ttyl

I remember when I was sixteen and I had to take my driver's ed classes. We watched these terrible films (they were films!) about car crashes and teens making bad choices. And then we got this huge lecture about wearing seatbelts. Seatbelts? We thought. Who wears seatbelts! Nerd alert.

No one in my time wore seatbelts. When I was a kid we would take giant vacations to California and all nine kids in my family would be splayed out all over the car. Someone on the floor, someone (usually me) laying on the luggage, someone strapped to the roof. It was de rigeur. We never heard about car accidents and we never really thought about what would happen if we had one. I remember once my mom slammed on the brakes in our 1974 Station Wagon, and my brother Andrew launched about four seats. But that was about it. Seatbelts were shoved haphazardly down into the seat cushions. You'd pull one out, occasionally, and it was crusty and covered with french fries and creased by the hot sun. What are these, we thought?

But by 1988 it was kinda sort of a law to wear your seatbelts. Not a full law, I don't think, but it was a semi-law. It was a strong suggestion. And so we started wearing them. I wore mine out on the driver's training course. It felt weird. I felt stuck to the car. Eventually I got used to it. Now I can't drive without it. If I do I feel naked. I feel like I'm going to get sucked out of the window. I feel like the slightest fender bender will send me through the windshield. And heaven forbid if I let one of my kids sit in the car without their seatbelts, even if we're going to their cousin's house two streets over. It's a little obsessive, I suppose, but it's also really super safe. I imagine most of us are like this now.

So now I'm trying to apply the same principle to texting. I am, admittedly, a driving texter. I have been for some time. I will send off five texts just between my house and my office, a ten minute drive. I will think back on my commute to work and not remember any of it, because I was looking at my phone the entire time. It's pathetic. To add insult to injury, I think my dad, as a state legislator, passed some kind of anti-texting bill a few years ago.

Well, Dad, the prodigal son has returned! I am no longer driving and texting. I've been text free for about a month. Granted, two weeks of that was in Italy where I neither drove nor texted, so it's really just been two weeks. But I'm proud of myself. If I have to text someone, I'll pull over. Oh, ok, maybe I'll shoot one off at a red light. But the days of tapping and swerving and sending and red-light running are over. And I'm hoping that in a few weeks I'll be completely cured. I'm hoping.

My good friends Aaron and Haley Warner lost a father to distracted driving last month. Their mother survived. You can see a video about it here:

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=415719641858658&set=vb.176920360155&type=2&theater

Of course I feel terrible for the Warners, but I also feel bad for the girl who hit them - she was texting. I'm sure she feels horrible. I would. And maybe I feel pity because it could have been me instead. Or any of us. I know I don't have enough pull to get masses of people to stop texting and driving. Maybe when I'm famous (notice I said WHEN - Stalking Santa was just the beginning!) I can do it. But until then I can promise that my car will be one more safer car on the road.

Non-Incriminating Evidence

Katie and I when we were dating. 

Sometimes when I really want to freak out the youth at church I tell them about when Sister Craig and I were dating, back in 1995. I weave tales about how I would sometimes, unannounced, just pop in at her apartment. And how sometimes…she wouldn't be there! AND I WOULD HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE WAS OR WHEN SHE WAS COMING BACK! So I would have to do something crazy like LEAVE A HANDWRITTEN NOTE, TELLING HER TO CALL ME LATER!  And then sometime, later that day, she’d hopefully get that note and call me. And MAYBE I would be at my apartment to answer my land-line phone, and MAYBE I WOULDN'T! Maybe I’d be out, and I actually wouldn't have any communication with her that entire afternoon or even that day! No communication! Like we were animals! And can you even stand the suspense of when we would see each other again?! I know!

