The Comments Section

Wait a minute...this is a great post. Hit all the things I like. Shout out, 'That's what she said joke', real issue, good humor, disclaimer. But, this isn't in anyway directed at me for sending you all those great 'the best of Patrick Stewart' clips is it? "

- R.Sneep          

This is a solid comment.  One easily deserving of a response.  And, as much as the man who posted it tried his best to hint that I should indeed do just that, I held back.  Why, you ask?  Well, because I realized right away that this one deserved a whole blog, and not just a quick one-liner.  You see, despite R. Sneep's best intentions, this comment segued perfectly into the next random musing on my list:

Comments and the jerks that post them.

First of all, let me be clear, I know what the intention and tone of this comment was meant to be.  He wasn't trying to be insulting, and the little bit in which he was, was purely for comedic effect.  In fact, most of what he said was lavishing me with praise, and there's nothing wrong with that at all.  On top of it all, the Patrick Stewart bit was solid.  So pretty good comment, right?  Well, for the most part, yes.  But, you can see how a lesser, more insecure man might have misread it, right?  The shear surprise that someone felt at actually having read a good blog post for once. "Wait a minute… this isn't crap... it's not even terrible… this is the last thing that I've come to expect when I sit down to read Travis' blog."

I took it in the spirit in which it was intended, because I appreciate it and because I know Randy goes out of his way to leave comments on this blog.  He knows how much I like it when people leave comments, so he does just that.  But the truth is, I don't just like getting comments, I love getting them.  There, I said it.  I know I should be playing it cool.  Like, whatever... if people want to comment, I'm not going to stop them.  But, there's no point in hiding it: I love 'em.  And I don't care who knows.

That's why I have to tread lightly here.  Because I don't want to scare anyone away from ever commenting on my blog.  But at the same time, I see so much crap on YouTube and Twitter, that I still have to call these jerks out.

When I first started out doing this, comments were the end-all-be-all for me.  The gauge of how well I was doing.  The litmus test.  If a blog post got two comments, and another post got none, that was like having scientific proof that the post with more was of a better quality that the post with less, regardless of whether I agreed or not.  If a string of posts that I was doing - whether it be Man Crushes, Dunk Contests or Schwarzenegger Films - didn't get a comment after a few posts in a row, I started to wonder if that topic wasn't interesting to people, and if I should just abandon the list mid-stream and move on to something that seemed to resonate more.  I mean, if I was posting a twenty five part list, one entry at a time, once a week, and no one was digging it five posts in, should I really be doing another twenty and losing what little readership I already had over the course of those next few months?  Luckily, right as I was feeling this, without fail, a post would get a few comments, and my insecurities were put to rest.

That said, for all the stock I used to put into the comments section, over time I've come to realize that it doesn't really mean anything at all.  I'm not a great writer, but some of the posts I've been most proud of and would consider 'good writing' have resulted in nary a comment, whereas posts that I typed up in a hurry and put little-to-no thought or effort into have spawned a back-and-forth of 3 or 4 comments.  So, obviously it's less a matter of the quality of a post, but rather the way a person reacts to the subject matter in question.  I can wax poetic all I want about Tegan and Sara, but at the end of the day, nothing I write is going to leave Randy just itching to get his two cents in.  But if I put Predator anywhere but first on my list of Arnold movies, no matter how shabbily I do the write up, Randy is going to have to comment.

That's just the way it is.  And, after reading a few other blogs, I came to realize something:  Everyone that writes a blog wishes that everyone that read it would leave a comment on every post.  And, much like me, not too many people are above begging for it.  I am definitely not alone in my shameless pleas for comments, but I am also not alone in having those pleas fall on deaf ears.  Which is fine.  I don't go around commenting on very many things either.  Me complaining about a lack thereof on my own blog is akin to the pot making racist remarks about the kettle.  Or something like that.  I may have been sick that day in school where they explained the meaning behind that expression.

