Category Archives: In The Beginning

Two-Facedbook

Posted in In The Beginning by

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Social networking has taken off like wildfire.

Welcome to the age of online partying.  Take your pick of venues, chock-full of possible buddies and bedmates.  A far cry from dad’s poker game and mom’s book club…  these gigs have lots of flash, no cover charge, and are always open.  Pen Pals Gone Wild.  Email on Steroids.

The current Hostess-with-the-Mostess is Facebook.  It’s been well-populated, oft-litigated, and hacker-confiscated.  It continues to pick up steam, bridging countries and cultures.  The most recent addition to it’s impressive resume: successfully spearheading a campaign to get Betty White (who was already a grandmother when freshman Bill Gates started tinkering with computer circuits), to host Saturday Night Live.  Pretty powerful stuff.

On the surface, Facebook is a brilliant concept — connecting long-lost relatives, associates, classmates, and lovers, while fostering friendships between total strangers that otherwise never would have existed.

But it’s not all virtual hugs and fortune cookies.  I’ve seen the darker side of social networking.  Beneath the pictorial, post-driven atmosphere lurks a potential hotbed of disaster.  It’s downfall is it’s upside — the ability to say anything to anyone who has granted you passage to their page.

Without body language or verbal intonation, facial expression or eye contact, almost anything can be extrapolated from your text.  Which makes it ripe for misinterpretation.  Your words are isolated, your meaning meaningless.  A vacuum, where no one can hear you scream or see you cringe.  Your intended joke unintentionally comes across as mean and vindictive.  Your light-hearted banter suddenly wreaks of jealousy and spite.  And this can fester for weeks, even months, unbeknownst to the poster or postee.  Before you even have a clue, your ‘Friend’ is ready to rip you a new one.  You pop on one day geared up for Smilies and Stickers, and see that you’ve been….  *dut, dut, dut* <cue the dramatic music> — DEfriended.  Or worse, had your reputation smeared like a kid playing in finger paints.

I’ve seen both of these scenarios play out.

1) The Public Smackdown. Verbal shrapnel shooting in all directions.  Not only are you wounded, but you’ve got a full audience staring at your bruised and battered ego.

2)   Silent but Deadly.  The Great Wall of China goes up, blocking you from ever visiting again.  Not only are you cut off, but you don’t know why and may be unable to reach that person to attempt reconciliation.

Sidebar:  I personally think instead of defriending, they should have a ‘Frenemies’ category.  People you love to hate.  Or hate to love.  Or used to love.  Hell, why not make things crystal clear, and create publicly-visible categorizations:  Friends; Best Friends; Friends I Call My Best Friends But We Both Know We’re Not; People I Don’t Know But Felt Bad About Not Friending; Cling-Ons (or Klingons, if you’re a Trekkie); Family I Truly Love; Family I’m Stuck With; Classmates I’m So Happy To Have Found; Classmates Who Found Me Even Though I Tried to Hide From Them; Stuck-up Bitches, Sac-less Bastards, Complete Assholes…   Hold on, I have a phone call.

“Hello?…  No, I was just trying to illustrate a point.  Ok, I understand”.

That was Hallmark — I didn’t get the job.  My point being, at least it would be glaringly obvious where you stand.

Often what started as a two-person interchange becomes fodder for the masses.  Thus starts the side-taking and team-bashing that always makes things ten times worse.  It’s no longer just about what X or Y said, but whether YOU think X or Y is the douchebag.  What used to be fun and frivolous becomes a source of sadness and contention.

Why, Facebook, why?  Can’t we all just get along?  Maybe they could add another emoticon — in the vein of the thumbs-up ‘Like’.  I suggest a question mark, which would signify: “WTF”, or more politically-correct: “I’m not sure quite how to take this, please clarify”.  So much misery could be avoided if messages were perceived as intended.  Better yet, let’s grab the reigns.  Don’t let FB be our administrative assistant or mailman, removing ourselves from the equation once the message has been delivered.  Don’t make it our sole source of communication.  Make sure our intended knows through some other platform how we really feel, and vice versa — so neither of us has to worry or wonder.   You can’t make a mountain out of a molehill if you don’t let the dirt keep piling on.

This isn’t directed at any specific individual, nor am I bashing social networking on the whole.  This is merely a cautionary tale.  Facebook has many levels of enjoyment, and I’ve eagerly partaken.  (I’ll devote a future post on “The Joys of Facebooking”.)  It takes time, thought, and energy to sustain/build a close bond, yet only a few moments or words to damage/destroy it.  We need to assume the best, and make no verdicts until the defendant’s been subpoenaed and the testimony’s been heard.

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Poke, Peek, Post, Tweet til the (Farmville) cows come home, but with your sensitivity chip safely in place.  The rewards will be plenty and the risks few.  As the liquor industry says….  Enjoy Responsibly!

