Cafe 42 Blog

Aging Well

by jcafesin, posted in aging

I’m a ‘sit on the couch and eat ice cream’ type of person. I don’t live that way. I workout 5 days a week, 5 miles or more a day, watch little TV and rarely stream ’cept when I’m working out and weekend movies. If I had no desire to live an active life, I would have continued to sit on the couch in front of the TV and eat a lot more than just ice cream as I did throughout much of my childhood.

Thing is, no matter how healthy I live, I’m still going to die. And while we all know this fact, generally by the time we are 5 yrs old, we don’t think about it much unless there is a life-threatening scare or we’re facing old age, like when we turn 60 or so. Then, regardless of what older folks tell you, and how we distract ourselves with work or hobbies or relationships, we think about death a LOT.

Am I living right? Getting the most out of this short life? Have I experienced enough? Have I loved enough? Have I had enough fun? What can I do to get the most out of the few years I have left?

What to do with aging…

The idea of heaven is vulgar. I think The Good Place played that hand well. At the end of the series, they were all up in heaven and got so bored after doing everything they could conceive they elected to become nothing, or ‘one with everything’ depending on how you view the afterlife. And ‘getting to see’ people you’ve loved in the hereafter is equally vulgar. Sure, you’ve loved them, but I bet you’ve fought with them too. Can you imagine spending eternity — forever — with your mom and dad and siblings and spouses? No thank you!

I am a devout Atheist, meaning I don’t believe in god, or even the possibility of one. I don’t believe in an afterlife, or spirituality, whatever that means. Hitler (Trump) and I end up the same. Dead is dead. End of game. Life is over and there is no ME anymore. I did not exist before my birth and I cease to exist after I die.

It’s easier to believe in the Christian version of death. Less scary thinking your existence is eternal. That’s why, to date, 31+% of this planet identifies as Christian. Muslims, the second largest religion on Earth, also offers an afterlife in paradise or hell. Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism also preach forms of life after death, so it’s no wonder that 84% of humanity identifies with a religion.

The roughly 14+% of the rest of us living day-to-day knowing that we all become nothing after death is core scary at best.

We all want to feel our lives have significance. Substance. Meaning. That we matter! It is why social media exists — it plays on our desire to be seen. Every time we get a Like on our instastory, or see a high view or engagement count we all get a hit of dopamine straight into our brains. We may be shy, or awkward in groups or crowds, but no one wants to be invisible through life. We revel in being seen.

Now, facing old age, and likely 20 to 30 yrs on the outside before ceasing to exist, I’m at war with myself daily on how to spend the limited time I have to live, to BE ALIVE. To matter.

What does it really mean to MATTER? Three generation drops from now and most won’t remember today’s trending influencers, to our current or past pop/rockstars, to our great grandfathers. I know this intellectually, but emotionally I too want to be remembered by more than just my remaining family, and when they go, so does my memory, my significance. It’s hard, if not impossible to imagine not existing, though at 4:00am I lay in bed too often now panicked by the notion.

Kick back, honey, I tell myself as I stare at the glowing stars I stuck on the bedroom ceiling during the series Heroes when it got too bloody to watch throughout. I should just do what I feel like doing when I get up in the morning and quit pressuring myself to be someone. I already am to my kids, and a few friends. The problem, the war in my head that loops till twilight: ‘Why isn’t that enough for me?’

Close to 30 yrs ago a friend asked me to describe my perfect day a decade forward. From waking up till falling asleep that night, describe in detail what that day looked like to me. Let’s just say I didn’t get close. [Expectations. They’ll screw you every time.] I was supposed to be a known author long ago. I was supposed to have a house in Marin to leave to my well-adjusted, accomplished children. Married to the love of my life. My work read by tens of thousands, my words helping my readers become more personally and socially aware, live better lives.

Did I want too much? I lay in bed wondering why it matters to me that I’ll leave no real imprint on history. Who does, really. Albert Einstein comes to mind. Hitler does too, but oh so very few. And even those names will fade with time, buried under layers of more history.

I want to fall asleep and stay asleep through the night like I used to. I don’t want to be getting up 4 times a night to pee! I’d like to tell you that impending death looming doesn’t feel like the proverbial ax over my head since no one knows when they’ll die, or that age is ‘just a number’ and ‘it only matters how young you feel,’ but that’s all bullshit. You can skydive on your 90th but that doesn’t keep you from being old, and likely rather reckless with fragile bones.