The point being, I sort of came to accept that I was never going to get a whole lot of comments, and toned down the not-so-subtle pleas for them within the body of my posts.  Don't get me wrong, I still await them with bated breath each week (so definitely keep 'em coming, those that do),  it's just that I no longer cater to it as much as I once did.  For example, I passed on doing another contest to celebrate the blog's anniversary this year.  That whole thing had sort of been a thinly-veiled attempt to see just how many people were actually giving the blog a look-see.  So, aside from never having seen Randy actually wear his prize, and thus losing the motivation to put that same work into it again this year, the truth is that I just don't need that sort of validation any more.  Well, that, and I have a small fear that perhaps I would discover that the five readers I had at this time last year, might have been whittled down to only two…

Which brings me to the issue at hand.  I know, it's been done to death, but what's the deal with the people that comment on the internet.  I mean, I understand that when given the cloak of anonymity, some people turn to complete dicks and post some pretty horrible things.  Sometimes just because they like being troublemakers and stirring the pot, and other times, because perhaps it's socially unacceptable to say the things that they want to say, and doing so in the comments section of a YouTube video is the only chance they ever get to feel the vindication of spewing their bile.

I guess, the thing is, that I was raised under the 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all' school of thought.  So, when I see a video on YouTube that stirs up feelings of anger, sure I might think it, but I have never felt the need to debate it in the comments section.  But obviously a lot of people do.  And I'm fine with that, actually.  It's good to have opinions, and even express them from time to time.  I'm more concerned with the people that don't have anything to say, but still take the time to say it anyways.

For example, I love me some Bill Simmons.  If you know anything about Mr. Simmons, it's that he is famous for three things: a love of all things Boston, lacing his sports commentary with an overabundance of clever pop culture references, and for not be shy about how high his word count gets.  But, more than any of those things, from day one, he has been 'The Sports Guy'.  Basically, a fan that's good at writing.  He never pretends to be an unbiased journalist.  He wears his opinions on his sleeve, and writes from the perspective of a sports fan rather than under the guise of being a sports expert.  He pretty much did for blogging what Quentin Tarantino did for Indie Films.  Much like everyone with a film degree has been trying to make the next Pulp Fiction for the last 15 years, everyone with a keyboard has been trying to give their Simmon's-esque opinion on sports.

Obviously, there's a reason Simmons gets paid to write, and there's a reason why most of these other guys live in their parent's basement and write for Tumblr instead of ESPN.  He's just better at it.  The great thing about sports is that every fan has their own unique opinion, and often times fans can be very passionate about that opinion.  There is no right and wrong, just differing opinions.  And one of the best parts about being a sports fan is debating that opinion.  So, for better or for worse, the way Simmons makes his articles feel like he's having a sports discussion with his buddy at a bar, makes a few too many guys feel like they are that buddy, and are therefore entitled to give their opinions back to him.

Which is fine.  So long as you write it back in an equally clever and insightful way.  I mean, Simmons frequently devotes entire articles to answering questions from his 'Mail Bag', so I'm sure he'd never want the fan interaction to stop.  But I bet he wishes it was sometimes a little more civil.  Of course, as we all know, on the internet, that is more than a little bit too much to ask of some people.

So my question isn't 'why do people feel the need to comment on Simmons articles', but rather 'why do people need to feel the need when they have nothing of merit to say'?

I mean, you don't always have to agree with Simmons, but saying "Hey, I've watched Kobe Bryant for the past 15 years, and he's one of the great players of our generation, regardless what you think of him or the team he plays for.  I think you're a little too blinded with hatred because you're a Boston fan." is a much different thing than saying "You suck Simmons, I hope Kobe runs into you in a dark alley one night and kills your wife and children while you watch helplessly from under the car that he hit you with…"  And if you think that's a horrible overexaggeration, I think you'd be surprised.

