Category: Best Of
If my wife and I have children someday, one of my roles as a father will be a social media watchdog. I use the term “social media” to refer to any kind of technology that enables communication and interaction with others, be it Internet, web or mobile.
Right now, there isn’t a whole lot of research or literature on the psychological impact of the Internet and mobile technologies on children. We are already seeing some of the effects though. I’ve seen nieces touch a TV screen, expecting it to be a touch screen. I’ve seen nephews expect instant gratification as quickly as an instant message. I’ve seen friends’ children using a web search to replace their memory of basic facts.
And, I can’t lie – to some extent, I’ve done some of this too. But at least I’m aware of this and try not to let this become a handicap. For young children, however, they don’t have this awareness yet. Such behaviors will shape their entire futures.
Since I haven’t found a single source of the potential issues a child may face when using social media, I decided to amass this list. I’m planning on using this list as a guide for what I may have to teach my children one day. They probably won’t encounter all of these, hopefully, but as a parent, I’d rather be prepared than not.
- Over-sharing
- The act of publishing too much information about oneself online. There’s a fine line between appropriate sharing and over-sharing. Where that line lies will be a judgement call for each family. At a minimum, I would think child safety is a great line not to cross. There is software for parents that monitors their children’s social media usage as a way of watching out for this too.
- Privacy issues
- Unintentional leaks of your private information to the public. This is in contrast to over-sharing, which is the intentional sharing of your private information. Some organizations may alter their privacy policies, or have weak ones to begin with, putting your private data at risk. The best way to avoid this is to assume that whatever you put on the web will be public one day.
- Cyber bullying
- An extension of bullying, except done online, where taunts and insults can be anonymous, multiplied, amplified, and remain around for a long time, if not forever. When talking about bullying, it may be a good idea to discuss how to deal with both real-life and online bullying, both as a potential bully and the target of a bully.
- Child predators
- Malicious adults who prey on unsuspecting young children. Fortunately, cyber-crime departments of the law enforcement are getting better at nailing these people, but it’s still a concern. Since these predators don’t just operate online, talks about stranger safety should encompass both real-life and Internet interactions.
- Computer security
- Malicious software that can be accidentally downloaded and installed, like viruses and worms. Some teens may be more tech-savvy than their parents and will know all about this already, but young children may not. Anti-virus software isn’t enough; education on how to keep a clean system is also necessary. This includes Internet security issues, such as phishing and insecure public wifi hotspots.
- Social engineering
- Malicious attempts at tricking someone through some kind of social interaction (email, IM chat, text message, face-to-face interaction, etc) to gain access to his/her information. Think of it like a con job, only with social media technology. A healthy level of skepticism and common sense may help, for both children and parents.
- Internet addiction
- An intense desire to be on the Internet, even at the detriment of the other aspects of one’s life: health, relationships, social maturity, etc. There is still much debate over whether or not this is clinically a real addiction, but overusing anything is never a good thing. This can include the social media, the web, video games, and even mobile devices.
- Erroneous information
- Data that is intentionally misleading or unintentionally incorrect. Don’t trust everything you see on the web. To be safe, always go to verified sources or double-check the information. Some older school-aged children seem to be aware of this, but younger children – and parents – may not be.
- Adult activities
- Any kind of media portraying adults in sexual acts. It is surprisingly easy to find porn on the web. Unless you have a parental filter, your children will inevitably encounter it one day, whether it be intentionally on a porn site or unintentionally in a random video chat. Perhaps the best a parent can hope for is that their children will have a healthy & appropriate sexual education.
- Illegal activities
- Actions that break the law. The Internet makes many things surprisingly easy to do, like ordering illegal weapons, hacking into a federal computer system, or unknowingly breaking a foreign law. Children may assume that because something is easy and possible, it’s also acceptable and legal. It may not be.
- Hate groups
- Organizations that exist primarily to evangelize their intense dislike for a particular group of people. Such groups often thrive online. Children may need to be educated about the existence of such groups, especially if they may be influenced by one, or are the target of one.
- Proper grammar and spelling
- Forgetting or not learning proper grammatical constructs and word spellings. It’s quicker to type in shorthand than full sentences. Some technologies, like SMS and Twitter, even have character restrictions, further encouraging the use of shorthand. I don’t want to sound like a grumpy old man who’s arguing that grammar & spelling is going downhill, but parents may want to keep an eye on this nonetheless.
- Profanity
- Words that are generally considered to be impolite and unacceptable for children. Though there are many child-safe sites out there, lots of blogs – including mine, I should say – contain profanity. Parental Internet filters will block sites with profanity in them.
- Mean behavior
- Words from people designed to create ill will. This, of course, is something children will face in real-life also, though misunderstandings and miscommunications are more common on the Internet. What is curt to one person is rude to another. Tempers can also run high and inhibitions low. This may be an issue for children who may be overly sensitive or insensitive.
- International interactions
- Encounters with people of cultures foreign to those of your family. Since the Internet is international, children may come across languages, behaviors and mannerisms from people of other cultures. This is a good thing and may provide an opportunity for a parent to teach their children about geography and other cultures, though misunderstandings and miscommunications may occur.
- Dimished social connectedness
- A decrease in the ability to relate to people due to heavy Internet usage. As a potential consequence of Internet addiction, some studies have reported children saying they feel alone and secluded when not using social media. Being without an Internet connection led to withdrawal symptoms such as anxiety. Others have reported a decrease in stranger empathy. Much research still needs to be done on this topic, however.