Pinkitude:
“Even an unintentional, small incident can spark a chain of events… not in the interest of peace“.
~ Abdul Sattar

Impassioned by the pen,
Platinum Pink

even an unintentional, even a small incident can spark a chain of events … not in (the) interest of peace.”

Abdul Sattar

Paradise Lost

Posted in In The Beginning by

This post is six years in the making.

Warning:  Spoiler Alert!!  If you are a LOST fan and haven’t seen the finale, turn away — NOW.


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Six years of theorizing and postulating.  A month of  brainstorming cool theme party ideas.  An entire weekend of cooking and baking.  An ass-numbing session in front of the computer, designing graphics and printing labels for the food buffet (ex: Jack Shephard‘s pie; eClaire‘s; Sawyer cream & onion dip).  Two and a half hours of emotionally-wrenching boob tubing.  And lastly, a sleepless night of tossing and turning, mentally examining every frame of last night’s swan song.

LOST is more than a TV show.  It has become a cultural phenomenon.  A highly-touted water-cooler topic, praised and picked-apart; the fodder for many fights and the subject of an arena of articles.   Today’s Lostie is the equivalent of the 70’s Trekkie, only with greater social acceptance.  When something of that magnitude ends, it creates a major ripple effect which will spark debate for years to come.

Tons of reviews, both amateur and professional, express mixed reactions: confused, elated, disenchanted, in denial, and downright pissed.  What strikes me the most isn’t how people feel, but how angry they get at people who feel differently.  A village of judgmental, accusatory know-it-alls, ready to chase non-conformists with a flaming pitchfork.  Just because someone has a different interpretation or opinion of Lost’s finale doesn’t make them stupid or a lesser fan.  People from many walks of life and world views watched this show.  Of course there are going to be multiple takes on it.  Varying viewpoints should be food for thought, or disregarded altogether.  Not a reason to spew hate and venom.  Those who try to force their beliefs on others — either through punishment, mocking, or denial of basic human rights, are decimating the very values and principles they claim to espouse.

Get fired up.  Offer your take with conviction.  The most exciting games are played between the biggest rivals.  But there should be an unspoken respect; an unwritten disclaimer:  These are opinions, not undisputed fact or irrefutable law.  No one has to agree, and truthfully, it would make for a very stale, Stepfordian world if everyone did.  But every person has the right to think and believe what they choose without fearing for their life or livelihood.  Simply put: Live and let live.  (Or as the Dharma recruits might say, “Namaste”.)  Too often people think the anonymity of the internet makes them inculpable or impervious to inflicting wounds.  Just because you never see your victim, doesn’t make their pain any less real.  Words can hurt… pen mightier than the sword and all that.  Speaking your mind — good.  Lambasting someone to try and prove your (unprovable) point — bad.  If you must decry the absurdity of an opposing viewpoint, do it out of that person’s earshot.  Not necessarily polite, but much better than a public stoning.

Okay, so far this post has been about the importance of respecting diversity and considering all angles before landing on your resting place.  But I’d also like a personal purge, to share the thoughts that kept me awake last night, prisoner to a fencing match between my ceiling and clock.

Since I first experienced the bizarro happenings of the Oceanic survivors, I was captivated.  This show was really different, original, and superbly produced.  Every element from location to set design, casting to special effects, writing to scoring, was done on a cinematic level.  Cut to Josh Holloway shirtless, and it’s television gold.  There were some clunkers over the course of the series (Paolo & Nikki who??), but overall, an unparalleled yarn was being spun, and I couldn’t wait to tug at next week’s thread.  With three shows left, I started to get a little wary; it seemed like they were taking us down a decidedly divinable path.  But I felt I should give benefit of the doubt; trust in the producers repeated declarations that their show wouldn’t resort to tried, common story arcs.  I crossed my fingers and went into last night’s episode with the highest of hopes.

Those final two and a half hours receive my top marks for acting and production.  The character development was cohesive and conversational styles true to form.  I was moved to tears over the beautifully-crafted romantic reconnects, as well as Jack’s powerful death scene — alone in his agony, emotionally and physically spent, his fatally-wounded body blanketed between sand and sky, Vincent trotting up tenderly, loyally lying by his side.  Impactful, heart-tugging imagery, no question.

Overall, I was disappointed.  As previously cited, I don’t begrudge people their beliefs, nor am I trying to denounce or belittle any faith or sect.  I do feel gypped that a show replete with brilliant and original sci-fi themes, in the end, resorted to simple, overused religious parables.   Putting theology at the core of the Lost universe felt very forced and disjointed to me.  Like going to a Metallica concert where a sermon breaks out.  (Or in reverse, going to a church which turns out to be a Hedonism resort.)  Felt like a bait and switch.  Like Cuse/Lindelof changed their original plotline under pressure from conservative network heads, or to spite fans who correctly guessed their saga in advance.  So much was left unanswered, things that had became pop culture lure, launching hundreds of frenzied fan sites, just swept under the current like invisible plankton.