Look, I'm not saying everyone needs to brown-nose him all the time, but my question is, if you hate Simmons so much, why are you reading his columns?  Why are you even finishing the article if you're so upset with what he's saying?  Why aren't you stopping after the first paragraph, thinking to yourself 'this isn't for me', and moving on to something else?  And worst of all, why are you wasting your time writing him a hateful comment?

Obviously, this doesn't just apply to Simmons.  It's a microcosm for the entire internet.  If you hate Justin Bieber, why are you burning so many calories by going onto every YouTube video comments section you can find and calling him a 'fag'?  Shouldn't you be looking for music you do like, instead?  When a person you're following on Twitter uses a 'their' instead of a 'there', and misses a comma, why are you responding with a 'Hey, dumbass, where did you go to school?'  If you actually think they're a dumbass, why are you following their account in the first place?  And worse, if you actually idolize them, what do you hope to achieve by pointing out their mistakes? 

I've seen far too many times when someone has had to follow up a tweet several minutes later to point out that yes, they know they made a grammatical mistake, or  at the very least lambast all the people that pointed it out to them.  And it boggles my mind.  I've never once felt the need to correct a person on their grammar.  Especially on the internet.  I know what they were trying to say, and I know, if it was a published work for something important, they would have seen their mistake and fixed it before clicking 'post'.  The best case scenario I can see for pointing out a mistake is that the person you're following thinks to themselves 'geez, all these people totally missed the actually point of that tweet and instead fixated on that one little error… why do I even bother doing this?'

Well, congratulations, now the person whose life you're interested in knowing about has just walked away from their computer.  What did you think was going to happen?  "Oh, you know who seems like a lot of fun?  That guy on twitter that pointed out that I said 'your' instead of 'you're'.  I should fly him out to LA so we can hang out sometime and grow this online friendship into something real!"

I guess what I'm saying is, I just don't know what these people are getting out of it.  A feeling of superiority?  "Hey, Simmons, that article sucked, I write way better than that."  Really?  Then how come he's been getting paid to do it for over ten years, and the only time that something you wrote was ever published was when you posted an ad for your used law mower in the Penny Saver?  If you point out to an NBA player that his tweet was riddled with spelling and grammar errors, do you feel better than him, because you're that much smarter?  I mean, it's no secret that NBA players aren't always the smartest dudes in the room.  But they still make millions, and you don't.  Making them feel like shitty spellers hurts their pride for all of 2.5 seconds.  You might be better at grammar than LeBron James, but you're still going to make $30K this year, and he'll have made that in the 5 seconds that it took him to forget about your comment.  Should you really feel an air of superiority about that?

I guess my whole point is, why do people waste so much time worrying about things that have absolutely no affect on their lives.  The only people that should care about gay marriage are gay people.  If you've never even met a gay person in your life, why do you care if they get married or not?  You can have an opinion on it, sure.  But that's no reason to start holding protests and spewing hatred on the internet.  If more people would stop worrying about the things that didn't affect them, I honestly think this world would be a much better place.  That said, that could be a whole other blog post, and I've already gone much to long on this one already.

I'll simply end by saying, please… just leave me a comment already.

YouTube Obliviousness

I had originally started this last batch of blog posts under the theme of 'Getting Old'.  My intention being that I would give my thoughts on a new trend, lament about how I didn't relate to it, and eventually come to the sad realization that this was definitive proof that I had, in fact, gotten old.  I thought the idea behind this would be an endless well of ideas and would have enough legs to fill this blog with content for months to come.

As it turns out, I was wrong.

Not in a bad way.  It's not that I've run out of things to say.  Rather, the topics that I came up with to discuss, no longer have any direct correlation with my advancing age.  I'm hoping that this means that maybe I'm not that old after all, but either way, the topics are now more like random musings than they are any sort of comparison between me and the younger generation.  And therefore, they don't really fit under the heading of 'Am I Getting Old?'