Again, this is only a swag at a list of potential issues a child may face when using social media technologies. I don’t think technology is inherently harmful. Nor do I intend to frighten parents and make it sound like the Internet is rife with problems. There are a lot of amazing advances coming from technology that will help children, such as education technologies, information access, international awareness, etc.
This list is an attempt to prepare myself for how I may need to educate my children. As with everything in life, there is always the potential to misuse social media technologies in harmful ways. By understanding what those may be, I hope to become a better-educated parent.
What do you think of this list? Did I miss anything? Is an item here really not a big deal? I would love to know what you think; all suggestions welcome. Thanks!
When my wife and I have kids, we decided that one of my tasks as a father will be a social media watchdog. That means monitoring our children’s social media usage and staying up on the latest & greatest Internet, web and mobile technologies that may cross their paths.
I love social media. You’ll find me on practically all of the popular services, and many of the newer ones still in “beta.” I publish frequently and share generously. But I do so with a careful eye. At least, I do now.
Way back when the word “blog” was still “web log,” I had this site. I called these writings my “Rambles.” Although most topics were personal essays that covered events in my life, many were works of fiction and some were opinion pieces & rants. It was through one of these opinion pieces that I stupidly discussed a personal issue of a friend of mine.
The friend read the piece, sent me a painful email, and I lost that friendship.
It was a hard lesson in sharing over the web. One that I will never forget; one that I will definitely teach my children someday.
Nowadays, sharing over the web is a lot more complex. Back when I started, there were no such things as privacy filters. If you published it, anyone could eventually find it (unless it was password-protected, which few did).
With the rise of social networking sites, the minutiae of who-sees-what has gotten a lot more complicated. Settings may be hard to find. You may forget to actively manage your privacy settings. Companies can change the options on you, accidentally or intentionally. Hackers could break into your account. And companies could shut down, taking all of your posts and shared items with them.
In other words, there is a thinly veiled belief of privacy that lulls some users into a false sense of security. The truth is, if you don’t want to share something with strangers, don’t post it on the web. Don’t share your password, don’t share your home address, don’t share geo-tagged photos your children or house. Abstinence is the best form of safety.
That isn’t to say sharing over the web is a bad thing. Far from it. Part of the grandeur of the web is all the fantastic things others have shared. Online communities can support, shelter and heal. News from across the world can reach you in mere seconds. Internet messaging can maintain relationships with acquaintances, people you might not otherwise talk to on a regular basis.
If you’re of the baby boomer generation, you probably remember the concept of a pen pal. For you youngun’s, that was someone your own age who lived far away, usually in another country. You and this person, this pal, would write letters to each other with a pen and paper. Hence, pen pal.
I had a pen pal once. Well, he was more like an email pal. We both were into heavy metal, so we’d exchange emails about the new bands and albums we discovered. He lived in Europe and told me all about the huge metal scene over there, while I filled him in on the American scene.
What I’ve learned over my years of Internet usage (and that encompasses the web, email, newsgroups, chat, etc) is the nuanced set of acceptable and safe behaviors. At least, I like to think so.
There’s really a range of acceptable behaviors, and it varies from online community to online community. What is acceptable in one is not in another. And even then, each individual has his/her own particular sensitivities. What offends one person may not offend another.
If that all sounds like quite a quagmire, consider all of the real-life social groups in which you belong. Your family, your classmates, your coworkers, etc. You probably have many circles of friends, each with its own set of acceptable behaviors and sensitivities. Same goes for the online world.
The big difference is you grow into each real-life social group slowly. You start with your family. Then grade school friends. Then high school friends. And so on.
Each of those groups grows with you. Each member goes through the same awkward lessons you do, even if it doesn’t feel that way at the time. Each painful lesson teaches you and shapes your social maturity. You learn to understand social cues, vocal inflections, body language, slang, pop culture, etiquette, boundaries, etc.
For young children, this is especially important. The first social group – the family – provides them with a safe, nurturing environment in which to learn how to interact appropriately.
But what if you’re thrown into a world before you’re ready to deal with it?
In the online world, the members vary in social and emotional maturity. They aren’t necessarily in the same range as you. There are some social networks that restrict by age and geography, but the majority do not because they want more users through inclusiveness rather than tighter but smaller communities through exclusiveness.
Along those same lines, a child may interact with his/her family, relatives, family friends, and neighborhood friends in real life. As parents, you can control this. Again, there are some emerging social networks that offer this kind of control, but the majority do not. The general fear – and it’s a real fear – is of predators. Individuals who seek to do harm. There’s a range of this too, from bullying to abduction. All of it scary and all of it harmful.
Also, social feedback exists online, but immature outbursts and reactions are more permanent. Amongst a group of friends, poor behavior can be excusable. It may even stay within the group, if you’re lucky. On the Internet, such behavior could live forever and be found by future employers.
One last point. The lessons on the Internet come much faster. Real life interactions are limited by geography. Children can only interact with the people around them. One of the great things about the Internet is its expansive nature. But for a child who hasn’t yet gained a sense of emotional and social maturity, the volume of interactions – not to mention information – can be staggering.
This is just off the top of my head, of course. I’m not a child psychologist, digital sociologist, or even a “social media specialist.” I’m just a concerned guy who’s trying to anticipate the potential lessons I’ll have to teach about the emerging world of social media. My views may change as I educate myself, find actual research papers on these topics, talk to people way smarter than I, and, you know, have children.
