Review: Lies

I read this book with an open mind. I was gob smacked. That this could happen in the 21st century is perverted and wrong. Technology is a good thing -- or not. In Logan's world, technology is equated with laziness and getting their man. The teacher who is central to this scenario is thrown on the bonfire  and nearly loses his freedom.  

How would you react in this situation? Try to find the missing husband to clear yourself or turn yourself in to the police and wait for them to fashion a noose, put it around your neck, and drop you through the hole in the scaffold? That is what his attorney wants him to do and which he fails to do on every score. That is what makes Logan's book not only timely but all too real. 

The police and his boss at the school were more interested in Facebook and what they wanted him to do to protect their "face". At least the Japanese allowed you to commit hara kiri, kill yourself with your own hand, before you lose, and consequently they, lose face. Put your job/social status/and everyone else first. That is also what is so disturbing about this book. It looks like the bad guy is winning. 

Do not be disturbed. In the end, the bad guy loses in a surprising twist that pits a child against the oh-so-smart adults. Bravo! T. M. Logan has indeed put together a killer plot with a unlooked for surprise ending. If only the main protagonist had followed his first thought, the book would have been over sooner and would not have ended with such a kick in the head. 
 
I've not read anything else T. M. Logan has written, but I applus this first evidence of a ripping story.  I will look for his books in the future. I need something else as good to read. And I'm always reading.

Anybody There?

Another friend told me the other day they were deleting their blog. "Nobody reads it any more. I get more comments and feedback on Facebook no matter what I post."

"So," I said, "you're tired of being ignored and want that instant gratification."

"No. That's not it."

Methinks they did protest too much.

Who doesn't like comments? Who doesn't like to know they're being read -- and heard? Who doesn't tap the mic when no stops what they're doing or turns to face them when they speak?

We all do. I'm no different from you. I like to know that someone is paying attention, someone other than the faithful readers who always comment -- or mostly comment when they have time from their own posting and waiting and hoping someone acknowledges them.

Thank you, faithful readers. I appreciate every one of you. Even when you never comment.

I decided a long time ago that I would write what moves me, what I want to share, and even what tickles me and not care when people respond. Someone will see the leaves I write on and give to the winds and if they don't . . . . Well, it shouldn't matter. That leaves me free to be me, free to say what I choose without worrying about  offending someone (usually everyone). I don't worry about pleasing everyone either, although I do take some pains to take the best pictures I possibly can and choosing a picture that illustrates what I write and pleases my asthetic senses. Okay, I do that for you and not so much for me because I can enjoy reading without the pictures. I also do it a bit for me because I like to exercise the artistic part of myself. So, yes, it is a selfish thing, just like writing what is on my mind.

I learned during my time on Facebook that the instant gratification of quick responses and lots of likes that it feels good to have proof that people are paying attention, that the mic is on and transmitting. I also found out that I draw the loons more often than not and that most immediate responses are from people who don't really care what I write. They care that they are paying just enough attention to acknowledge that I'm writing so I will pay attention to them. They really don't read, digest, or often even understand what I write. Moreover, they don't really care because they are doing their best to make sure that people notice them. A pat on the back even when there is nothing more than the fleeting thought someone is there under their hand is sufficient, especially if that person actually likes their comments and posts and acknowledges that they are being read. Or heard. They want to be noticed whether you get noticed or not.

That is not the case with a good friend of mine who stopped reading my posts because I would engage in unthinkable -- and often unconscionable -- behavior. I actually debated and discussed issues with people who flamed, yelled, and sought to change my mind. Had we been in the same room, the opposition would have begun yelling and gesticulating while calling me an idiot and a mindless sheep only aware enough to follow the wooly hind quarters in front of me. Through all the ranting and name-calling, I remained calm and logical and respectful, even when my opponents did not. When things got too far out of hand I would chide them, remind them to respect my rules, and then, when they inevitably continued on their tirade while frothing at the mouth and wishing they could hit me in the face or over the head with a hard and heavy object, I would shut them down. I blocked them. He was upset because I was being savaged and did not seem to realize it. I still smile at his chivalrous care of me. I made him angry by giving the nut jobs on both sides of the discussion space and time and my attention and not being there to defend me. I think he would have waded into the debate and beat them to a bloody pulp had we been standing in the same room. He's a gentleman like that.

He finally had to stop paying attention so it wouldn't make him angry enough to hit someone. I understood. He's a good man and that is not something I say about a lot of men -- or women for that matter. He pays attention. He listens. He reads. Even when he seldom comments, and most especially when he does comment, he cares. We often get into spirited debates that stir the blood and flush my cheeks. No doubt they flush his cheeks too, but you don't say such things about a GUY.