Depending on how you felt about the last few posts, this may be a good thing.  More of the same.  Although, if you weren't digging them, and you're longing for the days of Top 10 lists and dunk contest critiques, then perhaps this is not the good news that I was hoping it would be.  Regardless, the initial brainstorm for ideas yielded at least 16 topics for discussion, two of which have already been covered, and of the remaining ones, I would say at least half are of a usable, discussable nature.  And, although it often pains me to give him his ever-coveted shout outs on this here blog, I would be remiss if I didn't offer full credit to one Randy Sneep, for not only getting the ball rolling on the brainstorm in question, but also for providing ten of the initial ideas.

Even if his are the ones of such low quality that they are considered completely unusable.

Basically, that whole intro was just a really long way of saying that none of this ties in with age, so I've dropped that from the title of each post.  Which brings us to:

YouTube Recommendation Selectivity (or lack thereof).

This is one that I've struggled with for a while.  Randy can attest.  And I also feel the need to tread softly here, less the individuals that I'm singling out in my mind, happen to stumble across this.

I get shown a lot of YouTube videos that I could care less about.  And often,  I can tell right away that I'm not going to like them.  But how do you say that to the person standing next to you that told you to come watch this with such excitement in their voice.  Sure, if they just send a link via email, it's easy to do a quick "nah" and skip over it.  But if they're actually there in person, what do you do?

Well, from my vast experience in the field, it always boils down to one thing: length.  Yes, that's what she said.  Very good.  But more to the point, if a video is two minutes or under, unless it's completely uncomfortable (horrible sports injuries, puppies being tortured, your parent's sex tape, etc…) chances are that two minutes of anything is something you can suffer through. Two to five minutes is sort of a grey area, depending on your level of patience.  And anything over five minutes is when you have to start thinking of ways to get out of it.

But my point is, why should you need to 'get out of it' in the first place?  How can someone be so blind to the complete lack of entertainment value in their recommendation.  And more so, how could they take so little pride in that which they are recommending.  Again, a ten second clip is different from a tedious ten minute student film, so a certain amount of leniency can be given before you start to judge too harshly.  I'll also give a moderate pass to something that might be near and dear to someones heart, that I just don't have the same emotional attachment to.

But some things fall decidedly outside of that window of grace, and I simply just can't understand the mindset behind it.  Personally, I'm always very hesitant to recommend anything unless I stand fully and completely behind it.  I mean, how hard is it to take a good and objective look at something, and then determine whether someone else might enjoy it or not?  It's pretty much common sense that just because you liked something, that doesn't mean everyone else will, right?

Sure, there's a whole other breed of people that get off on showing people stuff that they'll hate.  Like tricking an innocent, church-going, choir boy into watching The Human Centipede, and then laughing as they watch him squirm.  But I'm not talking about those people.  I'm talking about the oblivious.  The people that honestly think you'll enjoy something, and then you sit there the whole time wondering "does this person even know me?" 

I like to think that I'm pretty good at making recommendations with this basic courtesy in mind. If I have even the slightest bit of doubt, I'm probably not sticking my neck out.  And if I am, then your ass is getting a lengthy disclaimer and ample opportunity to politely decline at any point.  I also like to think that I have enough awareness that I can tell, pretty quickly, whether or not the person is getting any enjoyment out of the recommendation.  And if they're not, I don't hesitate to pull the plug.

So, how is it then, that I've sat stone-faced through entire fifteen minute long videos, unable to come up with a decent excuse to leave without insulting the person, purposely giving off the "I'm not enjoying this at all" vibe, and yet have still not felt even a hint of regret from the other person when it's all said and done?  Are they really that oblivious?  I guess so, because a few days later, there's another video queued up, and this time, they're going to take it up a notch.  Not only am I going to watch the video, but they are going to watch me, watch the video.  Yes, this has happened.  Yes, it is as awkward as it sounds.  There's nothing worse than knowing that your every reaction is being observed and judged by another person.  Even if it's something that you're actually enjoying, it's still a very hard way to watch anything.  But doubly so if it's something that you're not enjoying at all.

