“This weekend?” I said into the phone, “uh nada.. yeah… Saturday’s good, lemmie check with the boss.”

Mrs S was sitting on the couch giving me a really curious look for some reason. She had that knit brow, perked up ears.. kinda like when, and don’t take this wrong, kinda like when the dog hears a mouse under the deck. He’s at full attention, stares down at the spot, ears focused forward. She was doing that at my head, her head was cocked at an angle… she had a look of of what I’d almost call it disbelief in something or another.

“Hey” my favorite term of endearment for her, “What’r we doing Saturday night?” She looked at me, brows knit even further together. “Tim wants to know if I can go down to Elko with .. him ….. and ………” With each word her brow become tighter and tighter and her eyes narrowed and my inner robot was screaming “Warning Will Robinson Warning Warning”.

Her stare become more focused and Oh boy.. that’s how she locks on her Photon Torpedo Look.. be very afraid. One wrong move here and my head could explode.

“You want to go to Elko on Saturday, go.” She said in a way that caused our windows to frost up and my fish tank to freeze solid.

“Hang on a minute” I said into the receiver. I’m astute enough to know when go means stay and yes means no. “um what’r we doing?” Her mother will be in town this week, shudda been a clue.

“What are ‘we’ doing” she asked with just the slightest bit of sarcasm that would indicate by “we” she meant “Me and the mouse in my pocket”. “Well dear” she said with a bit of scowl “I was planning to go to our son’s graduation, sounds like you have a better offer somewhere.”

She always looks her most frightening when her eyes start turning glowing hot red as she powers up the Cyclops Death Ray.

“Lemmie call ya in a minute” I said into the phone and hung up.

“Graduation is on Friday” I announced, with some confidence. “No” she said, it’s on the 2^nd, I told you it was on the 2^nd like five times ”

“I know what you said but the 2^nd, I noticed that the 2nd is a Saturday and graduation is always on Friday, I assumed you meant the 1st.”

The sigh she let lose sent the dogs fur backwards on his back. “NO dear. I know the date and the day. I have to plan stuff around here, you.. do not. You really want to question this?”

On a flow chart this is the point when the process hits a decision diamond. I could:

• Admit defeat and move on. That would be the logical path and the path of least resistance. Since I have never before taken that path I wouldn’t assume to take it now.
• Call her on it, get a calendar and the invitation and prove her wrong. There’s little in my life more important that being right. A situation so rare and yet so rewarding it’s worth pursuing no matter how long the odds might be on achieving that state.
• Change the subject. There’s always another option especially when you have an ADD hobbled brain like I do. Play the dipshit card and pretend not to notice when no one knows what the hell you’re talking about.

But I kinda wanted to go Elko for the races on Saturday. I choose “B”.

“No dear. They don’t do graduations on Saturday they always do them on Friday. ALWAYS”. Pretty good argument if you ask me. That old “always” argument, where do I collect my “you were right” card?

“Dude” and not the good Dude, this was the “poor Sank, you try and try and in the end you are nothing” sort of Dude. “They used to always do graduations on Friday. They also used to always do them the week school got out. This year they’re doing them a week early AND they’re doing it on Saturday. As a matter of fact, this year it’s June 2^nd. Wanna see the announcement?”

Gawd damn the world is confusing. Just when you get something down someone hasta come long and mess wit it.

But all may not be lost.. “So uh” I said, “what time is this thing?” which is Sankspeak for “is there anyway I could go to Graduation and still be able to make it down to Elko by 8:00? 7:00 would be better.

Judging from her look I guessed no.

Well I’ve never believed in the idea that when you’re in a hole you should stop digging. I like a bigger hole sometimes. “so uh” I said as she looked up with a kind you’re pathetic look, “uh ya wanna mess around later?”

It’s good to give people an opportunity to release their emotions once in a while. Very cleansing.

It starts and ends with this- Wear sunscreen, all the time.

Got it?

I am extremely lucky in some ways. While I’ll never win the lottery, so it seems, I did by chance, happen to enjoy a dry walk to the bus stop in the morning and another on the way home from it last week on a day when there really was only about two 20 minute periods of no rain. I’ll take that kind of luck any time, as a matter of fact I’ve sort of come to expect it as evidenced by my not carrying an umbrella that day.

About 10 years ago I had a similar stroke of luck, although this time the stakes were much higher. And, I had no idea. I had a mole on my back that was a little bit odd, I think that’s about the best way to describe it. Wasn’t particularly large I’d say it was about the size of a zero on a page in 12 point font. It was weird in that it was especially dark, matter of fact it was quite black and had a bit of brown on one side and it was raised a little bit.

