What did I miss

Did you miss me? Just kidding. It's a rhetorical question. I know the answer.

I missed you too. What I didn’t miss was any of the social media I’ve been on a cleanse from for the last three weeks.

Alright, maybe I missed it a little.

But you'll be glad to hear I went against all my only child instincts, the ones that scream I can do what I want because the world revolves around me, and stayed strong. I didn’t cave to temptation. I kept my scrolling thumbs otherwise engaged with chores like typing, turning pages on actual books (I’ll never use an e-reader, don’t get me started) and of course the remote since I used some of my reclaimed time to binge The Sopranos, start The Rehearsal and finish the latest season of For All Mankind.

Now that I've tried this little experiment, I’ve learned I can live quite well without Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Having said that, there are events in the world I do want to comment on in real time. Like the can't-happen-fast-enough inevitable indictment of Cadet Bone Spurs.

So I’m moving on to what I like to call the second phase of my cleanse. Behavior modification.

While moderation and I have never made good roommates—Breaking Bad sixteen times, Springsteen over 70 times, The Godfather a gazillion times, the craps tables at the Venetian more times than I remember, Disney's Tower of Terror fourteen times in a row—I’m going to give it another go.

My new regimen, like brushing my teeth and walking the dogs, will be twice a day. Once in the morning, and again in the early evening, a few hours before bedtime to make sure I'm still not seeing the iPhone screen on the inside of my eyelids when I close my eyes to hitch a ride to dreamland (another thing I can use my thumbs for).

I’ll also be challenging myself to limit my two daily scrolls to fifteen minutes each, which to my new way of thinking gives me more than enough time to read through new posts, wish everyone happy birthday and anniversary, reply to all with the clever snark, razor-sharp wit, keen insight and borrowed memes you’ve come to expect from me. Then I'll sign off.

That’s right. To make it just a little less appealing, I'll be logging in and out each and every time I go online. No point in leaving the apps open and tempting temptation.

And if I'm bored during the hours in between—say waiting in a doctor's office, standing in line or wondering why curbside service is taking so damn long to bring my burger out to the car—I'll just find something else to occupy my time.

So it's official. Starting today, I’m back baby. Go ahead, hit the smiley emoji, read the hashtags and AMA.

Let's keep this short

Today is Super Bowl Sunday, so it probably doesn't matter what I write since no one will be reading it (I know, why is this day different from any other?)?

I've written here a couple of times, here and here, about my futile, humiliating, nothing-can-make-me-feel-more- stupid-with-the-possible-exception-of-my-children attempts to become a contestant on Jeopardy.

However, as I was watching the show the other night, it hit me like a bolt of what is lightning (see what I did there?). I've been applying for the wrong position.

Instead of contestant, I should be going for Jeopardy category writer. It's not like I don't know how to bring the funny. Depending on who you ask, I do it for a living. And those category titles and answers are short. Nothing I like better than short copy, with the possible exception of the paycheck that comes with writing it.

I always think the categories reflect the writer's personal tastes. So it'll come as a surprise to no one that my first Jeopardy categories would be Springsteen, Breaking Bad, The Godfather, Sushi Bars, German cars, Helen Mirren and Potpourri (have to keep some traditions alive).

Moving on to the double Jeopardy round, which is always harder, I'd have Movie Palaces, Star Trek, Stand-Up Comics, Seinfeld (I know he's a stand-up, but really, a category unto himself), Is This Thing On and Star Wars Geography (This planet was destroyed by the Death Star super laser in Episode IV: A New Hope...).

Unfortunately you can't go online to apply for the category writer job, so I'll have to see who I know and how to get stuff to them.

Another great job for me would be lotto winner. Working on that one as well.

By the way, it was Alderaan.

The Fredo of cars

Remember the scene in The Godfather where Fredo tells Michael, "I'm not dumb. I'm smart, and I want respect." That should be the tagline for SMART cars.

It doesn't take a government study to know that the SMART car is maybe one of the stupidest ideas ever. Of course, the only thing more stupid than the cars are the people who buy them. Yeah, I said it.

If you're really willing to put your life on the line by driving a Hot Wheels car to get 5 or 10 more miles to the gallon, you're really not getting enough oxygen.

Why not just take your recliner out for a spin next time you have to go on the freeway? At least you won't have to pay extra for the leather and you'll have about the same amount of protection.

Don't get me wrong. I do appreciate SMART cars as comic relief. I like pulling up real close to them in my Land Cruiser at red lights and see the beads of nervous sweat start to roll down the drivers face. I'm not proud, but there it is.

Most SMART car owners are understandably defensive about their vehicles. They'll quote safety studies, talk about how good the cars are for the environment. I suppose if they mean that in the sense of reducing the population then they're right.

Hey, you know who's happy about these little painted golf carts? Cows.

The pressure's off them now. SMART car tipping is a lot more fun. You don't need as many people to do it, and they're a lot easier to find.

Remember that other scene in The Godfather, the one where Michael is talking to his brother-in-law Carlo. Things don't go well for Carlo. Michael says to him, "Don't lie to me. Because it insults my intelligence, and it makes me very angry."

That's pretty much how I feel about SMART cars.

The List

Here's the thing about upper management.

The guys at the top do not go down with the ship. They push people off so they can continue sailing.

They inspire a false sense of trust through breezy conversation and carefully parsed out praise. They conspire with you by whispering a risque joke, and sharing what appears to be a confidence but in reality isn't. When there's a grievance, they take you in their office, close the door, give you a well-practiced sympathetic and understanding look as they tell you how they feel your pain. Then they assure you that "if I could do something about it, I would."

Here's the lesson: despite carefully constructed appearances to the contrary, they're not your friend. But they act like it, as long as you're cost effective and the challenging comments you make or errors and stupid decisions you point out don't reflect directly on them.

As long as that's the case, then your position isn't on The List.

At this point you might be wondering what's triggered this line of thought. Don't worry, I haven't been fired (you need a real job for that to happen). Actually, someone I used to work for happened to cross my mind. Someone I believed to be my friend.

Admittedly it's a line that's easily blurred for me.

You'd think for as many times as I've seen The Godfather, I'd know by now - it's not personal, it's business. The thing is, because of the masquerade, it feels personal.

Here's the funny part: I still like this individual. Even though when given the choice, they wound up putting my name on The List. Which is the very reason I believe they're not my friend. See the conflict?

I hope this person is happy, and not in the "I hope you're happy now" sense. I mean it.

While I'm sure I'm giving this person much more brain time than they've given me since I left - or maybe even than when I was there for that matter - I can't help but feel a profound sadness that this was a person I thought was my friend, and who I counted on to have my back.

Turns out they did. Just not in the way I thought.