It's one of those things that you think will never happen to your family. My wife and I just discovered that our thirteen year-old daughter may have an addiction problem. It's not alcohol or drugs, but she is in the grip of one of the most insidious and powerful substances out on the street today. She's hooked on text messaging.

Things all started innocently enough for us on the digital highway. At age 8, our daughter joined the online social networking site, Club Penguin, where she played games to earn coins to buy pets, furniture, igloos and clothes. Who doesn’t need new furniture for their igloo?

Two years later, she graduated to e-mail, but since we controlled all access to the computer, she was only allowed small windows of opportunity after school each day. Of course, one of the big decisions was whether to read her e-mails, as a parent's concern for their children's safety often clashes with the concept of personal privacy. But forget 1984 and Big Brother, it's Big Mother and Father, now.

Then, came the revolution. She got a cell phone in 6th grade, after non-stop begging, cajoling, and insisting she was the only one in her class who didn't have one (not true). Kids know all the tricks in wearing their parents out, it's a continuous, relentless assault that breaks down your defenses. We can justify it with the, “now, she can always get in touch with us and vice versa,” which is true, but it also means that she’s not only on our speed dial, but hooked up with the rest of the world, too.

First, having a cell phone was just about calling her friends and phones aren’t allowed on her school’s campus, so she could only use it at home, which she did with a vengeance. Since she was getting straight A's in school, playing three sports, being a relatively good citizen in the world (not at home, where teenage girls feel free to release their hormonal demons on their parents on a daily basis), it seemed like the phone wasn't causing any real harm, even if at times, we wanted to surgically remove it from her ear.

Things took a radical turn in 7th grade. She started pleading for a text-messaging package and we agreed, setting her limit at 1,500 per month. Then, it became 2,500, and once we saw the overages on our bills, we went with an unlimited plan, especially since my wife and I are all on the same media plan with her. But we soon found out that if there is such a thing as digital dependence, texting is the gateway drug.

The big wake-up call came in the summer, when we decided to put Smart Limits on her cell phone account, as a way to get her attention when she deserved a consequence (punishment) for some major behavioral transgression. You want to get a teenager’s interest, mess with their cell phones. As per their policy, the following week, the phone company sent us her usage records for the previous month. And there it was, no way to deny it. She had made or received 27,000 text messages. Yes, that’s 27 with three zero’s.

27,000 thousand in a month? 900 per day? How could she possibly do that? And how could we possibly allow it? This was no longer one of those "oh, these kids today" things, we realized we had to learn more about the world of adolescent media and do it fast, so we could make informed decisions and choices about setting limits.

According to Common Sense Media, a non-profit organization that addresses the profound impact that media and entertainment have on the social, emotional and physical development of our children, media has truly become “the other parent” in our kids’ lives, powerfully affecting their mental, physical and social development.

The other parent? I didn't like the sound of that. When did my wife and I become part of a trio and who invited in this stranger, who clearly did not seem to have our daughter's best interests at heart? Rather than overreact, I decided to dig deeper into the research.

In a recent national survey, nearly half (47%) of US teens say their social life would end or be worsened without their cell phone, and nearly six in 10 (57%) credit their mobile device with improving their life. So now you don’t have to get a life, you just have to get a phone.

A majority (57%) of teens view their cell phone as the key to their social life. Second only to clothing, teens say, a person’s cell phone tells the most about their social status or popularity, outranking jewelry, watches and shoes. So shopping at Abercrombie & Fitch shouldn’t matter now that she has a cell phone, right? I’m just surprised A & F hasn’t rolled out their own model yet, one you can smell from 100 yards away.

Currently, more 1 billion texts are sent each day and studies now confirm that texting is increasingly replacing talking among teenagers, as teens admitted spending nearly an equal amount of time talking as they do texting each month. One of the things that really bothers me, especially as a writer, is that our kids strip-mining the art of language, where communication is reduced to the barest minimum of letters and numbers. What kind of in-depth connection can you have with someone using digital smoke signals?

MIT psychologist Sherry Turkle has spent three years studying teenage texting, and she believes it could be causing a change in adolescent development patterns.

“Among the jobs of adolescence are to separate from your parents, and to find the peace and quiet to become the person you decide you want to be,” she explained. “Texting hits directly at both those jobs.”

Another potential psychological side effect of incessant texting may be the inability to concentrate on thoughts and tasks that require continued focus.

“If you’re being deluged by constant communication, the pressure to answer immediately is quite high,” Turkle added. “So if you’re in the middle of a thought, forget it.”

As for the 27,000 messages in a month, I did realize some things that put it into perspective. Imagine all the verbal conversations we have with other adults and break them down to one sentence at a time. A simple five-minute chat might equal a hundred exchanges. Multiply that by the numerous verbal interactions (and for that matter, e-mails), we have every day and the numbers start to add up pretty fast. Plus, during summertime, with no school or organized sports, our daughter had 9 hours of additional free time and no homework. It was the perfect storm for 2 months at Camp Textarama.

In my mind, texting is like fast food or sweets, they may taste good, but we don't let our children eat unlimited amounts of them. Like many decisions facing teenager today, my wife and I can't expect our daughter to establish age-appropriate limits and boundaries all on her own, it's just not realistic. It’s our responsibility to set them and she can gradually earn the privilege to start making more of her own choices. By establishing a dialogue, we also leave the lines of communication open for future conversations and negotiations.

"Texting is totally portable, private, and immediate,” says Joseph Porus, VP & chief architect, Technology Group, Harris Interactive. “Kids can send messages to anyone from anywhere at anytime. In other words, they have no boundaries unless we help them to establish some. Almost no research has been done on the impact of immediate communication on our kids' social development. But the instant gratification factor of getting instantaneous responses from friends has to have some affect.”

“Any parent who has been at the dinner table or on a hike with a child only to have their pockets buzz with an incoming message knows that texts take your kids out of the moment they are in and connect them to distant friends. Texts can be used to keep friends close, help parents figure out family logistics, and offer a wonderful way to share experiences. But as with any powerful tool, kids have to know that the abusing the privilege of texting will have consequences."

Once she was back in school, new limits were set on texting and other screen time, too. I check with our service provider regularly and her text usage is now down to about14,000 per month. Thanks to our initial intervention, there’s been some progress in detox.

There’s also been a surprise bonus in all this. I’ve found that communicating with my daughter via text removes much of the intensity and friction that arises during way too many of our everyday conversations. In fact, the other day, I dared to text, “I love you” to her and she replied, lyt. Haven’t heard those words in a long time.

The reality is that media is going to be a major part of our children’s lives, and beyond the challenge of parents having to try to keep up to date on the latest hardware and software, one other constant will remain; how to work out agreements using plain, old common sense. On second thought, upgrade that to Common Sense 2.0.

So as we prepare for an ongoing series of technology summits, I just have one question for this other parent.

r u w/us or agnst us?

THE OTHER WOMAN

I'm cheating on my wife. And not only doesn't she care, she's crazy about my girlfriend, too.

We met three weeks ago and it was love at first sight. A gorgeous strawberry blonde, with soulful eyes, life of the party personality and a natural inclination for mischief, she was a good girl and bad girl all rolled into one. How could I resist? She had me at "hello."

So meet my new heart throb. Her full name is Smore Le'ale'a Livya the Shnook, but we call her Layla. Yep, already got me on me knees.

WHAT'S THE SAD NEWS?

I'm not used to writing obituaries, but given the person involved, this one's more like an Irish Wake, except the deceased would have a few drinks and deliver the eulogy himself.

George Carlin passed away on Sunday at the age of 71. 71? Jeez, that makes me feel old because I spent a good part of my Wonder Years listening to him and if you're old enough to remember the Seventies, we weren't quite as innocent as Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper.

Carlin was an artist, his canvas was words. He was sophisticated and street smart, inane and profane, incisive and divisive, frightful and delightful. Like another comic genius, Richard Pryor, he never lost his edge and as much as I loved the wild and crazy years of Steve Martin, the young and raw Eddie Murphy and the improvisational brilliance of Robin Williams (OK, he's still got it), middle-age also mellowed them out to the point where they were pumping out cinematic classics like Cheaper By the Dozen, Daddy Daycare and License to Wed.

Amongst my generation, some of Carlin's routines and punch lines remain cultural references such as "Tonight's forecast: dark, with increasing light towards morning. Tomorrow's high, when I get up." Oxymorons like: "Jumbo Shrimp and Military Intelligence." And of course, there were the Seven Words You Can't Say on Television. But one of my all-time favorite lines was when someone asked Carlin what happened to his long hair. "It's still long on the inside," he replied.

So RIP, Class Clown. I'm sure you're up in Heaven telling God to get his BLEEP together. As for those other Six Words, bet you're saving them for George Bush. Then again, you probably won't find him at the Pearly Gates.

Seven Words You Can't Say On Television
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GB59GLjhR1c&feature=related

BOSTON CREAMED PIE

Well, the Fat Lady sure sang during Game 6 of the NBA Finals. In fact, since the game was essentially over in the second quarter, she actually did two sets and an encore.

Having watched my usual diet of hundreds of NBA games during the 2007-08 season, here are some final thoughts on the Finals and the year that was.

While Boston proved that they were clearly the better team, considering all the drama and hype of a match-up between the Lakers and Celtics, the series was rather anti-climatic. Having worked for the NBA in the Eighties, I was there in person for the classic Bird/Magic battles and this series wasn't even close to that caliber. The Lakers didn't exactly rise to the occasion, especially in Game 4, where they recorded the greatest choke job in Finals history. George Custer could have outcoached Phil Jackson and the geeks color war team in Revenge of the Nerds showed more fortitude and guts than the Lakers in crunch time. And the heralded LA bench wasn't a non-factor, it was non-existent, while James Posey, Eddie House and PJ Brown were busy making Doc Rivers look like a cross between Red Auerbach and Albert Einstein. Gotta give Doc credit, he looks good in Gatorade, too.

Kobe Bryant, the league's MVP and the most unstoppable force in the game, was stifled for most of the series and he spent more time yelling at the refs than taking the ball to the rim. Yes, he had 2-3 guys on him every time he entered the lane, but that never seemed to stop him during the regular season. Is Boston that good a defensive team? Maybe, because the Celtics defense seemed to wear him down to the point where he was settling for off-balance fadeaway jumpers. But you can be sure the next time James Posey is guarding him, Kobe is going for 50, even if he has to take 50 shots.

This series also proved that the trades for Allen and especially Garnett were the Deals of the Century. I heard on sportstalk radio yesterday that Danny Ainge shouldn't be NBA Executive of the Year, more like Kevin McHale. And Paul Pierce proved that he is a prime-time player. His game may not be as pretty as some All-Stars, but it is damn effective. Of course, that whole wheelchair thing was ridiculous and comparing him to Willis Reed dragging his leg in Game 7 against the Lakers is a joke. Willis didn't come bouncing back out of the locker room like a young Muhammad Ali.

So Michael Jordan's legacy remains untouched, although neither Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom will ever be confused with Scottie Pippen (somebody needs to explain to Odom that it's a 48 minute game and Gasol needs to hit the weight room and work on that beard, which is not NBA caliber grooming). In the long run, LA just never showed the heart of a champion and when the Big Three stepped up in the Finals, Kobe's supporting cast wilted under pressure. Should have eaten their Wheaties.

You would not believe how often I had to defend the officials over the past 10 days. Every time someone asked me if I thought that the refs were altering the outcome of certain games based on a mandate from the league, I had a simple answer. NFW! The media is always looking for controversy and conspiracy, but this one doesn't fly. Do officials make bad calls and bad non-calls? Definitely. Do they sometimes give superstars preferential treatment or are influenced by the home crowd? Certainly. But purposefully determining the outcome of games? C'mon, get serious. Let's remember that these unsubstantiated allegations come from a criminal named Tim Donaghy, who will soon be officiating inter-cellblock games. Wait until he sees how those players deal with suspicious calls.

I loved the fact the NBA assigned Dick Bavetta to work Game 5. Kind of David Stern's way of saying "may you be fruitful and multiply" to all the doubters. I've always liked Bavetta, especially when he was caught on camera telling then-Celtic Bill Walton, "shut up, you big crybaby!" Of course, kissing Charles Barkley at All-Star Weekend is another story, but what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

ABC must have been thrilled to get a Game 6. They did a pretty good job, but I didn't enjoy listening to the announcing team of Mike Breen, Mark Jackson and Jeff Van Gundy at all. I'll take TNT's Marv Albert and Reggie Miller or ESPN's Mike Tirico and Hubie Brown anyday. Jackson is too straightforward and ho-hum while Van Gundy reminds me of the guy in high school who thinks he's smart and funny, but nobody likes. And I'm still trying to figure out what the heck Kevin Garnett said to Michelle Tafoya after Game 6. It would have taken about 20 Valium to get the Big Ticket to speak coherently, although I do believe he mentioned his mother.

On a positive note, the There Can Only Be one post-season promotional campaign was very creative and the :60 second spot that ran in the Finals outstanding. But I will enjoy an off-season without that same damn piano music from the Where Amazing Happens spots. Hope they retire that number in the rafters next to Cousy's.

All in all, it was a great season, especially for those of us who follow the Western Conference, where the last two months of the regular season were an extended round of playoffs. Actually, there's another bonus round to come, as Team USA heads over to China to reclaim the Gold. Better take their American Express cards and not leave Beijing without it.

So as a former New Yorker raised on hating the Celtics and Red Sox, here's a begrudging congratulations to the new NBA World Champions, who earned their title. But thank goodness the Giants beat the Patriots in the Super Bowl or Boston sports fans would be even more insufferable. Seeing Bill Belichick at the Celtics games was a reminder of how sweet that victory remains.

Finally, heard President Bush called the Celtics today to offer his congratulations and asked Series MVP Pierce if he had a nickname.

"The Truth," said Pierce.

"Well," replied Bush, "maybe the Lakers should have Denied the Truth, always works for me."

PAY IT FORWARD (AND LEAVE A TIP)

I’m standing in line at my favorite takeout restaurant, waiting to pay for my order. As I turn my head to look around for a minute, a young girl about 16 or 17, slips in front of me and orders an iced tea. I roll my eyes and sigh, a bit irritated by this minor breach of etiquette. After the salesperson brings her drink, the teenager hands her a credit card. "We don't take credit cards for orders under $10," the woman says, so the girl starts looking through her purse and discovers she doesn't have any cash. At this point, I'm about to say something rude.

But suddenly, it occurs to me that I don't have to play it that way. Instead, I say to the cashier, "just put it on my bill."

The girl turns to me, "oh no, that's OK."

I look back at her, "it's alright, it's on me." For an instant, I see a look on her face somewhere between surprise and suspicion, which quickly changes to gratitude when she realizes that it's just a small gesture of kindness, no strings attached.

She smiles, "thank you so much."

"No problem, just do the same for someone else sometime."

She looks me in the eye, "I will. For sure."

I pay my bill and leave. This whole encounter has lasted maybe thirty seconds, if even that. It wasn't a big deal in any sense, but it got me thinking. Who benefited more from that exchange, the girl with a free drink or me with the satisfaction of doing a simple good deed?

As I walked back to my car, the phrase "Pay It Forward" came to mind. This was the name of a best-selling novel published in 2000, which later became a movie. The basic premise of the story is that anyone can make a difference in someone else's life and it all starts with doing a favor for another person-- without any expectation of being paid back.

In the book, a sixth grade class is given an assignment by their teacher. He asks the students to "think of an idea for world change and put it into action." Trevor, a 12 year-old boy, comes up with this concept: "I do something real good for three people. And when they ask how they can pay it back, I say they have to Pay It Forward to three more people. Each. So nine people get helped. Then those people do twenty-seven. Then it sort of spreads out to eighty-one. Then two hundred forty-three. Then seven hundred twenty-nine. Then two thousand, one hundred eighty-seven. See how big it gets?"

After my encounter at the restaurant, I started thinking about this and realized that extending myself to strangers is something I actually enjoy and often do without thinking. I don't mean I'm some kind of Father Theresa, but there’s something innately satisfying about trusting your best instincts and intentions. Even the smallest acts of benevolence and generosity reward both the giver and receiver.

Looking back over the past week, I tried to think of two other experiences that would qualify for PIF. A few days earlier, I was driving to a meeting in San Francisco and stopped at a red light, when I noticed a man standing on the traffic island a few cars ahead with a sign that simply read, "Hungry." I'd just been to a coffee shop and had a fresh pumpkin muffin on the seat next to me. When the light changed, I moved up, put down my window and handed the bag to him, knowing that muffin had just found a better home than my stomach. "Thank you, brother," I heard him say as I drove off.

I was in a deli a few days later (there seems to be a consistent food angle here) and a woman comes in the door holding a little baby in one arm and trying to maneuver one of those huge strollers that look like infant Hummers with the other. I walked over to her and said, "would you like me to park that by a table for you?" She shot me a grateful look and replied, "thanks, I am so tired." Now, if you're a parent, you remember what it was like to suffer from sleep deprivation and it's an unwritten rule that you always help another new parent whenever you can. I just hope she drives her car better than that stroller.

Here are three small actions that took minimal time, thought and effort, yet each had a positive effect on someone else’s day. And the fact is that these kinds of opportunities present themselves all the time. Think about what life would be like if we simply returned small favors by looking for three other people to pay it forward to. If you do the math, the numbers multiply pretty darn fast.

I asked my daughter, who is also a sixth grader, to continue running the figures given by the boy in the book (somehow, she’s ended up being a math whiz, having recently memorized 260 digits of Pi, while I can’t remember what I had for breakfast). Three to the tenth power equals roughly 59,000 people and to the fifteenth, 14 million, to the twentieth, over 3.4 billion. That means if we were to set off this little chain reaction, its impact would eventually reach across the entire planet. Will people giving selflessly to others end war, poverty and global warming? Hard to say, but when an irresistible energy meets an unmovable object, something has to give.

So I encourage you to have a little fun playing Pay It Forward for a week. That momentary spark of connection, the shared sense of humanity, the simple exchange of good will between strangers, is a wonderfully affirming sensation. And while the old adage is "what goes around, comes around," the important thing is that it goes around.

As I left the restaurant that day, I saw my teenage acquaintance sipping her iced tea at a table outside. She didn't say anything and that's OK, the moment had passed. Besides, I knew what the real value of that random act of kindness had been. The iced tea cost me two bucks, the look on her face was priceless.

THE SUPER-EST OF SUNDAYS

I woke up Monday morning at 5 AM wondering if it had all been a dream. The Giants won the Super Bowl? The Giants? C’mon, let’s be real.

It was around age seven that I first began gathering around the TV set with my father and brothers in suburban New Jersey to observe the Sunday afternoon ritual of NFL football, which means I’ve been a Giants fan for roughly 45 years. Make that long-suffering fan because other than two championship seasons (which were religious experiences), watching the Giants has pretty much been a prolonged roller coaster ride of agony and ecstasy, with a whole lot more of the former than the latter. Few teams have matched the Giants’ ability to tease and torture their fans.

Going into this Super Bowl, I was just hoping for a close game so I wouldn’t have to bail out before halftime like in 2001, when the Giants resembled Team Custer, getting obliterated 34-7 by the Baltimore Ravens. The Boys in Blue had already overachieved this year with 3 straight road wins in the playoffs, including two incredible victories over Dallas and Green Bay, the kind of down-to-the-wire games they usually manage to lose. Snatching defeat from the jaws of victory has been a Giants’ specialty. So I was just happy to be here, free of expectations and pressure and while I was hoping they'd win, I didn’t really think they would. Given the Patriots 18-0 run through the league, I was praying that God took the Giants and bet the under.

I split watching the game at two different houses. The first half was with a friend who originally hails from New England, but is not one of those obnoxious “how do you like them (fill in a winning Boston team)” types. She invited a fairly mellow crowd, the kind who were as interested in the commercials as the game itself. I, on the other hand, had my game face on and could have cared less about meaningless distractions like the Budweiser Clydesdales, who are basically fat horses with hairy legs that haul beer.

For the second half, I headed over to join my friend, Frank, who grew up just a few towns over from me. We have bonded and commiserated over many a Giants and Yankees game and in fact, he was at my house back in 1990, when the Giants beat the Bills in Super Bowl XXV, one of the all-time great games. Frank had bought a new big screen HDTV on Saturday and was breaking it in for the big game. He and I could both appreciate the magnitude of the Giants possibly upsetting the Patriots, while also being aware of the potential for devastating disappointment.

Rather than analyze the entire contest, which has been done in exacting detail in newspapers, on radio and TV shows and over the web, here are a few moments that stand out in my mind.

The Giants own the ball for the first ten minutes of the game and then, settle for a field goal. Talk about modus operandi, this is just another chapter in the continuing saga of can’t get it up in the Red Zone. Three points is better than none, but ten minutes of foreplay and all we get is a field goal? Put some Viagra in the damn Gatorade!

Once the Patriots get the ball, there’s immediate good news. The Giants are putting the hurt on Tom Brady almost every time he goes back to pass. Mr. MVP looks like a guy who after getting punched in the mouth, suddenly realizes he’s in a fight. And then he gets popped again and he’s thinking, “who are these guys?”

When Eli Manning throws an interception in (where else?) the Red Zone, all the images of his past failures come back. This was a guy who until a month ago, had been a classic underachiever, someone whose numerous mistakes and misplays over the years, have taught my children to chant, “Manning’s a bum!” Was the old Eli coming back at just the wrong time?

The Giants get called for having 12 men on the field? What is this, Pop Warner football? And the TV cameras show the guilty guy standing on the sidelines looking as surprised as everyone else. Figures Bill Belichick spotted it, probably has one of his secret cameras hidden in the ref’s hat. More on The Grinch Who Stole Signals later.

Back to Eli, as he scrambles out of the pocket and overthrows a wide-open Burress, I have this sickening feeling that this will be the moment we all look back on with a “woulda, coulda, shoulda!” We do not take this as a good omen.

Ignoring the Randy Moss TD, where the Giant’s defender trips over his own feet (cue expletives hurled at the screen), let’s move to the final drive. At first, Manning looks tentative on his passes, throwing off his back foot and almost getting intercepted twice. Then, after picking up a clutch first down on fourth and one, Eli goes back to pass, looks like he’s in the grasp and about to get sacked and suddenly, he’s free and looking downfield! Whoa, am I really seeing this?

He heaves a pass across the middle and David Tyree, the reserve receiver who had only four receptions all season, goes up and makes the greatest catch in Super Bowl history. One handed, traps it on his helmet, fights off Rodney Harrison who’s trying to maim him and somehow, bending backwards, holds onto the ball behind his head while a couple of other Patriots try to tear him in half. At this moment, the game moves into a new realm of consciousness, where the Giants might actually be the team that pries victory from the jaws of defeat. Not seeing any penalty flags on the play and that Belichick hadn’t found a way to conjure up a phony replay, I can only describe the moment as surreal. The Giants actually have a chance to beat these guys!

The touchdown to Burress is beautiful in its simplicity, the right call at the right time. Nice to see the guy who’d had the balls to predict a victory get the winning TD. I nearly hit the ceiling the moment he cradles it in his arms and bear hug Frank, his two young daughters and even the dog and say good-bye to all those games that had gotten away. We are only 35 seconds away from winning the Super Bowl!

Of course, Tom Brady is not the guy you want to give a shot at mounting a last-minute comeback, so the thrill may be short-lived. But when Jay Alford comes storming up the middle and pile drives Brady into the turf, there is an explosion of energy like a tired fighter connecting with a “take that!” haymaker. Of course, my heart is in my stomach when Brady heaves a sixty-yard pass to a streaking Randy Moss, but this time, there is no dagger to the heart. Fourth down and one last Hail Mary, but no, not today, not this team, not now. UN-BE-LIEV-ABLE! WE WON!

Cut from an ecstatic Tom Coughlin, who’d somehow had a successful personality transplant during the off-season, to a despondent Belicheck, the most joyless figure in professional sports. Someone ought to send him to the same doctor who did Coughlin’s operation, except it’s going to take some radical surgery to add any zest to that sourpuss. Losing the Super Bowl and a chance at history couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. On a more positive note, seeing Manning hold the MVP trophy struck a blow for every athlete who has ever sought redemption. He was an unexpected hero, but a worthy one. Just ask his older brother.

This kind of unlikely victory, an upset for the ages, is exactly why we watch sports, why we go to games and spend countless hours in front of the TV absorbing all the highs and lows and in-betweens. We do this because no matter what the odds, you never ever know what can happen and on any given day, even our wildest fantasies can come true. The Giants won the Super Bowl! What a ride!

If I'm still dreaming, please don't wake me. Now, bring on the Red Sox.

WHO SAYS THERE’S NO FREE LUNCH?

Happy New Year! Thought it would be nice to start 2008 off with an upbeat story.

Here’s an article that caught my eye in the local paper the morning after Christmas. It’s about a woman who wanted to do something to spread the holiday spirit and found a simple way to reach out and touch people in need. If you enjoy a feel good story, take a look.

http://www.marinij.com//ci_7808439

This Christmas tale struck a chord in me and stayed in the back of my mind while we were away on vacation the rest of the week. Maybe it’s because before, during and after the holiday season, my wife, Wendi, and I have been talking to our children about the whole idea of giving versus getting. It’s been an uphill battle because for kids growing up in a materialistic culture, it’s hard to embrace the concept of giving when there’s so much stuff to be getting. Combine our society's consumerism mentality with the hard-sell holiday advertising that floods every media platform imaginable and the message is that there’s no such thing as too much. And it’s not just children who fall under the influence, we adults crave new toys, too. Don’t get me started about an iPhone.

We weren’t having much luck with continually talking about selflessness and being of service, it became increasingly obvious that the only way the kids would really get the lesson was to actually experience it for themselves. Yes, they did donate some of the money they received as gifts from their grandparents this year to Heifer International, a very worthy organization devoted to ending world hunger. While giving money is important and a good habit to instill, in some ways it’s almost a little too easy, the whole process done in a matter of minutes, without any direct connection or real effort.

On New Year’s Day, I woke up and had a thought. Why not simply duplicate what the woman I read about did to feed those in need? We could get started immediately and would have complete control over the process. In our case, that last element was key because we wouldn’t get stuck in “the world's problems just seem too big and I don’t know what I can do” mindset. This was a goal that was easily defined and very much within reach.

At 10 AM, the family kicked into action (fortunately, we go low key on New Year’s Eve so there were with no hangovers to deal with, except from too many shots of chocolate). The assignments were handed out: my son, Joshua would make Happy New Year’s cards, my daughter, Samantha, and I would go grocery shopping and Wendi would fill in as needed on the assembly line. We opted for a menu that was executable in a 90-minute time frame. Sandwiches, fresh-baked cookies and fruit. Plus, a $5 bill pinned to each card.

Shortly after noon, we had 20 lunch bags ready to go. We drove down to St. Vincent De Paul’s dining room, where I had called ahead of time and found out they would be open until 1 PM. It was a run-down looking building with a representative mix of people on the down and out gathered around in front. Not exactly a scene from It’s a Wonderful Life.

I went around the back and found one of the staff members and asked if it would be OK if we distributed some lunches. “OK? That would be great,” he said, “we actually don’t have bags to hand out today.” It was one of those slightly kismet moments, when it feels like maybe there’s some bigger spirit, higher power, karmic energy, whatever, at work.

As fate would have it, there were only about 20 people scattered about the dining room. Our kids, who are usually not shy, suddenly seemed somewhat intimidated by the thought of speaking to strangers who don’t look like the people they’re used to interacting with, no less connecting with them on personal level. Humanity becomes very real when you look someone right in the eye. Words like homeless, poor, alcoholic, addict and street person transform into someone sitting right in front of you, whose life has taken a rough turn. A kind word and friendly smile, especially from a child, is a wonderful gift and “Happy New Year” always has a ring of hope and the promise of new beginnings.

It wasn’t all warm and fuzzy for our kids. Joshua clung to my side and Samantha was a little taken aback when one woman reached down to hug her and kiss her head. But there’s no etiquette book for this kind of situation, you just have to wing it and have faith that it’s going to be alright. Some people smiled and returned New Year’s salutations, others accepted the bags without comment, perhaps, bewildered by the sight of young children appearing out of nowhere. The last bag went to an older gentleman with a worn and grizzled face who looked down at Joshua, asked his name and proceeded to elaborate with great enthusiasm about a book he was reading where the hero was named Joshua. His unexpected congeniality was the perfect punctuation to our service experiment, replacing fear with possibility.

Our encounter lasted about ten minutes, and then, the lunches were all gone. As we exited the dining room, no one said good-bye, it wasn’t like we were leaving a party. We’d had a brief moment of casual communion and then, it was over. But at least, our kids finally had a hands-on opportunity to test drive the spirit of giving and see what it feels like to get behind the wheel of kindness and compassion.

Back on the sidewalk, we looked at each other with a small measure of satisfaction. A tiny, yet bold vision that had been hatched just hours earlier had been fulfilled. How often does that happen in life? After weeks of discussion and debate, we had finally figured out a way to show our children that giving isn’t just about presents or money and that the simple act of being of service is also an incredible gift to yourself.

As we drove home, I asked everyone to share a little of his or her experience. Wendi said that we finished handing those lunches, all she wanted to do was make 100 more. I added that it wasn’t so much what we did, but the spirit that we did it in that really mattered and that I was going to call the woman from the newspaper who helped instigate our little project, to thank her for providing the inspiration.

We waited for the kids to chime in. Samantha said she enjoyed making all the food, but felt a little uncomfortable actually handing the lunches out and wondered if anyone there thought that she was thinking that she was better than them. Joshua added that it was a little weird for him, too, but that he liked the smiles on people’s faces when he handed them a bag. Neither one said much after that and rather than forcing a storybook ending to our day, we acknowledged their mixed and very genuine feelings. This was meant to be about reality, not some make believe story where everyone lives happily ever after.

But I also saw something in their faces, that special sense of feeling proud, yet humble. I bet that those brief moments of heartfelt connection will keep swimming around somewhere in their little minds and now, that they’ve had a taste of their own humanity, I can only hope that they'll want to keep on giving throughout their entire lifetimes.

That might be the best gift they could ever ask for.

WHY HURRY UP AND WAIT?

Last December, during my first month of blogging, I wrote about my motivation for cultivating and sharing good news. Maybe it's something about this time of year, but I feel compelled to revisit the subject. Some people send cards, others bake cookies, I wonder about the state of the world.

Shortly after 9/11, I was so overwhelmed by the toxic sense of fear and doom pervading the country that I wrote an essay, "Winning the War on Pessimism" that was published in the Washington Post. This process of exploring the national state of mind also sparked a gradual, but growing desire on my own part to change the way I looked at the world, to see it more through a prism of continued spirit and hope than my inherently skeptical and sometimes, even cynical perspective. Without losing sight of reality, I was looking to fulfill the most fundamental of desires, to be happy in the present and to look with confidence towards the future. Something that doesn't involve chocolate or owning stock in Google.

In 2003, I began writing a book, "So What's the Good News?", about what I'd begun to think of as a practical, versus utopian, form of optimism. Not some frivolous, naïve "isn't everything wonderful!" attitude that ignores human nature's Dark Side, more like a determinedly upbeat mindset that also recognizes and values our almost limitless capacity for achievement, compassion, virtue and love. In these extremely uncertain times, the Force needs to be with us.

I spent almost a year and a half doing research for the book and conducting interviews with some of the most resourceful, productive thinkers and leaders in the academic world, arts and entertainment, science and technology, finance, sports, politics, spirituality and the list goes on. Whether a big-name personality or little-known individual, the sole arbiter was that the subject had to have something of substance to say.

Next, I wrote a book proposal, marketing plan and the first seven chapters and when I found myself an agent, I figured I was on the straight and narrow to publication and success. But another year and a half went by and that didn't happen, so I moved on to other projects. Yet that desire to help people see the world in a more positive light and do something to make it a better place never left, it just went on the back burner with a low flame. Meanwhile, Good News kept simmering and much like a complex stew, the flavors got more intense.

The other day, after sifting through the almost guaranteed-to-depress-you doubleheader of the World News and Week in Review sections of the Sunday NY Times, I realized that all those valuable insights and advice on optimism I'd gathered were just going to waste sitting there on my hard drive. So I decided that rather than waiting for a miracle or a publishing deal (whichever came first), I would start posting short excerpts from the finished chapters on my blog, selecting some of the most interesting material from each expert, like a Greatest Hits album. With financial reward and fame out of the picture for now, I'm back to focusing on the core belief that it's critically important to promote news and information that inspire us to produce positive change. It doesn't make sense to save good news for a rainy day, it's stormin' hard out there right now!

To get things rolling, here's a quote from my interview with Douglas Rushkoff, author, TV commentator and international lecturer on media and technology. In this chapter, Tune In, Turn On, But Don't Drop Out, I looked at the effect media, particularly print and broadcast mediums, has our lives, how it shapes our values and the way we think and behave. This seems particularly relevant during 'tis the season as we're being inundated by advertising that intimates that what Happy Holidays really means is Buy More Stuff.

Tune In, Turn On, But Don't Drop Out
(Douglas Rushkoff, from "So What's the Good News?")

You can’t look at the media for positive messages, it’s not what it’s there for. You can get information, but you’re not going to get inspiration. Traditional mass media doesn't exist to promote change, it was designed to promote mass consumption of packaged goods. People need to realize that the things they are really looking to buy are not for sale. Community, connection and meaning are not brand values, they are cultural values.

I was thinking about the whole concept of brand values the other day while shopping at the Apple Store. I don’t think there’s a company that is more technically innovative or marketing savvy than Apple, as evidenced by the fact that the place was packed and the merchandise was moving so fast you’d think they were giving it away. As a long-time Mac user, I love the myriad of new and improved products Steve Jobs rolls out every few months, but as I become more and more dependent on my various digital devices and wonderfully imaginative programs like iWeb, iPhoto and iMovie, I also need to make sure I install the latest versions of iHope, iCare and iAct on my personal operating system in order to have a truly meaningful iLife. But I still want an iPhone, too!

So there's the first track of The Best of Good News, hope it provides some food for thought and I encourage you to pass it along to friends and family. My goal for the next month is to put up one or two of these excerpts per week. Not to worry, I'll also keep weighing in on some lighter topics with my usual take because I do believe that laughter is the best medicine. But as we get closer to the end of 2007, it feels like it's time to cultivate some serious healing.

Finally, if you have a moment, please post a comment, whether it's about good news, the holidays, media, latkes or egg nog recipes, whatever. Even just a sentence or two means we're having a conversation. And as long as we're talking, it's all good.

Now, stayed tuned for more optimism after this important commercial announcement.

Relax, I haven't sold out yet.

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Some visitors have said that it seems like you have to have a blogger.com account to post a comment, but you don't. Just click on the Comments link at the bottom here next to the little pencil and you'll be sent to a new page. Type in your Comments, skip down and select either the Nickname or Anonymous option and hit Publish. Operators are standing by.

P.S. Speaking of holiday merchandise, we're also comparison shopping for a new world leader these days. That last one was no bargain, at any price.

WHO’S THE BOSS?

If you need any further proof of the coming apocalypse, it appeared two weeks ago in Oakland, CA. Strangely, just one week earlier, a symbol of salvation had materialized in the exact same spot. What were these opposing forces? Two concerts, one featuring legendary rocker, Bruce Springsteen, the other, teen pop tsunami, Hannah Montana. The planets were messing around with the universe’s karmic symphony.

A month or so ago, my wife read that Springsteen was heading out on tour with his old E Street Band and would be making a one-night appearance in the Bay Area. We’re going,” she announced, implying the subject wasn’t up for discussion and leaving the details to me. Time to go into my hunter/gatherer mode.

There was a single show scheduled for a Friday night, which sold out in milliseconds. Those of us left out in the cold were resigned to going to ticket agents or the one-stop shopping center, Craig’s List. Opting for the latter, I found that reserved seats with a $95 face value were going for $350 a pair. Not exactly a bargain, so I thought I’d wait and see what happened as we got closer to the show date. No need to panic just yet. Of course, that’s what I said as the stock market kept going south this month.

A few weeks later, a second show was added on Thursday night. I was online at TicketMaster (aka TicketExtortionist) at 10 AM sharp the next day ready to snap up a pair, but somehow, tickets again sold out instantaneously, leaving me to wonder if I got squeezed out by the same cold-hearted profiteers who always beat my last second bids on ebay. I hate those people.

The good news is that the market was now oversaturated and on the day before the Thursday show, people who had bought extra tickets as a kind of investment, were having to sell short. Suddenly, it became a buyer’s market and seats were going for face value and on the day of the show, below face. At one point, I had six different people e-mailing me trying to sell off their tickets. It was like Michael Douglas in Wall Street when he had to dump all of his Blue Star stock. I don’t want to say I took pleasure in their pain, but it was a blow against the “greed is good” mentality.

Now, to the bad or at least, shocking news. As hot as the Springsteen tickets had been for the original Friday show, Ms. Montana (for the record, her real name is Miley Cyrus, Hannah Montana is her TV altar ego) kicked butt at the box office. According to StubHub, a ticket-reselling firm (more like legalized scalpers), the Best of Both Worlds tour is on track to surpass the Police as its top tour ever in both dollar volume and tickets sold. The most expensive ticket to date sold for $2,565 and seats in Oakland went from $300 to $2,000.

$2,000? What’s the world coming to? Some parents must be dipping deep into their wallets because teenage girls don’t have that kind of cash sitting around, unless they’re dipping into their college funds. At this rate, Ms. Cyrus will be able to donate a library to her own future alma mater. Hell, she could just buy Montana State (no offense to anyone reading this in Bozeman).

What’s the all the excitement about with this latest adolescent phenomena? First and foremost, the Disney marketing machine is a juggernaut and between The Hannah Montana TV show, Radio Disney, the mileyworld.com web site, teen magazines, MySpace, etc, Hannah Montana is more than just a star, she’s a brand. And with Britney, Lindsey, Nicole and Paris proving to be the ultimate non-role models, parents have no problem with Montana’s squeaky-clean image and bubble gum music. A sugar overdose is way better than a DUI.

Enough with the cotton candy, some random observations from the Springsteen show.

*The concert was scheduled to start at 7:30 PM and at that point, the arena was still 2/3 empty. With time to kill, we decided to move down from our seats to some to closer to the stage, figuring we’d just hang out there before the actual ticket holders showed up. For some reason, even though the building was full, no one ever appeared to claim the seats. So we ended up in the 2nd row of the reserved seating, making me feel even better about not succumbing to the early inflated ticket prices. I was tempted to text message some of those scalpers with a simple “ROI?”

*The audience was an older crowd, with many veterans who looked like they had seen three decades of action on the front lines, starting in the Seventies when Springsteen was just beginning his rise to stardom. I would venture to say that there were even a number of grandparents, like the couple in front of us, who looked like they belonged more at the theater, than a rock show. While she was shaking it, he just sat there like he was watching Larry King Live.

*The music was really loud, almost to the point of hurting my ears. I’d brought a set of disposable earplugs with me just in case, remembering how Pete Townsend of The Who lost most of his hearing from too many years of over-amplified concerts. But with the plugs in, it sounded like someone was playing music in the room next door, so I opted to listen unfiltered. No big deal if my fillings were vibrating and I moved one step closer to fronting my own group, The What.

*The sound mix was kind of muddled and since most of the material Springsteen played was from his new album, I didn’t know the songs and couldn’t make out all the words. At one point, I was watching the show on the big high-definition screens hung above the stage, trying to read his lips. Finally, they put some of the lyrics up on the screen. It’s not a good sign when you need closed captions to sing along at a rock concert.

* Springsteen’s bandmate and wife, Patti Scialfa, seemed a little disinterested at times, staring off into the crowd, strumming away on her acoustic guitar. It must be surreal sometimes to be married to a rock star and work with him, too. Not to mention raise three teenage children. Wonder if the kids blast Hannah Montana on the stereo just to drive Mom and Dad nuts?

*There was a guy in front of us who must have been left over from a Grateful Dead show. He smoked so much pot during the concert that our entire section was exposed to second, third and fourth hand smoke. It was like we were all starring in the sequel to Waiting to Exhale. This guy was definitely part of the Green movement.