At my annual physical I mentioned it do my GP, he took a look, shrugged and said “I don’t think it’s anything but if you’re worried I’ll send you the Dermatology clinic.” He was BTW, the second GP to tell me “it’s nothing”. Now Mrs S would be all over me if I didn’t go, so the appointment was made. Dermatologists are notoriously hard to get an appointment, but I did and I went. The Derm looked at the mole, commented that it’s “not too impressive, I’m pretty sure it’s nothing but we can take it off just in case it’s a precancer kind of thing. But I doubt it” and just to be sure he took it off with a hole punch looking deal.

Three days later I got the call that the mole was a malignant melanoma and I needed come back in for more surgery that day or anytime tomorrow.

It was a serious “gulp” moment for me, one that I’m still dealing with.

I was quite lucky in this, the first removal had taken the entire mole, but current protocol is to take an additional centimeter or more of skin from around the spot. The result was a 6 inch scar and clear margins. Because it was caught so early there was no need for any other treatment, which was good because the last thing a guy with melanoma should do is get on the internet and look up melanoma. You’ll be getting your affairs in order pretty quick I assure you. The problem with the disease it that once it breaks through the dermis layer it metastasizes pretty fast around the body and once that happens, response to treatment is in the low single digit percentages in terms of success.

Since that time I’ve had three more moles removed that were judged atypical stage 3, or as my doctor would say pre-cancerous. When they would “turn”, who knows. But, I’ve been going to the derm every year and I’m almost guaranteed some stitches and the most hated part of the deal, the biopsy result.

Since the surgery I’ve learned enough about moles and what to look for; the ABCD’s of skin cancer and I’ll admit I do spend some time worrying about stuff.

For those of you at home the ABCD’s are as follows, the below are indicative of possible issues:

A= Asymmetrical Moles that aren’t round or oval, one side is different from the other.

B= Borders are jagged or blurry, they aren’t sharp.

C= Color, moles that aren’t uniform in color are suspicious.

D= Diameter- if it’s bigger than a pencil eraser get it checked out.

E= Elevation- raised above the skin.

To this I would add a couple more-

Changes= moles that seem to be changing shape or size

And the obvious one, any mole that bleeds needs checking that afternoon.

So after my experience and the ensuing paranoia that it brought I happened to talking with a friend of mine at work. Glancing at her arm I noticed a mole that met three of the criteria above. Not that it was any of my business, and I didn’t really know this woman all that well, but I commented to her that she should go get that thing looked at.

She wasn’t open to my suggestion. All professional talk aside, I was pretty serious when I said; I don’t want to alarm but based on my experience I would get that thing looked at. In addition I learned that women for some reason are more likely to get melanomas on their arms and legs, men on their torsos. I told her that she really needed to have that evaluated but I would say nothing more about it.

About a month later she came by office, her arm in a bandage. “I just wanted to let you know that the mole scared me into having checked out.. it turned out to be melanoma, stage 2.” Stage two requires additional screening including a lymph node or two to be biopsied. It means the tumor as gone through the dermis and is in danger of reaching the lymphatic system and blood stream. The outlook isn’t as great.

She was lucky as well. The doctors could find no evidence of involvement beyond the initial site and she was in the clear. But only after two surgeries and several different scans and biopsies.

I’m quite certain my cancer was a direct result of years of playing in the sun, I grew up swimming in the neighbors pool almost every afternoon. Not to mention sailing and fishing and I don’t thing I wore sunscreen once that entire time. I remember some extensive sunburns, like more than one a summer and you know, I never thought twice about it.

I do now. And so, should you.

My experience was pretty mild. The initial biopsy, a skin harvest that turned into a nice coin purse for my parents and trips to the derm every 6 months for several years, once a year these days. Since then I’ve had many more moles removed. My back is has many white lines and stitch marks across it, as does my leg and foot, and so far I’ve been fortunate. As a matter of fact the best thing to come out of this are two things 1) I don’t really have to worry about melanoma anymore. The number of screenings and frequency means I’m well monitored and while statistically I may get another one, I’m pretty sure it’ll be caught early and I can get it removed before it does harm. 2) I move to the A List of appointments for the Dermatologist. Where most people get a 8 week out appointment at best, I call and ask for an appointment, play the “M” card and I’m in that afternoon.

The bad news is I will never be able to get health insurance on my own again.

I have type O- blood. Very popular in the blood giving community, it’s the one blood type that makes me the universal donor and it’s the type of choice for newborns. I have my last pint a few weeks before my diagnosis. I’m now in the thanks, but no thanks community.

Life insurance is pretty expensive. I just recently was able to get it again, but only at significantly higher costs.

So, moral of the story- wear your sunscreen, and STAY OUT OF THE TANNING BOOTH. No one looks good with a tan in my opinion.

