The Real World of Social Networking

As little as ten years ago, it seemed average teenagers matured into adults after earning a college degree and entering the “real” world.

Entering the “real” world today, for that same teenager, now appears to be one-click away at LinkedIn, the online networking site that “strengthens and extends your existing network of trusted contacts.”

Plaxo is another online site “meant to be a better way for you to stay in touch with the people you actually know and care about — your family, your real-world friends, and the people you know from business.”

And let’s not forget Tagged.com that professes itself as “a premier social-networking destination” that “helps people keep in touch with their friends and make new ones” through “a fun media experience.” Tagged has 70+ million registered users, but the competitor, Hi5, has 80+ million registered members and is “one of the world’s largest social networks and a top 20 website globally.”

MySpace. Facebook. They are still around too.

Recently, my Gmail inbox has been flooded with requests to become a “contact” or “friend” or “linked-in” with friends, old classmates, business associates, and family. As my luck would have it, each person is on a different social networking site that basically provides the same online service with minor differences. Staying in touch now requires five online accounts and time spent updating profiles.

This world of online friendship is familiar territory for teen, young adults, and college co-eds. And now adults of all professions, who once dared not swim in these unchartered Internet waters, are starting to flood the online friend zones.

A couple of months ago, it seemed foreign for a person I met at a business meeting to request to connect via a networking site. An occasional social network user since 2004, I have come to equate social networking sites to areas where countless hours are wasted browsing the profiles and sometimes-scandalous pictures of friends and people you wanted as friends.

Despite my association of online networks as a breeding ground for publicly visible Internet debauchery, I have slowly begun to ease into the idea that the lawyer I met at a networking event for my film making endeavors is now my social network buddy.

Are these same adults with successful business careers updating their profiles and tracking their friends at three in the morning before going to bed?

I ran into a business associate at a South Beach event that lasted past one in the morning. We both left around the same time, and I returned home around two to go to bed but not before a little Facebook nightcap. To my surprise, that business associate had already updated their Facebook status twenty minutes earlier alerting the online world of their upcoming day.

I will contend that as more adults and business contacts create Facebook accounts and artists and entertainers create MySpace pages, it appears these online social networking sites are becoming “professionalized” and accepted for all.

So whether you decide to get “LinkedIn,” “Tagged,” or “poked” on Facebook, these sites provide a means of staying connected with people and a way to indulge your inner voyeur. And now that college students are not the only ones scanning profiles, our elders can indulge in the pleasures that come with creating an enticing profile and finding that person you have not spoken with since the summer of 6th grade.

A guilty pleasure? A revolutionary communication tool? Whatever you use it as, it seems having at least one social network account is a must to keep us all interconnected and entertained.

And So the Gas Goes...

I stared at my car’s gas meter, the needle hovering in the last quarter ready to engage the “low gas” light at any moment. The closest Exxon-Mobil had regular gas at $4.09 a gallon, but I had seen gas as low as $3.99 in some parts of Miami, just not in Coral Gables where I was.

After my Blackjack PDA’s Internet failed me while browsing websites for cheap gas in the area, I took matters into my own hands, driving along US-1 hoping for a deal. The possibility of saving five to seven cents at the pump overcame my thought of wasting additional gas. After passing three stations in a span of a couple miles, I was forced to turn around as the “cheap stuff” was at the original Exxon-Mobil.

A recent graduate of the University of Miami paying some bills with freelance film and video work, I, like many Americans, have become “fuel efficient”. The metrorail and metromover have quickly become my preferred method of transportation for frequent trips from South Miami to Brickell and downtown and Omni areas.

What was once solely used for trips to the Orange Bowl during my days as a UM undergraduate now is an economic solution for not only myself but also several friends; not to mention a perfect way to avoid Miami rush hour.

With constant talk of paying around $80 at the pump, I realized I was not alone with my gas conscious obsession. Friends working in the Brickell and downtown areas have opted for the metrorail in place of their fuel unfriendly cars.