Seriously, I sound ancient to these youth when I tell stories of living before every soul had a cell phone with texting or Find a Friend capabilities. And you know what? I totally feel archaic, too! I find my own self sitting there in a daze wondering how we lived so crippled by our lack of technology. I swear in 1995 it was like we had evolved one measly step from chimps playing with sticks. “And then to show Sister Craig I was interested in her romantically, I thumped my chest and handed her a branch that was on fire. She prayed about it, and we got married.”

Doesn't it feel as if society has so quickly adapted to all of us being absolutely accessible at all times, we can’t fathom a time when it wasn't that way? You may even find yourself thinking back on moments when you would have saved time, resources, and emotional anguish if we were all using Smart Phones and texting and apps. I've done that.

But the upside is this, my ancient friend, you also lived out your pubescent years at a time when the entire world didn't have video camera/phones on their person 24 hours a day; and then a medium to immediately distribute that video to the public. How can I know how awesome anything I did was if it wasn't immediately broadcasted and validated by the public! I know, we were animals!

But for those of us who are products from the 70s, 80s, or 90s…I think we are actually grateful for that. I know I am. My family bought a home video camera in 1984. I was 13. THIRTEEN! The only wise decision I ever made in my adolescent awkwardness (besides keeping my crush on Olivia Newton-John a secret) was to completely avoid being on camera. Sure, it was a fascinating new technology, but I knew better. In fact, the only two documented video sightings of me as a teenager is one of me yelling at my cousin to stop videotaping me, and  the other  is of me at age 16, at a ward Roadshow practice. And people, believe me, it is obnoxious! Probably because I was obnoxious at 16! I am on stage chewing a piece of gum like I’m doing it a favor and supplying more eye rolls than is legally allowed by the FCC.

Think on your own teen years, but imagine being surrounded by friends who are constantly prepared to video whatever foolishness you are prone to! Here’s a list of what you and I were spared by me being a teen of the 80s and as a result, no rogue video floating around:

*I played water polo. Nobody needs to see what that looked like. (This was before the “hip,” less-offensive Speedos you see in the Summer Olympics now.)

*Once during my sophomore year of high school I had to go up to the board to diagram a sentence in my English class. My pants caught on a broken part of a desk as I walked to the front and ripped a hole on the area of my jeans covering my bum. Not cool.  It was a YouTube moment waiting to happen…but mercifully, there was no YouTube!

*My first kiss was at a Youth Conference, on a bus, in front of millions of people. Whew, dodged a bullet there.

*My freshman year I played the clarinet. In the marching band. At football games. Nobody beat me up or gave me a wedgie. But they should have. And that would have been on Facebook for sure. (There wasn't the anti-bullying movement that you see nowadays. I guess it was an era when people figured if you were in the marching band then you had it coming. And it’s hard to argue with that logic.)

What about you? What bullets did you dodge by not having adolescent moments caught on video and distributed to the world? COMMENT! 

Best of 2012: Tech/Apps

At PTA, not only do we watch a lot of movies and TV, listen to a lot a music, and read a lot of books, but we also like finding new ways of getting that into our faces faster. That's where tech/apps come in. It's the most broad category. Some of us listed gadgets, some listed apps, some listed software. That's the fun of the category. Almost anything goes.

And as Josh said yesterday and Chris the day before, we love and welcome your comments. We want to know what you like and what you don't. That's important (so we can judge you). This will be the last call for comments, I promise, unless Ken and Patrick do it.

Brett's Picks

Best: iPad Mini. I am a borderline Apple fanboy. This is going to sound lame but the 7" screen is perfect, the weight of it is feather-like, and it does everything I need it to do to a point that I almost feel like I won't buy a regular iPad again (as long as I also have a laptop).

Guilty Pleasure: Wii U. We've had a Wii and we've never really played it much together, as a family. Since we've had the U, we've had so much fun playing little silly games and laughing our heads off together. We still love board games, I should add, but a Wii U is better than Monopoly ... we've never been able to get through that game without me getting cranky.

