The Social Networking Enigma

"Social Networking". Its one of those buzz words that's cropped up in the last couple of years and permeates conversation and news stories. Apparently it will allow anyone to connect with everyone online. We'll all be uber in touch, informed and happy. Bluebirds will sing. Flowers will bloom. At least if you are in marketing and trying to find a new way to take advantage of us...er "reach us with compelling offers tailored specifically to our demographic and interests."

Don't get me wrong. I understand the concept. Use snazzy (or in the case of MySpace, hideously ugly) websites to reconnect with people and keep up to date on their happenings and whatnot. Sites, in turn, sell very specific populations to advertisers chock full of profile data. (Facebook apparently noticed I'm engaged and shows me nothing but wedding vendor spam - yay!) The sites stay free, the ad-machine is happy...everyone wins. Whether we're talking about MySpace for purely social "social networking" or LinkedIn for business-style; that's the basic idea as I see it. You can share your latest vacation with friends or solicit ex-colleagues for recommendations on newly opened positions. Since you know them in person, theoretically they are more interested in both scenarios. Theoretically being the operative word there.

After countless hours split between MySpace, Facebook and LinkedIn I can tell you an awful lot about the people I know. And some about people I don't know that well. But looking over the things I've learned here's what I don't get - does anyone really care about this stuff? Is it useful for my middle school friend to know that I had a toothache yesterday? Do I need to know that my boss from three jobs ago is now a "Customer Relations Specialist at Denny's? (Maybe, actually) I mean...I get the point but the execution I've seen thus far is just...off.

The voyeur in me is entertained. Its fun to know your ex-boyfriend has three kids with as many women and that your high school rival is fat and working at McDonald's. Still. But really, am I getting anything useful out of the hours I spend looking at this stuff? I think not. If I really wanted to know what any of these people were doing...I mean if I really really cared, I would have made an effort. At some point in the last, I dunno, ten years I would have written or called. Instead I'm reconnecting with people either to mock them endlessly and feel better about myself or because its so damn convenient that there's really no reason not click the "Add" button. Its just another way to feed everyone's Internet Connectivity Addiction. The sun...it buuuuuuurns!

And on top of that, the advertising - no matter how targeted - is hitting me at a point where I'm not looking for anything specific. I'm trying to kill time, raise my own self esteem, or vent about my bad day. I couldn't care less that Wedding Cake Supplier X is having a sale or that Male-Enhancement Drug #42 can be overnighted to me for free (one of the downsides of having an androgynous name). Does anyone else even look at this stuff? After a few visits to a specific site, my guess is that most people train their eyes to avoid the ad slots entirely. (No, I have no proof. I am no longer paid to figure that crap out.)

So can I actually justify spending time posting "Jamie just ate a pear - updated 1 minute ago" for the world to see and expect someone else was intrigued by this? And can websites continue to operate on the premise that I'll help keep them in business by soliciting their "partners" while doing so? Apparently. Despite all evidence of futility, I still spend time on these sites "just checking things out" and updating my own profile at least once a week. The current sites grow evermore popular, prepare for +1 billion dollar IPOs, and a new form of social networking launches probably once a week. But, even as I do "network" and sign up for the new "latest and greatest"...I can't help thinking to myself, "I just don't get it." At least I don't click on the ads. Those buzz word generating types aren't getting at least that much outta me, dangit!

Does anyone Train the Busdrivers?

I'd never really taken public transportation before I took my current job in San Francisco. In Baltimore, public transportation just isn't an option. The few offerings the city of your residence had were inefficient, never went anywhere you might want to go, and (at least in Baltimore) were generally filled with unsavory characters. Horror stories of being robbed, stabbed, shot or puked on by a junkie coming down off their high pretty much kept myself and anyone I knew far from city bus lines. I took pride in owning a car (although not so much in keeping it clean) and commuting to work solo, even though I don't really like driving. Even when I moved out to California, I commuted the 33+ miles each way to work every day, as the fabled public transportation systems out here didn't run from where I lived to where I worked in any useful way.

Fast-forward to January, when I started work in San Francisco. And its a nice place to work (the company and the city actually). I discovered during the interview process that rush hour traffic was going to be unmanageable; paired with $30 a day to park there was simply no way I was going to be driving into the city on a regular basis. With a little help from new colleagues, I quickly nailed down an optimized commuter path that includes a 40 minute Caltrain ride over to the express bus (aka the fancy bus) for a 15ish minute ride to work in the morning. Reverse is a bit slower - MUNI to Caltrain - but is still pretty doable. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy this setup. MUNI kinda smells funny, and missing the fancy bus puts me on the ghetto 30/45 lines, but it is so much cheaper than driving and parking. Especially given the price of gas these days. Plus, I get to spend 2 hours a day catching up on email or just reading for fun...something you definitely can't do in a car.