I sigh heavily, then throw the blanket back and roll on my side trying to cool down with my third hot flash of the night. The weight of aging gets harder to bear with each passing year, month, day. Hate to tell ya, there ain’t much upside to getting old. We likely have more life experience, but we aren’t any wiser, most of us stuck in patterns of behavior we adopted in childhood, and the reason history keeps repeating itself.

Look at my phone on the nightstand next to my bed. It’s only 5:10am. I can get up and spend much of the day SMM my latest work to get read and try to ignore the fact that I viscerally hate marketing. Or I can laze the day away writing whatever moves me, reading, baking, building, get a massage, stream Netflix if I feel like it because why the hell not enjoy BEING ALIVE with the limited time I have left…

How to Train Your Dog

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

My husband takes our 6-yr-old Shephard-mix pound-hound to the park every weekday afternoon to play Frisbee. I take Ellie Maze on the weekends. I stand at the top of the hill and toss the disk as far as I can to get her running since she’s a ‘high-energy’ dog and needs the daily workout.

At breakfast this morning my husband was upset with our dog.

“Ellie won’t get in my car to go to Frisbee anymore. I had to take her in your car again to get her to come with me.” He paused, glared at Ellie laying near the kitchen table on her fluffy blanket listening to our dialog. The dog stared back at him then looked at me. “Thing is, I get she wanted you to take her, and not me.” I could tell by his pout he wasn’t happy about our dog’s bratty behavior. “I take her 5 days a week and somehow that’s not good enough. She wants you to take her.”

Ellie Maze is a brat, to just about everyone, but me. Raised by four adults, the dog has two grown kids and my husband and I placating to her needs.

“I don’t know why she gravitates to you because we all take care of this dog,” my DH said. “You are her alpha. Clearly,” he added, looking down at El, who’s looking at me. “Is it just cuz you trained her when she was a pup?”

“I was on her more than anyone else, but we all trained her. Give a dog what they need, and consistently express what you need from them, and it’s really not hard to train most dogs.”

“For you. You’re like the Dog Whisperer,” he said, and believed it.

“I’m not. All you gotta do is talk to them. I talk to this dog, and every dog I’ve had, constantly, from the day I got them as puppies. Communication is key, and easy with a dog. Simple, unlike humans. Dogs wanta please. So, I wanta please them. Perfect synergy! Mutual respect.”

“I talk to this dog all the time,” my DH defended.

I shook my head. “Not so much. You talk at her, give her commands, or praise her cuteness, or her prowess.”

“You do too!” he snapped.

“Yeah, I do. I too melt with her cuteness,” I said, looking at Ellie, her rocket ears up, her big brown eyes fixed on me. “But at Frisbee, I talk to her about needing a break, ask if she wants to wait before the next toss. And she does wanta wait, a lot, especially after we’ve been playing a while. So, we wait. She stands by me or even leans against me and pants, and drools.” I flash a smile at my husband, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, so I continued. “I’ve asked her to walk around me to cue me up when she’s ready for the next catch, and she does now. Didn’t take her long to get my meaning. She gets what she needs from me at Frisbee which is why she wants to go with me more than anyone else.”

“On Sunday, when you hurt your back at Pickleball, Ellie sat on her blanket and stared at me when I tried to get her to come for Frisbee. She would not move and did not respond to my repeated commands to “Come!” He looked at our dog and Ellie’s huge ears went slack. “And she didn’t come, until you commanded her to go with me.”

“But I didn’t command her. I told her about hurting my back, and that I couldn’t take her, even though I normally do on the weekends. I looked her in the eyes and acknowledged her disappointment, as I would with any child. Dogs never really ‘mature’ beyond human adolescence. And regardless we all anthropomorphize our pets, most dogs aren’t born with a lot of hangups. Kids aren’t either. Expectations from parents, friends, social media creates them in us.” I smiled at my husband. He looked at Ellie. She looked back at him passively, then looked at me, the intensity of her stare connecting us. She stuck the tip of her tongue out, practically licked her lips — her classic mooch. Then she got up and came to me for strokes.