Started the weekend in the Dermatologists office, my annual brush with mortality. I came away from that pretty much unscathed for a chance. Actually that makes  two a row, which pleases me to no end.

Friday afternoon Mrs S and headed up to the cabin to work on the pontoon boat. We got the furniture reattached and by most accounts the boat, which will be renamed the SS (Sank Ship in case you were wondering) War Eagle. She’s resplendent with navy carpet and some orange trim the only thing missing a giant AU in the front carpet and the “Beat Bama’ logo on the back.

Personally I’d like to see the youth do well in a couple classes at Auburn before we go all in on the family watercraft if you know what I’m saying. Or rather, Just say’n.

Friday evening we had the first bonfire of the year. Not so much for the bonding effect of a lovely campfire on a summer night, the motivation was rather um, to destroy about 4 years of back checks and documents Mrs S had accumulated and didn’t want to feed through her $8.99 POS shredder that chokes on two ply toilet paper much less more than one piece of paper at a time.

By the time we were done the fire pit was one gigantic pile of ashes which magically were completely gone in the morning after a thunderstorm and some rain.

Saturday Giggs had a friend up for the day, Riley the golden lab from the next door in Apple Valley. Riley hitched a rid up with some of the family members and they had a splendid day, Riley chasing shit around the yard for hours on end and Giggs attempting to herd Riley. They have a great relationship because each dog gets what they want. Giggs did have to draw line however at lake entry. Giggs, having no legs is a bit of wader in the lake, definitely not a swimmer. Riley being a  lab enjoys the water. Giggs had to patiently wait on shore for other dog to swim back, and like a true herding dog waited in the down position like a sheep dog waiting on the next command. Breeding for traits is very interesting.

Then again, no corgi like the water, and Giggs certainly enjoys a good wade when it’s hot outside.

Saturday dinner I whipped up Lebanese style. Some kabobs which had been marinating in olive oil and spices all day, I attempted my mothers baba ganoush, roasted eggplant puree with tahini, garlic, olive oil, and lemon juice. Having no recipe I winged it from a 27 year old memory of an observation of my mother making the stuff. It was decent enough but needs some tweaking. Since nothing as measured I’m not exactly certain how I’ll I do that.. but I will enjoy figuring it out.

After chow Saturday night Mrs S and the kids all bailed with our neighbors and it then got really quiet up there. If it wasn’t for the thunder and lightning I’d have had to start talking to myself.

Sunday I got up with great expectations of watching the Indy 500 and doing some work. New role at the office has me bringing home a lot of stuff these days and I was pretty sure at least one day of the weekend would be devoted to project work.

As it was we literally had no reception on Sunday. No TV reception for some reason. Now Blake Lake is on the far periphery of Twin Cities TV coverage, and all we have is an antenna, but we had been getting decent TV. I’m blaming sunspots.

After weaseling myself on invite to a friends for breakfast I managed to extend my visit through the morning and enjoyed a gratis bloody Mary while watching the race. Actually one of the best bloodies I’ve ever had. Full meal, marinated tomato juice and vodka. Good times.

After the race I invited the gang over to my place for more feeding and drinking and so it was.

Never mind that work thing mind you.

Sunday night we had a massive thunderstorms all around us, but someway, somehow we managed to avoid a direct hit and only had to suffer through the power going out. For 6 hours of so.

Monday I was home by 9:00. Mrs S met me at the door with a list. Somehow it had slipped my mind that my mother in law is coming to visit on Wednesday, which in my mind was three days away, but wit the holiday is actually only two days away and since we want her think we live in a model home for some reason, there was a lotta shit to do, which we did.

And now I have tiredness.

I did take a moment and think about the men and women in uniform who are putting their lives on the line in the service of our country. The meaning of the day was mentioned at dinner. I did not forget, like I did about my Mother in Law.

Or that we are about to have a high school graduation this week, my son of all people. Now since he’s the middle kid I figured we could ignore it all together and go to the lake, but on further reflection have decided to stick around and congratulate him, and all his class on their great achievement, they have met the most basic educational requirement of our society and have earned themselves the highly coveted Meeting Expectations.

I don’t get the bid deal on high school  graduations.

Grannie smoked a hookah.

Once the Za’atar and gifts were distributed the next agenda item on Nona’s list after a long flight, time to “make shisha”.

For Nona, “making shisha” was as much about the ritual as it was about actually smoking. The entire process, start to finish took about an hour. People moved a slower pace back then, they had time for daily ritual, and in some parts of the world, still do.

The shisha ritual went something like this:

Ever afternoon Nona would stop whatever it was she was doing, most probably watching old movies on TV or maybe actually going to movies, which BTW called the cinema.