That said, the system is definitely not flawless. I've been yelled at by a bus driver and chastised by a ticket checker on Caltrain. To date, I've made it to the office after 10am at least four times due to "things on the track" or "signal issues", and home after 8pm on at least six occasions. Still, for the convenience and the cost, it hasn't been too bad. At least until Tuesday. I get on Fancy Bus to head to work after an uneventful train ride. About thirty seconds in, I realize we've missed the turn onto Third Street. CRAP! Did they change the route and not tell me?! No, its a new driver, and its his first day. He pulls a U-turn at the next intersection and heads back towards my destination.

And then he asks the lady next to me where the first stop is. And then he tries to turn off my street before he gets to the first OR second stops on that street. Passengers are navigating his every move, he's stopping nowhere near designated giant bus stops...what is going ON? I mean seriously...does no one train these people? If you just handed me the keys to one of these giant buses, chances are I'd have no clue how to make it go. I imagine it doesn't run just like a car...so I'd sit there and look lost and ask for help. As this man obviously could make the bus go...how on earth did he not ever have to review a route sheet?! Does MUNI not have some sort of shadowing program before their drivers start, I dunno, DRIVING? Are bus drivers expected to have some inborn knowledge of San Francisco and MUNI maps, and no body of authority bothers to check and certify these people before inflicting them on unsuspecting passengers? If so, this guy was definitely born without the "SF bus route map" gene. It boggles the mind.

I know what you're thinking...how is this such a big deal? Well, technically its not. This time. I ended up in the general vicinity of my office and was at my desk at a reasonable hour. But had this driver done what he thought was the right thing, I could still be wandering lost and foodless in San Francisco (well, I could be assuming cell service in the city magically died too). I know about as much of this city as can be seen directly from my third floor office window. Which isn't much as Bank of America takes up the vast majority of that eye-line. I'm still taking the public transportation route - bus included - but my faith in the superiority of SF transit options is certainly shaken. At least a little. I hope that driver gets up to speed soon. If he leaves me on the fabled "Castro" street, I might not make it back alive. Or so I've been told.

DirecTV can DIAF

That would be "die in a fire" for the un-WoW geek initiated. And I mean that literally. After the 1+ years of crap they've put me through, I'd gladly watch at least one of their call centers burn down. Preferably with no small children or puppies inside though. Or chinchillas. I like me some chinchillas. Moving on...I signed up for DirecTV as soon as Charles and I moved out here, after I found out how freakin' expensive cable is in the area. Apparently that was my first mistake. So here's a quick rundown of everything that's gone wrong since that fateful signup day.

• Sometime last summer I got a notice that I was "renewed" for NFL Sunday Ticket. Except I've never ordered Sunday Ticket. I don't even watch football. What the heck?
  
• Around the second emailed notification for renewal (July) I called and cancelled this Sunday Ticket. No problem they said. So I considered it done.
  
• August rolls around. I break two bones cycling and spend the better part of the next 2 weeks sleeping in a recliner, passed out from painkillers. I assume Sunday Ticket is cancelled, as I called the month before. Never think to check.
  
• DirecTV autobills me the next three months for Sunday ticket. I call to "cancel" again...only to be told no. Obviously I've watched 3 months worth of it, and they can't give me my money back. WTF? I cancelled in JULY!!
  
• I spend 3 hours and four phone calls of my life arguing with them about the charges. I am yelled at by a petulant low level call center man in some unknown foreign country, accused of trying to get football for free. Seriously, I don't watch football. Eventually they agree to do an account credit rather than refund. Fine...whatever.
  
• I take a job in San Francisco in January. Charles and I move to Foster City in February. I immediately call DirecTV and cancel. No problem. They'll send me a "recovery kit" to the new address and I can send the receiver back. Sweet! Something that works!
  
• Recovery kit never shows. I don't think anything of it. I mean with the stress of work, training for a century, and I dunno...moving...that I didn't think to look for it.
  
• Fast foward to last week. DirecTV charges me $461 for failure to return the receiver. Only the box never came. Their shipping records indicate they sent the spiffy return kit to the old address. Where I don't live. Which I don't own. Where I can't get it. Awesome.
  

I argue with this set of DirecTV people for several hours. End result? They are keeping my $461 until they get my receiver, even though their people made the mistake. They offered to 2-day FedEx me a return box to the new address...only its still not here. Awesome. Again, I made no mistake...they sent the box to the wrong place and I get fined. I hate DirecTV!