It's funny in a way. We were aware of each other all through high school, but didn't run with the same crowd. I sailed through the halls with a smile and he sailed through the halls usually high and sometimes drunk. He was an excellent student, but he was one of the hippie types with long hair and jeans with tattered ends He is still a bit of a hippie, wearing ankle bracelets, though his hair is mostly gone. He's still a handsome man. I thought he was cute in high school, but I was more intent on studying than dating.

Oh, don't think I didn't date, that I was one of THOSE nerds. Not at all. I dated a number of guys and met my first husband in high school playing Euchre during lunch. I was the only girl in the history of the school that was allowed to play Euchre with the guys at lunch, and one of the few girls who took the game seriously enough that I was invited to play in their homes. They eagerly included me whenever they played, even if it was in my house. My friend wasn't one of those guys. He was busy frying other fish, but we were aware of each other. That was enough then. Now we call each other frequently and sometimes talk for hours, changing subjects quickly, sliding from music to politics to finances to every topic under the sun -- and a few under the stars and moon. We are friends. He listens. He reads. He pays attention. Between us, the mic is always on.

Do  I care if anyone reads my posts? Yes, but not THAT much. I don't care if they comment, and they rarely do. What I care about is that I am writing my words on leaves and tossing them to the winds to land wherever they will. If someone picks up the leaf and reads what I have written, it is enough. If the leaf dries and crumbles to duff and dust, that's all right too. I sent my words on the wind and the wind spreads them.

I am reminded of something one of my teachers told me. "It's enough that over all the decades of teaching, a couple people pay attention, and at least one gets something useful out of it." Now that I have turned 60, I understand that so much better. Not just the words, but the sentiment and the emotion. If a couple people read my words and just one gets something useful from my mental meanderings, it is enough. It is like an author whose work I have edited telling me that they thank me as they rewrite their book, thank me for giving them something useful they can use.

That is all. Disperse.

Take Time to Consider

Posts about sensitivity towards people with incurable diseases abound today. People posting about how someone suggested an alternative method of treatment and not taking pharmacological remedies because they are poison made someone feel hurt and misunderstood. These people would be healthy if they could and they use those poison medicines because the alternative is death. We all want to live. We all want to be healthy. That's not going to happen.

We are a divided people, divided about politics, health care, gender, economics, race, color, creed, legal status, immigration, food . . . everything. The smaller this world grows the touchier become its people. Information that would have once taken weeks or months or even years to circulate now takes moments and the emotional backlash is even faster. We are connected by technology and disconnected from our humanity -- and our commonality. Tolerance is now merely a word and it is used like a sword to cleave Us from Them. We have lost the human touch in this dizzying drive of technological advances.

We see starving children with the click of a few keys and in real time or on video in seconds. We see the devastation of war and blood of rebels flowing red and real across the screen. The final moments of a terrorist's death as his shattered skull and brains like pink and gray pudding spill onto the ground can be seen everywhere and people all over the world rush to click and link to share the carnage. We live in Rome and the coliseum is on our laps and desk in hundreds of colors through our technological window on the world, but what have we gained? 

What we've lost is far more important. We have lost compassion and understanding. We have lost our humanity.

Cacti have nothing on us when it comes to prickles. Like cats backed into a corner, our back fur is up, the claws are out, and razor sharp teeth are bared. We go from placid to spitting fury in seconds. Like. Comment. Recriminate. Attack, attack, attack!

Life and learning are evolutionary processes. We change with everything we read and every time we interact with someone. With technologiy, slander is common. Libel even more so. Lies are difficult to unravel even with light speed communication. The nuances of facial expression, body language, and tone of voice are lost. Miscommunication is the order of the day and we are alwasy set to Defcon 1.

In a kinder, gentler world not far in the past, diseases like lupus, fibromyalgia, and other diseases that come from the degradation and breakdown of the immune system were rare; our understanding of such devastating diseases was limited. These diseases are commonplace and I defy anyone to tell me they don't know or haven't heard of at least one person of their acquaintance who is a victim.

It all comes down to victims. Where once the idea of being a victim was anathema, we embrace being a victim. After all, being a victim ensures attention -- a lot of attention -- in this computer linked world where people go from calm to emotional meltdown in 35 seconds flat. I wish I had a car that had that kind of pickup and go. Do I want that kind of emotional speed? Not so much. I find it difficult to reason or engage the thinking and analytic parts of my brain when that much emotion is in force.

