Cat Spaulding on the Down-low

Trumped

2016-01-13T13:01:00.003-06:00

Donald Trump got zinged pretty good last night by President Barack Obama during the president's final State of the Union address. While Trump's name was not used overtly, the allusions to Trump by the president were obvious. The president spoke of the negative rhetoric used by some to denigrate certain ethnicities and those of different religions. He also spoke candidly about those who say that America is in decline, noting that our strength and way of life are still intact.

Kudos to the president. Rumors have circulated for some time that he was itching to weigh in on the nasty rhetoric used by the current GOP candidates for president. Last night, he managed to do so with language that was both pointed and yet statesmanlike. This wasn't surprising given the president's exceptional rhetorical gifts.

The president ended his speech by generalizing about the horrible nature of politics in the United States and the need to elevate ourselves above the contentious name-calling and partisanship that have swept the country for the past seven years as a result of the snarky allegations thrown out irresponsibly by Tea Party Candidates who helped lead the obstructionism against the president (begun by Senator Mitch McConnell). Kudos again, Mr. President. I only wish you had been more plainspoken earlier.

The president also shot a verbal assault across the bow of Senator Ted Cruz when he said that carpet bombing our enemies wasn't an answer to complex global situations.

We live in dangerous times. Weapons and fear-mongering and insulting rhetoric are not going to make the world a better or safer place. Honesty and integrity, however, just might stand a chance. Let's hope.

Cat Spaulding

Facebook and Google: Information Sharing

2014-07-01T10:43:00.000-05:00

These are the two most notable offenders, of course, but there are hundreds of other major sites gathering information from every keystroke you make. Yesterday it was revealed that Facebook was conducting experiments on mood and feeling by altering user feeds, giving some people good news, others bad. Fie on you, Zuckerberg.

Most sites claim that they monitor our posts and even emails (thanks gmail) in order to give us more quality in the ads they present us. Preposterous. I don't want any ads, thank you very much. Their explanation implies they are providing a service. Right.

The fact is that hundreds of billions of bits of information are being stored on the American people and those in other countries. A recent NBC story reported that large companies house this data and are reluctant to even have their names known. 1984 has arrived, people, albeit a little bit late.

As for me, I intend to post things on Facebook to confuse their algorithms: screaming zebras, Russian clowns, etc. We could create a massive headache for the people tracking us and change policy, but apparently most of us don't care as long as we can post the pictures of our kitties on Facebook.

Cat Spaulding

Getting Unplugged

2014-07-01T10:07:00.002-05:00

I started this blog seven years ago. In that time, technology has opened its maw wider and all but swallowed us. People check Facebook umpteen times a day. Texts fly from microwave towers millions of times a minute. We check our email once an hour and access the web with smart phones from just about anywhere. We are psychologically enmeshed with virtual space and technology in general. Enmeshment is a serious psychological condition, and we need an intervention, people.

It's bad enough that we have to listen to other people's conversations on line at the bank and grocery store or while sitting in a doctor's office or walking through Walmart. For example, I don't care whether the woman in front of me is having problems with her promiscuous sister in Arizona. I have enough problems of my own without listening on a daily basis to several dozen that belong to other people. Enough! people's public use of technology is rude, and I also hate being interrupted ten times during a conversation because someone says, "Excuse me, but I have to take this." You're not excused!

As mentioned in my last post, I recently returned from Tibet, where I was on assignment. When I finished my work, I stayed for a few weeks and decided to unplug all the way. No cell phone, no email, no PC. Cold turkey. It was pretty hard, and I felt isolated at first. But then I felt quite peaceful and recalled my childhood, when computers were nothing more than glorified word processors. In Tibet, there was no Internet, no constant demand for my attention, no messages, no calls. It was me and beautiful blue sky with mountain ranges in the background. I'd forgotten what "normal" life felt like. I could actually talk with people and focus on daily activities, like walking and eating and reading a book without interruption. I believe my brain chemistry must certainly have changed, for being "normal" was paradoxically now perceived as an altered state.

I'm stepping back from technology, people. If I don't get every piece of info in a timely fashion, or ever, so be it. Besides, I don't need to know who won American Idol or what Justin Bieber is doing. I have a life to live, and it doesn't depend on silicon chips.

Cat Spaulding.

Return of the Cat

2014-07-01T09:42:00.002-05:00

Well, after a long absence, my good friends, here I am again. Been traveling, meeting people, writing articles, and even made it to Tibet--don't ask how--where I felt rejuvenated after unplugging.