Combating the Darkness Within

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

Sometimes, when all is black in my head and heart, I imagine I’ll write something brilliant that justifies the darkness within. But when I’m depressed like this, I cannot motivate myself to create. My muse is standing on my bedroom balcony flipping me off while my curser blinks on the blank screen in front of me in my office/workshop.

This essay is simply on depression, living with it in a world that puts on masks — wears facades online and in-person, because we’re not allowed to feel bad, or at least show it. We’re allowed to feel frustrated, annoyed, or disappointed, in moments, but they better not last too long, or be too intense, like when feeling angry translates into yelling. Even in anger, we’re supposed to retain our composure.

I suck at pretending. I can’t pull off the ‘I’m OK Buddy’ when I’m not. Most of you reading this are much better at wearing faces. Most people are. But depression, that feeling there is something stuck in your throat that you can’t swallow, that with every breath it feels as if you’re sighing — trying to shed the weight in your chest — makes putting on a mask particularly difficult because you’re spending so much energy just trying to breathe.

Commercials for drugs to combat depression are all over the media. They come with a list like: Using this product may make you dizzy; nauseous; stop breathing; feel even more depressed; become suicidal even if you weren’t before the drug; die. Wow. Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need to take Lexapro to help motivate me to kill myself.

I’ve tried Prozac, a long time ago. I was allergic. It almost killed me. I’ve tried Xanex, which is by far the most popular drug for depression. All it did was make me sleepy. I’m already tired all the time.

Therapists like to talk, or for me to talk. And talk. And talk. Business 101 — you make more money with continuing clients than having to find new ones. I want ACTIONABLE things to do, other than taking drugs or talking to a shrink once a week, which just makes me poorer, and even more depressed.

What is “depression” anyway? I mean, everyone gets depressed occasionally, regardless of the masks we wear. Technically, and absurdly simply, depression lies in our chemistry — dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin — these ‘happiness hormones’ are not adequately delivered to the pleasure centers of our brain. It is commonly accepted that some are born with inadequate levels of these hormones, or there is a problem with their release inside the brain. Clinical depression seemingly has a genetic component, but this has yet to be proven as hard fact.

Episodes of depression affect most people when events in our lives hurt us. For most, the length and severity of feeling sad is usually consummate with the event itself. Losing a loved one, or losing the lottery generally solicits dramatically different responses. As it should. Most let their feelings of sadness dissipate, and often forget them entirely over time. I’ve spent a lifetime envying these folks.

Those of us suffering from depression internalize pain. It resides in us, like a cut, or injury that just won’t heal. We hang on to our hurts, from minor slights to major losses. And whether born with an imbalance, or too many painful life events, when sadness sticks, builds up and gets thick, every day feels like wading through molasses. If depression festers long enough it will eventually kill you. It strips us of the single motivating factor that keeps us all alive through dark times… hope.

Curing depression is paramount. Over 90% of those who attempt or commit suicide are clinically depressed. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death worldwide, which is a shame because so often emotionally wired people are the creators, writers, artists, innovators, and builders of societies. It is believed Abraham Lincoln suffered from depression.

The only way to help reverse or at least halt the chemical cascade into darkness is to actualize pleasure. I realize an effect of depression is finding no joy in anything, but those of you living with that weight in your chest with most every breath KNOW that JOY is attainable even when we are consumed with sadness. A rainbow is still beautiful. A double-rainbow extraordinary. The taste of our favorite food, or a hug when we’re scared, or lonely; backrubs; creating something — these things are still pleasurable. The Pacific cresting at 40ft is still awe-striking; a field of blooming flowers still visually stunning…etc.;-}.

Living, existing as human, is all about FEELING. The good, the bad, the sad, the wondrous, the awesome, the magnificent empowerment of feeling loved, respected, and valued. The charge that comes with creation. The suffocating black hole with loss.

Are you living with depression?

If so, SEEK and FIND JOY and pleasure. NOT self-destructive behavior, like drinking or using drugs for momentary relief, as trying to bury feelings, even temporarily, will increase depression. DO things, stuff that turns you on, makes you feel — if not good — at least glad/positive you get to see it, taste it, experience it — without regret later! ACCOMPLISHING TASKS also lights up our brain’s pleasure centers. String enough joy and accomplishments together, even simple things like eating right; exercising, and, over time, continually reminding your brain you are choosing to experience living will reinforce your desire to do so.

