Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts

February 20, 2012

Music to My Ears: Social Experiment
Provides Eye-Opening Perspective

The “stunt” was simple, but brilliant: Arrange for one of the world’s greatest musicians to play in a public place, during an inconvenient time, and see what happens.

The results of this social experiment were profound
AND eye-opening for me.

I’m not exactly sure how or why this 2007 Washington Post article recently re-surfaced, and I’m not sure how or why it grabbed my attention.

I stumbled upon it on my Facebook News Feed last week. (I’ve actually seen it posted a couple/few times since then.) The first post I saw teetered on the edge of uninteresting and pointless. It was a grainy surveillance camera photo (below) and the accompanying text read: “A man sat at a metro station...”


I wish I could say that my “friend” sold it with his supplemental comment, but all he wrote was: “This is so awesome. Please take a moment to read.”

For some baffling reason, I followed my friend's passive call to action.

And I’m glad I did. It was awesome!

There was one poignant question – buried right in the middle of the 7,353-word article –that summed up the greatness of this experiment and the powerfulness of the editorial:
“If we can’t take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that – then what else are we missing?”
The musician was Joshua Bell, and he played for 43 minutes in the lobby of the Metro station in Washington D.C. Three days before the “stunt,” Bell – considered “one of the finest classical musicians in the world” – sold out Symphony Hall in Boston. According to the article, decent seats for that performance cost $100.

– – –

During morning rush hour in our nation’s capital, 1,097 people passed by Bell. The article explains:
“Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he’s really bad? What if he’s really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn’t you? What’s the moral mathematics of the moment?”
The Washington Post wanted to see if beauty would transcend in an ordinary setting at an inconvenient time.

The results:

• Seven people stopped what they were doing and listened to the performance for at least a minute;

• Twenty-seven people gave money,

• And Bell collected $32.17 (“Yes, some people gave pennies.”).

That’s the humorous part of the story. (Humorous, like if Kobe Bryant got picked last in a neighborhood pick-up game.)

Unfortunately, I found some tragic parts that don’t go anywhere near funny or ironic. Again, I lean towards profound and eye-opening. I had to share these:

A Ghost Story

Since the experiment was videotaped, you’re able to watch Bell’s 43-minute performance. The Post issues a warning, though: It is extremely sad. (Even sped up and bundled in a 3-minute montage, it’s distressing.)

The author writes: “Even at this accelerated pace, though, the fiddler’s movements remain fluid and graceful; he seems so apart from his audience – unseen, unheard, otherworldly – that you find yourself thinking that he’s not really there. A ghost.”

Then the most profound phrase of the article is written: “Only then do you see it, Bell is the one who is real. They are the ghosts.”

WOW!

Bell expanded on this after watching the video. He said he understood why he didn't draw a crowd – it was rush hour, people were focused on getting somewhere. “I’m surprised at the number of people who don’t pay attention at all,” Bell said puzzled. “As if I’m invisible.”

It baffled him because: “I was makin’ A LOT of noise.”


What We Really Want

The second part of the story that I wanted to share wasn’t necessarily “tragic,” but it definitely slapped me across the face. It piggybacks on Bell’s comments above about being invisible.

In another part of the article, Bell explains that he had butterflies during the “stunt.” He said he was a little stressed. This was coming from a world-class musician who has packed concert halls and played in front of royalty across Europe.

Really?

Really.

“When you play for ticket-holders, you are already validated,” Bell explained. “I have no sense that I need to be accepted. I’m already accepted. Here, there was this thought: What if they don’t like me? What if they resent my presence...”

Isn’t that what we ALL want? To be recognized? To be validated? To be noticed?

If your answer is “no” – then: You. Are. Lying.

Bell said it was an odd feeling being completely ignored.

Confession: That’s MY biggest fear of all-time, and I’m a long way from being world-class in anything.

This part of the article was a tremendous reminder that we’re all human beings with very similar wants and needs.

How many times can I use the adjectives profound and eye-opening?


Are You Kid-ding Me?

This is the part of the story that really got me. (It made me tuck my lips, shake my head and whisper "unbelievable.")

Every time a child walked past Bell in the Metro station that morning, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

The article shared a specific moment to drive this disturbing point home. It was about Sheron Parker and her 3-year-old son, Evan.

The article says: “You can see even clearly on the video. He’s the cute black kid in the parka who keeps twisting around to look at Joshua Bell, as he is being propelled toward the door.”

Evan’s mom, who said she was rushed for time, moved between her son and Bell– blocking her toddler’s line of sight. As they left the lobby, Evan can be seen “craning” to get a look at the world-class violinist.

WOW!

The article referenced poet Billy Collins, who once expressed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the mother’s heartbeat is in iambic meter. “Life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us,” Collins said. The article was implying that it may be true with music, too.

– – –

The article ends just like it started, very matter-of-factly. It definitely stirred something inside of me, though. I didn’t realize exactly what it was until I skimmed the editorial again in order to write this blog post.

It was the question
The Post writer asked: What else are we missing?

Those five words capture the essence of this “stunt.” It is what makes it impactful and relevant. It makes me want to start answering that rhetorical question and start doing something about it.