Anyways on some cue that I wasn’t privy too Nona would head into the kitchen where she’d find her “paraphernalia”, basically a tuna can lid and a pair of the most heavy duty, and intricately decorated tweezers you’ve ever seen. Actually these were bigger than tweezers, they were more like demi-tongs. They were made out of brass and had graceful matching curves from where the two sides were connected down to the “grabbing” end. The ends were enlarged and squared off with a hole through each side. These were not for plucking chin hairs; these were for handling hot coals.

And down from the bookshelf where it rested when she wasn’t using it, or when she wasn’t in town, Nona would pull down her giant water pipe. She kept a small one with her in her suitcase, I remember it having a green glass bottom and being about 18 inches high. But for real smoking she liked her big ones. The one we had for her was about 36 inches high. It was big enough that if she sat it on the floor next to her, she could reach over and adjust the tobacco or the coals without bending over too much.

A Shisha is the Egyptian name for a hookah. My Lebanese Aunts referred to it as a N’arghi’lle. My friends, well they mistakenly called it a bong. It wasn’t a bong. Didn’t have a “carb” as Spicoli would say in Fast Times years later.

Her sheshia was really a beautiful object, and quite functional. It had a clear glass bottle on the bottom, decorated with gold leaf paint in circular designs around the base. Very near eastern. In the bottle went the stem section. A large tube basically made out of polished brass and silver. The tube had and inner tube where the hose attached and went down into the water. The hose.. I’m not sure what it was made out of. It always reminded me of a snake, light brown with many thin segments, the end that went to the stem had a kind of embroidered cover with needlepoint in reds and blues, again in a very near eastern pattern that was geometric in nature, which avoided offending G-d by showing something He created. A common belief among Jews and Muslims.

The mouth piece was carved wood of some kind with a thin metal around at the top.

On top of the tube was a circular tray and on top of that, sticking up like a flower, the ceramic bowl.

The smoking process was like this-

1. Go out the garage and get a couple briquettes out of Dad’s BBQ stash. We had BBQ about 5 times in the 18 years I lived at home. The bag was for Nona.
2. Wrap the charcoal in a plastic wrap, put them on the floor and beat them with Mom’s rolling pin in they were crumbled. Same method used for pressing garlic BTW.
3. Put the tuna can lid on the stove, right on the element, set the stove HIGH and drop some of charcoal crumbles on lid with.. the neato tongs.
4. While that’s cooking, open the portfolio. Nona traveled with a portfolio looking thing that she used to carry around her tobacco. In her case whole leaves of dried “Persian” tobacco. They were carefully stored between sheets of wax paper.
5. I seem to recall her washing the tobacco a bit to get it wet. Probably so it wouldn’t burn as fast. What did I know I was like 10.
6. Fill the bowl of the sheshia with water, put the top on.. The top was the long tube that descended into to the water, up through a bottle stop and up to the bowl of the thing. Around the bowl was the circular tray. Below the bowl was the port for the hose.
7. Go to the stove and get the now glowing red charcoal chunks and place them into the tray, put the tobacco ball on top and with the fancy tongs select a red hot chunk, drop it onto the tobacco, grab hose and mouth piece, lean back in her chair and….

The English, on encountering hookah’s in India referred to them as “hubbly-bubblies”. If you were sitting next to me I could make the sound, I imitate it pretty good to this day.

And that’s how Nona would pass the afternoon. Every afternoon. Smoking, looking out at the yard and the lake. In hindsight a pretty good existence. My friends would drop over and check out Sank’s hookah bong hitting grannie. And while I’d like to impress you with stories of her doing bong hits with “tobacco” I can’t cause it wasn’t. It also wasn’t cherry-vanilla- toffee flavored shit that the kids are now smoking with these things. It was just tobacco, quality tobacco which she got from the tobacconist at Eatons in Montreal.

The only day she didn’t “make her sheshia” was on Saturday as that was Shabbat.. No smoking on the Sabbath. On Saturday night however, after the sun went down and we made havdalah, the ceremony dividing the Sabbath from the rest of the week… well it took her like 3 nano seconds after the last blessing to grab a cig from my old man, put it to her lips, light it and in one humongous draw suck that thing all the way down to the filter. Apparently there was some ‘Jonesing” going on there. Nona needed a hit and taking 20 minutes to prep the pipe wasn’t going to cut it.

You know, my Dad’s father, also a big smoker and religious Jew also suffered withdrawals during Shabbat. And then he discovered that in America there’s a product for everything. It is possible to enjoy tobacco and not violate the Sabbath by lighting up.

Which is why he died with a can of Copenhagen in his shirt pocket. He loved this country.

