand a special effects extravaganza just to pimp a new franchise. And there's the 80's Robocop purists that believed that nobody should every dare to make a remake of such a perfect gem of a movie.
And, all of them yelling, "Is Hollywood all out of original ideas? Stop with the remakes!" I guess yesterday was supposed to be Valentine's Day, better known as the day where we tell our special someone how much we love them by giving them something pink and fattening. The day originated when St. Valentine came down and from the clouds and showed the celibate Romans how to party down with some sappy greeting cards, over-priced chocolates and a Barry White CD. Legend has it that if Valentine's Day happens on a full moon, those crappy chalk-tasting candy hearts will actually cure leprosy.
I live in Ohio, which happens to lie in the Eastern time zone. I have to work with someone who happens to live in California. You would think, "No problem. The internets make all things possible." That's what I thought. I was wrong.
Perhaps it's the nature of my work. Sometimes when you do web work, you get in a habit of doing it on the off hours. Most days I update websites before nine or after seven, so not to interfere with regular business hours. I never thought that those in California would also try to avoid high traffic times. But in their case, they have a three hour lag. |
AuthorJack Grubb writes an incredible blog, Losing the Internets, which is read by at least 37 people and over 2,100 Russian SPAM bots. In his spare time he helps small companies find their marketing voice. Jack currently lives deliberately in Appalachia, Kentucky with his wife, two daughters, Jack Russell and a Lego collection beyond compare. ArchivesCategories |
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