Then there's that moment of dread, when you look down and catch a glimpse at how much time is left in the video, and realize that it's only just started and yet there's still another ten minutes of this crap to go.  Combine that with the feeling of awkwardness as the person is watching your face, rather than the screen, taking in every reaction and emotion that you display, and chances are, you just want it to end.

So, you're left with a choice:

Choice one: try to fake enjoyment.  Laugh at the jokes, even if they're not funny (especially if they're not funny), force a smile, and, if you're feeling particularly low on pride, you can even applaud a little bit - take that pandering up a notch, son.  I've done it (not the applauding part, but close enough) and it's rough.  You feel shame.  You hate yourself for being such a phony.  And worst of all, occasionally you get caught having the wrong 'fake' reaction to a scene.  Let me tell you, there are few things worse than laughing at something that wasn't meant to be funny.

Choice two: watch the video honestly.  If it's not funny, don't laugh.  If it doesn't make you feel good, don't smile.  This is as awkward as it gets, but you're banking on the hope that it's just as awkward for the other person, and maybe they'll be more selective with the types of things that they choose to share with you in the future.  I've tried this one a few times... with minimal success.

Choice three: grow a pair.  Just say what you're thinking.  If you know it's not up your alley, let your voice be heard.  You'll save yourself the trouble of having to actually see the video in question, but you will undoubtedly hurt the other person's feelings in the process.  I have nothing but respect and jealousy for those that do this, but alas, I simply don't have the heart to do it myself.

Before I leave it at that, I must of course, address my natural paranoia: that perhaps I have been too cavalier with video recommendations myself.  That right now, you're practically spitting out your coffee and yelling "Are you kidding me?  You show me the worst videos all the time!"  So, it is with this in mind, that I offer a heartfelt apology to anyone that has sat through a video recommendation of mine and thought "I would rather have done anything with those last seven minutes then watch that…"  My hope, especially with videos posted to this blog, is that if you're not digging it, you'll turn it off.  But if not, know that I am sorry, and that I understand your pain more than you could ever know.

Am I Getting Old? (Part 2: Internet Memes)

In my last post, I ended with a sentiment along the lines of 'I never thought I would be the old guy that didn't understand what the kids were into at the time.'  And that's true.  I always thought I would be able to keep up with the trends.  Even if I didn't like them, I would still understand them, and accept their existence. 

Sure, there will always be a generational gap.  I understand why my grandmother has literally never even touched the keyboard on a computer before.  She was 80 by the time computers became common in most homes.  And fifteen years later, she still has no use for eBay or YouTube or even Email.  And I understand that when I'm 80, I too may have no interest in what ever the latest technology du jour happens to be.

But not having an interest in something is different than not understanding it.  I'm sure my grandmother understands and accepts that computers make life easier for most people, even if she has no interest in them herself.  That said, I doubt very much that she understands the appeal of techno music.  To her, I can only imagine she thinks it's some kind of joke that people actually claim to enjoy that kind of… noise.

That's why I always thought I would be immune to the condition that seems to come with age, wherein people seem to simply stop understanding the new trends.  Even though I don't care for techno music - at all - I can still see how it might appeal to those that do.  My lack of interest doesn't affect my ability to understand and accept it.  And since I've always been able to separate the two, I thought maybe this would carry on throughout my entire life.  That maybe I would be the exception.  That I would never utter something like "that's not rap music, that's crap music…"

But that dream might be dead.  I may have crossed that threshold.  I might be through the looking glass here, and there might be no turning back.  And it's all because I don't understand planking. 

Or owling. 

Or coning.

And I'm not sure if that makes me old or not.  Is it true, do you just reach a certain age, or point in your life when the stuff that the younger generation does just confuses you?  Or is planking just inherently stupid, and as a sane human being I have every right to not understand it?