Last week about this time I was dining on seared scallops at Café Maude. The scallops were served on a walnut yogurt flavored with za’atar. It was delicious. Za’atar is a Middle Eastern spice that my mother and grandmother used to cook with. It’s the Lebanese version of pesto, only typically used dry as opposed to in solution like pesto.

I was lucky enough to have the world’s greatest grandmother, or as I knew her, Nona. She lived with the rest of my mother’s family in Montreal. Originally she was from Beirut, lived in Egypt in the 30’s to the 50’s then moved to Quebec with the rest of the family in the early 60’s. Nona used to come visit us for months at a time in the winter, California being somewhat nicer than Montreal for an old lady. And although those visits always seemed short, to my Father I’m sure they were an eternity.

Nona was strictly old school. Deeply religious, she was an Orthodox Jew, she took traditions pretty seriously. She also took cooking pretty seriously. As did my mother, and they were good at it.

Za’atar was one of the staples. It wasn’t something you could get in Stockton; mother would have to wait for the annual visit from Nona. We’d pick her at the airport in San Francisco, nice day trip for the family, and bring her back to Stockton, about a 2 hour drive. Dad would help with her luggage; she always came with a giant suit case and smaller case that looked kind of like a bowling ball bag. A trip from Nona was one the highlights of year for me. She would shower me with little trinkets, gifts from Canada, maple leaf plaques, that sort of thing. I especially like the pictures of Queen, especially when came on $20.00 Canadian notes, which the bank of Dad would exchange at even money. Nice windfall for a lad.

Also in those suitcases, a kilo or two of za’atar. A green spice that came in bricks, which Nona wrapped in cellophane, you know, so they wouldn’t mess up her clothes.

Yeah. Those were different times. Mom would take the bricks break them up into 1 oz portions put those in baggies and.. then I didn’t know what happened to them.

Kidding.

But in hindsight the thought of an old lady carrying bricks of green herbs thought the airport seems odd.

What was done with it? Mom would buy a tub of plain yogurt, now in about 1975 plain yogurt wasn’t all that easy to find. America was just getting used to the stuff and typically it was the fruit at the bottom sugary stuff in the small container. She needed the “real” stuff which actually was more like todays Greek yogurt than anything else.

She would take a container of yogurt, put into a nylon stocking and squeeze the water out of it. She’d then hang the stocking over the kitchen rod over the sink and let it continue to drain overnight. In the morning she’d have a thick white cheese that she’d combine with olive oil and za’atar and spread over bread. I’m sure it was delish but I couldn’t get over the fact that she was using a sock to strain the stuff. Neither could my father. Even though his parents were from the same part of the world as my mother and her mother, eating cheese out of a nylon stocking seemed weird to him. And me.

Can’t say I ever had any. Later on in life I learned that some families used cheese cloths for this purpose. Some families used garlic presses as well. Mom and Nona did not.

Not that they didn’t use a mountain of garlic in most dishes, it’s just that the press seem so inefficient, especially when you measured your garlic in terms of “heads” rather than “cloves”. Mom made a babaganoush that, and I don’t think this is much of an exaggeration here, went something like this:

• One whole eggplant. Put broiler on high and put the eggplant under the broiler for 10 minutes or so, until the skin is charred. Remove the eggplant, let cool and scrape out the green pasty remains of the burnt offering.
• In a bowl mix 5-10 cloves or two heads of garlic, half a cup of tahini, a generous dollop of olive oil, a generous pinch of cayenne and blend in the eggplant. Measuring cup you say? What that? We used a coffee cup or a 3 count depending on the recipe. Measurement was relative.
• Mix together and serve in a large plate, spread around the plate. Add some za’atar and more olive oil for looks and dig in. Preferably with a ripped chunk of pita bread.

Garlic pressing… put the entire head, or more, of garlic in an old bread bag, preferably one from the bread bag drawer we had, where plastic bread bags were saved for reuse. Only after being washed out and dried over the curtain rod again. That curtain rod got some use.

Sit on the floor linoleum floor with the bag and either a rolling pin or a hammer, which ever was at hand and proceed to whip the daylights outta the garlic until you had a paste. Pick out the skins and use generously.

Really generously. Couple servings of that babaganoush and you were certified Vampire Free for a couple nights. You were also having the weirdest damned dreams.. that much garlic does stuff to you.

Occasionally bad stuff.

This is the lesson the Facebook investors are learning this week. The stock dropped 11% today in trading, and I fear the fall isn’t done yet. Well, I don’t actually fear it as I have no vested interest in it, and I’m even gloating a wee wee bit as I saw this coming a mile off.

I couldn’t for the life of me justify $38.00 a share for stock in a company that essentially does nothing.

Scratching my head, I tried to come up with an answer to that question all weekend long.

What value does Facebook ad?