PIC BY Malek Hammoud Tuwaijri / CATERS NEWS -These hot pictures of silhouettes playing in the desert are really sun-thing special. The pictures appear to show two young students playing football and fooling around with a glowing ball. But on closer inspection, its clear that the ball is actually the setting sun. The two boys in the desert are silhouetted against the setting sun creating a bright orange sky.SEE CATERS COPY

Gen Z Dating IRL

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

My 25 yr old son started dating someone for the first time in his life, and what I’ve been wishing for him isn’t happening as I’d hoped.

I was excited by the idea of him dating. It made me sad he didn’t in high school, or even in college when most of his contemporaries were. It made my son sad too. He was lonely a lot, and like so many guys of his gen chose gaming to risking rejection.

I was on him constantly. ‘There’s a tech meetup in the city.’ He’s a software dev. ‘There’s a speed dating thing on EventBright.’ Of course, I was infantalizing him, but I couldn’t just sit there watching my kid waste his life away in front of a computer screen turning into an incel. I’m his mom. I love him. I had to do something to encourage him to go out, so I found networking and dating events and needled him to go.

He went out when I pushed him, so I kept pushing, but he didn’t meet anyone because he didn’t try engaging. He’d go, and then leave the event within an hour or so to say he went. ‘See! I’m going out, but I’m wasting my time and money. I feel stupid at bars or clubs and hate going to them. I feel like I’m boring and I have nothing to say. I’m going for you, Mom, so you’ll get off my back.’

But I didn’t. His sister and I helped him set up a Tinder account, which yielded even more hurt feelings when he consistently got no matches. He tried Bumble BFF, just for friends since he had none of those IRL either. Most guys who responded were gay, looking for a lover, not just friends. By his own measure, my son is heterosexual.

I don’t know the line I’m supposed to stay behind in regards to my involvement in his life. At 25, I’ve been his mom, his mentor, his closest, and only confidant. I watched him suffer through bouts of depression so dark I was afraid he’d commit suicide. My fear was so pervasive when he went black, I made a deal with him. I won’t. He can’t. ‘Till after you’re dead, Mom,’ was the only way he’d agree. Lonely is a killer, on par with heart disease and cancer.

It made me sad that my son hadn’t had a friend that lasted, no girlfriend, or sex yet. His isolation scared me. Twenty six was coming. Clinical depression often manifests in males at 26. So I kept pushing him to find friends, lovers, girlfriends — people to experience life with. And he kept getting nowhere on Tinder and at Meetups until he got on Facebook Friends and met Grace.

Recent BS in Data Science, she is 23, works half the year in Manhattan and half the year remotely for a small tech startup in New York. Born and raised in South Korea, her devout Christian family relocated here when Grace was 10. I’ve raised both my kids without religion and to value character over culture. Kindness is what they should seek and treasure. And a safe harbor when together.

They began a friendship with Grace’s invites to parties and tech events to attend together. At most of them she was on her phone, or taking selfies for her socials. When she went back to Manhattan, they spoke on the phone often, for hours, mostly about her life, her many health issues, her job. She asked him few questions, didn’t really engage with his responses, often putting him down for what she felt was his lack of ambition in business, and in becoming a master musician. My son plays the guitar, sax, and piano well, but for enjoyment. Grace made it clear she considered him weak whenever he cried. She expected attention, encouragement, empathy, but gave none.

To say my son was desperate for connection would be understating his psyche’s need to associate with people other than me and his sister. His relationship with his father is fraught and he doesn’t feel comfortable being vulnerable with his dad. While he complained to me about Grace’s hurtful behavior often, she was all he had, so he kept talking to her, and hanging out with her when she was in town.

Six months into their friendship, and coming up on the holidays (when being single particularly sucks), Grace began to hint to my son she was looking for more. She stroked him, telling him he was cute, smart, witty. She became a lot more touchy — squeezing his arm or his hand kind of thing, my son relayed to me one evening in early December.

‘I don’t know what to do, Mom,’ he said. ‘I don’t wanta wreck our friendship cuz I like a lot about Grace — she’s smart, educated, ambitious, a math-head. But I don’t think I want to get into a romantic relationship with her.’