That “something” is simply opening my eyes and ears and paying attention to the little things.

Not to completely dumb this down, but the infamous quote from Ferris Bueller has stuck with me since I was introduced to Joshua Bell (pop culture meets classical music):

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

I’m glad I didn’t miss this article.

September 23, 2011

Social Media Experiment: Socially Inept?

EDITOR’S NOTE: This was written Oct. 10, 2010, as part of a social media experiment that I decided to document along the way. I had dreams of creating this “scientific journal” but it turned into eight pages of babble. This is the third installment of a 3-part series. Click here to see introductory post.

g g g

One of my last Facebook posts was a picture of me and my son at a Rangers game (right). He was looking up at me and I was acting like I was scolding him. I wrote a clever caption:

“CRASH: Dad, I like how the Rangers match-up against Tampa Bay in the playoffs. ME: BOY! If you just jinxed them...I’m going to spank your tiny little butt.”

Funny, right?

All I could think about after uploading that picture were the potential responses.

“How many people are going to comment on this post?”

“Is anyone going to ‘like’ it?”

“Cute baby photos with funny captions ALWAYS generate some dialogue...and then you throw in the Rangers. WOW! This should be huge!”

“Please! Please! Please!”

Confession: I’m not that pathetic, but I DID login several times to see if anyone had left a comment. (Actually, that’s more embarrassing than my pseudo, over-dramatic thought process.)

But that’s why we post and/or Tweet, right? To get feedback, comments, reTweets?

Otherwise social media isn’t very “social.”

This desire for online interaction started to impact my psyche, though. The adjective “obsessed” carries a lot of negative connotations, but it’s definitely appropriate in this instance.

I HAD to receive feedback.

More confessions:
• I’ve actually gotten my feelings hurt when no one commented on certain status updates.

Explanation: You think you’ve formulated just the right status update – it’s funny, engaging, something everyone can relate to. It’s one of those posts that even makes you giggle. But after you hit “submit”... crickets.
• I check my Twitter account daily to see if any of my thoughtful Tweets were reTweeted.

Explanation: Similar feeble explanation from above...but this is also the case when I share a funny or interesting news story, an inspiring quote or upload a fun picture.
• I would get excited when one of my random followers (Twitter) or a long-lost friends (Facebook) came out of the wood work to share their thoughts.

Note: No pitiful explanation needed.

I just hate the fact that I needed that feedback.

Why couldn’t I just be happy to live peacefully in my quite narcissistic world?

Why couldn’t I be like everyone else and post about where I was or what I was eating? No one is going to respond about a turkey sandwich or the fact I was at Starbucks AGAIN.

This need for online interaction even started to impact my life. I would stress about making the “perfect post,” which means I was thinking about it ALL THE TIME.

I was planning my next update during life’s mundane activities – taking a shower, driving to work and/or mowing the lawn.

But major life events were not exempt.

Example: I was planning my status update even before my just-born son had the birthing goop washed off of him. And I already mentioned the first time my son ate real food – I snapped a photo after his first bite and then raced to the computer.

Yep...missed it all.

I guess I just HAD to have one of my “friends” write “Cute” or “Like father, like son” to get me to my next post.

September 14, 2011

Social Media Experiment: Tweetest Time to Post

EDITOR’S NOTE: This was written Oct. 6, 2010, as part of a social media experiment that I decided to document along the way. I had dreams of creating this “scientific journal” but it turned into eight pages of babble. Click here to see introductory post.

g g g

While I’ve already admitted extensive use of social media on a daily basis – there are certain times when I become a status-updating fiend:

• During TCU Football Games

• During Texas Ranger Baseball Games

• When I am traveling

Kickoff...Tweet.

First pitch...status update.

Standing in security checkpoint at airport...Tweet, Tweet, status update, Tweet.

The only thing I can figure: I am obsessively passionate about the Frogs and Rangers and there is A LOT of down time at the airport.

We’ll...it’s only been two days, but I’ve already I received my first test in this social media experiment.

For the first time in 11 years, my beloved Texas Rangers played in a postseason game.

Reminder: First pitch...status update.

NOT THIS TIME!

It was the biggest game since 1999 and I couldn’t Tweet about it.

I couldn’t gripe about blown calls, crappy managerial decisions or missed scoring opportunities.

I couldn’t “cheer” with other Ranger fans when something magical happened.

Every time one of these moments occurred during Game 1, I instinctively reached for my Blackberry.

But I stopped myself, quickly realizing that my “sickness” was even impacting the way I watched a baseball game.

To help me cope, I decided that “detox posting” was necessary. (Fake posts typed into Microsoft Word.) I found it very comforting to share what I would have posted/Tweeted.