Thanks to all those who wished me well and sent inquiries as to whether or not I'd fallen off the edge of the earth. As mentioned above, I fell up, not down. I didn't become a Buddhist, but I did start a routine of daily yoga, and cleared my chakras. It's time to start posting again, so I hope you'll tag along for the ride.

Welcome! Welcome!

Cat Spaulding

The Dangers of Online Flirting

2010-12-10T12:47:00.003-06:00

It's innocent, right? You wonder what happened to the "one that got away," that old flame. Where does he (or she) live? Is he married, divorced, single? What's his occupation. And you're only looking out of curiosity, nothing more, right?

We all wonder about the people from our past, and many times it is indeed human nature and completely innocent. Usually. The cyber age has changed everything. A few decades ago, you would call ATT information and get someone's phone number. You'd then dial the number, and if she answered, you would listen to the "Hello ... hello?" and then hang up. But the Internet makes it far easier to find others, and in an age in which divorce rates continue to soar, observing boundaries is becoming difficult. People decide to just take a peek at the old girlfriend or boyfriend.

Recent studies show that Googling old flames ranks fifth in who or what we search for on the Net. Many psychologists conclude that online flirtation aside, merely searching for an old lover can be dangerous since 1) so many marriages are shaky, and 2) the distance imposed by the Internet increases the chance that contact will eventually be made.

"Once someone is located," says Yale researcher Dr. Paul Lochner, "it seems perfectly natural to say a quick 'hello.' But all too often, this leads to email exchanges and photo swaps. Then cell numbers are exchanged. Finally, after a pattern of flirtation has been established, a meeting is planned if geographically feasible--or even if it's not."

Lochner believes that couples should have no secrets when it comes to online activity. Anything you don't want your partner to see is a red flag.

Looking up old flames (or actual, aggressive flirting) can become addictive. There is an adrenaline rush. We experience feelings that we haven't felt for years, or even decades. That person sitting across the country at a keyboard is providing stimulus in a relationship that may be suffering from obvious neglect.

But do we have the self-control to log off and do something in the real world, like buy our significant other a rose, or give him or her a spontaneous kiss? We all know that the PC is an an integral part of our everyday lives, but on the down-low, are we willing to admit that it's robbing us of healthy activities, including our relationships?

The next time your mind starts to wander, take a walk in the sunshine and realize that sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss. As Alexander Pope said, "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." Years of tragedy can be averted by just walking away from the computer.

Remembering John Lennon

2010-12-08T10:14:00.005-06:00

I wasn't born when the Beatles hit The Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964. But I was a little girl by the time he'd gone solo and was living in New York with Yoko . . . and recording Double Fantasy. My father was watching Monday Night Football when Howard Cossell informed viewers that Lennon had been assassinated in front of the Dakota Building bordering Central Park. My dad, not a big Beatles fan, nevertheless fell silent, his skin turning pale.

When we recall Lennon, we are remembering several people, for he was a complex figure, always evolving. He was musician, clown, alcoholic, actor, political activist, and the voice of an entire generation. The down-low aspect of Lennon's life is that the feds tried so long to have him departed because Nixon and several powerful congressmen and senators, such as Strom Thurmond, thought he was a danger to American youth. Nixon especially wanted him gone because he saw Lennon as a threat to his re-election campaign in 1972.

The FBI followed him relentlessly and bugged his phone. It seems the government is still doing this to citizens in 2010. When we remember Lennon today as a man of peace and hope, let's also remember that there is a lot of work to be done in standing up for our civil liberties. Lennon never gave up, and neither should we.

Eat, Pray, Love: A Literary Scam

2010-12-07T12:56:00.004-06:00

Here's a story that is definitely on the down-low. The movie Eat, Pray, Love, based on Elizabeth Gilbert's memoir of the same name, has just been released on DVD. Gilbert has appeared on Oprah twice, and the world is currently gushing about the author's profound spiritual, life-changing experiences. It is this year's "must read" for every user on Match.com. It is the guide for unhappy wives who need to get the kinks out of their troubled marriages and lives. There's only one problem. The memoir is a scam.

A few years ago, Gilbert found herself in an unhappy marriage and had a fling, only to be dumped by her boyfriend. The husband contested their divorce. But the light bulb went off in Gilbert's head. She sent a proposal to a New York publisher and asked for $200,000 to execute the following plan: Go to Italy and indulge her carnal passions, then move to India and meditate when all that eating and drinking and lusting didn't satisfy her quest. When the rigors of meditation became too demanding, she would then move on to a third country, where she would find true love. (No wonder every woman on Match.com loves this mess.) She did indeed find that "true love" a few years ago, only Mr. Right is still somewhere in Indonesia, unable to gain admittance to the United States while his New Jersey wife collects one check after another. It is rumored that she is writing another book on the immigration issue. How convenient.