My heart sank. This girl was clearly interested in more with my son and he was rejecting her. He was blowing an opportunity to experience an intimate relationship without exploring the possibility that Grace simply didn’t know what he needed/wanted, and if he clued her in she may indeed be responsive. I asked him many questions about their interactions and listened to his misgivings. I suggested he voice his frustrations with her hurtful behavior. If Grace really wanted to be intimate, she’d acknowledge his trepidation and at least try to be less critical, and distracted, and show more interest in him.

Days later my son and Grace were officially a couple. He told me she’d agreed to put her phone away, and did, right before she kissed him…

And I’d love to say this story is happily ever after, but not so much.

It’s been over a month since their coupling. My son is stressed all the time. He literally passed out, the only time in his entire life, when she was at him for not playing the piano to her standards a couple weeks back. He had a bruise on his forehead and headaches for days. They spent New Year’s Eve together and consummated their boyfriend/girlfriend status, but their sex has been rather fraught. Being called “Daddy” doesn’t really work for him.

He talks to me about his relationship with Grace without my prompting because I raised my kids to freely express their feelings and thoughts to me throughout their lives with my solemn oath not to reprimand or judge them with their disclosures. It’s a hard promise to keep sometimes, but I guess for the most part I have because they trust me enough to confide in me. Again, I don’t know the line moms and sons are not supposed to cross in our communication. I’m still his most trusted confidant. I was hoping a girlfriend would take on at least part of that role, but Grace hasn’t.

The last couple of days he’s been asking me if he should break up with her. Dating eight weeks now, he’s falling behind in his Master’s program, he’s exhausted, anxious, tense a lot. Of course, I could not tell him what to do so I threw his question back at him.

‘You’re a math guy,’ I started. He nodded. ‘What percent of your time together would you say you’ve had fun with Grace?’

He thought about it a minute, then went through a couple fun dates and events he’d taken her to, since when they became a couple, my son’s been paying for everything they do. Then he added, ‘Maybe 20% has been fun with her. The rest has been pretty stressful. I get why you’re crazy now.’

He was referring to my 29 yr marriage to his father. Ouch. ‘Do what I’ve said, not what I’ve done,’ but I knew it was crap as it left my mouth.

‘Bullshit.’ He said it like dropping a bomb. ‘Kids do what we see.’

‘Yeah. I know,’ I admitted, guilt suffocating me. ‘I’m sorry your dad and I have had so much discord. I’m sorry I modeled staying with someone who objectified me.’

Like Grace does me. I really think she’s looking for a daddy figure. I want a partner, someone who’s a safe harbor, like I’ve been trying to be for her. He flashed a half-grin like ‘Surprise! I was listening.’

‘Touche,’ I said smiling back at him. And for a second I feel that electric connection between us. I don’t trust my parenting that I’ve set my kids up to take care of themselves better than I’ve taken care of me. And I want so much more for them in their relationships than to become filled with contempt. The best I can tell ya honey, is communicate. Tell Grace how you feel and why. Listen to her too. Maybe you two can still forge a path together. And maybe not.’

‘I get it. I just wanta feel like both of us are doing the 4 Steps.’ He grinned again.

I did too.

‘Gotta get back,’ he said, and got up from the table. ‘Thanks, Mom.’ Then he kissed the top of my head and left the kitchen.

The 4 Steps to Better Relationships (to which my son was referring):

  1. We are a TEAM.
  2. What does my partner need/want?
  3. What do I need/want?
  4. Compromise.

Missing My Period

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

My period is six days late. I check throughout the day, hoping, but my old friend isn’t coming. There was a time when I would have been ecstatic it was late, gotten a pregnancy test and peed on the stick anticipating the plus sign. And there were times I would have been horrified I may be pregnant, too afraid to take the test while anxiously waiting for my period to start. But today there is a quiet sorrow, like mourning a loss. It’s possible I’ll never see my period again. Menopause has taken my friend and is robbing me of my youth.

Never in my life have I had the affection for my period I do now that it’s going away. Like most girls, I couldn’t wait for it to start. Menstruating turned a girl into woman, our mothers assured us. What my mother didn’t fill me in on were the cramps, the bloating, the wild mood swings, and the total hassle of bleeding for five days every single month. Once I became sexually active there was the constant concern of getting pregnant, regardless of using birth control. Everyone knows stories of women who claimed to be on the pill, or said they were using a condom but got pregnant anyway.

