All posts by Chris Warren

When Your Daily Bread Is Down To Crumbs.

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By: Chris Warren.

Yeah, it’s a hassle to shovel snow and be stuck at home, but most people make the best of “snow days.” Snowstorms are seldom serious disasters. We come out of the mess unharmed if not relaxed from the unplanned day off. The kids especially love it because they don’t realize they’ll have to make up the missed school day another time.

These small pleasures are unknown to people whose jobs don’t get snow days. Public safety and medical professionals come to mind first, but there is also the unseen ones who keep the lights on and the water flowing and the internet up. There’s no yippee I get a day off! moment for them. After all, we can live without pizza delivery and Starbucks for a while, but no one likes to think about what they would do if the infrastructure that makes modern life so comfortable suddenly wasn’t there.

Seeing this is as only about snow misses the point. The bigger picture is that high profile calamities both natural and man made never fail to beat the hell out of us year after year. Twenty First Summer has before attempted to stress how sensible personal disaster planning does not mean a last-minute run to the store to grab up all the milk and bread one can carry. Still, hardly anyone gets it.

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There is a well tested theory that society is “nine meals from anarchy.” What it teaches is that the average person has only three days’ worth of food & water in their house, after which time they will turn to violence to meet their needs, or become the victim of violence themselves. Government relief efforts may extend this period somewhat, but if the crisis is not resolved fairly quickly, the only endgame is chaos. I’m not making this up or exaggerating. There are dozens if not hundreds of real-world examples.

I’ve been called a kook and worse because I refuse to accept that “shit hits the fan” won’t happen, and even if it does we can all sit quietly and wait for the government to save us. What my detractors can’t see (or don’t want to see) is that the people who do the saving have their own lives and priorities to think about. There is not a single doctor, firefighter, or soldier anywhere who is going to leave his or her own loved ones vulnerable to go help a stranger. I don’t say that to be disrespectful or question their sense of duty; it’s just a simple acknowledgement that sense of duty weakens the farther one gets from their own front door. If relief workers have to make a choice between everyone else or their families, we’ll all be kicked to the curb. Can anyone blame them? I am that stranger. So are you.

The obvious choice is not to be the guy running through the store grabbing up bread as the world outside becomes unglued. Or the guy standing in a blocks-long line to get a jug of drinking water. There is a very real possibility that a crisis will last longer than the help is willing to hang around, or be so severe that help never arrives in the first place. To those who think being prepared beyond a flashlight & first aid kit is the province of paranoid nuts with a basement full of freeze dried food and more guns than a South American dictator, let me put it in terms you can relate to: Rescuers and first responders are not going to care about you more than you care about yourself, and they certainly are not going to care about you more than their own families. Plan for the unthinkable as if you were the only one who cares, because when shit gets real, you’re the only one who will.

 

Requiem For Radio Shack.

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By: Chris Warren.

As this blog has discussed in the past, many classic American businesses are disappearing in an economy that is supposed to be jumping back to life. The losses are sad for nostalgia but also bring hope because times change and for every business that goes extinct a newer version takes its place and gets a shot at becoming a legend. In theory, it’s a zero-sum game.

Radio-Shack-logo2

That Radio Shack is soon going to be on the register of lost legends truly bothers me. First, because it was a key player in my choosing to go into electronics professionally, and second, because it has no replacement. It is the only one of its breed; there is no fresh contender coming up behind it. For now Radio Shack is still open for business as usual but no one is fooled by corporate prophecies of a big comeback. Depending on which financial analyst you want to believe, Radio Shack has between one and ten months’ worth of operating capital and no viable course to profitability. We are in death watch mode. Founded in 1921, yet another thread in the colorful fabric of America will almost certainly go the way of the vacuum tube and Betamax tapes.