Did 65 year old people in the 70's simply not understand bell bottoms, the same way 65 year old people in the 80's didn't understand rap music, the same way 65 year old people in 90's didn't understand Beavis and Butt-head?  Or did they understand it, and just chose not to participate in it?

Actually, I think that might be what it is.  The more I think about it, it's not so much that I don't understand planking, as it is that I just have no desire to participate in it.

If I may give an example, from my youth:  As teenagers (and maybe even into our early 20's) my friends and I invented a new activity that we called 'carting'.  And basically, all it was, was getting a pick up truck, driving to a grocery store, throwing a shopping cart in the box, waiting until it was dark, and then tying a rope from the bumper of the truck to the handle of the cart and dragging it down the highway.  I know.  There's no need to make that face at me.  I know.  It was pretty redneck, small town Alberta, and not exactly the exploits of future Nobel Prize winners.  But we had a blast doing it. 

I guess, the appeal was in the stupidity.  The childlike sense of watching a shower of sparks flying off of a shopping cart was in much the same way a kid might be fascinated by putting one end of a stick in camp fire and then pulling it out and waving it around.  Or maybe it was the small dose of excitement we got knowing we could get in trouble if we were seen by the police, or really any other cars at all.  The danger of getting away with something, if you will.

I don't know what it was that made us think that it was so fun, but when you're having fun, you don't often stop to question why.

And I guess, if I had never done it, and heard about carting for the first time today, as the latest internet meme, I would regard it in the same way I currently regard planking.  I would shake my head and weep for the future.  But, if I took such pleasure at some point in my life, by doing something just as stupid as planking, then I can't really say I don't understand it.  Perhaps it has the same appeal to today's youth that a bunch of sparks on a highway once had for me.  Maybe the stupidity of the whole thing is the appeal.

But that doesn't change the fact that my old ass still wants nothing to do with it.

Am I Getting Old? (Part 1: Texting)

I used to be very anti-cell phone. All I ever heard for years is how I needed one, and how I was inconveniencing my friends by refusing to get one.

If my friends wanted to call me when I wasn't home, they could either leave a voice mail on my land line, or they could call me at work. Not exactly the grave injustice they made it out to be, as I was still very much reachable.

But, as much as they lamented it, I loved having the feeling that I couldn't be reached every second of every day. And thus, I remained without a cell phone for the first 28 years of my life.

Then the iPhone hit, and - as the tag line suggested - it changed everything. I bought an iPod Touch in early 2008, and although it had most of what I needed, when the iPhone finally made it's long-awaited debut in Canada five months later, I couldn't help but think 'man, I could have all the functions of the Touch, without needing a wi-fi connection all the time to do it...' Plus, back then the Phone had features that the Touch didn't.  Like Bluetooth, and GPS, and a camera.  I was able to resist for a year, but eventually I gave in to temptation.

This is how I was introduced into the world of texting.

Prior to this, my lone experience with texting people had been the one time that I had tried on my buddy's phone around 2003.  This was long before the days of touch screens or even full QWERTY keyboards. Three letters were assigned to each number on the keypad, and you slowly cycled through them until you got to the one that you wanted. It was taking me about 30 seconds to complete a single word, and by the time I had finished my message, I knew I was dealing with the stupidest thing in the entire universe.  This was not progress.  This was a step backwards in terms of technology.  And I swore a blood oath to myself that day that I would never touch another text message again, as long as I lived and breathed.

I stood by, as in the subsequent years, it's popularity only grew. I watched as my good friend Art went from condemning the technology with the same disdain as I did, to becoming the biggest texter in the world overnight. I shrugged it off, assuming that it had to do with the teenage women with whom he was cavorting with at the time more than anything else. But he wasn't the only one. Texting was taking over, and I still didn't understand it.