This is literary prostitution. Gilbert wrote a memoir in which the outcomes had already been chronologically manipulated for the literary marketplace. Unfortunately, the average person seeking enlightenment doesn't have an extra two hundred grand to eat, drink, pray, and get boinked "on schedule."

America is trying to find its soul right now. No one needs Ms. Gilbert's connect-the-dots memoir to help them along the road to enlightenment. The spiritual journey was nothing more than a nonfiction book proposal and should have been marketed as fiction. How many marriages has Gilbert wrecked by planting the seed that escape is the path of wisdom?

Political Wind

2010-05-19T14:12:00.003-05:00

I'm a liberal by nature, although I like to think I'm bipartisan. Not interested in tea parties, thank you very much. During the '08 presidential shootout, I heard a lot of jabber about alternative energy sources. I heard the mantra "Drill, baby, drill," although this lamentable phrase was quickly shot down by the Dems.

And rightly so. The BP oil spill now indicates that drilling is not without hazards, and fossil fuels cannot sustain earth's energy needs for more than another hundred years by most estimates. What I clearly heard was a lot of talk about wind farms and fields chock-full of solar panels, row after row of solar cells soaking up the yellow rays of Sol.

But Cat isn't hearing a lot of talk anymore about energy from the wind or the sun. These technologies are already in existence, although what is lacking is the cost efficiency to make them viable on a large scale. When, Mr. President, would be a good time to start implementing your campaign promises to use these alternative sources? I remain a loyal supporter . . . for now.

It's time to bring in the entrepreneurs from the private sector to palaver with the Department of Energy, time to re-tool the factories in the rust belt and start an energy revolution that puts people back to work manufacturing the equipment to make solar and wind farms a reality.

For now, the story has fallen out of sight. It's on the down-low.

The Pleasures of Long Convalescence

2010-05-18T14:05:00.002-05:00

Sorry for the absence, chickadees and chick-a-dumplings. A skiing accident in Colorado laid Cat up for several months. I fractured my right leg in three places. But it wasn't all bad.

I weaned myself from multitasking. I had a PC, a TV remote, and a cell phone, and I'm not talking the smart variety that shows movies or plans your retirement. It makes telephone calls.

I continued working on several articles and books, usually opting for a legal pad and pen over the PC. The physical act of writing connected me to the language in a new way. When the Percocet wore off, I drifted to sleep while watching a soap. If the cell rang too much, I turned it off. That simple. Felt like one of the Amish . . . and maybe that's not a bad way too live. I have not felt so much peace in years.

I'm not going to go break another leg in order to find such tranquility, but I did have time to read Walden by Thoreau. For a few months, I lived his life--a "deliberate life"--doing only what was necessary. No tweets or nights out with the girls. No blogging or running up credit card bills.

Try it sometime, minus the broken bones. You'd be surprised where technology has taken us, and, contrary to the new phrase in our vernacular, it's not all good.

Finding Hope

2009-10-08T14:12:00.002-05:00

It seems that our nation, in its great divisions over the economy and healthcare, has lost hope. People are depressed. They see themselves as merely scraping by, and they’re not sure that the nation is going to pull itself out of the quagmire anytime soon. It’s no accident that The History Channel is capitalizing on fear through all of its apocalyptic shows on the end times. So where do we find hope? Under what rock is the secret hiding that will take us out of our misery?

Ten years ago, two close friends were killed. My boyfriend dumped me the following month, and I had no job or money at the time. I went to the mall and looked at the coin fountain, wishing I could scoop up all the loose change without the mall cop arresting me. I was hoping to be abducted by aliens.

I went home and did the only thing I knew how to do: write. Then I prayed, cried, beat my fists against the wall, and wrote some more. I did this every day for a week. When I couldn’t write anymore, I went to a small town newspaper and asked for a job.

“Got any writing samples?” the editor asked.

I pulled out my steno pads full of scribbled angst and bitterness and handed them to the editor.

“You can start tomorrow if you don’t mind writing obituaries,” he told me. “You’ve got a knack for chronicling the morbid. Just try to lighten up a bit, okay? Remember, you’ll be writing about people’s relatives.”

Desperate, I took the job. A year later, I was covering dog shows and county fairs. After that, I changed papers and started to cover human-interest stories.