Suddenly, I was envious of my friend’s Toyota Prius, and it seems my generation is as well. The June 29th New York Times article, “As Gas Prices Rise, Teenagers’ Cruising Declines,” detailed a growing trend for both high school and college-aged drivers to find new commuting solutions and to make smarter decisions when it comes to everyday activities.

This nationwide concern has trickled down to the generally apathetic, young-adult generation who now appear to be taking a proactive stance. Whether parents are forcing their children to be gas conscious or the teens and twenty-somethings are maturing, the gas crisis is hitting the pockets of all Americans.

This consciousness is becoming an obsession, hopefully a good obsession. With movie ticket prices around $10, a Friday night at the movies is better spent at home exploiting your Netflix subscription.

Eating out has lost its appeal as well. Eating on a limited budget, spending an average of $20 for a decent meal, plus the gas it takes to get to the restaurant, does not help keep money in your pocket. My roommates and I now opt for the healthier and more financially conservative option of cooking at home.

And so it has come down to cutting back on some of the luxuries the young adults of my generation have grown accustomed to and settling for less costly options. If there was something besides turning 30 that could crush the “I just wanna party” attitude of young adults, it would be a downturn in the economy fueled by the rising oil prices.

My day ends a little easier knowing that I share a similar economic sentiment with my peers as well as my elders. My generation is transitioning into working-class adulthood. The realities we only thought our parents faced now become our problems. With both young adults and the older generations becoming greener and more financially frugal, perhaps change is on the horizon.

Big Ross and Me

With the deaths of Tim Russert and George Carlin, the nation is now without two people to hold us accountable for our national actions and decisions.

NBC and HBO have a little less spring to their lineup. But beyond how George Carlin transformed our public vernacular with “Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV” and how Tim Russert was in many respects, NBC News, these two men bridged a gap between a generation of fathers and sons. Fathers saw the emergence of each one’s career and their sons became fans by following in the footsteps of their dear ‘ol dad.

My father, Ross, an avid news and politics buff, reserved Sunday mornings for his news shows, including “Meet the Press.” At the insistence of trying to educate me on current events, he always encouraged his children to watch or listen with at least one ear. In a household where even the most minor of disagreements with political analysts or news anchors often meant tuning out, it was my father’s unwavering respect for Russert’s objectivity that told me this was a man worth listening to.

Passages from his book, Big Russ and Me, were recited in the car, at dinner, while doing my homework; wherever my father found himself to be reading it. Even though my father was reading from Russert’s book, it was clear he could have easily been reading from a passage in our own book, “Big Ross and Me,” and my father was proud of that.

In middle school, I asked my father to recommend a book to read from his impressive collection. With my budding comedy obsession, he gave me George Carlin’s first book, Brain Droppings, realizing I was old enough for this introduction. Something about his exploitive-laced rants made him more appealing than old Abbot and Costello shorts from the ‘50s that started my comedy foundation.

The natural progression from Carlin’s books was his live albums. My mother did not approve of these “parental advisory” CDs. My father ended this short disagreement by telling her, “It’s George Carlin, modern philosophy.” My father’s insistence on allowing George Carlin to expose the idiosyncrasies of our culture meant Carlin came with my father’s approval.

The appeal of Carlin and Russert to a wide range of ages and multiple generations strengthened the bond between fathers and sons, sons and grandsons; it was an opportunity to reach a common ground, to sit and enjoy something together, to create conversation.

Among the many people, movies, music, and books my younger self ignored for being “old or boring,” Carlin and Russert were never part of the recommendations I brushed off. And at their deaths, my father and I had little to say but how sad it was and how much our collective consciousness has lost.

This is a generation of men who transcended their respective generations; men who brought together a nation under comedy and political news. On the day of Russert’s death, his entire network was brought to tears as Tom Brokaw and Andrea Mitchell anchored with heavy knot in their throats.

Without my father, I would not have felt the loss of Russert and laughed with the rest of the country as we watched the endless amount of Carlin retrospective clips. Russert guided his viewers with the strong parent and child relationship that was instilled in him; he was the father carrying us through the complicated and often turbulent political landscape.