And to add insult to injury? Charles tells me he got the original "return kit" from the old address the day we left; its in the laundry room on the shelf. Shockingly, I didn't notice it among all the other cardboard boxes. Moving sucks. *Patiently awaiting the new box so I can get my money back* After all that time spent, I can't return it in the old box on principle.

Stretching is Really Not Good for You

This is not going to be an exercise blog. Seriously. I didn't give this place a spiffy title like "Slimy Underbelly" to lure you all here and then force you to read about the exploits of me in workout clothes. At least not in general. But this was the first week back at the gym, and as such, I have an awful lot to say about it. Bear with me, there are some good Comcast and DirecTV rants to come!

Anyway, Thursday was my first session with the trainer at 24 Hour Fitness. Now I'm typically not a trainer person. At all. I've been going to the gym on and off since my early teens - what exactly is a trainer going to teach me? But in doing my nifty "prepay for 40 years of gym time" signup, the guy gave me $100 off to take 4 training sessions. So...$799 for three years with no trainer, or $699 for three years and 4 personal trainer sessions...I'll take the trainer. Not really a hard call; cheaper is cheaper.

I showed up Thursday morning around 11 at the gym down the street from work, ready to get my workout on. I get suited up (in a nifty Coca-Cola tank top and stretchy pants) and find my very own trainer. And she is approximately 18 and weighs ...90lbs soaking wet. Sweet. Oh well, maybe she's one of those tiny but powerful motivating types....or not... Tell you the truth, I didn't really get to find out. Apparently the first session of physical training mostly involves asking a bunch of questions about my fitness goals, measuring me in more ways than I thought were possibly, and something known only as "the squat test." Once that's all documented, we're "out of time" for session one (go figure) and just have time for some light stretching.

Well, stretching sounds better than nothing, so I traipse downstairs after my petite trainer-type. She reveals that my squat test (haha, that just sounds funny still) indicates that my calves and inner thighs are really tight - likely from cycling, as well as my lats - probably from typing too much. I'm sure all this blogging helps with that! So she busts out the foam roller (oh so reminiscent of physical therapy last year), and proceeds to show me how to roll the knots out of my calves. Wincing and shuddering, I struggle to imitate what she's doing without crying. When that's finally over, we move on to this horrid "mounting of the foam roller" exercise on the floor to work those inner thighs. All I can say is...thank goodness I hadn't identified and accidentally adopted this gym's creepy gym guy. I'm just not ready to share that show with the general public!

A benign set of exercise ball lat-muscle stretches later, and our session is at an end. I change back into something work appropriate and head to the office, kinda disappointed. For all of 24hr Fitness' hype about their trainers, I'd burned 60 minutes plus walk time and had nothing but three stretches to show for it. Not impressive! I'm not even sure I broke a sweat. How can you workout without being sweaty?

And then came Friday morning. Also known as the day I couldn't walk. I have no idea what that tiny trainer did to me, but I swear to you I walked better the day after a 100 mile bike ride than I did last Friday! I mean...it was absurd! Don't even get me started on my utter inability to raise my arms... I thought stretching was a good thing, meant to make your body happy! How can decimating range of motion possibly be the goal of stretching? Is this what happens at yoga? (If so, I'm SO not doing that!) Owie owie owie! I whimpered and whined every time I had to drag myself out of the desk chair...but they've convinced me to go back. I mean, if the trainer can work me that hard on stretches without me knowing until the next day...I'm pretty sure she'll give me a decent workout when we're actually, you know, doing something. (Please no bursting my bubble with tales of "lactic acid" being released...I'm trying to stay positive here!) Session two hits tomorrow, so we shall see...

Isn't the Gym Supposed to Relieve Stress?

As far as I know, people go to the gym to relieve stress. I mean, some have loftier goals of "losing weight" or "toning muscle" or even just a generalized "get in shape", but really people go to the gym for the brain-happy endorphins. Well, except for those weird people who go to the gym trying to pick up other (likely weird) people. I don't get those people at all. But we'll get to that.

So Tuesday night rolls around, and I'm a bit stressy. Actually more than a bit. There were work explosions, Comcast annoyances, wedding irritations, and even a small level of guilt over not having gone to the gym once in almost a week of being signed up. All in all I was about one stubbed toe away from punching random people on the street, and thought what better way to bring the stress level down than the gym? Endorphins make me happy! Yay! I rustled up the Charles and off we went.

Knowing that my arms were going to be weak (I can't tell you the last time I did those physical therapy exercises...shhhhh don't tell) I decided that would be a good place to start. I headed over into meat-head land and planted myself in front of one of those bicep curl pulleys. Moved the weight down to the minimum "default plate" and started lifting. And then came the pain. Looking back, I should have expected this. Stretching my arm all the way out makes my elbow creak pretty much every time. How it never occurred to me that adding weight to the equation might exacerbate the situation is still a mystery.