Here’s my point. The way to find hope is not to keep sitting around waiting for a result. Hope is a process, not an end-product. When I wrote those obits, I connected with people and was able to show real sympathy to individuals mired in grief. In covering other people’s losses, I shook off my own. My work, my skills, my talent—they were all parts of a process by which I connected to other people, and ultimately, bigger stories. Many years later, however, I’m still writing about people. Finding hope is a process of focusing on others and affirming them to the best of our abilities. Remember, they’re looking for hope, too.

The Vicarious Pleasures of Voyeurism

2009-10-06T12:30:00.006-05:00

I'm disappointed with David Letterman, but not shocked. He's human, but he stepped up to the plate and told the truth without mincing words. No rationalizations, no stalling, so spin.

But why are we so fascinated with celebrity affairs (or with celebrities in general, for that matter)? I'll answer the second question first. The reason is because we don't feel we've accomplished very much and we're bored out of our minds.

The answer to the second question is a no-brainer and related to the first. We're jealous. We wish that we could land in so much trouble as long as it involved the pleasures of forbidden sex. We self-righteously shake our heads while inwardly we're jealous that we weren't the ones caught in bed with the actress or the leading man.Why do they get to have all the fun while we're stuck in our routines? We become voyeurs through the medium of television, simultaneously condemning and relishing the plight of Letterman and others.

Temptation comes easily in an age when role models from all walks of life break the rules. We don't know how to live comfortably in our own skins. We live vicariously instead of making something of our own lives. But here's the good news. Every one of us, if we would sit down and think a little and use some imagination, could enhance our lives tenfold. We could start a new business, volunteer at a homeless shelter, mentor a fatherless child, discover a comet, or fall in love with the pretty single woman at the supermarket. We all have unlimited potential, and we might actually accomplish these goals if we stopped watching shows about Jacko, Jon and Kate, and who's doing who. Dare to be the hero of your own life. Wear the white hat and make people envious of you.

You heard it from Cat.

Cell Phones, Hell Phones

2009-10-01T09:03:00.004-05:00

Cell phones are here to stay. I guess that's a good thing for the most part, but I recall George Carlin's theory as to why we call each other on the phone: to make sure the other person is there. In public places, however, I think it might be the better part of courtesy for people to momentarily assume the other person is indeed "there" and spare the rest of us from the mundane details of their lives.

I was in a doctor's outer waiting room the other day when a woman in her late fifties unfolded her cell and began talking to her friend Agnes. "I'm just sitting here, Agnes. Nothing to do. You know the way it is in doctors' waiting rooms. I think I'll turn into a potted plant before they call me." Never mind that nine other people were trying to read magazines or make appointments and discuss insurance coverage with the receptionist. We had to listen to the woman's life history for twenty-five minutes. In that span of time, I found out that she had a corn on her big toe, varicose veins, was a grandmother, planned on cooking meatloaf that night, and that her husband couldn't find a pair of dress shoes that fit him to save his life, which was a pity since he had to attend his sister-in-law's third wedding in two months. Wedding details then spilled into the waiting room, from the flavor of the wedding cake to the color of the bridesmaids' dresses. The honeymoon would take place in Cancun. So much for trying to read about the U. S. Open tennis tournament. Unfortunately, the woman didn't turn into a potted plant.

This kind of aggravation is multiplying. No one goes anywhere without their cells, and we must listen to the prattling of rude people in restaurants, stores, malls, and on public transportation. People using bluetooth technology walk about in public, appearing to talk to themselves. We don't give the slightest thought that others may not want to here chapter and verse from the narratives of our lives.

We're bored. We can't stand to be by ourselves. George Carlin was right. We call people because we don't want to be alone. We want to know that someone else is there.

Rolling Up the Red Carpet on the Emmys

2009-09-27T09:44:00.004-05:00

I'm not a TV addict (House, Monk, Medium and a few others are enough for Cat), but I enjoy watching the Emmy Awards every year. It's, well . . . something different. In the moments leading up to the show this year, however, I was channel surfing and came across a program on hunger in the third world.

Before me were images of small children sitting in homes made of plywood, cardboard, or corrugated tin. They wore dirty T-shirts or nothing at all. Many were cared for by older siblings since their parents were deceased. There were no schools or hospitals, and clean water and sanitation were absent. I could go on, but you get the picture. This is the way billions in the third world live, if you can call it "living."

I turned back to CBS in time to see the celebs strutting up the red carpet, bejewelled and dressed in gowns costing a hundred grand after emerging from the stretch limos. The contrast with the show on world hunger hit me in the gut.

