a wrinkle in my Facebook face

I was surprised at the lively thread (well, lively for this modest site) my last post generated, especially since I was only reporting the observations of others about ageism on Facebook. Instead of continuing the comment thread, I thought I would address a few points raised by commentators in this follow-up post.

Yule, anne, and rr mentioned their cordial reception by and relations with the “pioneers” of Facebook denizens: the young. They also noted that in the off-line world (shouldn’t I be saying something like the “real” world?) had the same quality of cordiality, of give and take and receptiveness to each other’s views and worlds, real and otherwise constructed.

Well, going by anecdotal evidence, which is the basis of opinion (and that’s all I am airing here, rather than sharing knowledge knitted together by the chain link of facts) I can say that in some corners — probably the more leafy ones — in the world, there is a big yuck factor when it comes to the interactions between young and old, seeing how they have been segregated the last couple of decades in the suburbs.

Where I live, in a suburb in a rather privileged enclave in the US, a teenager can live for weeks, or even months, without ever having to come into contact with a senior citizen — unless that senior citizen happens to be his or her father raising his second, or even third family…. Though there are old people scattered around in the neighborhood (and you can pretty much guess where they live by the un-remodeled state of their houses and landscapes), kids don’t play on the streets here, nor do they take on jobs such as mowing lawns or walking dogs. No, they are usually too busy being shuttled by their parents from one educational activity to another, or, if they are driving, they go from one party to another, working on their drinking skills with great enthusiasm.

So yes, the old are aliens to them, and if they do visit their grandparents in the retirement community where the hallways smell or the sounds coming from the acute care wing sound not quite human, they are bewildered and frightened, and so they will react with disgust.

As for the generation that is their own parents … don’t get me started on that one. Okay, that was a rhetorical turn, so here we go: The insularity of this community (and others like it) is such that many of its residents believe that somehow they are exempt from the passage of time. So, yes, to answer Yule’s second comment in the previous post, many of the adults teenagers see in this community have failed to assume their authority as grownups, let alone as parents.

I keep hearing about parties int he neighborhood for teens where the alcohol is freely supplied by parents who are either afraid to exercise authority or are desperate to hang on to some notion of friendship with their child. I keep seeing women in their fifties in the shopping malls dressed in clothes that were designed for their daughters, while their daughters saunter behind them, at some distance, in a pair of ordinary jeans and a plain T-shirt.

All this is, of course, anecdotal — but since I am caught in the twilight zone of middle age myself, with old age looming visibly on the horizon, I am not partial. And I hope that I am not in denial either. Still, my children have seen their share of adults who are that only nominally and on their driver’s licenses. They know this is not right, and so they must have a few questions about respect and authority that are challenging to answer around here.

I can definitely say that my children were not happy about my foray into Facebook. Though one of their friends made me his “friend” as soon as I signed up, it was as a joke, as I found out later.

The irony of this is that I was part of social networks before they even knew what the Internet was. I was the one who taught them about cyberspace…. But, given the examples of the social networks of the physical community in which they live, I wouldn’t be surprised if they, too, would have joined some group or other declaring that old people suck. What other recourse do most of them have for rebellion, in spite (or, rather because) of their privileges and resources?

I am not saying this to condone hate speech or to make excuse for the “kids acting up.” Instead, I see in this yet another symptom of some larger disease gnawing at the structure, leaching the strength from the bones.

We, the old folks, have the right to make Facebook our own, as much as the “kids” have a right to make a space for themselves in the world we keep so closely guarded from them.

when everything new is old again

♣ See update at the end of the post for a more in-depth take on the subject!

Ronni at Time Goes By has written an excellent post on the free reign elder-bashing seems to enjoy across Facebook. She points out that were you to substitute the terms “women,” “blacks” or others for “old people,” your noxious posts would be whitewashed in an instant. But anything goes, it seems, when it comes to “old people.”