Then I got my hands on the iPhone. If Art had done a 180º on texting overnight, then I did mine in the span of one hour. Quickly forgotten was the old, tedious methods of entering text - replaced now with a simple and intuitive touch screen - and since I was always much better at writing than I was at talking (especially on the phone), suddenly I had a whole new means in which to communicate with people. I was ashamed to admit it, but I was converted almost instantly.

But that's not what this is about. No, this is about etiquette. Because if there's one thing that I struggled with, early on, it was how to not become the one thing that I hated more than anything else. How to avoid turning into the one person that I knew I could easily become.  The darkness I knew lurked just beneath the surface that had kept me scared of the cell phone for all those years.

The person that paid more attention to their cell phone than to the people that they were actually with.

I had watched it happen to Art. One day we'd be standing there talking, engrossed in our conversation with one another, when suddenly, next thing I knew, I'd be talking to him, and his face was glued to the screen of his cell phone. I called him on it a few times, to which his response was always the same: "I'm listening. I can do more than one thing at the same time, you know." Which to me, was him completely missing the point. I wasn't questioning whether or not he could, but rather whether or not he should.

I don't doubt that my dentist could talk on the phone while filling a cavity for me either. But it's nice to sit in that chair and feel like you have his complete and undivided attention. Art and I weren't talking about anything important, sure, but it still made me feel like I was less important to him at that moment, than the $100 piece of electronics in his hand. And I felt, that if his text conversation was so much more important than the one he was having with me, then why wasn't he calling this person and having the conversation over the phone?  How could it be that important if both sides were willing to wait the extra 20 seconds that it would take to type a response?

(Before I go on, I think it's only fair to mention that this is Art circa 2007-08, he has since changed greatly in how he balances typing on his cell phone and dealing with someone in person at the same time.)

Which makes me wonder: what is the priority for different social situations? And how long have they been in place? For example, I would consider the order as such (from highest priority, to least): in person, on the phone, via text, via email, via letter. I'm not saying a letter is less important than an email - not at all, I consider a letter much more personal - but rather that a person doesn't expect a response right away if they wrote you a letter, so you don't have to rush out and answer it that very second. With an email, the person might expect an answer right away, but obviously not that quickly otherwise it would have required a phone call to make sure they got the answer right then and there. See what I'm saying?

That said, as much as I consider an in-person encounter to take precedence over everything, that's not really true, is it? I mean, if you're talking with someone in their living room, and the phone rings, chances are that the person will answer it, and chances are that you won't be offended if they do. But was this always the case? Did a ringing phone always make it ok to pause a conversation and answer it, or was it considered rude at first too, much like I consider stopping a conversation to answer a text rude right now. Did it slowly become more and more acceptable over time, much like it seems that texting is today, or was it always such a cool technology (especially when it was first introduced) that a phone call has always taken precedence? With the way texting is going, could a day come when a person is talking on the phone, feels the vibration of an incoming text, and actually puts the person on hold in order to answer it? I know I've seen people use speaker phone to text while they talk on the phone, so really, it can't be that far off.

I guess what I'm getting at is, am I the old guy sitting on his rocking chair, yelling at the kids to get off my lawn? Talking about how 'back when I was your age…' or 'I had respect for…'? Or am I right, and people are just losing their sense of social grace the easier that it becomes to do so. I mean, was Art right to text and talk at the same time, because that's the way society is heading, or is Randy right, when he gives me an evil eye for even glancing at my phone when the two of us hang out together. I'm obviously not as uptight about it as Randy, but I'm definitely closer to his way of thinking than I am to Art's. (Again… Art's former way of thinking).

I don't want to be the old guy that doesn't accept change. I always thought that I was the young, hip, open-minded guy, that was cool with whatever trends came and went over the years. I never want to be the old dinosaur that 'doesn't understand the kids these days.' That said, I also don't want people texting the whole time that I'm trying to have a conversation with them either.