I should also add that I love the possibilities that technology offers to future generations. My children will learn, know, and do things I cannot even begin to fathom. And I don’t want to hold them back at all; the last thing I want to do is shelter them. Life is not fair nor perfect; there are bad people out there, as well as good. A dad can only tell his kids so much before they stop listening to him.
The crux of it all is really emotional and social maturity. Having a healthy sense of self, empathy for others, and understanding of society is, in my opinion, the key for navigating the online world. Since the Internet can be a firehose, my role as a social media watchdog will be to tighten the nozzle and gently release it as my children become ready for more.
She got onto the bus before her mother did. Five? Maybe six? She jumped right into the first seat she saw, mother in tow.
Her little legs dangled from the seat. Big, wide eyes took in everything around her. All the strange faces, ragged smiles, hipster clothing. The San Francisco Muni can indeed be a colorful place for the uninitiated.
A few stops later, another little girl got on. Also five? Maybe six? Her mother held her hand and walked her over to a couple of seats. Right next to the first girl.
Girl #1 looked at Girl #2. She smiled. The other girl looked away. Then back. Then away. Then back.
Girl #1 said, “Hi.”
Girl #2 looked at her for a moment. Then, “Hi.”
Girl #1 said a few more things. I didn’t catch them, but it looked like quite an animated message. Her little hands flailed about excitedly.
Girl #2 smiled. Her arms stayed at her sides while she answered. She gripped her mother as the bus rocked and lurched.
This conversation continued throughout the ride. Eventually, Girl #2 released her mother and started waving them about. Then Girl #1 pulled a book out of her bag and showed it to Girl #2. The mothers smiled as their daughters pointed and laughed at pictures in the book.
Their little legs dangled and their laughter expanded throughout the bus.
Then came Girl #2′s stop. Her mother got up and took her arm. The little girl frowned. “I don’t want to go,” she told her mother.
“But this is our stop.”
“I don’t want to go,” Girl #2 repeated as she dutifully stood up.
The two girls exchanged sad glances. The mothers smiled. “How cute,” said Mother #1. “In just thirty minutes, they’ve become the best of friends.”
Girl #1 and Girl #2 said their goodbyes. Then the #2′s departed. The little girls waved at each other as the bus pulled away.
“You here for a reason,” Hiep the barber said. “Here, in San Francisco. This shop. This seat.”
He stopped cutting and stood back. “I don’t know why,” he continued. “But there is reason.”
“Ah, you mean like fate?” I asked.
“Yes, fate.” He paused again and gestured to himself. “This what I believe. I do not make others believe too. This just what I believe.”
“That’s okay. I happen to agree.”
He smiled. “I not always like this. I grow up religious in Vietnam. But this what always make sense to me.”
“I tell you a story,” he continued. “It sound crazy, but it true.”
He cleared his throat and focused his gaze on me through the mirror.
“When I was boy in Vietnam, uncle take me to fortune teller. He tell me I must come. But I don’t believe in fortune teller. I think: waste of time.”
He cut a few more snips. Though this haircut was taking longer then usual, I didn’t mind. It was a fascinating conversation.
“The fortune teller was blind. Cannot see anything. She take my hands and tell me my past, my present, my future. What she told me about past, I do not believe. I say, ‘That not true. You make it up.’”
His gaze narrowed. “She say, ‘Talk to your mother. You will know I am right.’ So I talk to my mother. She ask me how I know these things. I tell her fortune teller tell me. And you know what?”
He paused. Eyes fixed on mine.
“Everything true. Fortune teller know things no one else know. Even me. Only my mother know.”
He sighed and started trimming my sideburns.
“But still, I don’t believe in fortune teller. But tell you what. When I come to this country, I go to friend’s party. They have fortune teller. My wife go and talk to her. I don’t go. I play cards instead. Because I don’t believe.”
Hiep paused and used the blow dryer to whisk away some loose hairs. Then he continued.
“The fortune teller tell my wife, ‘Bring your husband here. You must bring him here.’ She come get me. I say, ‘No, I don’t believe. I want to play cards.’ But she keep tell me, ‘Come, come, the fortune teller say bring you here.’”
He shook his head with a smile. “She stubborn like me. So I go. But I don’t go into room. I stand outside, tell fortune teller, ‘I don’t believe you. I don’t want listen. Stop telling my wife to bring me here.’ Fortune teller say, ‘Okay, you stand there. I don’t care. You just listen to what I say.’”
His eyes widened. “And she tell me same thing first fortune teller tell me. Fortune teller from Vietnam. Exact same thing!”
I blinked. “Are you sure? The first fortune teller was many years ago, right? How can you remember all that?”
Hiep shook his head. “I remember. I remember because her prediction all come true. Future, what she predict, come true. I don’t want to believe, but it come true!”
“Wow…”
“This fortune teller want to tell me more. She say, ‘I tell you future.’ I say, ‘No. No. I tell you why.’”
He stood back again. Cleared his throat. Focused his eyes on mine.
“I don’t want to hear fortune teller because I don’t want to know future. I want to be surprised. Understand? I don’t want to know when I die. Not meant for me to know. When it happen, it happen. I cannot change it. Knowing only make worse. Understand?”
I nodded. “I do, I do. You do believe in the fortune teller’s predictions, but you don’t want to acknowledge it, because you would prefer to be surprised. So it’s not that you don’t believe in her, it’s that you do, but don’t want to.”