Runners Up - Best App: Evernote. I have it on my phone, my tablets, and my laptop, and, no matter where I go I can take notes, pictures, etc., and sync them across all devices. Guilty Pleasure App: Bloons TD 5. Bloons is a game that will consume you, create hate, and deliver joy in the space of a few hours. Do not get it.


Ken's Picks

Best: Dropbox. I am not super App-savvy. I will freely admit it. But I enjoy the luxury of moving large files around and having them on-hand – and doing it for free.

Guilty Pleasure: Shazam. I love using this whenever I hear songs in restaurants, in movies or TV shows, etc. and – boom – I suddenly know who sings it so I can download it later. (I used to be so musically knowledgeable. And now I’m not. And that is what I feel guilty about!)


Josh's Picks

Best: Instagram. If there is an app I use every day, it’s Instagram. And if you think it is merely a way to apply old-timey filters to photos, then your missing the point. Sure, the filters are fun and occasionally turn a good photo into something that seems artistic. But the funnest part about Instagram is to follow other people and see the photos they are taking. I follow a lot of friends and family and a lot of people that I don’t even know. And there is something fun and satisfying about getting glimpses into what’s going on in their life through these snapshots. Yes, it can be ridiculous (did you the see the awesome Instagram parody video? Warning: adult language!!) but I’m kind of obsessed. Follow me! I’m Jooshanoosh

Guilty Pleasure: HeroAcademy. I wish this game was at least intellectual or something. But it’s not. It is a little cartoony turn based battle game (you do your 5 moves and then send your turn to your opponent. You get a notification when they have done their turn.) I have wasted countless hours with my youngest son going back and forth. It’s not rocket science, but its kind of delightful.


Patrick's Picks

Best: Garage Band. Really, I know it's comes free with your mac, but honestly I have this little writing group and the three of us all ended up with Garage Band and we have so far written three brilliant and turbulent show stopping shows using this program. I'm sure there fancier programs but for my needs, I love it every time.

Guilty Pleasure: Hulu. But I have to take a moment to write my guilty pleasure a note:  Dear Hulu, if you are just going to show me the same set of commercials that whole episode of Nashville, then just get them all over with at the beginning, Oh, how I love Louis Vuitton who just gives me one 2 minute sexy video before New Girl starts and then, like a classy commercial should, picks up the tab for the rest of my advertising.  And every time the show I'm watching skips a set of commercials because Louis has them taken care of, I think, "I should buy myself a $600 purse."

And so the system works.  Thanks Hulu though for all you do. Love, Patrick. P.S. Josh wants you to stop showing commercials on Hulu Plus, because he's paying you already and that should be enough for you. Stay Cool!

Chris' Picks

Best: Samsung Galaxy 3. It's not an iPhone, I know. But I'm locked into my plan! What can I do? It's a Droid and I won't apologize for it. It's beautiful and it's smooth. And I love it and carry it around in my pocket and cry when we're apart. But I never call anyone on it! I've made about six phone calls. Isn't that weird? I use my phone all day long and it's never for calling people. We live in the future, and it's eerily silent. I'm OK with that.

Runners Up:
Instagram. For making your life look awesome and hipster HEFE
Life Reminders. To remind you to do things all day long
Amazon Kindle. Reading on the run!
Flixster. Movie reviews, locations, dates, and showtimes in a jiffy
Netflix. getting better all the time
UDOT Traffic and KSL Weather. two local faves, one that tells me where the snow is and another that tells me why the traffic's not moving.

Guilty Pleasure: LDS Tools. it tells you how old everyone in your ward is

There it is. What do tech or apps do you love? What did we miss?

Another eHarmoney Success Story

I was recently the recipient of a most intriguing text. It was 10:18 in the P.M. when my cell phone vibrated in my right, front pants’ pocket. Instinctively, I demanded everyone stop talking or moving around or carrying on with any frivolity and shenanigans, so I could give the proper respect and attention to my incoming text. But I was suddenly perplexed by what I read:

Hi Ally. Just wanted to say hi. I hope it’s not too late. Justin.