I must admit, when I first signed on to Facebook, I felt a bit like a teenager sneaking into the house late at night, hoping not to wake up the parents — or, in this case, catch the attention of the kids. Reading the quotes Ronni gathered from Facebook makes the blood run cold in my veins, as does the realization that you can’t delete your account on Facebook, only deactivate it. (In some strange way, this maybe a blessing for the old-hating young whose words may well come back to bite them in their eventually sagging asses…)

Here is Ronni’s plea for other elder Facebook users to speak up for change:

It would be good if other elder Facebook members would write on their own blogs about the site’s tolerance of ageist bigotry and join Crabby in canceling accounts and writing to Facebook.

Nothing like this ever changes unless you make a lot of noise about it.

As I was reading Ronni’s post, I must say that my first reaction was to cut and run from Facebook, but I think I’ll stay on as an irritant to those whose allergies include violent reactions to the old (meaning anyone over 21, probably….)

UPDATE: Paul on the Elders Tribune decided to go to the source and joined a number of these “elder hate groups” on Facebook. He found, like Yule in the comments to this post, that a lot of what motivates the forming of these groups is the drive for tribe, and not the target of its banner under which it gathers. In other words, it’s about the sense of belonging by acting up, not acting on…..

friday follies

♣ ONE

Would this sort of thing qualify as extreme yoga in some corners?

♣ TWO

How about this snippet to illustrate that there are a lot of Americans who have adopted that notion of living in the moment:

According to the Employee Benefit Research Institute’s 2005 Retirement Confidence Survey, fewer than half of all Americans age 55 and older have even $45,000 saved up for retirement. In fact, excluding home equity, the median net worth of retirement-age Americans is closer to $30,000 — which explains why their savings suffice to fund only 11% of their living costs.

Of course, one should read the above with the obvious question in mind: does this study assume that retirees living costs remain the same a they were before retirement? I should think not … because that would make them prone to living in the past!

♣ THREE

And, since we are on the subject of ruin, how’s this for a lighter take on a wish gone wrong or, depending on your perspective, cosmic justice:

Dan Reynolds: How Aging Affects Belt Height

apple polish

My older son’s 15″ PowerBook decided to go to sleep randomly in response to spikes in heat, which, according to some widget he uses to track these things, topped at 250 degrees at times. I suppose, Apple, like some men who don’t need (and won’t take) directions, believes that real computers don’t need fans to be cool. But that is another topic….

Not having access to an Apple store and its Genius Bar, my son sent the afflicted machine home for me to deal with in the wake of the recent mob scenes for iPhones at the local Apple stores. It took some doing, a couple of trips to the store and then, later, at home, trying to log on the concierge service before I managed to snag an appointment days ahead for what amounts to dropping off a sick machine, rather than trying to find out how to use my iTunes, or why my trial software won’t work anymore (as was the case for the people hogging the counter before my appointment.)

I was advised to get to the store there at least 5 minutes before my appointment, which I did. Oh what a zoo greeted me, with at least 20 green-T’ed Apple workers running around amidst the crowds, most of whom were there to return non-functioning iPhones and iPods. There were at least three of us with machines in tow, but no one called us as we loitered and stood our ground when it came to the tempting new shiny things in the store, all of them strategically displayed wherever one looked. It seems that the priority at the Genius Bar was given to the iPhone holders, then tho those who had iPods — all in the order of the latest Apple bling product.

As I waited, I had plenty of time to speculate about this apparent policy and what its connection might be to Apple’s overall corporate strategy, not to mention the high price of its stock. A quiet desperation took hold of me as I pondered the similarity between waiting in line at the Genius Bar and the doctor’s office and how perhaps there was something similar between the US medical system model, given how many private physicians are going the “concierge” route here, and the state of personal computing at Apple… well, you can see that this kind of idling in line can lead to all sorts of mischief. Heck, revolutions have been started by people with nothing to look forward to but more wasted time standing in lines…. Not that I am ready to embrace Linux on a homemade box yet! It’s not that I don’t have a sense of adventure; it’s just that I keep wanting to believe that personal computers and computing should be getting easier with the years. Oh well, call me an incurable optimist. At least when it comes to thinking of tools as just that: tools!