Hiep smiled. “Yes. I cannot believe. But I know it. I cannot change prediction. Whatever will happen will happen. So why know?”
“So you don’t believe in free will? You believe that everything is preordained?”
He smiled again. “Yes, there are choice. Some choice. But we not meant to know. We cannot know. Why you here, in this chair? There is reason. Maybe to hear this talk. Maybe for me to have this talk. I don’t know. We cannot know. But it happen for reason. That all I know.”
I waited until he finished trimming the back of my head, then nodded. “Whatever the reason, I am glad fate gave me this talk. It is very interesting.”
Hiep beamed. “For me too. I am glad to fate for this talk too.”
The tour guides did not look like what we were expecting at all.
There were two of them by the dock, waiting for our taxi acquei (water taxi) to arrive. Once we stopped, they helped us up from the boat. I didn’t say they weren’t nice, just not what we expected.
They wore fancy brand-name suits. Had shiny Italian leather wingtips. Slicked-back hair. Neatly-trimmed goatees. Rings and jewelry. And piercing eyes behind smiles that could probably put a bullet in your head as easily as a handshake.
“Mafioso,” I thought as quickly as I felt guilty of the prejudiced thought. But I would totally understand if you saw the same look on a Chinese guy and thought, “Triad.”
“Welcome to Signoretti,” one of the guides said. “I will be the guide for the English-speaking group.” I heard the other guide speaking in French to another group of passengers. “We are one of the oldest glass artisans on Murano. Today, I will be giving you a tour of our glass-making facilities. Please, right this way.”
Mia and I, along with a British family of three, followed him into the impressive Signoretti building.
Inside were several hot furnaces. Half a dozen artisans danced around with poles that were shoved into said furnaces. The tips of the poles were bright orange molten glass.
The guide described the glass making process. It was one that involved design, production, finishing, polishing, and even packaging & shipping. He made a
point to say there were six artisans involved with just one piece of glass art. “Remember, the price you pay, while at a discount because you are purchasing right here in the factory, is to provide for the salaries of six artisans.”
“Now, they will make a Ferrari horse to show you how a sculpture is made.” He motioned to one of the artisans with a hot pole of molten glass. “Get your cameras ready.”
The artist carefully extruded the head, then the legs of the horse from the molten core. He made it seem so easy. We clapped and cheered.
“Now, I will take you to our showroom. Come.”
We walked up a flight of stairs as another tour group entered the factory. The showroom was an impressive display of glass art. Beautiful chandeliers, elegant vases, magnificent wine glasses. Intertwined with colors and curved in seductive shapes, each was a delicate work of art.
And, expensive. Other tours were in the showroom too. I heard some of them asking about prices. “That one is only 100,000 euros,” one tour guide said. “It took several days to make. Very difficult. Very unique. You will not find anything like it anywhere else in Murano.”
That’s when it hit me. “I don’t think they’re tour guides,” I whispered to Mia. “I think they’re salespeople giving tours. It’s like a timeshare sales session. Our hotel probably has an arrangement with these guys. They give us a free tour, pay for our water taxis, and try to sell us on their glassware. They’ll probably try to sell us hard by the end of the tour.”
However, I was wrong. Our slick salesman probably realized we weren’t going to unload a few grand on their merchandise. “Would you like to see any more, or are you interested in smaller pieces?” he asked us.
“Let’s see the smaller pieces,” I said.
He whisked us into a room not unlike a typical Murano glass souvenir shop in Venice. Then he shut the door and was gone. Perhaps to give another tour/sales session.
We wandered out of the complex and into a residential-looking part of Murano. After a few dead-ends, we began following a group of tourists.
“You know what would be a better sales technique?” Mia said. “If he didn’t just throw us out once he realized we weren’t going to buy anything. What if we were to tell our friends about them, and our friends buy something? Or what if we returned someday, after we could afford it, and brought something?”
I nodded. “Totally agree. Sometimes your customers make your best salespeople.”
“I know, right?” she huffed. Then something caught Mia’s eye. “Oh, can we look at that?”
It was a tall glass sculpture in a small enclosed garden. Above the doorway was the sign, “Simone Cenedese Gallery.” She took a picture of the beautiful sculpture, then peeked inside the gallery.
“Should we go in?” she asked. The tourists we were following were disappearing around a bend.
I looked into the gallery. “Sure, why not.” We walked in.
The glass art was exquisite. Contemporary. Grand.
A salesperson came over. “Buongiorno,” he greeted. “Are you looking for chandeliers or souvenirs?”
“Uh…” came my quick-witted reply.
“Our house specializes in chandeliers. We don’t make much else that is smaller.”
“Oh, I see. We are just looking for souvenirs.”
“You will find many beautiful souvenirs here in Murano. But while you are here, please enjoy and take a look at our art as well.” With a smile, he took a step backwards and left us to browse.
We slowly walked down a hallway adorned with majestic works of art. Mia stopped at one and her mouth opened. “This is so beautiful. Wow. I wonder how they did this.” It was a curved slab of clear glass with what looked like organic leaves or shells inside of it.
“That,” said the salesperson who seemed to materialize right behind us, “is a compound of minerals sealed inside the glass. It is our master’s own formula, so you won’t see this anywhere else in Murano.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mia said.
“Would you like to see more of our master’s work? Come, let me show you our gallery. Come.”