Now, for those of you keeping score at home, my name is not Ally. Never has been. Not even to my most intimate friends. And the only Justin I know who would text me is my brother. And he rarely calls me ‘Ally.’ And he knows I keep late hours, so unless he was texting to ask me if it was too late to apologize for breaking into my locked trunk while I was out of the country for two years on my mission and subsequently losing not one but TWO mix tapes I had made before leaving, then I couldn't see why he would be asking me if it was “too late.” (And no, Justin, it’s not late to apologize for that. I forgive you. Whew – I’ve been waiting for that one! Thank goodness that’s over. Water under the bridge, brother. Water. Under. The Bridge.)

Anyway, I immediately surmised that this fellow had the wrong number. So as a common courtesy, I simply typed:

Of course it’s not too late. Come on over. And giggled to myself at the thought of Justin showing up to Ally’s residence, unannounced and late in the evening. But then I thought, “This Justin character (if that is his real name) has my cell phone number. He could really make things annoying for me. Best I just leave him alone.” So I deleted my original message and went with the safer:

Justin who?

From eHarmony, he clarified.

Wrong number. I answered back. I’m not Ally.

Wow, he texted a final time. She gave me a wrong number. Don’t I feel like an [Bible swear word].

Oh, this poor soul. He actually trusted that this woman had given him her real number. Now, I’ve never been on eHarmony; however, I have to assume that of all the millions of phone numbers exchanged over that site, 98% to 112% of them are fakes.

I thought of sparing his feelings and helping him to feel like maybe he was dodging a bullet with Ally. Something like: Just kidding, Justin. This is Ally. I’m sorry, but it IS too late. I’ve gone back to my boyfriend. He has been there for me every time I’ve gotten out of rehab. Also, we love the same Nicholas Sparks movies! And even when I pistol-whipped him one time for making that comment about The View, he forgave me so quickly. So, sorry Justin, but maybe in a different life.

But again, he had my cell phone number. Plus that would have taken too much time to text. Plus I am exceptionally busy as of late, trying to recreate two awesomely assembled mix tapes, circa 1990, that my brother may or may not have lost and/or stolen. (For which I totally forgive him.)

UR TXTNG 2 MUCH

In case you weren’t sure where I stood on such key principles, I’m really not one of those dads who feel that his kids watching a DVD on a road trip is ruining “Family Time.” Today’s world offers such amenities, and that’s fine. Of course, this isn’t the same world that I grew up in. If it were, my kids would be unbuckled, lying down in the back of the Family Van, going to wherever, sharing the space with six siblings, listening to Unforgettable Fire on their WalkMan while they “rewound” their Listen Like Thieves cassette tape by sticking a pen in the spokes of the tape and whirling it around in order to rewind it by hand, thus saving the batteries in the WalkMan for strictly playing cassette tapes, rather than rewinding them. (And yes, in the next life, when the pioneers try to tell me how rough they had it, I am planning on bringing up this hardship in my defense.)

So I’m not your middle-aged fuddy-duddy neighbor who poo-poos all technological advances and thinks they are the demise of our children’s’ character. On the whole, I actually embrace such advances. However, I do have my limits.

Recently I had the unanticipated opportunity to put my head in my hands, angry and appalled, and weep at the thought of our future world leaders.  It began innocently enough; I was at a party and summoned to come listen to a friend weave a tale of her daughter’s first date with this “super-cute” boy. (I cannot emphasize those quotation marks enough.)

“So,” she begins, “they were sitting in the movie, and about 10 minutes into the movie he texts her!”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Were they sitting next to each other?”

“Yes!” she said, not detecting my disdain, “and do you know what he texted? He texted, ‘Can I hold your hand?’”

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHOOOOOHHHHHHHH!” cooed all the women in the social circle.

I stood there, stone-faced. I did not coo. I did not cheer. But I had the restraint to not say what I wanted to say, which was, “THAT IS TOTALLY CHEATING!”