And George Carlin was right there to inform us that we are all diseased (see his 1998 HBO special). In a country so intent on sensitivity and political correctness, Carlin, in his affirmative raspy voice, was there to slap us back into reality and tell us we all die and do not simply “pass away.”

Russert was a voice of reliability and credibility, one that goes a long way in news. His son, Luke, is 22 like myself. Luke and I both graduated from ACC conference colleges in May; Luke from my University of Miami rival, Boston College. Our fathers and mothers both shared in this proud moment.

I If I am privileged to one day have a son, he will know of Carlin and Russert from the history of our nation and will hopefully share in the joy and knowledge that these men brought me.

My father and I will always share the memories of Russert and Carlin unfolding before our eyes. George Carlin and Tim Russert made us watch and pay attention. They made us listen. They transcended their own generation.

The Final Four at the OB

As a senior going to my last game in the Orange Bowl, I am proud to say that I was part of the last class to enjoy four years in the OB. For myself and my fellow classmates, we began our freshman year on September 10, 2004 with a triumphant overtime win against FSU; probably the most memorable game for the class of 2008, the second possibly being this year’s win against FSU.

For that being the first game, it set a mighty high precedent. Though it has come close, never has my voice been so raspy the next day after my first game as a ‘Cane. Never again did I see fans bring down the house with more chanting during a regular season game. The metrorail was never again quite as loud as it was the night we beat FSU in ’04. Never have I felt so many people crashing down on me with high fives, fist pounds, and chest bumps. Maybe this game was truly the most exciting over these past four years. Maybe it is an indication of how our team has been playing. Whatever the reason, there is no experience like the magic of one’s first time. And on that hot night in September, the class of 2004 learned just how great it is to be a Miami Hurricane.

It is time to say goodbye to the good times in lot E4. There will be new parking lots to tailgate in and new police to “arrest” fans drinking underage. It is time to put to rest the old “light bright” scoreboard (a toy reference to children of the ‘80s). It is time to say hello to real parking and goodbye to “Twenty dollars, no block.” So long Little Havana. Hello Dolphin Stadium. Like George Harrison said, “All things must pass.”

For those freshmen who will enter UM next year, I say enjoy the new possibilities of your Hurricane football team with a new season and a new stadium to play in. Though many of you will never know what it is like to experience a game in the historic Orange Bowl as a student at UM, we have to believe that our memories in the OB will be passed along from those who chanted all the way down the concrete ramps at a game’s end.

The class of 2008 is privileged to have enjoyed their last four years in the Orange Bowl. We will usher the OB into the history books with glorious tradition and rich history. Regardless of how well we play next season or whether or not fans like Dolphin Stadium better, there will only be one Orange Bowl. There will only be one place where I saw my first UM football game. There will be only one place where I remember exactly where I was sitting and who I was sitting with. Was it the sweet taste of victory that made that first FSU game so memorable? Was it the kid sitting next to me chanting voodoo in the fourth quarter? Was it being a freshman not yet in college one month? This was all part of that winning atmosphere, but most of all it was the magic of the OB.

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The Wellness Center Staph

Symptoms: Pimple-like red bumps that become large abscesses on the skin with the potential of joint, bone, blood, lung, and heart infections that can become fatal.

Some well-informed people may already be taking the necessary precautions to stay healthy and avoid these symptoms, while others may be unaware of the increasing drug-resistant bacteria called methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus or MRSA. MRSA is a skin-dwelling strain of the staphylococcus aureus infection. It is making headlines after the Center for Disease Control released a report a month ago stating this infection caused 19,000 U.S. deaths in 2005, nearly 2,000 more than AIDS caused the same year.

With the October deaths of a Virginia high school and New York City middle school student, the overall awareness of this “super bug” is growing like the strain itself. It is reported that MRSA dwells in communal areas like gyms and can be transferred through sharing personal hygiene products like towels, a profile that UM’s Wellness Center fits perfectly.