My period was more than a minor inconvenience; it was a major disruption to my life. I was one of the few women unable to take the Pill. Regardless of the dosage, it made me ill. I felt the full force of menstruation monthly. The gross mess and disgusting smell of the physical bleeding, on top of the intense cramping from passing clumps of bloody tissue were nothing compared to the mental ride every three weeks or so. Like clockwork after ovulation I’d get ravenously hungry, overwhelmingly tired, anxious, bitchy, with sudden bursts of manic energy. The closer I got to my period the more intense my feelings, all feelings would get. Right before I began bleeding, I often experienced bouts of deep sadness, wept with little provocation. But literally the moment my period began my darkness would lift as if it never existed.

Thirty seven years of this and I thought I’d be thrilled when menopause came along. It surprised me to feel so differently while waiting for my period to come and thinking it may not. Despite that I was one of those unlucky women with severe PMS, or PMDD, or whatever they’re calling it these days, my period gave me my kids. Having a period gave me the capacity to produce life. And though my two extraordinary children are all I’ll ever want, when my period goes I’ll lose the ability to have any ever again. What kind of woman will I be without the exclusive, inherently female capability to reproduce?

Menopause steals more than our ability to have children. According to Wikipedia, as women age our ovaries gradually produce lower levels of the natural sex hormones estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone until they diminish almost entirely. These are the hormones of youth. They keep our immune system and other vital body functions healthy so we are physiologically able to carry and bear a child, fulfill our biological imperative.

Estrogen accelerates metabolism (to burn fat faster). It increases bone density, and vaginal lubrication for better sex. Estrogen promotes healthy cholesterol levels. It helps regulate fluid balance which controls water retention. It aids lung function and reduces the risk of several kinds of cancers.

Progesterone acts as an anti-inflammatory and regulates the immune response. It normalizes blood clotting and cell oxygen levels, and use of fat stores for energy. It decreases risk of gingivitis and tooth decay. It appears to affect synaptic functioning, improve memory and cognitive ability. And progesterone also seems to reduce the risk of several deadly cancers.

And everyone knows testosterone is the premiere sex hormone — that sweet, dense scent that leeches through the pours right before orgasm. It also controls libido and clitoral engorgement. It increases muscle strength and mass, mental and physical energy. Maintaining testosterone levels has been shown to reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease, decrease fat and increase lean body mass.

The payoff to enduring my menstrual cycle was clearly much more than producing kids. In losing my period, I am not only grieving the loss of childbearing but the hormones that provided me privileges and protections. The end of menstruation feels harder, darker than the onset. Girls speculate in wonder waiting for their periods to begin. In menopause, women must undergo drenching sweats, memory loss, weight gain, and phantom pain. Get through all that and the light at the end of this ordeal turns out to be a death bullet. Perimenopause begins in our early 50’s and full menopause last upwards of 10 years or more. Surviving menopause means then confronting the perils of old age, and coming to terms with my eminently closer demise.

Dye my hair, work out daily, dress casual but chic, and still, losing my period means unequivocally, undeniably I am no longer young. I miss my old friend right now and wonder if like my youth it is gone forever.

APPLE IS EVIL

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

“Apple is evil,” I told the man tapping his iPad to retrieve my son’s information at middle school registration.

His bushy eyebrows furrowed. “No they’re not. They’re great! They practically gave the district iPads for every grade, student, and even all the admins. And next year we’ll be going digital with most textbooks,” he said enthusiastically.

“You think Apple is giving away iPads because they support education?” I inquire while filling out my check to the public school to which we already pay ever increasing taxes.

Again his brow furrowed and a frown was perceptible between his heavy peppered beard and thick mustache. “I know the kids come home and ask their parents to buy Apple. But they should. It’s a great product!”

And a lot more expensive than most comparable phones, PC’s, and tablets out there. If Apple is supporting education, why are they charging parents, and everyone else they’re not giving their computers to, 30-50% more than any other computer manufactureur? I’m now in the position of having to buy both my kids Macbooks or iPads so they can do their homework. And the topper— Apple will saddle us with yet another monthly connection bill.