Well lezzieheah, it enables people to manage their relationships with friends and family, I get that. Is that a “must have”? What exactly is knowing some details about Aunt Millie worth to you?

I fully acknowledge that Facebook is the category killer in this space. No one else can claim 1/6 of the world’s population as their client base.

They sell ads. That’s value for someone. They sell advertisers on the idea that an ad on Facebook is worth X and will deliver so many impressions, so much revenue, so much traffic. It’s not exactly revenue since the product they’re really selling, is all us, all of our faces anyway.

And the big problem selling ads online to fund revenue? We users of social networking sites and the like are a fickle bunch. Remember the lesson of MySpace and AOL before them. Yeah not so cool these days.

They enable others to sell software, or rather access to software. Add ons to Farmville for example.

Actually what I think they sell is a slice of a giant bubble, it’s a big bubble, don’t get me wrong, big as of this afternoon $82 Billion dollar bubble. But really bubbles don’t slice so well, they uh tend to pop. In Facebook’s case, after 2 days of trading, to the tune of about $15Billion. And as I said, I don’t think we’re quite done.

Consider another company that sells relationships, Linkedin. Linkedin is a professional version of Facebook. They’ve been trading publicly since May of 2011. Little over a year. Linkedin is essentially the world’s largest resume sharing service. It’s a low risk way to post your resume and let recruiters know, in “secret” that you’re willing to listen to from these folks. Come on now, we know why you’re out there. Sales leads my butt. Maybe after your resume is completed.

Not to discount sales leads, Linkedin is a way to get sales leads, you can also recruit new employees and to learn more professional details about those new members your project team, without having to go through the embarrassment of asking them. It’s where you find out where that jackass you used to work with landed after you heard he got fired from the company he left your company. You can snicker about his misfortune.

So in some ways it’s kind of like Facebook except.. except professional people, job seekers, sales people, working folks, are highly motivated to be on Linkedin. The service adds value based for networkers, salespeople and yes, job seekers. Even job seekers who are currently employed.

Facebook does none of this. Were it Linkedin to go away, professionals would be hard pressed to replicate the capabilities offered to them; the online virtual management of their contact lists, the ability to have their resumes at the fingertips of recruiters who in turn can develop a list of potential candidates without having to beat the bushes. As proof of my hypothesis, Linkedin has paywall, it offers premium memberships, with full access to all of their tools and that access costs money. Money paid is revenue and that company will rise and fall based on real subscription revenue.

Said another way, the product that Linked in “makes” is worth paying for. There is a value proposition there which can be monetized.

Facebook does not. Seth Myers on SNL this week said of Facebook “it allows you see how fat your high school friends have gotten over the years.” He’s right, and that’s kind all it certainly does that. I know, I’ve gotten pretty fat and lots of people I knew in high school now know I’m fat. They’ve seen my pictures.

But what is that worth to me..

Ancestory.com is another good example. Ancestory.com also enable you to manage relationships, albeit mostly with dead people. Ancestory.com aggregates massive amounts of what are essentially public documents and serves them up to amateur genealogists who only have to know a few facts about dead relatives to discover a ton of information about them, what counties they lived in, what boat they came over on, and all sorts of other tidbits. For those of us who like that stuff, like me, two hours into my Ancestory.com subscription and I had expanded my knowledge of my family tree, and it was all enhanced with copies of real documents mind you, at least twenty fold, and that’s conservative.

Literally 10 years of my investigations and questions were answered in minutes. And more was being added all the time. One day on the site and I took what had been a family tree that went back to my one known grandparent, back over 30 generations, all the way back the William the Conqueror, who if the research is correct was my 28thX Grandfather. BTW, 28 generations of grandparents is equal 134,217,728 people so chances are at least some of you reading this are my cousins. Hey Cuz S’up?

My point, Ancestory.com offers real value. They sell time, or rather time savings. They sell efficiency. They’re selling stuff which a certain group of people are willing to pay for, and it ain’t cheap. $30 a month or so.

Facebook offers none of this.

Every relationship I own on Facebook, and that every other of the billion subscribers owns, falls into the category of “nice to have”. If Facebook wasn’t there, I wouldn’t be in contact with my buddy Sam who I went all the way through elementary and high school with. I like Sam a lot, I’d forgotten how much I liked him before I was on Facebook because he wasn’t a part of my life then, I’d kinda forgotton about him, sorry Sam.

Even better, my cyber-pal Michael the Mike Guy. Michael and I have been friends for years, about 7 years I think. I know his daughter was a nursing student at Chico State, like my wife. I know he used to have a personal assistant corgi, like I do now. I know he lived in a house in Sonoma for almost two decades before recently moving to San Francisco. I sent a card and donation to the Susan B Korman project when his wife passed from breast cancer a few years ago and I was excited to send him a little wedding present a few weeks ago in celebration of his wedding. I was very happy that such a warm kind hearted man was lucky enough to find true love twice in one life time. It’s what friends do.