Ironically, actors and actresses are fairly liberal and do more than most in championing the cause of the needy. Brad Pitt's work in New Orleans post-Katrina has been exemplary, and he's not alone in his philanthropic efforts. But I decided not to watch the Emmys last Sunday night, not because there was enything inherently evil about the broadcast, but because we tend to get caught up in the glitz and the glamour. We sympathize with the plight of the third world, but we just don't think about it that much. Out of sight, out of mind. I'm as guilty as anybody.

So I passed on the telecast for personal reasons. It was a way of making my subconscious a bit uncomfortable, a way of making my subconscious bubble to the surface and sit in a dark little hut for a few hours. It was my way to keep remembering after the show on hunger was over.

Rudeness Reigns

2009-09-17T09:55:00.002-05:00

Forget the swine flu; bad manners seems to be quite infectious. Rep. Jim Wilson called President Obama a liar during a joint session of Congress; Serena Williams cursed a linesman with the foulest language I've ever heard on court; and Kanye West decided that his limited intelligence and lack of articulation gave him the right to not only interrupt the speaker at the VMA Awards but to dispute the choice of winner.

The discourse in American society grew mean and nasty during the '08 presidential campaign. Most pundits said that the GOP would have to moderate and become centrist in order to become a viable party again. Thus far, it hasn't happened. It seems as if the shouting at campaign rallies and, more recently, town hall meetings, has become the template for public behavior.

From a wider perspective, however, such rudeness indicates a far more dangerous and pervasive trend: the mindset that it's all about "me." There are no verbal rules of engagement. Anyone can be interrupted or shouted down--and for any reason. There is a sense of entitlement that has infected our very souls. According to West, Beyonce was entitled to win the award. According to Williams, she was entitled to win the U. S. Open. According to Rep. Jim Wilson, the nation is entitled to scream at the president as the GOP, bad loser that it is, sulks because Karl Rove led everyone to believe that one-party rule was okay ... as long as it was the Republican Party.

Things are getting out of hand. As Bob Dylan said long ago, "a hard rain's gonna fall." You heard it from Cat.

Jay Leno Redux?

2009-09-15T09:28:00.005-05:00

Jay Leno is a talented comedian and did an admirable job with The Tonight Show for many years. I don't think his style for guest interviews is as strong as Conan O'Brian's or David Letterman's, but Jay "done good," as the saying goes. He deserves credit.

Last night Leno debuted his new 10 pm (Eastern) show on NBC. He came out, shook hands with the front row as he always does, and did a monologue. He did some shtick and had Jerry Seinfeld as his first guest. Kevin Eubanks was there with the old Tonight Show Band, and the show concluded with Jay's trademark Headlines. Sure looked like The Tonight Show to me, except that Jay sat in a comfy arm chair to do the interviews. I saw no appreciable difference between this show and The Tonight Show format. The only sour moment was when Leno allowed Kanye West to sit next to him and whimper an apology for his rudeness to Taylor Swift at the VMA Awards..

Here's the ten million dollar question: does America want four hours of talk shows in a row on NBC's weeknight line-up? Normally I'd say the answer is a resounding "no." Too much of a good thing. Essentially, we now have two Tonight Shows back to back, with only thirty-five minutes of local news to separate them. But I may be dead wrong. If anyone would have told me that eight networks could successfully air approximately forty prime time crime dramas over the past five years, I would have said they were nuts. Crime is king on TV, and the trend shows no signs of abating. For Jay Leno, maybe there is indeed life after The Tonight Show . . . unless viewers miss a 10 pm slot that could host a few more crime dramas.

Kindle Me Not

2009-09-14T11:38:00.002-05:00

Kindle? Thanks, but no thanks. I'm sure electronic readers like Kindle are fine and dandy and will ultimately be successful. Even Amazon, however, predicts that their device will never replace old-fashioned paper and ink, which is good. I have no desire to read books on a platform. Ugh. Even the phrase is odious. Reading on a platform? Am I standing at the subway or at a train station? If I read Dickens, then it should have a different feel than when I read Dan Brown, and I don't want the text surrounded by white plastic. It makes the experience of reading . . . cold, for lack of a better term.

Books should have a certain identity. The texture of the paper is important. Is it smooth or grainy. And the font--is it large or small, and what style and pitch has the publisher used? Is the book hardcover or paperback? And what does it smell like? That's important. And the cover art? Good book covers are an invitation to step into a world of mystery, wonder, discovery, or adventure.