The ignorant admin sat behind a long folding table, between two women, one of three men in the auditorium of 50 volunteer parents. His arms were folded across his protruding belly, his expression—an indulgent grin, the kind where it’s obvious he’d tuned me out. He’s a diehard Apple fan, one of Steve Job’s faithful followers, a blind believer. And faith is BLIND. He’s a devote of Apple, thinks the computer makes him more creative, because that is Apple’s brilliant marketing—making the ignorant believe they’ll be more creative on a Mac than any other computer.

I used to be a diehard Apple fan. My father gave me my first computer, a desktop PC (whose brand I don’t recall) back in the late 70’s. Monitor and PC were one unit, matte gray screen supported only a text interface with bright green type, in one size only. It was hard to use, kept losing my files, freezing up, shutting down. Then along came the Mac. I started with the llc and fell in love with the UI’s ease of use; the stability of the OS; the selection of exclusive programs for graphic and marketing pros. In fact, Mac’s marriage with Adobe virtually invented today’s desktop publishing with software such as PageMaker, Illustrator and Photoshop, originally only for Macs until the 1990s.

I was a Mac fanatic all the way through the G4s, until I could no longer afford to get ripped off. The advent of the Adobe suite working seamlessly on Macs made it easy for businesses to take their marketing efforts in-house. By the mid 90s, freelance gigs were harder to come by, and clients expected consultants to have the latest technology (like their in-house departments boasted). Maintaining my Mac systems—the high priced software combined with the continual investment in extended memory needed to run, it was costing me practically as much as I was making. Even after Adobe opened their platform, and offered their software to PC users at a third of the price for Macs, I was loyal to Apple.

Moved from graphics to mostly creative direction and content writing at the turn of the millennium. Needed a laptop for quick communication with clients and couldn’t afford what I needed to even run Photoshop on a Macbook. Got a Toshiba, with more memory, faster clock speed, great graphics card…etc. Photoshop was $355 less than for the Mac. By the early 2000s I’d replaced most all the software I had on my Mac with their PC versions that worked seamlessly on most any computer we had, and I’ve had no need to buy Mac products since. And we’ve saved a hell of a lot of money!

Business knows when they sell to children, they have a customer for life. This is particularly true with electronic tools. Kid learns at school how to create reports on a Macbook with iMovie. iMovie is Apple’s proprietary software, and can only be used on Mac platforms. I have a choice of many video editing products for Windows/Linux/Firefox that are more powerful than iMovie, starting at just $49. We have no need of iMovie, yet for the kids to function in school they must have both formats, or at least Mac available at home to work on projects outside the classroom.

To date, the new Macbook base model is priced at $4000 for 4TB of hard drive space, and a 14-core CPU, and 20-core GPU. Compare that to the $2200 Dell XPS 16 laptop featuring the same processor, same storage space, and a separate graphics card. We have three laptops, and four PCs in the house. We don’t need, and I don’t want to get back in bed with Apple. Their ‘discounts’ to our schools, accepted by education admin without a clue, once again, leaves parents paying the bill.

Finnegus Boggs, Lessons from a Marid Djinn (genie)

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

Finnegus Boggs is a Marid Djinn (genie) who grants 2 Oakland punks a chance to rewrite their destiny. This short read has a “Great Message!” that’ll stick for life:
https://amazon.com/Fractured-Fairy-Tales-T…

Fractured Fairy Tales of the Twilight Zone #2

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized

“Brilliant! Powerful! Great Reads!”

Fractured Fairy Tales of the Twilight Zone, Vol #1 and #2 are collections of MODERN shorts and novellas–quick, captivating Black Mirror meets the Twilight Zone fables for your busy life:

https://amazon.com/Fractured-Fairy-Tales-Twilight-Zone-ebook/dp/B0D43GX513

#Romance #fantasy #specfiction #dystopian #married #newlywed #divorce #selfhelp #selflove #VR #technothriller #lovestories

Engage in Learning About People

by jcafesin, posted in Uncategorized
Marketing 101: How to motivate people to DO what you want them to do…

An entrepreneur recently asked me: “What specific skills or knowledge do you believe will be most crucial for aspiring entrepreneurs in 2025 to navigate this complex and dynamic environment?”