Everyone wants to be a victim. Victims get perks like millions of dollars in lawsuits. Victims get sympathy and hundreds or even thousands of Likes and Shares on Facebook. Victims accrue more friends who will spend hours interacting and spreading the word on Twitter, Facebook, and tens of thousands of blogs. Some are lucky enough to have sufficient video skills to make and post live time evidence of their life -- their pain and often their suicidal wishes and deaths -- on YouTube and hundreds of other video sharing sites. Victims are celebrities that people will talk about for days -- even weeks. The Internet keeps old news new and circulating. Victims are special.

But they're not. Victims are a penny (while we still have the penny) a baker's dozen. There's always a new victim just down the page as you scroll. And yet those same people refuse to accept being victims of cancer. They are cancer survivors.

For my friends, and I have several, who have immune compromised diseases, stop and think about the person offering you a different way to deal with your disease. If they are friends or family, they likely hurt because you hurt and they want to find a way to end your pain. That they don't know how to offer their suggestions in a more compassionate way, chalk up to the sterility of technological communication. The words would be the same if they held your hand and sat next to you on the sofa, but the concern in their voice, the love and caring in their eyes, and their body language would explain more than their words can say. They love you. They care about you. They want to help you. They spent time looking at and reading information about how to help you on the Internet. That they cannot share their findings in person should not change the message or their emotional investment. They care.

The Internet provides a million cures and solutions for every problem we face. Sifting through all the information is a Herculean task more difficult than taking Atlas's place holding up the sky. That takes experience and time -- a lot of time. Everyone has a different slant and all the technology that permeates our lives planted the seed of need to return to a simpler time when herbs, roots, bark, and berries could solve all our health problems. The cures -- or at least the results -- would not be as dramatic as those modern medicine offers, but would doubtless be gentler. These caring people are offering you a kinder and gentler way to be whole and healthy.

As humans, reaching each higher level on the social and evolutionary ladder makes us long for the simple golden days of our youth or of past generations. It takes time to get used to every advance in knowledge and technology. Nowadays, we have no time to get used to the advances because everything happens so quickly we have barely enough time to get settled and get our heads around what is new.  Civilization took millions of years to get to this point, but at no time -- at least in recorded history -- have changes happened so swiftly. Such tectonic shifts are unsettling to mind and body as we can see if we look up from the computer screen long enough to glance around.

The problem is that with all the time we save through technology, we have no time -- and even less attention for the details, research, and painstaking information mining. The FDA approves drugs for the consumer market with a glacial pace by contrast.

What we miss is the human touch. Connected by technology, we are isolated by that same technology. We are frayed to the point of breaking. Is it any wonder we cannot see the intent or the people behind the words?

Take care before you go to Defcon 1 and fire an emotional missile. Take a moment and think about the person you're targeting with your barrage of angry words and hurt feelings before you take them off your friends list. Does that person care about you? Do they care enough to want you to feel better and be able to go out and have fun or visit or just move about as you once did? Would they take away your pain if they could? If you can answer yes to any of these questions, might it also be true that the person cares enough to have taken the time to read and send information that purportedly offers a cure for your ailment or something that would alleviate your pain and suffering? Maybe you should thank them for their concern and for their time and check out what they've sent. You can still take whatever modern medicine you're on without taking offense at your friend's or family member's concern.

Someone posted, "What don't you get about incurable disease?" Leukemia was once an incurable disease. Some people still die, but being diagnosed with leukemia is less often a death sentence. Spanish influenzae killed thousands in the wake of World War I, but not any more. Polio crippled and children born with Down syndrome were mentally retarded. Not any more. Hundreds, even thousands, of diseases once thought incurable have been cured -- are being cured every day. Incurable simply means we don't have the answer today.  There might be an answer tomorrow.

As I have said so many times, it is always about perspective. If your mind is made up that anyone who offers you an alternative treatment to your disease is insensitive and intends to hurt you, then you will believe they are insensitive and feel hurt. You choose to be hurt and you cast the other person into hell. It's the perspective. You perceive -- you see -- what you want to see and are not disappointed when you get it.  The technological marvel of instant communication makes certain you get from calm to frothing rage in 35 seconds flat. Sometimes even quicker. The other person's perspective is one of desiring to help. What about their perspective?

Consider the person, not yourself, but the other person. Think about what their intent really is and accept their suggestions or offers of help in the same spirit in which it is offered -- in compassion and caring -- and love. You can get from outrage to love in 3 seconds when you stop to consider the other person. I doubt your enemies or a villain would take the time to look for, read, and send you what they perceive as help if they intend to harm or hurt you.  There are quicker ways to cause harm. All you need do is go online and click the like button or offer a nasty comment. Frothing rage will be yours in 35 seconds.

Stop. Think. Err on the side of calm. Rage can wait.