I hesitated, not wanting to face another sales session. But something about his manner was more inviting than the last guy. Also, at the very least, all we had to say was, “No thanks,” and walk away.
The gallery was as contemporary as the art. Lighted glass floors. White walls. It wasn’t overwhelming like the first place. Fewer pieces were on display. More like an art gallery than a showroom.
“Here,” the salesperson said to Mia. He brought out a piece similar to what she was admiring in the hallway and placed it on a lighted table. “Walk around it and see how the curves of the glass change the view of the shapes inside. It is a very fluid piece.”
She ooo’ed and ahh’ed. On another table was a book with the name Simone Cenedese. “Is this the master?” I asked.
“Ah, yes!” he said with energy. “Simone Cenedese. He is one of the youngest artists in Murano, born in 1973. His work is very modern. His youthful eye brings a new style to this ancient practice.”
He flipped through the book. “One of his sculptures is outside at the end of the canal. You should go take a look later. It is very beautiful.”
He stopped at a page with a photo of the master himself. “Wow, he looks very young,” Mia exclaimed.
“Would you like to see the master at work?”
Mia and I looked at each other. “Sure!” we said together.
“Come.” The salesperson led us through another hallway and down some stairs. We were greeted with several furnaces and artisans with poles of molten glass. It was similar to what we saw earlier, except there was no tourist barrier between us and the artisans. We were allowed much closer. Almost too close. The heat was pretty intense. I could almost feel the suffocating heat on my cheeks.
The salesperson explained the glassmaking process. The sand goes into the furnace. Each furnace is a different color. An artisan dips the pole into the a furnace to get another color onto his piece. All follow a prepared design. It was more information than the last tour had offered.
“Ah, here is the master himself,” the salesperson said. We turned around and saw Cenedese cooling off a pole with molten glass. He looked up for a second, then returned to his work. There was a fierce look of determination on his face. We held our breath as he carved and molded the glass.
After a few moments, the salesperson said, “Come, come.” He whisked us into another room. “Making glass art is a lot of work. What you saw is just the beginning. The glass also needs to be sanded, polished, and finished.” He motioned to tables and tables of glass, all of it dusty. Artisans were sanding down the glass pieces, leaving behind a film of dust everywhere.
It was so dirty and messy that we got the feeling this wasn’t a common place for gawking tourists.
I peered closely at a pile of glass tubes with circles drawn on them. “Those are the imperfections in those glasses,” said the salesperson. “I can’t see them, but they, they can tell. To the trained eye, there are dozens of imperfections at this stage. The artists will continue to polish the glass into each piece is perfect.”
The next room was the packaging & shipping room. Boxes and boxes filled with styrofoam peanuts were scattered about. Workers were wrapping pieces of glass carefully in paper. I pointed at a complex-looking chandelier. “Are instructions included?”
“Oh yes. Instructions are included with each piece. They are not hard to put together. Very easy.” He walked over to another chandelier. “See, each piece is simply screwed in,” he said as he unscrewed a glass tube off, just like an ordinary lightbulb.
After that, we exited the workshop. “I am glad you got to see the master at work. If you would like to make a purchase, I will be happy to help. If not, please enjoy Murano island. Look around at the other glass sculptures. You will see that Simone’s art is unique. It is unlike any other art on this island. He has a very distinctive style. Please, enjoy.”
He smiled warmly. We replied with lots of “grazie’s” and “thank you’s.”
As walked out of the gallery, we turned to each other. “Wow, what a cool experience,” Mia declared. “How nice of him too. He probably knew we weren’t going to buy anything, yet he gave us a full personal tour and even showed us the master at work. And all without the pressure of purchasing. Now that is a fantastic sales technique! We totally can’t afford anything in there, but as soon as we can, I want to come back and buy something from them.”
“And tell all our friends about them,” I added. She nodded.
We smiled to each other. I took her hand and we started down a row of souvenir shops, noting how none were quite as beautiful as the art we saw in the Simone Cenedese Gallery.
Here’s how it went down.
As early as May of 2009, I started researching the insane industry of diamonds. Insane, I tell you, insane. And not just the industry, but the gazillions of cuts and colors and clarities out there.
To help, I contacted three of Mia’s closest friends. Each gave a clue to the sparkly rock that would one day dazzle Mia’s eyes. One friend even volunteered to take me diamond shopping for some great deals.
In September of 2009, Mia and I took a trip to Hawaii. During this trip, I anxiously waited for an opportunity to get her Dad alone. Once I did, I formally asked for Mia’s hand in marriage. He said Yes. Whew!
Then her Mom accidentally spilled the beans. And two of the three friends I contacted offered a confirmation. Mia knew I was ring shopping now. Darn it. But she didn’t know if I had made the purchase yet.
With that in mind, she began to eye each trip we took with eager suspicion. “Will he propose on this trip?” she’d wonder. “Or maybe this one?”
Months passed. No proposals. Mia started getting antsy. She tried to pry, asking decisive questions during engagement ring commercials. A De Beers commercial would come on and she’d ask, “Have you seen their rings? They have some nice rings.”
But I didn’t give any ground. “De Beers? I hate those guys and what they’ve done to the diamond industry. Such a scam. I’m hungry. What do you want for dinner?” Poor Mia.
Then three long months passed. In December, Mia and I took a trip to Hong Kong and Tokyo. Hong Kong was for the wedding of one of my college buddies. Tokyo was just for fun. Or so Mia thought.