And, like most friends, Michael and I have some mutual friends, Michael is big in the barbershop choral community in the Bay Area as is my high school sweetheart. The two of them have probably met, which is ironic because Michael and I, at least in person, have not.

Michael and I have never shared the same physical space that we know off. I’ve never met him in person. I’ve never seen him except via pictures. I’ve never talked to him except via comments on each others blogs, emails, Facebook updates, and taunts in the Fantasy baseball league we’re in together. Facebook enables that, but our relationship didn’t start in Facebook, and won’t end when Facebook is gone. Sure it helps it.. but I can’t help feel that if Facebook didn’t exist, or if they failed, we would carry on. Facebook value is secondary to our experience.

And not to be harsh here, Sam, Michael this isn’t meant as a personal thing in case you guys are reading this, but reality is I haven’t seen Sam in over 30 years, and have never actually seen Michael. (I’ll catch up with sometime.. they’re great guys and I think we’d have a gas hanging out)

As much as I may value my relationship with them, and with 200 other friends, nothing changes because of it and frankly if Facebook went away, we’d find other ways to connect. In fact while Facebook enhances our relationship, it doesn’t make us use it to say in contact, liked Linkedin and it doesn’t save time like Ancestory.com.

I might pay something for a Facebook subscription, but if I had to pick between Facebook and say groceries, or getting my dog neutered, that premium subscription to Facebook would be a low priority.

Which is why I’m not buying in.

“Because the flux capacitor on the food replicator crapped out and I ain’t got time to crawl into the Jefferies tube and replace it.” I responded, quite impressed with my wittyness and all around intellectual prowess.

I don’t care if it is 7:30 on a Sunday morning, Some of my roommates don’t seem that interested in trying to solve their own problems.

The nameless robe clad person did take the time to extract themselves from the fridge and stare at me in a way that brings fear to younger men, I’m old and experienced now and the look is getting far less effective.

“what?”

“Ya hafta start the day all snarky like that?”

A frog and a scorpion were sitting on the bank of the river. Both wanted to cross. the scorpion asked the frog if he could get a ride across the water on the frog’s back.

“But Scorpion” said the frog, if I carry you across you will sting me and I will die.”

The scorpion said to the frog, “Frog, if I sting you than we will both die, please carry me across and I promise I won’t sting you.” The frog agreed and the scorpion crawled on his back and they set out across the river.

Halfway across the scorpion raised his tail and stung the frog. The frog, as he was dying, said to the scorpion, “why did you sting me, now we both will perish.”

Scorpion said quietly, knowing he to was about to die, “because… I’m a scorpion.”

“So uh.. does that mean you’re not interested in do’n the deed later?” I snarkly remarked.

Apparently bacon, ham and I have something in common, we’re all pigs.

I have effectively learned how leverage my superpower; ambivalence.

“Sank, make me one of your good coffees would’ya?” I make a pretty mean latte.

“Of course my love.” Nuth’n like a latte to right a sketchy situation, and shift the odds back my way.

I noticed something odd. Kitchen table is had several cans of stain on it, some nails, rags. “ ‘S’up with the stain?” I asked.

“We’re staining the window the boys room upstairs.”

Head spin-

“Do projects just come to you in your sleep or has been in you radar for a while?”

“Only since the window was installed and you said you’d do it, which according to my calendar was in 2009”.

Ouch..

“And while you’re at Sank, call some friends and see if you can find someone to help you hang the pictures in there, since ‘straight’, ‘neat’, and ‘level’ aren’t exactly in your tool kit.”

Ouch squared.

I’d like to argue about that but I really can’t.

“I cooked yesterday” I said confidently.

“and uh here’s your latte”… “dear”..

Snarkday score- 45-30 advantage wife. I have the rest of the day to make a comeback.

Nuth’n a bag of goldfish wouldn’t take care of. They eat the mosquitos.

Good ones do anyway.

So, I went out and bought a bag of the things.

“Red, go out and check the pond”

I hadn’t done much a damned thing with it this year. There were probably some leaves in there and maybe a few other things, hopefully none of those bizarre brain worms that were in there last fall. Those things were scary as hell. Whiptailed worm or something like that.

The kid came back in the house. “Uh Dad, you uh aren’t going to put fish in that pond.. the uh water.. smells like.. um like uh…” searching for the word, “smells like ass.”

We’re dumping the fish in anyway. Remembering that I spent $1.75 on 18 goldfish I wasn’t going to be all that worried about it. We could replace them should something go horribly wrong.