Some of my most favorite editions are old books I bought when I was much younger or that were given to me as a child. They are a bit worn, and some of the pages have yellowed a bit. The books are all the more treasured for their age and used condition.

Print that scrolls through white plastic isn't for me. A book should be opened and savored. You may feel differently, but cats don't change their habits very easily.

Serena Williams: Take Time Out with the Other First Graders

2009-09-13T12:06:00.007-05:00

Serena Williams displayed what the nefarious Captain Hook might labeled bad form. After being called for a foot-fault last night in the Women's semi-final match of the U.S. Open, Ms. Williams screamed at the linesman for a full minute in the foulest of language. Bad form indeed.

There's an old adage in tennis called "play the call." Move on. Bjorn Borg and Rod Laver did it, as did many other greats of the game. Connors and McEnroe didn't, although they stopped short of outright and prolonged profanity and came to be regarded as comic relief more than anything else when it came to their on-court histrionics.

Ms. Williams lost the match after being penalized for her unsportsmanlike behavior. Good. Sports figures in the highest tiers of their sports are no longer role models for kids. They're endorsement machines who use steroids to cheat. There's no excuse for what Serena Williams did last night. She could have kept it together and moved on to the next point. Is it any wonder that children see such behavior and then throw tantrums at home or become schoolyard bullies?

And here's' the down-low part of the story. Ms. Williams: you reap what you sow. It will come back to you in some way, shape, or form. The universe keeps its karma ledger with the precision of a bachelor accountant. You heard it from Cat.

Twitter: Haiku for the Masses

2009-09-13T10:13:00.006-05:00

The world is all a-twitter these days, with Twitter rivaling Facebook for popularity. The difference, of course, is that Twitter exists for more than just social networking. It exists for news, product promotion, conversation, political campaigning and candidate updates, and (unfortunately) spam. One may easily keep track of certain social trends on Twitter since the service is mobile in nature, with most users using using cell phones--Blackberries or iPhones--as the platform interface. Demographically, use is skewed toward those under thirty, although, as with Facebook, those over thirty can be seen pounding their thumbs in public on miniature keypads. Boomers ushered in the computer revolution, and they are doing an admirable job at keeping up with new permutations of technology.

Twitter was started in 2006 by Jack Dorsey as an SMS, or short message service, that allowed only 140 characters per message. It is rated as one of the top 50 websites by Alexa's Web Traffic Analysis.

But what can we really say in 140 characters, which translates into one or twp brief sentences? Not much. Marketing firms love the service because they can send messages, called "tweets," such as "Drink Slush Cola, regular or diet." But who wants to receive ads in a world inundated with commercials that we already try to avoid like the plague. Authors now use Twitter to keep fans apprised of their book signing schedule or work on the latest chapter of their new book. For the life of me, I can't imagine anyone who would want to receive the message "Cat in Philly Tuesday at B&N and starting ch. 33."

Many messages are idle chatter:

Going home now.

Tell the Spunker and the Moocher it didn't work.

Kiki got dumped. Men r bad.

Damn this socialism!

At their worst, tweets are bits of cyber graffiti that, thankfully, most of us of are not exposed to. At its best, tweets are similar to haiku, a few lines of beauty that might brighten someone's day if only for a few seconds even if the brief message doesn't confrom to meter or poetic form..

Consider:

Saw a girl in the subway. Such lovely red hair.

So thirsty. Water fountain in lobby on Broadway.

Sun brutal. Need soda and umbrella. Love, Neil.

As with all aspects of computers and the Internet, cyber technology is what we make of it. Cat's tip for the day: whatever you do, in word or text, think first. Make every word count. Life goes by quickly.

The New Journalists

2009-09-12T12:31:00.003-05:00

Few documentaries in the past years have examined a new trend in journalism: the layman as reporter, the pedestrian with a cell phone camera and texting ability. A major story breaks, and within minutes, the average joe or jane on the street has uploaded text or images to CNN. Frankly, this has Cat worried, and not just because her parents shelled out a lot of money on journalism school.

The problem is that in the age of Twitter and camera phones, which send text or pics to news organizations instantly, there is no guarantee that the info will be accurate or, even more importantly, have any context. Yesterday, CNN itself grabbed a radio transmission from a Coast Guard training exercise on the Potomac River and believed it had intercepted evidence of terrorist activity. Flights in and out of D.C. were temporarily shut down on the anniversary of 9/11. CNN's failure to adequately check out the story caused a lot of grief and was unprofessional. If a major news network commits this error, how much more are everyday "citizen journalists" likely to make even worse errors?