For anyone, like myself, who enjoy daily trips to UM’s Wellness Center, lack of appropriate hygiene precautions puts all of us at risk of MRSA every time we step onto the elliptical machine or pump out ten reps on the bench press. Wellness Center patrons are greeted at the entrance to the gym with a sign reminding them to bring towels and wipe down machines to avoid the spread of germs. I have observed, like George Costanza, that the majority of people don’t separate their skin and sweat from the machine with a small hand towel (some use washcloths, read: useless), and when a towel may be a carrier of MRSA, no one here is truly cleaning up after himself or herself.

At least the Wellness Center usually has two, maybe three nearly empty bottles of what they claim to be the disinfectant, Virex, accompanied by wet, dirty towels –staph breeding grounds. Cardio equipment users often wipe down their machines with the dirty water-looking chemical, but no one seems to realize the weight machines and benches need constant cleaning as well; the occasional cleaning by the “Can I Help U?” crew proves worthless the second someone uses the machine.

Where are the dozens of spray bottles and towels next to the weight machines? What about tubs of disposable disinfecting wipes?

Here is an idea: Let us get one of our bright infectious disease specialists from the medical school to organize a plan to use the appropriate disinfectants and cleaning treatments that will help prevent the spread of MRSA from lurking in our athletic locker rooms, the Wellness Center, and wherever else this dreaded bacteria may lurk on campus.

With MRSA on the mind and skin, it is becoming clearer to medical professionals and well informed citizens alike that necessary precautions must be taken to keep our exercise, learning, and working environments as clean as possible. Implementing a larger cleaning plan will help prevent the Wellness Center from becoming “MRSA central.” In her February 2007 Hurricane article, Amy Sofka voiced some complaints about the Wellness center including the relatively nonexistent cleaning precautions. Since nothing has changed, I suggest we work on this as soon as possible. Despite the Wellness Center promoting health and fitness with exercise classes, yoga, and nutrition courses, clearly cleanliness is not next to wellness.

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Information provided by:

http://www.cnn.com/HEALTH/library/DS/00735.html

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3032076/

http://www.webmd.com/news/20071024/mrsa-experts-answer-your-questions

Our President the ‘Toon

We went around the room in my public speaking class, each person offering a topic for an upcoming group project. After hearing some interest in current events, I thought it would be appropriate to offer the most obvious topic: the war in Iraq and its global and national effects. I was hit with responses of, “Does anyone care about the war?” and “Do people in the class even know what the war is about?” After a show of hands exposed nearly half the class knew about the war, I was asked to explain our military occupation. I suggested my classmates Google it. This short discussion that my topic sparked did not surprise me. News polls show that a large percentage of American citizens do not have a clue; anything is possible in a country run by a president who has become the nation’s quintessential “dumbass.”

For nearly eight years, our president has given America countless amounts of comedic material. Saturday Night Live showed late night television the idiocy and childlike behavior of President Bush through Will Ferrell’s mastery of impersonation. Frank Caliendo mastered the dim-witted Texas twang on MADtv. Comedy Central is no amateur at creating Bush related humor with the short-lived That’s My Bush! and the latest Lil’ Bush. This summer’s blockbuster Transformers portrayed Bush as the bed-lounging, Ding-Dong craving president aboard Air Force One. And Bush’s likeness has appeared on South Park, The Simpsons, and Family Guy; clearly not the smartest gun-slinger in the Lone Star state.

It is heart breaking to realize that our country is being managed by a caricature of a walking cartoon. Good observers will always find fault or the idiosyncrasies in people, but never has a president been the brunt of so many comedic jokes. Our president’s portrayal as an incoherent buffoon is far from adoration. He has transcended mockery as a form of flattery. Now the joke is on the American people who felt it necessary to reelect him.

Despite the many laughs Jon Stewart gives us on a nightly basis with his updates on “Messopotamia,” any person who is not clouded by a rightwing endearment must realize the great embarrassment our country is suffering and the suffering our country’s actions are causing. Over the past seven years, our actions have slowly isolated ourselves from the rest of the world. As the rest of the world keeps watch over our every move, the fact that we have a cartoon portraying Dick Cheney as a little boy who grunts and eats live animals does not help our international image. If Osama gets cable in his cave, he is certainly being entertained at our expense.