I know what he’s talking about. Water with rotting leaves and crap gets kinda stinky after a while. When I got home from work I decided to a low tech water change in the pond. One way to do this is to put in a siphon, run the hose down to the drain, or get the pump and do it that way.. or  just put the hose in, turn it up and flood the thing, let the water run until it overflows.

As I was doing this, the filter came undone and as I was reaching down to fix it something made a “ploop”.

Sickening sound ploop. I instantly knew what it was.

My iPhone, tired of being used for endless useless games and applications, sick of being left in hot cars, tired of having no case, tired of being tossed into a pocket with keys and change, sick of it’s scratched screen..well she jumped. She saw the opportunity and she went for it. Into the drink. Saw her sitting on the bottom of the pond. Grabbed her out.

“Golly that was sure dumb.” I said to no one in particular. “goodness I’ll have to be more careful.” and finally, “dang it”.

I put the thing in a bag of rice and started trying to figure what next. Probably back to a flip phone. Looking in the headphone jack the evil red eye was staring back at me, that was the moisture indicator, it’s also the “you’re screwed” indicator. And I was. No more warranty.

After an hour in rice I took a look. Screen seemed to work fine, you could call on it, but it had no sound. Sort of looked like the headphone jack had shorted as the thing thought the headphone was in all the time.

Well, my Apple Care was dead now and Verizon was out. Wondering if I could get it fixed I found a place in Edina, Don’t Ditch It, Fix It. According to their website their professionals  were onsite and.. thought they could fix it, and they could do it for about $20.00.

Wow. I was there in 2o minutes. The office was in a building on York, across from the Wendy’s. Going in the directory sent me to the back staircase and down into the basement. I found the office, a small little glass door, inside was a sofa, a 48” tv, couple video consoles, and some games. And a counter. Young dude took my order. Very young dude.

He looked it over, took in the back.. “Still quite a bit of water in here” he said. Came out a few minutes later. “I dried out the inside, soldered the headphone jack.. I’d let it dry out a day and see where it is. If it’s still not working bring in back Monday and I’ll look at it again. Oh.. no charge. I didn’t do much.”

As we talked I learned that Don’t Ditch it Fix It is his business, he’s a company of one downthere.. “been doing this for a couple years, had to move out the house.. so I’ve been down here for a year.” “How did you get first listing on Google?” I asked. Ah.. some metadata, it’s been working pretty good, gets me a ton of business. Kid couldn’t have been more that about 20 years old.

By the time I got home the phone was fully functional again. Kids my hero now.

So, endorsement from Old and the Way, the new official repair shop for electronics Don’t Ditch it Fix It… check it out and support a young entrepreneur.

I’m looking to put together an Old and in the Way meet up this summer and while Facebook may not be good for much, it is good for planning events. Don’t be left out, Like Me now, I need the affirmationhttps:

//www.facebook.com/pages/Old-and-in-the-Way/110541442309312?ref=tn_tnmn

Rather than fight the early riser curse I’ve been dealing with I’ve decided to go with it. Up at 5:00, breakfast and coffee, grab the 6:00 bus, in the office by about 6:35, and do work.

Come home, do other work and go to bed.

*sigh* tyranny of the mundane.

But, we did mix things up last night, nothing makes your dear friend Sank happier than a trip to his favorite south Minneapolis neighborhood eatery, Café Maude.

And boy did we ever pick a fantastic night to go there.

Monday through Wednesday, Maude has a prix fix menu option, last time it was lima beans and chicken. delish, but not my favorite thing I’ve ever eaten at Maude.

Last night, Chef Kemp out freak’n did himself on menu, let me recall:

Main Diver Scallops- sautéed, served over small shrimp, chickpea fries, eggplant, za’atar and walnut yogurt.

This pushed off the pork with mascarpone dish I had at the Lexington in February as “the best thing I’ve eaten this year.” It was that good. Best scallop dish I’ve ever had in my life.

A night at Maude is always the highlight of my week, nay month. I arrived a bit early, thanks to public transportation. Beat the drivers from downtown by 20 minutes. I headed up to the bar where the bar tender, who was great BTW, and I engaged into one of my favorite conversations, good whiskey. He suggested that I try a new-to-me bourbon, Buffalo Trace. Never heard of it before.

Well, dude was right, was great. Made even better by the hand chunked ice cube he added. Delish.

Since the weather in the Twin cities has been spectacular we decided to enjoy the patio. What a night to be dining out on the street.

Once again Café Maude was the place to be. And it’s the place were you can be… stay tuned dear readers.

Buffalo Trace Distillery

Café Maude

Café Maude
5411 Penn Ave South
Minneapolis MN.