See below for a hilarious sampling of the many unresolved mysteries
(a shout-out to my firstborn for sharing):

Spoken in Don Adam’s Maxwell Smart voice: “Missed it by THAT much”.  Up to the last ten minutes I felt like it was a great blending of past to present, theories to realities.  What I thought would happen:  Our beloved Losties would eventually cease to exist on the island, because it was merely a learning platform for them; a dream-state created to deliver life lessons.  Once learned, everything they experienced there would coalesce with the ‘sideways’ world — which would turn out to be the ‘real’ one — upgraded, improved versions of who they were at the onset.  The island was a head trip; a training ground for personal growth and enlightenment, teaching them how to appreciate life and be the best they could be in the ‘real’ (disguised as the sideways) world.  That would have been aces with me.  Try as I might to find satisfaction in a finish that killed off everyone (every main character – dead), leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.  I suppose some people found it rewarding to know they were all together in the end, journeying in the afterlife together.   Sorry.  Doesn’t cut it for me.  I wanted to see them thrive in the world, inspired and strengthened by their trials of fire, bolstered by the knowledge of love lost and found.  I wanted the payoff of seeing them happy and alive, after watching them suffer so much.  I was robbed of that reward and that leaves me feeling empty after investing so much time and thought in this episodic era.

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I welcome comment, whether in agreement or discord.  Being exposed to different schools of thought is important.  Life is a classroom, and the day I stop learning is the day I stop living.  How can I hope to grow and develop if I cut myself off to any ideologies?  It is in sorting through the garbage that I find the gems.  I couldn’t know what to believe if I didn’t have the unbelievable for comparison.  Life constantly evolves, and hopefully, my wisdom and understanding with it.

Pinkitude:
“Too much agreement kills the chat.” ~ John Jay Chapman
“Not enough kills the spirit”. ~ Platinum Pink

Impassioned by the Pen,
Platinum Pink

Baby Steps

Posted in In The Beginning by

pink yellow thin line

Rock-a-Bye, Bloggy….

Just a tiny little thing, nestled in a remote corner of the world, self-soothed by an ink binky.

It’s kind of nice being obscure.  If I trip and fall, there aren’t many people to laugh and point.  Not that I’d blame them.  Even though I manage to choke out an “Are you okay?”, I’m guilty of stifling giggles when I witness another person’s missteps.  Why is someone falling so damn funny?  As a wise observer once said, “You assume people are supposed to know how to walk”.  Ah, the simplicity of it all.

Speaking of simple…   I’ve been writing since I could first hold a crayon.  It’s second nature to me.  For some reason, displaying it in a formal environment for the general public has been fear-inducing.  The butterflies-in-stomach, feels-like-you-swallowed-cotton variety.  I needed some virtual pressure to get me going.  Thankfully, I’ve been well trained in Shove Love.

baby steps pink row footprints

I have a sister, about a year older than me.  When I was learning to walk, she was already a seasoned pro.  Watching me being egged on to do something she’d clearly mastered must have been frustrating for her.  All that fanfare over nothing.  The chorus of “C’mon honey, you can do it”, got to her, so she assisted me — with a firm push from the back.  Of course instead of moving forward, I fell flat; turning on the waterworks amidst the pride-bruising guffaws.  Interesting after affect: attention shifted to her, and I was highly motivated to get it back.  I think more important than avoiding another face plant, I wanted to show my glib sib (and the family in audience) that I could accomplish the great feet (homonym intended).

This powering through became a habitual pattern.  I’m not claiming abuse.  Far from it.  I’m referring to being spurred on by my sister’s tenacity and if-you-don’t-do-it-I-have-ways-to-make-you posturing.  From child to teen to young adult, I engaged in a running series of half-hearted or non-committal attempts, often succeeding only after my sister’s incentivized prodding, and usually through stubborn tears.  While immersed in it, I felt like she was too tough on me.  Now I realize her cleverly-packaged encouragement was truly a gift.

I don’t need her to propel me forward any more, at least not in the physical sense.  The mental conditioning that resulted from years of her influential coercions makes me do things I might not feel ready to do.  It pitches me into action, and inevitably, the realization that I can do it.  Sometimes that last inch is the greatest distance to travel.

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Regardless of the stimuli, whether you are externally or internally driven — Just Do It.  The worst that could happen is you fall on your face.  Or ass.  Everyone gets a chuckle, and you get up; more experienced, more determined, and that much closer to your mark.

Or… maybe your sister is sitting somewhere, erupting in maniacal har-de-hars.  You were her human experiment, and your malleability has given her countless pleasure.  She is the puppet master supreme, still pulling your strings…   Nah.  She really does just want me to succeed.

Pinkitude:
“Success means doing the best we can with what we have.
It is the doing, not the getting; the trying, not the triumph.” ~ Zig Ziglar

Impassioned by the pen,
Platinum Pink