PBS's Frontline did a series on the new age of journalism, and much of it was rather sobering. The trend is apparently a fait accompli, and yet too many people do not have the slightest knowledge of journalistic standards. Information is obtained, but there is no thought given to the who, what, where, when, and why that gives a story legs.

Professional journalists are trained in writing, ethics, sources, corroboration, legalities, the history of the craft, and much more. Therein lies the heart of the problem: journalism is a craft that takes years to learn and master. In the early years of the twenty-first century, however, journalism has become the province of people with blogs and iPhones. Online news services are especially open to receiving info from the average citizen, although such services--AOL, Yahoo, and the rest--are sometimes prone to throwing out random information like someone throwing objects against a wall to see what sticks.

How we gather and process information is critical in a new age of technology in which paradigm shifts in culture, social mores, and politics seem to change with every twenty-four hour news cycle. You have a great pic taken with your phone? Great, but here's the conundrum. Is the photo of a man falling through the air, arms flung wide, a picture of a man jumping from a building or jumping on a trampoline. The angle of the shot means everything since the man's facial expression may be quite deceptive.

We live in an age where we believe what we see and are told without question. If it's "out there," it must be true. Now more than ever, however, we need to engage in analysis of the information we're fed. And that, my friends, is the job of the journalist. Blog discussion is healthy, but it's not necessarily news. You heard it from Cat.

A Few Random Acts of Kindness

2009-09-11T12:48:00.008-05:00

I'm a big fan of The Random Acts of Kindness Foundation. Kind acts send ripples through the population. They can spread exponentially, as seen in the movie Pay It Forward. A simple smile might change someone's life. It's worked wonders for me on occasions when I felt hopelessness asking for admittance to my soul.

The simplest acts of kindness cost nothing at all--that's the beauty of it. My retired paternal grandfather goes to the mall several times a week for the express purpose of smiling at the people he passes. He also waves at everyone he sees when driving, and he never passes up the chance to compliment a cashier or waitress. Many of his friends think he's nuts. I, on the other hand, think he's a great man.

Noel Paul Stookey, the "Paul" of Peter, Paul and Mary, wrote a song called "Revolution 1 x 1," which is featured on his latest solo CD called Facets of the Jewel. The song advocates a smile and a wave as the way to conquer people's fears and suspicions. It's a hard slog to try to change the world one person at a time, but it's probably the only way.

Hats off to my grandfather, hats off to Stookey. Let's keep the revolution going.

Hook-ups: Sex in the Car Pool Lane

2009-09-11T11:56:00.006-05:00

Some observations, nothing more. I don't tell people how to live their lives, and I'm a big believer in "Judge not lest ye be judged." And before you hurl invectives at kindly Cat, make sure you read the entire post.

Casual sex is a given in today's society. After all the hippies of the 60s became mortgage bankers and pillars of the community, the pendulum on sexual mores never swung back to a neutral position. I'm not sure that's a good thing, however, at the risk of sounding like a sexual centrist.

Here's the problem: people decide to have no-strings-attached sex and then return to their neutral corners. No commitments. What could be simpler? A few months later, jealousy rears its ugly head. The classic Seinfeld episode come to mind, the one in which Jerry and Elaine decide that a little extracurricular activity in the bedroom isn't going to affect their relationship or their ability to date others. It didn't work. Bruised egos and jealousy were in plain sight by minute twenty-two of the sitcom episode.

And that's what I've seen in my friends ever since my college days: bruised feelings after a casual relationship goes sour. We can proclaim sex as sport all we want, but something in our DNA still equates "the deed" with intimacy and love. Perhaps the biggest impediment to the success of casual sex is that humans are possessive by nature. This trait has been in our genes for a hundred thousand years, and we're not going to expunge it in three decades because Erica Jong says we can. If you are happily immune from the problems stated above, I won't dispute the fact.

Casual sex is a way to get from point A to point B. It's a shortcut to gratification, like riding in the carpool lane. If you tell me it works for you, I'll say "Congratulations!" All Cat is saying is a big caveat emptor--buyer beware.

Literary Fiction: A Disappearing Genre?

2009-09-11T11:09:00.006-05:00

It's no secret that literary fiction has taken a backseat to genre fiction. Thrillers, crime, romance, and chick lit are riding high in the literary marketplace. There's nothing wrong with that. I grew up reading Nancy Drew, and later I devoured the novels and short stories of Arthur C. Clarke and Isaac Asimov. A good story is a good story.