Pull up....
Creeeeeak
Let down
Poppoppop craaaaaaaack

Well, that's just lovely. I'm lifting 10lb weights (and really should have been doing 5lbs had the machine allowed it) and am sweating like its mid-July on rep 2. And not from exertion, so much as horrid grindy pain. I keep pushing forward; I'm going to do at least two sets. It'll never get better if I don't work it, right? Only all I can think in the back of me head is, "how in the hell is this supposed to be stress relieving?" I mean, I don't feel anything other than annoyed that my arm is still gimpy. Well, annoyed and hot. So I finish out my two sets and head over the shoulder press machine. I mean, if I'm going to be pissy about injuries, better test out how bad that area is doing.

Not surprisingly, the shoulder press is worse. I can remember working up to a whopping 40lbs once upon a time on this machine. I mean, its always been the bane of my existence - I think I was born with abnormally weak shoulders or something. But now I am struggling...and I do mean struggling to lift 10lbs more than once, all the while wincing while my collarbone made the absolute worst. grinding-noise. ever. Freakin' awesome. I swear by this point, I am twice as irritated as when I hit the gym parking lot. Will my upper body function ever get back to normal? This whole destressing thing is just not working for me!

And then there was creepy gym guy. Now, all gyms have a creepy gym guy. Its basically a fact of life. As far as I can remember, I've never been to a gym which didn't have a creepy gym guy. So why does this annoy me? Shouldn't I have expected him? Well, probably. But you have to remember that everything annoys you when you are already upset. Snowball effect or something. And just because you are a creepy gym guy (hereafter CGG), doesn't mean you need to do it around me. But there I was, on the shoulder press machine, irritated as all hell at my collarbone, watching the scrawny ghetto-gangsta wannabe, who likely lives at home while his upper middle class mother pays for his baggy sweatpants and thick gold chain, stares like his life depends on it at this tiny little girl on the hip swivel machine. (Technical term, for sure.) I mean, I would not be in the least bit surprised to find out that the man was drooling the way he looked at this chick.

What do you do with a situation you can't change? Remove yourself from it. So I go downstairs to hit the ab machine, only to find CGG sitting down eye-molesting some lady in a blue bikini at the pool. Great. At least he's not looking at me. So I start doing my crunches, a mere two machines down only to realize at some point that CGG hasn't moved. In awhile. Like...a long while. So I tuuuuuuuurn my head ever so slowly to the right...and all the sudden he's a whirlwind of activity. EEEEWWWWWW! Like watching him ogle women I don't know wasn't bad enough? I had to provide material for him too? GAH!

Shortly after, I hit the ellipticals and actually started to get some happy-brain-drugs kickin. About 15 minutes into my spinny cycle, "Paint it Black" came on the otherwise horrible gym mix and I rocked out, Stones style. By the time I left the gym, I was ever so slightly less stressed than when I went in. All in all, a net gain...but barely.

Another One?

Well, in short...yes. It occurred to me the other day that I have an awful lot to say. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to tell stories. Long stories. In painful amounts of detail. Especially rant-y stories. Those are my favorite. And then I went to the gym on Tuesday night, for the first time in ages, and had a really good story to tell. (Well, at least I thought it was pretty good.) Only, even though it was an exercise story, I couldn't seem to find a spin that would make it a fit for the cycling blog. What do I do?! Torture cycle blog fans about crap they couldn't possibly care less about? Like torturing them about cycling isn't bad enough?

Then again...what if they did care? I mean, the whole concept of blogging revolves around people's self delusions that someone in this world other than themselves *really cares* about what they have to say, right? I'd hate to think I was depriving unknown millions of my wisdom, rants and observations of society's stupidity. I mean, I'm sure there aren't many blogs like that... HA! I can't even think that with a straight face... Still, i can't imagine one more sarcastic voice in blogosphere will really hurt anything (remind me to explain to you someday my utter hatred of words like "blogosphere") - and it might just keep my occupied and out of trouble for a whopping 20 minutes or so at a time.

So, what will you find here? No clue really. This won't be a daily rundown of my trips to the grocery store (unless its a rant about evil ladies with shopping carts) or how my day went at work (unless its an open letter to express my disappointment that the recent San Francisco protestors never made it to my office). I probably won't spend much time covering election '08 action (could you need more than CNN.com provides?) and I have no intention of putting up celebrity pictures and trying to craft cutesy joint names for new couples. Seriously. The plan so far really just includes recording all my "stories"; the funny, the odd, the bizarre and well...the slimy...and seeing how it goes from there. Hopefully at some point I'll be telling them to someone other than just myself (yay for delusions)!