My response: “The greater understanding one has of what motivates people, individually and in groups, the greater chance of success in any field. The trick — how to open yourself up beyond just yourself to become aware of those around you.”

Most of us live inside our own heads, thinking about whatever, but rarely watching others closely. Time to step outside your own head, and think differently. To become proficient at marketing, you must watch what people DO to understand what attracts our attention and motivates us to ACT — buy; try; subscribe; give.

All of us engage in marketing every day of our lives. We market to ourselves to exercise, eat right, take care of business when we really would rather be binging Netflix. We market to our kids to get good grades, clean their rooms, make friends IRL, not just on their devices. We market to our partners to be fair and equitable. We market to potential bosses for a job, or actual bosses or clients to sell them on our efforts.

I teach Lean Startup Marketing @Stanford. I also mentor startup teams and individual entrepreneurs with an idea they want to license or build into a sustainable business. Below is one of the first Challenges I give my students to help them become proficient at marketing — i.e. motivating people to do what we want them to do.

CHALLENGE #3

1. For ONE WEEK, seven full days, observe and journal about the people you see (at work, at home, at Starbucks). Watch what we actually do, (not what we say we will), and write down what you observe, into your laptop, onto your phone, or actual pieces of paper.

• Keep each observations under 100 words (preferably less). Observe and journal only scenes to which you play no part. You must be an impartial observer of what you choose to describe.

• Create separate documents per day with [at least] five observations of any individual’s behavior, or of two or more people interacting. Observations can be people at school, work, or someone at a cafe, but you must not have any interaction within the scenes you observe and document.

• OBSERVE CAREFULLY, and write down only what you see and hear. Do NOT add or embellish anything you see when documenting your observations. Do NOT judge, or give your opinion on what you see. Simply transcribe each event as they unfold.

Choose to document scenes of interest. Do NOT describe someone passing you on the sidewalk staring at their cellphone like everyone else you pass by. NOTICE the subtleties, if they exist. What are they doing on their phone (if you can see)? Three out of the five cellphone screens that I could see at Back-to-School night at my kids high school, the people — mostly women, mid 30s to late 50s, White and Asian, upper-income — were checking their email, or Facebook feed, or playing some inane online game like Candy Crush.

Pay close attention to your subject’s mannerisms, how they talk — expressive, with a lot of hand gestures? Low key, quietly leaning in to whomever they are speaking? You may see an extreme expression like a frown, or a broad smile or outright laughter, but try NOT to interpret an expression as “they looked bored,” or “happy,” or any other judgment call. Do NOT give any interpretation of what you see. Write only what you observe and hear watching any individual, couple, or group of people.

2. Log Demographic, Geographic, Psychological, and Behavioral data:

• Title each entry with the DATE, TIME and LOCATION of each observation.

• Start your observation with gender, age (approx.), race, and other obvious demographic data, like someone wearing a religious symbol, we can assume they follow that particular religion.

• Note mannerisms and behavior. Does your subject look away when someone looks at them? Do they boldly stare back? Solicit conversation with someone close by, or are so absorbed in their cellphone they hold up the line at your cafe?

• Note purchases at shops in the mall, or at the grocery store when you’re waiting in the checkout line. What is being purchased, in what sizes (small or large), in what quantity, by whom?

Example: I’m in Nordstrom’s, watching a 20-something, slender Black woman in a tan blouse tucked into a straight, knee-length navy blue skirt, try on six pairs of shoes. She finally purchases a pair that look just like the black pumps she wore into the store.

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You likely have not gone a day in your life without marketing to yourself or someone else. Even screaming during infancy is essentially marketing to a parent or guardian to take care of your needs.

At the foundation of marketing — figuring out what really motivates ourselves and others — is Psychology. And the human psyche is massively complex. We lie. ALL of us lie — to ourselves and everyone else — to look smart, capable. To feel good about our choices and behavior regardless how counter-productive, or flat our destructive it may be.

Potential and intent are worthless constructs, marketing we tell ourselves and tout about others. (He is so smart!). To understand what really motivates people, you must observe our behavior and actions.

Want to get that job, get your husband to do the dishes, convince your kids to study? Sell your baked goods or software service (SaaS)? Take CHALLENGE #3 to learn how to get this person (even yourself), or that group to DO what you want them to do.