She didn’t suspect a thing. “Mike would never risk carrying a diamond ring overseas,” she firmly thought. “He’ll probably propose on New Years Eve or something.”
I thought it seemed pretty obvious – and so did just about all of our friends – but I’m glad she didn’t. Heh.
Meanwhile, I was asking friends for advice on how to get a diamond ring through airport security safely. It was nerve-wracking to carry the ring throughout our travels, but I kept it close at all times. The only time I wasn’t gripping it firmly in my pocket was when I was eating, sleeping, or peeing.
On the morning of December 16, 2009, both Mia and I rubbed the feet of a little, smiling Buddha statue at the entrance of Ryokan Shimizu in Kyoto, Japan, where we were staying. Mia’s wish: “I hope I’m engaged before the year is over.” My wish: “I hope I pull this off without any problems.”
The first Kyoto temple we went to was Kiyomizu-dera, a favorite of ours from previous trips. We walked by the Jishu Shrine, which contains two “love stones” placed 18 meters apart. They visited the Otowa waterfall, whose three mystical streams are said to gift wisdom, health, and longevity. Then, while gazing out at the Kyoto landscape, I turned to Mia and said something like:
“This has been such a great trip, huh? I feel like this trip has been symbolic for us. First, we visited Hong Kong, where my family came from. Then we visited Japan, where your family came from. For me, this was a way to honor our families. After this trip, we’ll be back in California, back to our lives. And I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Mia. I can’t wait to start a family with you. Do you remember our trip to Hawaii in July? While we were there, I spoke with your father. I asked him for your hand in marriage. He said yes.”
Then I got down on one knee, pulled a black box out of my pocket, and opened it. “Will you marry me?”
Mia’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God” she stammered. Tears trickled down her cheeks as I slipped the diamond ring onto her finger. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!”
“So… is that a yes?” I asked.
“Oh my God Yes! Oh my God Yes!”
We embraced and kissed, as onlookers watched and smiled, at the Kiyomizu-dera, a couple in love.
Comfort food is a bowl of home. It’s family, familiarity, and security. It’s the dish you crave after a truly despicable day.
In less abstract eyes, it’s usually the dish your Mom or Dad made whenever you were sick or sad. As a child, you associated that dish with feeling better. So whenever you need emotional healing, it’s the first food to mind.
I’ve heard of mashed potatoes and meatloaf, or grilled cheese sandwiches, amongst my friends in New York. Or spam, eggs and rice in Hawaii. Chinese Americans often look to jook (rice porridge) for comfort. Me, I have something a bit different.
It’s a fuzzy memory. Whenever I replay it, the scene looks like it’s coming out of an old projector. The memory is full of film grain and washed-out colors.
I think it was second grade. I threw up in school for some reason. My Mom had to pick me up and bring me home.
She sat me down at the kitchen table. It was dark outside, perhaps cloudy. The stale kitchen light gave the room a sickly feeling, at least to me. I’m sure my stomach had something to do with that too.
Then she made me this soup:
- Chicken soup stock
- Macaroni noodles
- Diced carrots
- Diced spam
- Peas
I think she was just combining whatever she had in the cupboard and freezer at the time, while trying to make sure I had some carbs, vegetables, and protein.
Despite my unsettled stomach, I slurped it down. Soup trickled down my chin. Macaroni noodles rolled off my spoon. But my Mom didn’t seem to mind. She just smiled.
She gave me seconds. I was taught at an early age to always finish everything in my bowl, because there are starving children back in China (“so why don’t we give them my leftovers?” I always wondered, but never uttered). I didn’t need to be reminded of the starving children with this dish though. I lifted the bowl and poured the remaining morsels into my mouth, leaving it spotless.
This wasn’t a dish she made consistently. But she made it enough that I began to crave it whenever I was sick. Then I began requesting it, further reinforcing it as my staple comfort food.
It may not be the healthiest dish in the world, but hey, neither is mashed potatoes and meatloaf. My Mom never had a name for it, but I figured I would name it today:
It’s now officially Mom’s Macaroni Soup.
What’s the story behind your comfort food?
This is a true story. You may not believe it. I didn’t when I first heard it. Too absurd to be a true story, I thought. But sometimes the most absurd stories are the true ones.
Some details have been obfuscated for the privacy of those involved.
It starts with a mother and her young, developmentally-delayed grade-school son. The son is entirely enamored of all things mystical and medieval. Dungeons and dragons, wizards and warriors, swords and spells. He spends endless hours at his computer, conquering quests, earning treasures, and leveling up.
Every time he reaches some kind of monumental achievement, he enthusiastically shares the victory with his mother.
“Mom, mom, I just freed the city of Mithrendain!”
“Mom, mom, I just found the Dragonbone Staff!”
“Mom, mom, I just defeated Ser Cauthrien and his guards!”
To these exclamations, Mom always replies with a positive, “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
“Mom, mom, I just reached level 43!”
“That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
Sometimes he’ll even call Mom during work, so strong is his excitement. She accepts them as any Mom would, with a calm cheer. It’s during one of these calls that our story begins.
“Mom, mom,” his little voice hollers. “I just captured a dwarf!”
Mom nods at the receiver. “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” Then she hangs up and continues her work. It is a busy day and she wants to get through her tasks quickly.
Thirty minutes pass. Another call. “Mom, mom, I just captured a dwarf!”
She mumbles her quick reply, “That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” Then she hangs up, a little flustered at the break, but happy to be a constant part of her son’s life.