Radio Shack was once a wonderland of electronic components, parts, tools, batteries, kits, how-to books, wire, connectors, and everything else. As a young person I would stop at “the Shack” at least once a week, oftentimes more, eager to drop my paltry teenage income on electronic goodies. If not for the readily available supply of raw materials for my hobby I might have ended up being an insurance salesman. It was the only place in the world where I could get a PNP transistor at 3:00 on Sunday afternoon. And I often needed one, among other things. I’ve built transmitters and power supplies and countless experiments entirely from parts purchased off the shelf at Radio Shack. They sold me the very first test instrument I bought with my own money–an analog multimeter. Long before I ever saw the inside of a college engineering lab I had a strong electronics education from “Radio Shack Tech.”VintageRadioShack_Storefront

The sad reality is that the quirky retailer that helped me turn a boyhood fascination with electronics into a lucrative career as an adult has been on a slow slide down for years. The world moved on and Radio Shack didn’t keep up the pace. They’ve tried reinventing themselves as a computer shop, a consumer electronics repair vendor, a high end audio dealer, a cellphone emporium, and most recently, on-site smartphone & tablet computer repair. None of it stuck. The Best Buys and Amazons of the world rolled right over them. The last time I shopped at Radio Shack was half a decade ago to buy a specialty electrical connector. What used to be hundreds of square feet of cool geek stuff had been shaved down to one tiny little section in the back. It wasn’t fun anymore. The exciting vibe I knew and loved was gone.

I hate to admit it, but I’m part of the reason Radio Shack is on the way out. Better & cheaper sources for supplies came along and I took the bait (hellooo, internet!). No one makes money selling single diodes and capacitors anymore, much less from a store in a mall. Did I let an old friend down, or did the old friend let me down? It’s a trick question: Old friends sometimes drift apart and it’s not really anyone’s “fault.” I’m not sure if anything could have saved Radio Shack. They served their market well since they early days of electronics and there is nowhere for them to go. Maybe in that way it’s not even their fault they are in terminal decline. It’s just the natural cycle of things. Before my old friend passes on, I want it to know generations of geeks are grateful for the fun and the education, and in an unknown number of cases, supplying the seeds for what would grow into a fulfilling career.

The Didactic Silence of Sir Nicholas Winton.

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By Chris Warren.

Rare is the man who does something great and keeps it to himself. In a time of instant gratification and “likes” and ever escalating public self affirmations, simply doing the right thing only because it’s the right thing and not for recognition seems like an anachronism. A lot of people perform good deeds —which is awesome— and then go and brag about it, usually on the internet. It’s almost as if they are really doing it for themselves and the benefit to others is merely a pleasant side effect.

In late 1939 Nicholas Winton was a young English stockbroker looking forward to a leisurely ski trip in Switzerland when at the last moment he changed his plans and went to Prague, Czechoslovakia instead to help a friend with humanitarian work. Hitler was marching across Europe and there were a lot of innocent bystanders, particularly children. On a whim and with no resources, experience, or diplomatic contacts, Winton remained in Prague for months and singlehandedly arranged safe passage to England for 669 Jewish children who would have otherwise been murdered by the Nazis.

For fifty years, Winton never told anyone about what he did. In the late 1980s, his wife found a scrap book with detailed evidence of her husband’s pre-war rescue effort. Only then did the rest of the world find out about Nicholas Winton’s amazing act of altruism. On a BBC television program he was reunited with some of the kids he saved, who by then were senior citizens with children and grandchildren of their own. Until that time none of them knew the backstory of how they ended up in England or who was responsible for whisking them to safety before the Nazis came.

Since then, Winton was knighted by the Queen of England and has been given so many other awards and honors it’s hard to list them all. There are statues memorializing his work; a school in Czechoslovakia and an asteroid in outer space are named after him. Through all this, Sir Nicholas Winton has kept his composure and acknowledges his selfless deed only when asked about it. He comes from an era when there was no internet or social media, but I think even if it were an option in 1939, Winton would not have been on Facebook congratulating himself and fishing for “likes”.  After all, he kept it to himself for half a century and reluctantly talked about it only after someone else outed him.