Here are my quasi-updates:

“I’m not throwing a pitch or taking a swing, but I am beyond-myself nervous heading into this playoff game. GO RANGERS!”
“Had big plans to watch game at local bar – nothing like baseball & beer at 12:30 on weekday. BUT THEN, I got a call from my sick wife. Homeward Bound.”
“A LOT of nervous energy...forced to clean house between innings. My house will be spotless by the time this game is over.”
“Making mental note of people who e-mail or call me during the game. They’ll be officially put on a list of people who don’t really like me very much.”
“Rangers win! Nerves temporarily calmed. Unfortunately have to get back to work. – dang you, 12:30 playoff game!”
“Since I’m superstitious: I have to watch rest of playoffs on my couch, son has to have explosive diarrhea & wife must lay on bathroom floor, trying not to chunk.”

The “detox posting” definitely helped, but I think I’m going to draw a line in the sand and just stop for the rest of the playoffs.

Maybe I’ll pay more attention to the game.

Maybe I’ll just yell at my kid and/or dog if the Rangers do something stupid.

Maybe I’ll just appreciate it for what it is – baseball in October.

Maybe I’ll actually enjoy a victory.

By the time you’re reading this...the Rangers could be World Champions. (Of course, no one will know because I wasn’t able to Tweet about it.)*

*Editor’s Note: Damn those San Francisco Giants.


September 7, 2011

Social Media Experiment: Disengaging

EDITOR’S NOTE: This was written Oct. 5, 2010, as part of a social media experiment that I decided to document along the way. I had dreams of creating this “scientific journal” but it turned into eight pages of babble. Click here to see introductory post.

g g g

I used the phrase “walking away from social media,” but it was not that easy.

With smart phone applications, e-mail alerts and bookmarks – it was like I had to severe an umbilical cord.

I decided that “disengaging” is a lot more appropriate way to describe it.

I had to delete, cancel and enable features that had embedded themselves into my life. As I was removing all of this functionality, I seriously considered deleting my accounts. I thought it might be easier.

But the thought of that made me feel like a crack addict, debating on whether or not I should throw my pipe off the nearest bridge.

I got cold sweats, suffered from the shakes and thought of EVERY excuse I could muster NOT to do it. All of this while I laid on the floor in the fetal position.

“This is only temporary!”

“Experiment. Experiment. Experiment.”

“They really ARE my friends!”

“I’m not addicted.”

“Why is everyone screaming at me?!?!?”

“I want my mommy!”

Needless to say, I left the accounts active – just removed any reminders or temptations. It was like I put my crack pipe in my sock drawer, praying that I would forget where I hid it.

Example: I use a desktop application to manage my Twitter accounts – Seesmic Desktop. It is designed to sort my Tweets by followers, subjects, etc. It used to automatically launch when I logged into my computer. There were these little chirpy beeps that made me stop shaking.

It was my fix.

Now, Seesmic Desktop has a temporary home in my computer’s trash can and there is silence when I open my laptop.

It’s taunting silence.

Purging all these applications confirmed one thing: The warning signals of addiction were definitely real.

This was apparent again this morning.

I could have sworn that my 8-month-old son rocked a definite “DaDa” when I picked him up out of his crib.

Instead of jumping up and down and bragging to my wife, I looked frantically for my laptop.

“I have to update my status!”

“I have to Tweet about this!”

I snapped back to reality when my boy continued his morning declaration. “Blah da ma me blub a ma poo,” he said smiling and trying to put his foot in his mouth.

It was like he was saying, “Hey, Dad! I thought you weren’t going to Tweet anymore!”

I stopped cold and abandoned my quest for my laptop and/or my Blackberry and/or my wife’s computer and/or any other electronic device I could find to type 140 characters.

I started to ask myself, “But how will anyone know” – but I quickly returned to the moment. I ran into our bedroom and started talking trash to my wife. (Reminder: He said “DaDa” not “MaMa.”)

This incident did give me an idea, though. To help with my “social media detox,” I would jot down what I would have posted and/or Tweeted for that day, and include them in this journal.

Is that cheating?

March 3, 2009

BLOGGING: 'Forcing My Way Into the Conversation'

This is another tremendous explanation why I blog, why you need to blog, why everyone should be blogging.

This brief 90-second video captures the essence of this powerful social networking tool.


Seth Godin has a remarkable perspective on marketing, business, and social networking. His bio reads, "... a bestselling author, entrepreneur and agent of change."

In this same lecture series, he answers the question "Is social networking good for small business?" 

For all those people who think I'm constantly "playing" on Facebook and Twitter and/or spending too much time writing posts for my blog, I encourage you to watch this 2-minute video (click here to view).


February 16, 2009

ON FACEBOOK MORE THAN FRESHMAN GIRL?            I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND

A lot of people question why I have a Facebook account and/or why I'm so active on it. (My mom being the lead interrogator.)

I had one TCU student actually write on my Wall, "You're on Facebook more than a freshman girl."

If they only knew about my Linkedin account and Twitter, the most recent addition to my social networking family.

Up until now, I've done a horrible job explaining why I use these "tools." I called it a "self-branding initiative" and went about my business.

This 10-minute video by Perry Belcher hits the nail on the head. (If you don't have 10 minutes – I encourage you to re-visit this post when you do have time to watch it. It's very enlightening.)

BTW: Thanks for dropping 
by my house! (Don't worry, you'll understand)

Want Blog Updates?
E-mail Address: