Tuesday, January 27, 2009

How Do You ALT-CTRL-DEL Hormones?

If I plagiarize myself, will I go blind?

Sorry. I'm recalling my high school days right now, and I'm clearly mashing-up my Creative Writing class with my Morality class.

But why? Why am I recalling my teen years? Why am I worrying about copying myself? And why am I making a dated reference to the consequences of a certain sex act?

Why? Because I recently read a news item about teens and sex, and it reminded me of a similar item I read last year - one I ultimately wrote about. In light of the latest news, I think the topic is worth writing about again, and since my original piece came and went unnoticed, I might cherry-pick some text, or an idea or two, from it. I thought it only fair to let you know I've been down this path before.

I was a teenager in the 1980s, and when the quadrillion raging hormones in my body wanted to see images of naked women, my choices were limited to having friends who could liberate certain literature from their fathers' sock drawers; catching Porky's-esque R-rated movies in theaters; sneaking late-night peeks at Skinemax...er, Cinemax; or finding a mom-and-pop movie rental store with a stocked back room and an ambivalent staff.

Little did I know then that, had I been born a scant 25 years later, I would have had no need to wait for manufacturers of fleshy delights to bring their wares to market. I simply could have had a classmate send me a picture of her nude self straight to my cell phone.

Really.

On January 13, 2009, Bob Stiles of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review reported on six students from Greensburg Salem High School - three boys and three girls, all minors - who face criminal charges as a result of participating in what is known as "sexting." According to Stiles' report, "sexting" is "...the teen trend of sending nude or semi-nude photos from cell phone to cell phone...."

Sexting. A naughty twist on texting. How clever. You know, I used to worry that when I become elderly, I will be cared for by a generation of slackers. Now I'm afraid I'll be cared for by a generation of horny marketers.

The matter is serious. The girls, who took nude pictures of themselves and sent them to the boys, face a charge of manufacturing, disseminating or possessing child pornography. The boys are charged with possessing child pornography. I have several issues here.

The first issue is legal. As I have made clear in past writings - again with the self-plagiarism - I am not a lawyer, and everything I know about the law, I learned from Hollywood. Assuming everything I can gather from the story is true, either as stated or implied, the girls took their own pictures and willingly sent them to the boys, who received them. Should any of these six kids be criminally charged? I'm not so sure. I certainly don't condone the behavior, but if there was no coercion and no adult involvement, this seems to be a case of monumentally poor judgment, not a case of crime.

Complicating matters, according to another story, if these children are found guilty, while they might not serve any jail time, they could be required to register as sex offenders for a period of 10 years. Again, I don't condone the behavior, but I can't reasonably see a 14-year-old girl or a 16-year-old boy registering as a sex offender until they are out of college. Can you imagine answering to that in a job interview? Stupidity is the crime here, and that punishment seems too harsh.

The second issue concerns the parents of these children. I can speak with greater authority here, as I both presently parent and previously have been parented...and still am, sometimes. (Hi Mom!) Also, I can assure you that I ignore Hollywood when it comes to parenting, other than to add bullet points to my ever-growing "Yeah, Don't Do THAT As a Parent" List, AKA "The Lohan List." Whether the kids don't know any better about such behavior, or if they suffer from low self-esteem and are looking to be accepted socially for what they are willing to do sexually, or even if they are physically and sexually confident beyond their years, the parents of these kids need to do a better job communicating with their children, whether "better job" means "improve communications" or - sadly - "begin communications."

And those communications need to extend beyond right/wrong, or good/bad, or do/don't. In fact, the matter is similar to the abstinence-only vs. sex-education debate because it deals not only with should/shouldn't, but with understanding actions and their potential consequences in the event of a "But if you do..." scenario. Sure, sending a saucy photo is not the same as engaging in physical sexual activity, and no one ever got pregnant or contracted a disease by looking at pictures. But those pictures have the potential for doing even greater harm in both the immediate and distant futures.

Thus, my third issue: the consequences of cyberspace. Yes, these particular photos (as far as we know) were contained to the boys' cell phones. But one reckless or vengeful file transfer puts them on the Internet, which makes them accessible to anyone. What today's parents need to stress to their children, and with the same gravity as pregnancy and disease, is that just as easily as teens voluntarily share with friends or lovers every pore of their skin via the Internet, they unintentionally share the same with the billions of strangers who know how to use a computer - and by "strangers," I don't mean just creepy bad guys or social enemies or incoming underclassmen. Those strangers could be college administrators, military recruiters, prospective employers, and even potential love interests.

Look, we've all been there. We've all done foolish things that we look back on now and laugh about (or cringe over) and bury in the Youthful Indiscretions file. But a key difference between teens of the past vs. teens of today, and the difference with perhaps the greatest significance, is the permanency of cyberspace. Sure, many foolish actions carry no long-term consequences, but cyber-shamelessness can. Pictures on the Internet aren't Polaroids that can be burned after viewing, or tattoos that can be removed or covered, or booze-fueled overindulgences that can be mitigated by sleep and aspirin. They will be there for as long as there is an Internet, so the youthful indiscretion of today can wreak havoc with the opportunity of tomorrow...or 20 years from tomorrow.

Parents need to make sure their kids understand their own cyber-presence. In fact, parents should probably understand their own cyber-presence, too. And it's okay.

No one will go blind Googling themselves.

Friday, January 16, 2009

What's Next? Fantasy Leagues?

The following is the first of an occasional 2009 series looking at how the traditional "Seven Deadly Sins" play in today's world.

If there is one sin (from the official Seven Deadly Sins) of which I am recently guilty, it's Gluttony. I mean really. We're already two weeks removed from the end of the six-week holiday period between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day, and I'm still considering submitting "bloated" as a new color suggestion to the Crayola people; I see it as a rather unhealthy hue of pink and green. Unlike the other six sins (SLOTH, PRIDE, ENVY, WRATH, LUST, and GREED), which take only thought - or little-to-no action - to commit, Gluttony requires excessive participation.

I found my favorite definition of Gluttony in Wikipedia: the "...over-consumption of food, drink, or intoxicants to the point of waste." Think about that. It's a sin that actually requires you to act to such an extreme degree, the word "waste" is part of the definition. This led me to ask, "What does '...to the point of waste' actually mean?"

Maybe this is some kind of subconscious rationalization on my part, but I don't see where overindulgence at a holiday dinner table is wasteful. Besides, my eating habits in the hours leading up to my Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners were different from normal days. Usually, I eat an early breakfast and lunch, followed by a good dinner; but on those two holidays, I ate a light breakfast later in the morning and skipped lunch entirely in anticipation of dinner. So really, I wasn't wasteful with my eating at all; I simply back-loaded my overall daily intake.

Okay. Maybe the rationalization isn't so subconscious after all.

Still, I'm not sure if I was truly gluttonous. I didn't actually measure the volume of food I ate, but even with two large servings, I didn't break any records, like...

...6.91 pounds of roast turkey meat eaten in 8 minutes.
...2.71 pounds of green beans eaten in 6 minutes.
...13.23 pounds (yes, 13.23 pounds) of jellied cranberry sauce eaten in 8 minutes.

It's true. The volume of traditional holiday food and the time it took to eat it, both listed above, are actual documented records.

It turns out that this type of Gluttony is called "Competitive Eating," and it has its roots in New York. Nearly every Fourth of July weekend for the last 90 years, the world has been treated to the intestinal exploits of men and women who gorge themselves on Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs in Coney Island. I always thought this annual ritual was something steeped in decades of tradition, harkening back to a simpler time when electricity was for fancy people and men wore funny hats. I thought that modern-day participants were simply carrying on tradition for tradition's sake, regardless of how ridiculous the tradition seemed, or how meaningless the outcome was; kind of like the annual Groundhog Day festivities, but with six more weeks of antacid.

Silly me.

This event, and countless others like it, are brought to you...ad nauseum...by the International Federation Of Competitive Eating and Major League Eating. They are the fine folks encouraging, promoting, and recording all things Competitive Eating, including 100+ competitive eating records (like those above), competitor rankings, an online store, and even a competitive eating video game.

What do we make of this? What do we make of the oversight of, encouragement of, celebration of, and capitalization on the ability of one person to take a mere five minutes to consume 1.75 pounds of...butter? You read that right. Someone ate seven quarter-pound sticks of butter in less time than it takes most people to run a mile. I can see the bumper sticker on his parents' car now: MY CHILD CAN EAT MORE BUTTER THAN YOUR HONOR STUDENT

Is this Gluttony to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to accuse anyone of committing a sin. I'm no more free from sin than the next person...and the next person happens to be the person with whom I've committed a few of those sins. (Thank you, Baby.) Each person in this world has their own maker to reconcile with - or no maker at all - so I leave that reflection to each individual, duo, or group, surely to be done once the buffet table closes. (Actual record for buffet food: 5 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)

Is this waste to the extreme? It sounds like it, but far be it from me to suggest that any food consumed and NOT regurgitated is wasted. However, if you must speak of waste, try not to do so from your Hummer while driving to buy the hundreds of chicken wings you need for the Super Bowl party you plan to host to show off those 105 glorious flat screen inches you treated yourself to for Christmas. (Actual record for chicken wings: 7 1/2 pounds in 12 minutes)

Is this uncontrolled-need-for-competition to the extreme? It sounds like it...at least, it sounded like it until I lost my concentration when the guy who cut me off to steal my spot in the parking lot also sneered at me inside the minimarket when he picked the quicker checkout line to buy the last of the chili cheese fries. Competition in our society seems to have become less about sport and more about superiority. (Actual record for chili cheese fries: 8 pounds, 2 ounces in 10 minutes)

Or...

Is this America to the extreme? Oh yes. Only in this country could we suffer from record hunger and record obesity - at the same time! - and turn the ingestion of mass quantities of food into a spectator sport, complete with screaming crowds, news coverage, t-shirts, and video games.

Look, I don't think that just because someone has eaten more than I have, I am absolved from anything; I am not (so the scale tells me). However, I do sleep better knowing that while I might have overdone it during the holidays, it's not like I ate four 32-ounce bowls of mayonnaise in 8 minutes.

That is an actual record, too.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Sadly, Naming Rights Cost Millions. Sadder Still, Naming Wrongs Are Free

My older daughter - The Girl - has a huge crush on Fall Out Boy bassist Pete Wentz, a fact that was not lost on me when, during Fall Out Boy's TV performances on New Year's Eve, the music stopped being music and became instead a series of sustained, three-minute squeals that, at certain points, only neighborhood dogs could hear. Much to The Girl's great despair, Wentz and his wife, Ashlee Simpson ("singer" and sister of Jessica Simpson, another "singer"), recently welcomed into the world their first child, a son. Much love blessed the Simpson/Wentz family with the arrival of Bronx Mowgli Wentz.

Hmmm.

Why would anyone name a child Bronx Mowgli?

Perhaps the parents lost a bet. Probably not, although it would be a better explanation than if they had WON a bet.

Perhaps the parents wanted a child with the initials BMW and, in the grand tradition that almost had R&B super-group The Commodores calling themselves The Commodes, Pete and Ashlee blindly opened the dictionary, pointed reckless fingers, and landed a fate almost as bad. Probably not, since I can't imagine that any parents who would name their child Bronx Mowgli would actually own a dictionary.

Perhaps the parents conceived the boy in New York's northernmost borough while Disney's The Jungle Book played on a TV in the background. Probably not, because while the Bronx is as fine a place as any to conceive a child, I can't see replacing Marvin Gaye's mood-setting "Let's Get It On" with animation voiced by Louis Prima and Sebastian Cabot.

I'm not picking on the child, of course; it isn't his fault. This is a criticism of the parents, and not only these parents, but the many celebrity parents like (a) actress Gwyneth Paltrow, (b) actress Rachel Griffiths, (c) singer Toni Braxton, (d) magician Penn Jillette, and (e) director Robert Rodriguez. These celebs named their kids (a) Apple, (b) Banjo, (c) Denim; (d) Moxie CrimeFighter; and (e) Rogue, Racer, Rebel, and Rocket.

Really.

("Really" is my commentary, not the name of another Rodriguez child. With the rich and famous, adverbs don't seem to be as popular as nouns.)

As is the case with any name, there is always the possibility that it is a family name, and I respect that. But when celebs aren't paying homage to Aunt Moxie or Grandpa Rocket, I suspect they are trying to gin up publicity for themselves. The headline PETE AND ASHLEE NAME THEIR CHILD BRONX MOWGLI! will get more people interested in Pete an Ashlee than the headline PETE AND ASHLEE NAME THEIR CHILD DAVE! will.

But celebrities aren't the only people giving their children unique names. Everyday untalented people like us (as opposed to the famous untalented people of Hollywood) are doing the same; the difference is that WE seem to have a thing for naming children after famous people - people like President-elect Barack Obama, Philadelphia Phillies Chase Utley and Cole Hamels, and both Senator John McCain AND Governor Sarah Palin (in one baby!), to name a few recent examples.

Why do parents do this? Is it a lack of confidence? Are parents concerned that their babies will not make names for themselves, so they force notorious names upon the kids, sentencing them to an eternity - or at least 12 solid years - of playground torment? Or is it no different than the celebrities' self-promotion, but in this case less People Magazine and more church bulletin or social grapevine?

I'm not about to suggest that future parents populate the country with only Marys and Johns. But I will suggest that unique names are nothing more than gimmicks if there aren't unique kids attached to them, and parents can inspire and support uniqueness in their kids in many ways. Or, parents can consider how ordinary names can also mean something special. For proof of that, I give you the story of the kid who was named after an archangel: me.

My name is Michael. This is one of the most common names on the books (#2 for boys this decade, according to the Social Security Administration, but as the story goes, I was named after St. Michael the Archangel because I was born on his feast day. This might not matter to some of you, but understand that I am also the product of a 12-year Catholic school education. When you spend the entire formative era of your life surrounded by priests and nuns, being named after the angel charged by God to do battle with Satan gives your cafeteria stride a little swagger. And it didn't take me long to convince the other kids that while I can't hit a curve ball or play the low post, I just might be able to smite the wicked. This helped me in many social circles.

Fortunately, mine is a positive tale; having been named after a major religious figure gave me confidence as a youngster. But I was also lucky in that my name was ordinary, and never subject to ridicule. Neither will be the case for one poor, famously monikered kid out there...a kid named Adolf Hitler Campbell.

Sometimes it just writes itself.

In a story that was picked up from Pennsylvania (local) to Malta (not so local), the Associated Press reported on the plight of just-turned-three-years-old Adolf Hitler Campbell, son of Heath and Deborah Campbell of Hunterdon County, NJ. It wasn't the boy's name that made headlines (otherwise, the world might recently have been introduced to Adolf Hitler Wentz). It was the fact that local grocery store ShopRite refused to immortalize the lad's name in icing on his birthday cake, for whatever reason organizations give for thinking that Nazis and confections don't mix. Who saved the day? WalMart, who gladly obliged the birthday request. (Thank goodness Heath and Deb weren't shopping for a Cheryl Crow CD for the boy's birthday.)

But what would possess someone to name his son after Hitler? From the AP piece: "Heath Campbell said he named his son after Adolf Hitler because he liked the name and because 'no one else in the world would have that name.'"

Clearly, it never occurred to Heath that there are several reasons why no one else has that name. For starters, it doesn't quite roll off the tongue the way, say, "George Clooney Campbell" does. Second, everyone else seems distracted with the debate over whether to spell a boy's name Xavier, Xzavier, or Zavier (according to the SSA, #87, #703, and #898 respectively, for boys this decade). Third, the name tends to summon a quick reminder of an unfortunate death or two...or 6,000,000.

As for the name choices of the entire Campbell brood, it was reported in a longer local story, "'They're just names, you know,' [Heath] said. 'Yeah, they (Nazis) were bad people back then. But my kids are little. They're not going to grow up like that.'" His other kids? One-year-old JoyceLynn Aryan Nation Campbell and her little sister, newborn Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie Campbell.

Really.

Look, I don't think anyone thinks that a child named Apple will automatically become a titan of the fresh produce or home computer industries. Nor do I think that a child named after Chase Utley is destined to become a three-time all-star second baseman. So it stands to reason that I don't think anyone thinks that a child named after history's most vile mass murderer will grow up to become a vile mass murderer. But if he does, there is hope for us. That hope comes from Kel-el Copolla Cage, son of actor Nicolas Cage and child named after the last son of Krypton. That's right. Nicolas Cage named his son after Superman.

Sleep well, citizens. Just as rock beats scissors, so too does Superman beat Hitler.

Thank you, Nicolas Cage. You are a true American...celebrity.