“When you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward.” (Matthew 6:2)

Winton is not known to be a religious person but those of devout faith can learn a lot from his attitude. He had no ulterior motives and did what he did solely because it was right and good. I believe there are others like Winton out there today; you will seldom hear about them because they are looking beyond their own presumptuous egos and don’t concern themselves with being noticed. Christianity teaches that those who boast about their good deeds will receive no Heavenly reward beyond their own bragging. If that’s true, and I believe it is, then Sir Nicholas Winton’s humble and understated life says more about him than any self indulgent internet platitudes could ever approach.

 

The Play Was Over, But The Plot Kept Going.

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By: Chris Warren.

We who have been out of high school longer than high schoolers have been alive don’t often consciously associate the experiences of our younger years to how we think today. Other than an occasional nice (or not) thought and attending (or not) a reunion, high school is a time long past blurred by the advancing calendar. But for some of us, certain aspects of that four year block of time has a very strong connection to the here and now.

I was barely a week into my freshman year at Naperville North when the morning announcements included an invite for anyone who wanted to be on the theater lights & sound crew to attend a meeting after school. It sounded pretty cool even though I wasn’t exactly sure what it involved. I was shy; I walked past the room twice trying to get a read on who might be there. I almost blew it off before taking a breath and pushing myself through the door where I found the sponsoring teacher and five or six offbeat looking students. I was the only new guy. There were no lengthy introductions or chatter. Within minutes we were in the auditorium organizing equipment and getting ready for the fall play. I was officially on the lights & sound crew.

My parents seemed genuinely pleased that on my own I had found an extracurricular activity that I was good at and really liked. It fit well with my interest in electronics and was a good alternative to athletics. Rehearsals started after school and would sometimes run until after 10:00pm. It was kind of funny how the jocks would make fun of us “theater geeks,” yet we were there long after the lights went out in the gym. We were as dedicated and serious as any athlete. We all wanted to stay until we got it right, and it showed when the curtain went up. For the first time in my young life I was part of a team. Theater companies inherently tend to have a very high proportion of prima donnas, but everyone seemed to understand they were involved with something that was bigger than the sum of its parts. There was a sincere group cohesion.

One night during a rehearsal break, an actor who was also a piano wizard sat down at the house piano and started playing Billy Joel tunes. A crowd slowly gathered around him. About 15 or 20 kids –performers, technical staff, even the makeup artists– formed an         ad hoc sing-along. We were all smiling and hanging on each other. It was a terrific feeling. I had friends. I was wanted. I can’t remember a single detail of what else happened that night but the sense of belonging still makes me smile.

There was a custom that the seniors were supposed to write a farewell letter and tape it to the backstage door on the closing night of our very last production. We gathered again like we did at the sing along but this time the girls were crying and the boys were bummed. After being on the lights & sound crew all four years and absolutely loving every moment of it, the reality of finality was right in front of me. I taped my letter to the door, hugged a few people, and the curtain went down on my run. I never set foot in that theater again. The meeting I attended on a lark and almost skipped as a freshman led to an amazing experience that to this day is one of my life’s brightest lights.

An Old Yankee Fades Away.

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By : Chris Warren.

Energy policy is the strange convergence of politics, science, and business. It’s deep and wonkish and is the kind of topic very few people understand or follow even though it effects every moment of their life. Most of these effects blend into the background. When it does come home, it hits hard. Suddenly, everyone is paying attention. It can even get a little emotional.

After over forty years of providing New England with electricity, the Vermont Yankee nuclear power station in Vernon, Vermont was disconnected from public electric grid on Monday, December 29, 2014. Yankee’s closure means 300 of the approximately 600 plant employees will be immediately laid off or retire. Most of the leftover staff will be cut in 2016. From there, a small support crew will remain to oversee a lengthy and expensive decommissioning process. The physical structure is going to be around almost long enough to become a historic landmark: It will need to sit fallow for a minimum of thirty years before the radiation in the reactor decays to a level safe enough to tear it down. It will not be completely dismantled until at least 2045, possibly longer. The price tag for the full shut down and removal is estimated at $1.25 billion, and that’s in 2014 dollars.

Vermont Yankee nuclear power station.
Vermont Yankee nuclear power station.

The Yankee closure means different things to different people. For anti-nuclear activists, it’s a sense of accomplishment after a decades-long fight even though the closure was caused by economics & policy, not protests. For the plant owner, it’s the symbol of a horribly bad investment. For the residents of Vernon, Vermont, it’s the end of an era that for better or worse permanently altered the community. Seldom heard mixed into the discussion is the story of ordinary Americans whose upended lives were powered by the economic engine that was Yankee. Employee spending at local businesses will stop, contractors who serviced the facility will have to find other revenue sources, and the primary tax base for Vernon has been, literally, unplugged.

Losing a major employer and many hundreds of jobs is devastating to a town of only a few thousand people. Beyond tangible dollars and cents is the unquantifiable loss of relationships that will be broken as people move on with their new lives. It’s hard to say goodbye to your gang of lunchroom buddies. Or the family across the street you traded favors with for years. Or the waitress at the corner diner who always knew what your order was without asking. When a town fixture fades away, so too do many routines and habits that made the place comfortable and familiar. Many of these deeply meaningful personal interactions revolved around one constant: The nuclear generating plant. And now it’s over.

I understand difficult business decisions need to be made, and I doubt even the residents of Vernon expect the plant owners should keep the place open just for nostalgia’s sake. Barely noticed in the mix of the larger energy policy universe are everyday folks who have to live with the judgements of those who don’t concern themselves with the sentiments of one small town. Going strictly on the facts, it’s not difficult to see why it was time for Vermont Yankee to go, but respect and sympathy is owed both to those who must go with it and the small town that lost its most prolific citizen.

New Year’s Resolutions: As Useful As Last Year’s Calendar.

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Editor’s note: January 1, 2015 is the first anniversary of Twenty First Summer! To celebrate, I am reposting my very first article, with a few small edits and changes. Thanks to everyone who has visited my blog and given me a reason to keep doing this. I’m very grateful for the support and look forward to another year of sharing my thoughts and insights. Happy New Year…and thank you sooooo much! 

by: Chris Warren

I sometimes wonder how long ago New Year resolutions came into being. I’m sure some sociologist has done the research. The backstory may be hard to trace but it’s not hard to figure out why anyone would make a resolution.

A little digging around produces anecdotal evidence of one glaring point: Those who make New Year resolutions have no sincere intention of keeping them. And those who are motivated to improve their lives for real don’t need to make dramatic declarations because they are already taking positive action, quietly, every day, without vainly calling attention to their goals.

New Year resolutions usually start getting tossed around at Thanksgiving, when the end of the year is near and self deprecation is trendy. After all, no one ever stood up at a Memorial Day picnic and said, “This year I resolve to ____.”  Resolutions are as much about renewing vows that were never honest in the first place as they are about whitewashing a year of wasted opportunities.

Making promises for what will be accomplished later makes it easier to feel better about the failures of the past. It’s an adult variation on the gung-ho attitude a poor student has on the first day of school after returning from Christmas break: “Yeh, I know I really sucked last semester,” they will sheepishly admit. The hollow pledge immediately follows: “But now I’m going to step it up and pull good grades!”  For them, the scoreboard is reset to zero. Past screw ups don’t count, at least not for the short term. Yes, I’ve been “that student”. More than once. Those making New Year’s resolutions, like born-again scholars, are more likely to be concerned about feeling better than doing better.

It appears that feeling good has become the the goal rather than the reward for achieving a goal. Society schmoozes underperformers so their precious self esteem is not hurt. Everyone gets a trophy. In cultures where an expectation of success is rigorously enforced, failure is a huge embarrassment. The student and the CEO are both motivated to do better because the last thing they want is to be humiliated before others.