Thirty minutes pass. Another call. “Mom, mom, I just captured a dwarf!”
“That’s great, that’s great. I’m so proud of you, honey.” When she hangs up, she shrugs at a coworker. “He must really be excited about his game. This is the third time he’s called me today.”
“Third time?” asks the coworker. “That’s an awful lot for him. Maybe you should go home and check on him, just in case.”
She ponders the suggestion. “I don’t know, I have so much work to do here…”
“I can cover for you here. Go on, get out of here. You’ll be back in no time.”
Mom smiles and gives the thoughtful coworker a hug. “Oh, thank you so much.” Then she scoots down the hallway and over to her car.
When she arrives home and opens the front door, her son greets her energetically. “Mom, mom, I captured a dwarf! I captured a dwarf!”
“Okay honey, I’m so proud of you,” she answers and pats his head.
“Do you want to see him?”
“Sure honey, show me the…” She looks up. Her jaw drops.
Various pieces of furniture are stacked against the door to the hallway closet. Tables, chairs, even some shoes. Some are wedged into place, others are piled on top of each other.
“Wha…?”
“Mom, mom, come take a look! I captured a dwarf!” He takes her hand and pulls her to the closet. There is a sound coming from the closet. Something scratching or banging or moving around.
Mom grabs the furniture and digs her way to the closet door. Tables, chairs, shoes are all tossed aside. Her son is standing besides her with a great big beaming smile. Proud.
All of the furniture is pushed aside. Mom swings open the door.
And out runs a very short man. A midget. He is dressed in a suit. He darts across the hallway, out the front door, and down the block with nary a word.
The son is jumping up and down, clapping his hands and shouting, “The dwarf! The dwarf!”
Mom stands there, motionless, speechless. Clueless. She isn’t sure if she should ask her son what happened, or tell him she’s so proud of him for capturing a… well, you know.
How many times have you been away from home and hit with the need to, uh, create brown seed? To drop the kids off at the pool? To excrete fecal matter from your rectum? (What, too vivid?)
I’ve been there. I might be walking around in a city or driving around in suburbia when suddenly, I break out in a sweat. Last night’s dinner is knock, knock, knocking on the back door. A working toilet becomes my goal in life. Nothing else matters except excavational bliss.
So I hunt. I hunt for amiable facilities. With nerve-chilling suspense and utter determination, I reach my objective and let out a wistful sigh. The deed is done. All is right with the world again.
Over the years, I’ve repeated this performance enough to discern efficient search patterns. Patterns that I’m going to share with you today, because, well, I’m just that kind of guy.
Here is a list of what I’ve found to be the best places for a public restroom, more or less in order of cleanliness. Please note that this list only pertains to the United States. If you’re reading this from another country, you should totally put together your own list and let me know in the comments.
- Large Hotel Chains
- Walk in like you’re a guest or conference attendee and stroll right over to a directory or building map. I don’t think hotel employees care if you’re not one of those, but it might make you feel less self-conscious. Hotel chains like Marriot, Westin, even Holiday Inn have public restrooms. Generally, only guests and employees use them, so you can except clean and well-stocked facilities.
- Large Bookstore Chains
- Stores like Barnes & Noble and Borders Books often have public bathrooms. The ubiquity of these stores makes them good options as well. Their bathrooms generally aren’t too heavily trafficked, clean, and well-stocked, though I’ve seen exceptions.
- Department Stores
- Large department stores like Macy’s, JC Penny’s, and even some Targets have public restrooms. They aren’t always the cleanest, but are usually above-average. For an added bonus, if you can find a Nordstrom’s, you’re golden. Those guys take care of their restrooms well. Their bathrooms are like royalty compared to the commonfolk bathrooms of Sears.
- Colleges and Universities
- I wouldn’t recommend a grade or high school at all (that’s just creepy), but sometimes a higher-education facility can offer a building with public bathrooms. It has become rarer and rarer though, as many require some form of student identification. And with good reason. If I was a student there, I’m not sure I’d want some random person laying a stink in my school’s bathrooms.
- Government Buildings
- Most government buildings have metal detectors that ward off easy access. They also monitor suspicious activity, like someone snooping around for a bathroom. But I’ve seen some city halls that are totally open and have relatively clean facilities. Courts are not generally clean though; I guess criminals clog toilet bowls to get back at the system. Yes, stuffing a toilet bowl is the perfect way to stick it to The Man.
- Hospitals
- If you happen to be near a hospital, you can consider ducking into their hallways in search of a public restroom. The quality of care can vary significantly, as well as the difficulty of finding some restrooms. Also, you can’t help but wonder if you’re going to catch something while gracing their porcelain seats.
- Museums and Art Galleries
- Most museums and art galleries require a fee to enter. There are a few that are entirely free though, or waive their fees on certain days. You may have to wait in line at the more popular places and their facilities are just average. But when you’re done, you can take in some culture to replace the, uh, culture you just dumped.
- Bars and Restaurants
- Most of these places discourage non-patrons from using their facilities. In a crowded bar or restaurant, you could conceivably duck in without drawing too much attention though. Just pretend you are a patron, if possible. Fast food restaurants tend not to care as much as sit-down restaurants.
- Cafes
- Same as bars and restaurants, these places discourage non-patrons. They also have just one bathroom. So unless you are in truly dire straits and don’t mind the dirty stares & impatient knocks, this can be a last resort. Otherwise, you can just buy a cup of coffee. Just don’t bring it into the bathroom with you. Gross.