For the existence of this presidential entertainment, our country must thank the first amendment. Attempting to alter the amendment to remove all public tomfoolery at President Bush’s expense sounds like an episode of South Park or Lil’ Bush. Hopefully, our President would have the decency to never amend the first amendment; then again, would he?

Fortunately and unfortunately, time is dwindling for George W. Bush related humor as his second term slowly comes to an end. Depending on the next elected president, one may lend himself or herself to more comedic antics; we have to wait two years to find out. No candidate will ever be safe from Matt Stone and Trey Parker, Jon Stewart, and David Letterman with Stone and Parker having already made Hillary, nuclear missiles, and her private parts the joke of an episode. If nothing good has come out of President Bush’s tenure in the white house, at least many of us have shared a lot of laughs. Unfortunately, these laughs come with great pain and suffering for our country and the rest of the planet.

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This Movie is Rated "Hard R"

The MPAA is looking to lose the stigma surrounding its NC-17 rating as it attempts to differentiate between films considered a “hard” or “soft” R. The term “hard R” is the MPAA’s own in-house description of films such as “Saw” or “The Hills Have Eyes” that push the limits of graphic content and border on an NC-17 rating. With such horror pics stretching the R-rating, the MPAA is looking to tell viewers that this material may not be suitable for anyone under 17, as opposed to the “soft R” films like Chris Rock’s latest adult comedy, “I Think I Love My Wife.”

The problem with trying to sell NC-17 as a legitimate rating like its G, PG, PG-13, and R brethren is that it has a small track-record of films like “Showgirls” and “Henry & June.” Additionally, commercial exhibitors are unwilling to show such films. Media publications sometimes will not run advertisements for NC-17 films and Blockbuster will not carry them, which is a reason why customers must stay loyal to the uncensored Netflix internet rental site.

It seems the NC-17 rating gives people this idea that it is the next closest thing to pornography. This rating was eventually added after Miramax Films, not wanting to be categorized with adult entertainment, brought an unsuccessful lawsuit against the MPAA protesting the X rating given to Pedro Almodovar’s film “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down.” If the MPAA wants acceptance of its adult oriented rating, it may take the commercial success and acceptance of one film to lead the way.

The MPAA might be fighting a winless battle in trying to rebuild the reputation of the NC-17 rating. Like Hollywood stars Mel Gibson and Michael Richards who have had success with humanly troubles, their creative work cannot be denied and should be celebrated but their personal mishaps will not be forgotten. The MPAA might need to invest in another rating and change its description of R. There may need to be an age restriction no longer at 17 but at both 16 and 18. For both of these ratings, anyone under the age must be accompanied by an adult. The 18 and older rating, though not as restrictive like NC-17, should have similar implications and warn parents that children and teens should be wary of viewing such content, but the parents should still have the deciding factor.

Part of the problem of the NC-17 rating is that films will lose the cash cow of the strong teenage market. If such films are not outright restricted from teens but given access as long as with a parent or guardian, this still leaves access to teens with their increasing appetite for sex and violence. Even with an alteration to the current ratings system, it is going to take cooperation and man power on the exhibitors’ part to enforce the rules. In high school, the only time I had trouble sneaking into an R-rated movie was during the opening week and sometimes the second. After that, no one was making sure that I was actually going to see “Finding Nemo” because after a couple weeks there was a new R-rated film to enforce.

The discrepancy between films that receive R ratings is misleading to the public. If films continue to push content boundaries, there will likely be a necessary revision to the current ratings system in the near future. Is cleaning the reputation of NC-17 the best route for the MPAA? If history repeats itself, another rating will likely be created and NC-17 will find itself next to its outcast brother X. As violent horror pics continue to create the next big shock factor—and it takes a lot to shock audiences today—the R rating is becoming too tame. As film content evolves, the rating system must inevitably evolve as well. Hopefully, we do not have to go through a series of “copycats” that occurred in the “Natural Born Killers” aftermath before the MPAA decides to make a commanding decision.

Information provided by “Indecent Proposal” by Pamela McClintock for the March 12-18, 2007 issue of Variety.

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