Eventually, my turn came. The guy who helped me was super, I have to admit. He made me forget the long wait and treated me like a human being — well, like a worried parent. The sick computer is off to the Mac hospital and I am hoping that it will come home much refreshed and cooler — as cool as the image Apple manages to keep shining forth.

light in the garden

Last night, we had dinner with friends. Three couples, all of us teetering at the edge of the “empty nest.” We sat in a garden under flawless blue skies, the moon rising. As the sun sat, the yellow lilies at the edge of the patio glowed brighter, as if they had drained the last drops of the sun of all its colors. Briefly we talked about the gratitude we felt to be experiencing such beauty, such plenitude.

Then, I had too many glasses of sangria. The sun-filled lilies and the moon-washed skies were soon forgotten. We went from that appreciation of the moment to the timeless arid spaces of chatter. Not that we didn’t have fun with all that…. But for that moment earlier in the evening when we all felt grateful to be sitting on that patio in such abundance and peace, we shared something deeper than those concerns about our children and lives that we chatted about well into the dark and depthless skies of the night.

evicted, without notice

For months now I have been wringing those proverbial hands wondering what to do about my old blog, alembic, which I have maintained since 2002. Then, fate intervened. The hosting company went all upscale and businesslike and pulled the rug from all virtual hosting accounts. The only problem is that if there was any notification about the impeding eviction, it was in a virtual form.  Which means that alembic and its full archives are gone. Just the way I suggested it would happen in that last post and just the way I wanted it to be.

Be mindful what you wish for, because you just might have that wish granted. Then you have to live with the consequences.

smokeless in marin

The rich are different … at least in the tony town of Ross in Marin. While a good part of the world is struggling to get by in the smoke of war, destruction, and pollution, these “poor” folks in Ross, used to service and special treatment, think that the best way to deal with the cigarette smoke wafting form a neighbor’s yard is o have a law that forbids smoking in one’s own yard. What next, an ordinance against farting, as one prolific letter-writer to the editor has already remarked.

And we wonder why we in Marin are the butt of so many jokes….

looking for bodhi

For some reason, today I was seized by a desire to have a Buddha among the peppers in my garden. I went all over town looking for that one Buddha. Instead, there were many, each the same copies of each other gracing different display cases in different stores. Except for the one store that was closed. Peering through the darkened glass, I saw row upon row of the same Buddhas, eyes closed, the smile unmistakable.

I came home without a Buddha — and the familiar ring in my ear of that ancestral warning of Abraham about images.

Outside in the garden, peppers continued to glisten and grow ever so slowly in the sun.

upside down, it’s the same thing

I am off for a weekend of yoga. In my mind, I see rooms filled with smiling practitioners, all of us together in spirit and yet apart in our own discovery of the subject. I hear from sources that though the flesh is willing, the spirit is one of discontent at this conference. Who knew that the worldly world of yoga is as filled with pettiness as any self-respecting high school clique can muster and master in a moment.

The only poses I will be assuming will be the ones on the mat. The rest of the time, I am hanging out with my friend. I’ll try my best not to disturb the world nor be disturbed by it (Bhagavad Gita).

flap in the wind

Elsewhere storms charge reports from the day with flashes of poetry. Here, all is calm in the rosy cast of sun that filtered through thin layers of fog. The only not of aggression comes from the mourning dove that has made himself at home in the bowl of gourmet bird seed, rattling its span of wings at the small bevy of the gruff scrub jays and at the smaller birds that dart in and out of the maze of branches of the eastern red cedars. Who knew doves could be such fierce warriors, even in the midst of such plenitude as the one in which I keep for these birds on my deck?