Shame is a strong incentive to excel, unless of course you live in a world where being protected from every little disappointment is almost a religion. One of the big differences between a high achiever and a low achiever is that the high achiever knows they will be called out for their screw ups; self esteem is an aside. Our takeaway: The good deed should come before the good feeling. Too many want to get all warm ‘n’ fuzzy on the installment plan. And they almost never pay off the bill.

That circles us back to why New Year resolutions are ridiculous: If someone is sincere about making a big change in their life, why do they need a special day of the year to do it? Isn’t just as easy (or hard) to lose weight, go back to school, quit smoking, take that dream vacation, whatever, on any other day as it is on January 1? For the truly resolved, no calendar is needed. For the pretenders, a lazy excuse is never more than twelve months away.

We Can’t Know What Christmas Is Unless We Also Know What It Isn’t.

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By: Chris Warren

Ahhh yes it’s “the most wonderful time of the year” (or whatever cliché pleases you). The complaints are also clichés, albeit true ones: Christmas is rightfully derided as having been turned into a celebration of materialism and faux congeniality. ‘Tis the season for pining about what Christmas really means. We can also learn a lot from what it doesn’t mean.

Christmas is not about being seasonally nice. If you can smile and wave to that crabby neighbor on December 25, why is it so hard to do any other day? Or every day? Does it feel funny going back to being a stand-offish jerk on December 26?  I have a coworker who is always doing small favors for everyone, even people who are not all that kind to him in return. He does not wait for a special day, or be helpful only to those who are helpful to him. He treats others with class, every person, every day. That is the true meaning of Christmas.

Christmas is not about being a part time philanthropist. People feel inclined to leave large tips or donate to charity at Christmas. That’s nice and should not be discouraged, but the wait staff at your favorite burger place needs to make money in July, too. And the burdens carried by social service groups still have to be funded in the off season. It does not help a poor man to buy him an expensive multi-course steak & seafood dinner once a year and let him starve the rest of the time. I know a guy with a very middle class income who gives to several charities each month. The donations are not large, but he always comes through with something. He does it so the poor man gets a modest but respectful meal every day. That is the true meaning of Christmas.

Christmas is not about Christ. Let’s get something out of the way: I don’t say that to be politically correct. It’s well established that Twenty First Summer does not concern itself with making sure no one’s precious sensibilities are offended. But the reality is that for many, perhaps most, Christmas is not a religious holiday even as they celebrate it anyway. Christians should seize this opportunity to share their faith because it may be the only time of the year when nonbelievers are open to hearing God’s Word. It’s important for Christians to demonstrate their faith all the time, but Christmas is prime “hunting season.”

An acquaintance of mine is very involved in his church and he invites everyone he knows to their Christmas pageant. It’s part Broadway musical, part worship service. The place is always packed, and many of those present would never consider going to church under any other circumstances, much less a very conservative Baptist church. No one really knows how many lives are changed for the better as a result of attending this one event, but the church got it right: You first have to get their attention if there is any hope at all of winning their hearts. By the way, this particular church reaches out to to the community all year long with assistance and events specifically aimed at non-members. That is the true meaning of Christmas.

Even though a lot of goodwill does come out of Christmas, the holiday has become too much about one day. The higher calling of being concerned for others during the rest of the year is usually overlooked. Or worse, everyone thinks they can be kind to their fellow man in December and they have done their duty until next year. You can tell everything about a person’s understanding of the meaning of the season by what they do (or don’t do) in February and July and October. Those who respond to that call long after the sales are over and the decorations are put away don’t merely know the true meaning of Christmas, they are the true meaning of Christmas in the spirit Christ Himself expects all of us to be.

Twenty First Summer wishes everyone a merry and blessed Christmas.

Peace be with you!

Hitting The Bottom Of The Public Trough.