I’m sorry, but that is not how the game is played. I understand how the power of texting provides a false sense of bravado and you can say (or ask) things you would never in a ba-jillion years do otherwise. And I can see the allure of going that route. I mean, I’ve wanted to quit jobs, inform somebody their fly was down, and tell-off my waitress all through the power of texting, rather than the more direct and traditional manner of talking face-to-face.

But brother, you are not doing yourself any favors by skipping the entire dance that is hand-holding. You are missing the joy and satisfaction of one of life’s greatest accomplishments. The patience, the reading of body language, the nuances and subtleties of movements, the wishing, the hoping, the fear, the anxiety, the pit in your stomach, the palm-sweats, the glances, the skin brushing. And when those fingers finally lock, it has all been worth it.  You can almost hear angels singing.

As an authority on the art of hand-holding, with mucho know-how and enough experience to write a book brief pamphlet on the subject, allow me to walk you through what the experience would have been, won’t you?

Where were we, 10 minutes into the movie? That’s not when you text to see if you can hold the girl’s hand; that is when you are wondering if she is going to be appalled at the amount of popcorn you can eat in one sitting.

15 Minutes: You observe the boundaries. What are the physical obstacles between you and her? A bucket of popcorn? Sodas? Her purse? A wall of anticipation so thick you have to poke it to measure the density?

30 Minutes: You lean towards her, possibly brushing shoulders. First contact. You realize you are paying very little attention to anything going on in the movie at this point.

45 Minutes: You casually place your arm on the armrest of the chair, and slyly look out of the side of your eye to see if she has done likewise. You leave it there for 20 minutes to give her ample opportunity to A) notice it, B) appreciate the opportunity to eat some of the popcorn that you are no longer inhaling, and C) casually move her own arm in that direction. Hands now in the same proximity.

60 Minutes: What the WHAT?! Your hands were so close, and now she has just as casually put her hands in her lap! You do the same, not wanting to appear desperate.

70 Minutes: Hands are inconspicuously back in proximity of each other. You’ve observed and retained about 15 minutes of the entire movie so far, completely preoccupied now by how dangerously close you are to lightly brushing up against her hand with yours – just to see what kind of reflex you get from her. Then you make the move – hand sweeps past hers, lightly touching. Does her hand move? Does it begin to take the direction of opening, fingers prepared to go inter-digitary with yours? Does it completely sit still? Does it actually recoil, going back into her lap, with her saying, “Oh, sorry,” assuming you accidentally bumped her? You both retreat, hands back to yourselves.

75 Minutes: The side of your pinky is now flat up against hers on the armrests. There’s contact, and nobody is withdrawing. You lift your pinky slightly, and her hand begins to slide into your now-shared space. It’s happening! Your hand slides over the top of her hand, she slides under yours, and your hands both turn and CLASP!

Euphoria!

Somewhere, the Hallelujah chorus is being belted out. To the on-looking movie goers, nothing has really changed, but internally, you are a volcano of emotions! You go deaf and can’t hear anything going on in the movie, your heart is visibly pounding in your chest, and your hand immediately begins to sweat, but you don’t dare break away and wipe it on your jeans. It might break the spell!

In fact, you consciously avoid any movement of your entire appendage whatsoever. You don’t want to draw too much attention to your date that you are, in fact, holding hands and probably going to get married some day. You are now a team as you watch this movie. You laugh at the same parts, even making comments to each other (which up to this point had been taboo).

90 Minutes. You remember nothing of the movie – other than it was your favorite movie EVER because you got to hold hands with your date!

Give all that up for the ease of a text message? I think not. Don’t surrender life’s delightful nuances to the crassness of technology. Please, join me in being a responsible tech-user.

(However, that being said; if my fly is down, as an act of goodwill, please consider texting me about it, rather than discussing it. That’s the kind of awkwardness we can all sidestep with the appropriate use of technology.)