A Perfect Song...In Papa's Opinion

Jim James on Letterman. Wow. State of the Art (A E I O U) is the first track off his new solo, and it might be the perfect song. Great composition, a truly nasty groove, and lyrics that matter. No lie: this track has really made me consider my marriage to technology. Am I using it, or the other way around? Worth a think. 

And here, live, it's even better. Jim sliding around, basking in neon, ripping on that 6 strang lightin' bolt. The audience turns into Jim's congregation, and I'll tell you straight up: if church was like this, I'd probably still be going. 

Ol' man Letterman's reaction tells the story. Happy Thursday, Erebody.  

There's Two Sides to Every E-Coin

It's pure cliche, and really outdated, to call technology a "double edged sword," but it's true. Every tech advancement - the nuclear bomb aside - carries great light and terrible darkness. Just think: the same web that lets you donate to worthy causes via Kickstarter also gives you on-demand episodes of "Live From Daryl's House." Like I said: the good with the bad.

But here's a more personal example. This past week, two brothers, both younger than me and my brother, decided that the answer to whatever was bothering them was to blow up a group of innocent people in Boston. And no matter what their reasons were, I'm betting they used the internet to learn to do most of what they did.

Now I've never googled "make a bomb," but I'm guessing some stuff comes up. What fascinates me about this is that until recently, that information was almost impossible to come by. It got me thinking of a guy I knew in high school. A nice guy, whose dad was, everyone said, a local NARC.  And because of this, one day the kid snuck into school his dad's copy of The Poor Man's James Bond. I still remember the "holy grail" vibe the book gave off, which I was told was some legendary how-to on making weapons and explosives. The excitement though wasn't because we wanted to go out and blow shit up. It was that because of my friend's dad's profession, we were granted rare access to this information. Now? It's a click away. The dark.

At the same time, MONSTA was given a very unique school assignment: interview a family member about what school was like when they were her age. She chose my mom. After an insane amount of coordinating schedules, we used Apple's FaceTime to speak face to face with "Gigi." It was like a commercial. I sat to the side, watching them talk, completely amazed at this technology that allows MONSTA to physically see her grandma, even when separated by nearly 900 miles. The light.

I'd say it's a Brave New World, but there's nothing brave about blowing up an eight year old, whether by home made bomb or unmaned drone. But it's certainly a "new world." And with it comes new chances to use what we have for good, or bad. I'm raising my kid to do the former, and really, really hoping that everyone else is too.

Thanks for the Heart Attack, Technology!

this, plus 3 missed calls.

Normally, I really like technology. Texting, the internet, iStuff.  I really do. But now and then, I want to murder technology. And not in a clean, Dexter way.  It needs to get messy.  The kind of crime scene cops drink to forget.  Take last night...

It's 6:30 pm.  I've worked all day, and am now sitting in my Advertising class.  We're waiting to start.  Suddenly, I get a text.  "PLEASE CALL."  It's from WIFE.  WIFE never texts.  It bothers me that we have this cool way of "talking", and she never uses it.  But now she's using it, and in ALL CAPS. This is not good.

In an instant, my brain is Usain Bolt.  It's one of the kids, I think.  It has to be. Something has gone terribly wrong with one of the kids. I'm certain. The only questions now are "what, which one, and how bad is it?" I know I should be calm and that it's probably no big deal.  But when you've met tragedy once, it's easy to imagine he's still out there, waiting to meet you again.  

If it's not the kids, I think, it's my parents.  Frantically waiting for WIFE to answer my calls, I imagine her picking up with "It's about your dad."  Both my folks stay in great health, but he travels a lot, so I worry.  I'm also a mama's boy, which means I naturally assume it'll be pops who goes first. 

I'm calling and calling.  Three calls to WIFE and no answer. I'm texting too, and now, in true WIFE fashion, she's not responding.  Now?!  Now you don't reply to my frantic texts?  

Finally, with me just shy of "hot mess", she picks up. "What is going on?", I whisper-scream into the phone. "Nothing's wrong," she says to me.  And she means it.  I can tell.  She sounds happy, and I hear both kids laughing in the background.  Totally cool and content, she tosses out, "Why would you think something is wrong?" YOU USED ALL CAPS, DAMNIT! HOW COULD I THINK OTHERWISE?!  

Only she hadn't. In fact, she didn't even text me. There was no emergency.  No drama. Nothing. There was, however, an incredibly handsome, very curious rascal of a son, who likes to chew on his mother's phone.  And while chewing, he gummed one special button that apparently fires off pre-written texts, like PLEASE CALL...in ALL CAPS.

Next Question: how young is too young to stick a kid in time-out?