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By: Chris Warren

As a young person I was taught to deal fairly and see things from the other guy’s perspective. Even when fairness was hard to define, I always knew in my heart what felt right. As I got older and developed a better understanding of how complex the world really is, it became apparent that sometimes true fairness cannot be attained. The best and perhaps only outcome is a degree of unfairness to be shared between the involved parties.

Recently, the city of Detroit, Michigan exited bankruptcy after what was arguably one of the largest and most famous financial collapses of modern times. Though the legal formalities are over, the bigger task will be making the second chance succeed and assuring those on the losing end of the deal –which is pretty much everyone– that their give backs will not be for nothing.

In Detroit’s case the losers are collectively out seven billion dollars. The biggest chunk of this loss is laid at the feet of public worker retirees, who are taking a cut to their monthly pension payouts as well as a cut in future raises. There’s no joy in seeing old people struggle, but keep in mind one of the key reasons Detroit is a financial shipwreck is because for decades the public sector unions pushed for and received lavish perks for city workers far better than what the average private taxpayer gets; these benefits continued into retirement. Public employees are not innocent bystanders.

In spite of years of court proceedings and thousands of pages of applicable law, the basic mechanics of the Detroit bankruptcy litigation were quite simple: Giving the retirees the deal they want means sticking the bill on someone else. And with liberal politics rotting Detroit’s population to less than half of what it was a generation ago, there aren’t too many “someone elses” left. A federal bailout makes the definition of a fair deal even more obscure because the cost would be passed along to people very far removed from the problem. How much should Joe Taxpayer in Seattle, Washington be expected to give up from his paycheck so Detroit can keep a promise to a retired city worker? And why should Joe care?

This untenable scenario is not unique to Detroit. Many other cities and some entire states are at a point where there is simply not enough money to pay for all the deferred promises. The public employee unions, famous for thinking they are better than everyone else, sincerely believe that the unworkable deals should be upheld no matter who it hurts. The attitude of entitlement has finally arrived at its ultimate conclusion, so let’s not misdirect too much pity toward current employees, retirees, and their slimy union. None of them are worrying about how Joe is going to pay for his Golden Years.

Applying my admittedly oversimplified vision of fairness to Detroit, I conclude that the shorted city employees do have a point, but I have a forced and limited sympathy for them. No private sector worker gets special protections and a guaranteed retirement, so the public workers (through the proxy of their union) must have quite a chip on their shoulder to think the taxpayers should remain in perpetual servitude to them. It’s not that the retirees are undeserving. It’s that they are no more deserving than all the rest of us.

Updated 3/27/15

History’s Promise: Pearl Harbor Veterans Are Ageless.

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By: Chris Warren.

In college I had an English professor who once declared, “every present has a different past.” He was speaking in terms of history and what he meant was that events do not have a static meaning. How a past event is viewed now is not the same as what it meant at the time it happened, nor at any point since then. This is why history is more than just a factual list of dates and events. To understand history is to enrich oneself not only by making a connection between then and now, but also maintaining that connection for the future.

On December 7, 1941 the Japanese bombed the American Navy at Peal Harbor, Hawaii and and pushed the United States into World War II. That is the “factual list” version. To find the “enrich oneself” version, we must look into the personal accounts of the soldiers & sailors who were there when it happened, keeping in mind that they were not merely eyewitnesses to history. They actually created it.

USS Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
USS Arizona Memorial, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

It is becoming more and more difficult to investigate the experiences of those who made history that day because as years click by there are fewer and fewer Pearl Harbor veterans remaining. Of the approximately 60,000 service members who survived the bombing, less than 2500 are believed to be still alive. The youngest are now in their 90s, so the harsh actuarial math for an event seventy three years behind us is not hard to figure out: Within a decade, maybe a little longer, there will be no one left to talk about it.