But great literary fiction needs to be published as well. Can anyone who still values books and literature imagine a world without Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck, and many other great writers. In the latter part of the twentieth century, authors like Bellow, Heller, Updike, and Vonnegut told us who we were. They were surgeons who dissected popular culture and showed us where in society the malignancies could be found. Perhaps more than any other writer, Kurt Vonnegut showed the folly of humanity with dark satire in the same vein as Mark Twain. In the mean-spirited year of 2009, when shouts of socialism disrupt town hall meetings, we need writers who can diagnose the illnesses of the age.

The literary marketplace has been downsizing since the year 2000. Fewer books are being published, and when literary fiction begins to be excised from fall lists, the literary landscape becomes downright Orwellian. Thus far, small presses aren't picking up the slack because of tighter budgets. Most small presses and indies are always dancing perilously close to the edge of solvency. New York conglomerates and their subsidiary houses need to publish literary fiction, even if it sinks to the midlist. They need to make a profit, but they're still interested in ideas, aren't they?

We need literary surgeons. You heard it from Cat.

Facebook: A Mixed Review

2009-09-10T12:48:00.004-05:00

Thus far I've resisted the social networking trend. I'm probably the only woman who is not "friended" to all 259 members of her high school graduating class. So many of them are worth forgetting. Maybe most, in fact. My sister, however, lives and dies by Facebook. I'm not sure why since she only comments on the status of about ten of her 577 friends. A guy recently told me that for males, getting a large number of friends is rather like a contest, like chugging beer or like rams savagely butting their horns together. It's a testosterone thing, or at least that's what I've been told by hunky "Facebookers" (an interesting word now entering the language).

I'm not sure why I would need to know on a minute to minute basis that my best friend is entering the grocery store, feeling the melons, or watching a clean-up on aisle seven. I once coaxed my sister to post "I am still breathing" as her status. Writing on her wall, dozens of people expressed grave concern about her health. Did she have respiratory distress? Was she smothering? (It's unlikely she would be able to type while being smothered.)

All this having been said, it's benign as long as you don't click on the wrong link and get phished. It's the cyber equivalent of chatting to your neighbor across the fence while taking in the laundry. It keeps people talking, and that's a good thing in these mean and perilous times. I have to wonder, however, when we're going to reach the saturation point. Perhaps one day we'll simply crawl into our PCs while the real world, vegetable and mineral, just decays. It will be up to Keanu Reeves (a.k.a. Neo) to enter the Matrix and save us. Meow.

Dylan's Latest Album: Together Through the Years

2009-09-10T12:28:00.005-05:00

I like it. It's not as good as his previous effort, Modern Times, but the old folkie from Minnesota still has something to say. The CD is shorter, and Dylan's voice is a bit scratchier than on Modern Times, but if you're looking for a perfectly clean delivery from the pop-folk icon, then you need to step into a time machine and set the date for any time between 1963 and 1976. And if he's not afraid to venture out of his vocal range entirely, then more power to him.

The best tracks are "My Wife's Home Town," "If You Ever Go to Houston," and "Jolene." But there's not a bad song in the bunch, as they say, and a few of the slower songs are downright endearing.

Ya gotta hand it to Dylan. He doesn't have to be out there doing anything at all. His place in music is secure. But he still gets the job done. He's on Sirius radio and has a Christmas album coming out. Keep goin', Zimmie.

In Martin Scorsese's documentary of Dylan, the singer points in the air and says he has a contract with the man upstairs. To which Cat says, "Amen." Bob and I have been together through the years, and I don't see that changing. Not ever.

Generic Medicines: Not Always as Effective

2009-09-10T11:58:00.004-05:00

Not all generic meds are created equal. A conversation with a pharmacist recently opened my eyes to down-low facts that few consumers are aware of. For starters, manufacturers of generics are allowed by law to put a lower percentage of the active ingredient into the med. Yes, you're still getting the same med, only not as much. Isn't this something we should know?

Second, generic drugs may metabolize differently because different binding agents (various inactive powders and chemicals) are used to make various ingredients adhere to one another

Insurance companies are paid by drug manufacturers to promote generics as safe, cheaper alternatives to brand name drugs. Where I come from, such payments are called kickbacks. And exactly how do insurance companies promote the generics? They penalize you for using brand name drugs by upping your co-pay for any given prescription. Your doctor can sometimes override this penalty by putting "no choice allowed" on the original scrip.

Some generics work just fine, and the policies of insurance companies vary. Be aware, however, that the generic pill you take may only have 80% to 90% of the medicine your doctor has prescribed. That's why you occasionally see or hear not-so-prominent stories telling you that generics are sometimes only 80% as effective. You heard it from Cat.