Once the band settled into their old hits, everyone was up dancing and singing, like we were all kids again. Even at 58, Springsteen is still The Boss and he brings it every night, taking the audience on a roller coaster ride of quiet ballads and pedal to the medal rock and roll. No matter many years ago these songs first entered the mainstream, it was a mini-revelation to see that they still have the power to move me, although thank goodness, we were Dancin’ in the Dark, ‘cause my moves ain’t what they used to be.

On our way home, my wife and I had that “we still got it” air of satisfaction. The feeling reminded of something George Carlin once said when asked about having long hair way back when. His reply, “it’s still long on the inside.”

EAT, LOVE, DRIVE

Early on in life, I discovered that there are few things more satisfying than reading a great book. For lit fans, this is like having temporary possession of the Holy Grail. When I have one of these precious treasures in progress, I can’t wait for the kids to go to bed, so I can get back to it and stay up way past my bedtime, ensconced on a journey to worlds real and imaginary. Though I may regret in the morning, I can’t stop from doing it again the next night either. I can see me standing up at a 12 Step Program someday, “hi, my name is Paul, and it’s been thirty days since my last reading binge.”

But even with my ardor for all things written, for some strange reason, I have never taken to books on tapes or CD’s, even for long car trips. Maybe it was because my initial experience many years ago was with a Robert Ludlum novel, which had so many twists and turns it felt like I needed a road map just to get through the first few chapters. Having to choose between observing the speed limit and dissecting plot points, I opted for staying alive and stuck with the radio. I figured I was just meant to be a reader.

But I recently took on a project that required a commute of three hours per day and with no public transportation available, books were out of the question, not that I haven’t seen a few drivers perusing the newspaper in their cars, a clear case of Reckless Reading. In preparation for my excursions, I began assembling supplies as if embarking on an expedition to the deepest reaches of the Amazon (no, not amazon.com), including an extensive snack menu, ergonomic seat cushion, new headset, potable drinking water and malaria tablets.

Even with satellite radio, sports talk shows and music CD’s, I realized I would need additional entertainment options. We’re talking major rush hour here, the kind where you masochistically tune in the traffic report every ten minutes, just to see just how much misery still awaits you. I believe this is the origin of the term drive you crazy.

I happened to be in the public library the weekend before this job started, and walked by Audio Books section, which I usually pass by without thinking. But for some reason that day, it called out to my base senses, like when your neighbor is grilling up a steak in his backyard and the aroma wafts over the fence. While I can’t say I was starving at that point, I was hungry enough to try something new on the menu.

At first, it seemed like slim pickings and it was even harder to read the damn titles sideways on such little boxes (what’s with the stacking system at libraries anyway, do they have some kind of secret deal with the chiropractor’s union?). I didn’t recognize anything in fiction, other than of course, a Robert Ludlum novel and non-fiction choices like Overcoming Life’s Disappointments seemed a bit too somber. I was looking for some lighter diversion to fill the role of co-pilot.

Suddenly, I recognized the spine of a book I’d just finished, one of the best reads I’d had all year. It was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, who unfortunately, is no relation, although I’m scouring the family tree to see if there is some distant connection in the gene pool, since I’d like to believe that best-selling writers run in the family.

My wife had recommended the book. She knew I was desperately searching for a good one and like a junkie trying to score a fix, been calling friends and asking, “you got anything?” Taking pity on me, she shared her reading stash, which turned out to be some serious smack and soon, I was drifting along on one of my blissful, page-turning highs.

For those of you who haven’t read EPL, the subtitle is One Women’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. Gilbert (feels weird to write my own last name here, can I just call you Liz?) stayed four months in each country, immersing herself in the people and cultures. Throughout the excursion, she bares her soul, letting loose the family of voices in her head, which as in many families, ranges from dysfunctional to enlightened.

In many ways, I enjoyed the CD’s even more than the book. Coming through a different pipeline, I heard things I’d either missed or skimmed over and Liz gives an inspired reading. The spoken word magnified her suburban street smarts as her cynical optimism gradually yielded to a deeper sense of spirituality. Orchestrating language like a maestro, her voice filled in the blanks so much more descriptively and movingly than the one in my head I use to translate the written word. Vocalizing a colorful menagerie of stories and personalities, she wasn't so much an author as an alchemist, bringing a rich cast of memorable characters to life, idiosyncrasies, accents and all.

Here’s my encapsulated review of the Book on CD. Loved it, Devoured It, Prayed It Wouldn’t End. It was wonderfully satisfying, honest, intelligent, insightful, funny. Make that very funny and like many writers who like to think their own work is rather amusing, I’m no cheap laugh. First, I found myself smiling, then, an occasional chuckle and finally, just plain laughing out loud. Now, that’s the kind of person you want to carpool with.

Most days, I couldn’t wait to hear some new chapters and found myself rationing them to stretch out our time together. During those morning and evening rush hours, we became partners on the most private of passages; a turkey-less Thanksgiving in Rome filled with heartwarming words of gratitude shared by intimate strangers, many excruciatingly-long meditations at an Indian ashram searching for God and the meaning of life, and much to our relief, the end of an 18 month period of abstinence in Bali. Liz’s journeys became my journeys, although I bet that drought-breaker was better for her, than me. And just so you don’t get the wrong idea, it turned out to be love.

I managed to string out the 12 hours, 40 minutes of our audio excursion for roughly one month, finishing up our sojourn today, crawling home in one last rush hour mess. It was a sad, sweet moment and I took a second to mark her departure. Liz was truly excellent company and unlike other close relationships, when I got tired of hearing her talk, I simply hit stop. We were like two old friends who really get one another and can just pick up conversations wherever they leave off.

As sad as I was to see her go, she did leave me with a lovely parting gift. Now, whether I’ve actually read the book or not, I know I can always pick a writer up hitchhiking and hit the highway with no particular destination in mind. We’re just in it for the ride. Meanwhile, I’ll look forward to the return portion of my trip with Liz, the sequel.

One of my favorite people in the book was an old Balinese medicine man, who always spoke in eloquently fractured English. As the ancient healer might say, “hear you later, alligator.”