That Pearl Harbor is on the cusp of a transformation from living to recorded history is not lost on the few remaining survivors. Retired naval officer and Pearl Harbor veteran Jackson Davis of Shreveport, Louisiana references this by tapping into wisdom collected over his 95 years of living: “We don’t hear much about Gettysburg anymore, or Bunker Hill. Or when the Normans took over England — we don’t hear much about that.” Mr. Davis’ observation, while true, skims over a larger point: The value of history is not measured by how popular a topic of conversation an event may be. He is correct that hardly anyone talks about the Normans invading England (which, by the way, was in 1066) as if it were a recent event.  Influences of the Norman conquest nearly 950 years ago can still be found embedded deep in the British psyche. Had the Norman invasion never happened, England would be a very, very different place today. That is why it matters. That is why it is worth talking about and remembering.

“We don’t hear much about Gettysburg anymore, or Bunker Hill. Or when the Normans took over England — we don’t hear much about that.”  -Pearl Harbor veteran Jackson Davis

It’s unlikely that yet-unborn Americans will be fully cognizant of how Pearl Harbor effects their world any more than The Battle of Bunker Hill (fought in 1775) enters our thoughts now, and it’s an unstoppable reality that there isn’t much time left for soldiers & sailors who lived through that dark day to give their first person testimony. Mr. Davis and his peers can be assured that the story they have been telling for that last 73 years will have no end. The heroes who were at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii on December 7, 1941 and served with such amazing valor will always matter. Their spirit and selflessness is the connection to the present; it’s the very essence of why their place in the permanent record was so rightfully earned. We may not always talk about it, but we will always live it. When the last Pearl Harbor veteran is silenced by the inevitability of time, history will take over and be their voice through the generations.

Facebook Therapy

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By: Chris Warren

Twenty First Summer was conceived in part out of my disgust with social media. Somewhat hypocritically, this blog does have a Twitter account that I hope all my readers follow  @twentyfirstsum because it’s an unfortunate necessity for reader interaction. Yet even while I’ve happily been able to keep social media at the edges of my life, there are others, actually many others, who have turned it into their psychologist.

Here’s the kicker: I’m sort of thinking this may not be such a bad idea. Not for me of course, for them. I know that sounds a little way out there coming from a guy who has made mocking the stupid that is Facebook a recurring theme, but venting is a legitimate form of therapy. Just because it’s not done under the supervision of a $150/hour therapist doesn’t mean it’s not effective treatment.

In between the the ubiquitous cute puppy videos and trite “post this on your wall if you love someone with (insert name of unfortunate malady here)” memes, are things along the lines of rants about the weather, the boss, significant other, job loss, divorces, death, gastrointestinal issues, traffic jams, kids. All the turds of life are well represented.

The appearance of “too much information” personal issues may be shocking, but the reasoning behind them is legitimate. The on line catharsis provides a release that in another time would have been taken out on family members, coworkers, store clerks, or held inside until it could be contained no longer. For all its ridiculous vanity, Facebook at the very least gives users a platform to clear their frustrations in a relatively harmless, nonviolent way.

I very seldom post anything on my personal Facebook page but I will scroll through my newsfeed fairly regularly to lurk around and see what others are doing. My feed probably looks like everyone else’s except with different names. What takes me aback is the amazingly revealing public comments made by people I consider to rational, mature, and level-headed, at least when they are not on line.

Since screaming into a pillow is overrated, Facebook therapy works only when the rants are made when others will hear (or see) them. Part of me thinks these people are a bit kooky even though I otherwise respect them and understand why they have these outbursts. The problem: How do I respond? Should I respond? When I say I “very seldom” make a Facebook post I mean maybe two or three times a year, so clicking “like” or making a comment opens the door to an on line back and forth I’d rather not get involved with.

I’d prefer my friends just call me if they have something heavy on their mind. If they’d rather blow digital steam, I’ll be listening there too even though I probably won’t reply. If it gives them a comfortable outlet they might not otherwise have for their frustrations, then why should I hate on that? I still think Facebook is one of the most hopeless wastes of bandwidth since the Kim Kardashian YouTube channel, but even a pile of crap is useful as fertilizer.