- Gas Stations
- I consider these an utter last-resort. They are usually filthy and not well-stocked. Just looking at the toilet bowl can give you herpes. But hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.
- Parks
- Another utter last-resort. Some public parks have restrooms. They are usually filthy and not well-stocked, if at all. Plus, the toilet seats are usually cold and swarming with colonies of who-knows-what that might make it burn when you pee.
P.S. And yes, there’s an app for that. There are quite a few iPhone apps that will find restrooms near you. I haven’t found any to be that helpful yet, but hopefully over time, they will improve.
Categories:
Adulthood,
Best Of,
Breaking Up,
College,
Dating,
Flirting,
Getting Older,
Girls,
Guys,
Psychology,
TheoriesBeing a self-admitted geek, I’ve known many other geeks in my life. I’ve seen some grow up and become successes. And I’ve seen some grow up and become, for lack of a better word, players. Dangerous players.
Not players in the sense of metrosexual predators or greased-up Jersey Shore rejects. These guys are more clandestine. Girls don’t suspect they’re in the clutches of such a geek-turned-player until, well, sometimes never.
First, some background.
A geek-turned-player (GTP) grows up as an unpopular teen. He is the typical nerd, dork, dweeb, pick your favorite insult. In a phase where fitting in is so crucial, they stick out like a limb with gangrene. Though many make it through as strong, self-confident adults, this can foment into a deep psychosis for a few.
This bitterness can evolve in many ways. Some embody the taunts and turn them into strengths, such the skinny nerd who grows up to be a muscle-bound guy. Others harbor the acrimony until the acids melt away their relationships. Some do both.
A GTP is the latter; he does both. He also turns rejections from girls into a dictum of life: he wants to be a guy who can “get” all the girls who’ve rejected him. As you can imagine, a layer of misogyny pervades their actions. They want to get those girls, or girls in general, and hurt them.
Ironically, they overtly state a hatred of players, the guys who can go to any bar or club and get a phone number as easily as a mosquito can feed in a nudist colony. GTPs see themselves as the antithesis of the traditional player.
“I would never have a one-night stand,” they declare. “I will always honor and respect women.” Therein lies the danger of a GTP. Not only are they shattering hearts like a player, but they are unaware of it.
How do they get from geeks to heart-shattering GTPs?
After college, they tend to do well in their careers. They become white-collar workers and executives in well-paying jobs. They date a few girlfriends along the way who imbue them with some fashion sense. They may even start exercising and getting fit. To look at them now, you would never know they were scrawny four-eyed nerds in high school. Now, they look like intelligent, respectful, well-paid knights in shining armor.
At this age, these traits start to attract women in numbers not before experienced by these geeks. Where girls once ignored them, women are now being drawn to them like ants to molasses. And here they sit, happy as anteaters.
Much of this happens to average geeks, regardless of their proclivities. All sorts of sociological and biological factors play into this phenomenon. Single women in their twenties or thirties tend to seek men who are stable, financially, emotionally, etc., even if they didn’t seek those factors when they were younger.
That’s how I’ve lucked out, at least. Go sociological & biological factors!
The GTP differs from the average geek in his behaviors after meeting a girl. The GTP, flush with the exhilaration of meeting a girl, starts to behave like a traditional player. Despite his proclaimed position on one-night stands, his qualms melt away in the heat of passion.
Then he does it again. And again. And again. He starts to realize his sexual prowess and magnetism and begins to flaunt it openly, oftentimes to the chagrin of his peers. He believes himself to be God’s Gift to Women: he has all the qualities of a traditional player, along with money, status, and success. What girl wouldn’t want him?
However, he still puts on a veneer of respect. His misogynic beliefs are well-hidden. Women see him as a nice guy, even months or years after he has broken their hearts.
For the unfortunate, this heartbreak is infinitely worse than being with a player, because of the emotional connection made. Indeed, the GTP’s armament includes psychological weapons such as long, deep conversations, the kind that make women think about marriage and children.
Breaking up with a deadbeat player is one thing, breaking up with a potential husband and father of your children is another.
Deep inside, the GTP doesn’t see himself as a player, however. He still harbors a resentment of players and sees his actions as innocent. This belief reinforces the effectiveness of his weapons. Those long, deep conversations, as they are happening, are earnest and from the heart.
So what changes the morning after? Something subconscious. A switch flips. The emotional connection from last night fades as the excitement of new prey emerges. As soon as another woman starts up a conversation, the previous one is forgotten.
For the goal isn’t to meet a woman and start a wonderful relationship. The goal is to meet women. And to see if he can “get” them. The exhilaration of each new encounter has become a drug.
This is something the GTP never experienced as a teen. He never got the intoxication of fleeting puppy love out of his system like others his age. While most of us are moving on in stable relationships, he is stuck. He is a late bloomer who is addicted to the high of new women.
I haven’t seen much written about this phenomenon before. I suspect it is, thankfully, rare. However, I’ve seen it enough times to discern to articulate this theory.
The popularization of geek culture may be partly responsible for the rise of the geek-turned-player. Or maybe it has always been around and I’ve only begun to notice it.
Whatever the case, the GTP is a dangerous animal on the dating scene. I’ve seen female friends unknowingly wrecked from them. I’ve seen colleagues & acquaintances evolve into GTPs themselves. The result is always disastrous, especially for the women they’ve left in their wake.
Beware the geek-turned-player.
