An Open Letter to Debbie and Draymond
Dear Debbie and Draymond (and to the readers of ALIVE MAGAZINE):
You gotta be kidding! Did you really expect something put out into electronic space to remain between yourself and the intended recipient? Debbie, you are obviously a bright, accomplished person and a U. S. Representative in Congress. In addition you are a most attractive woman, and I confess that I especially kvell about one aspect of your background (Wasserman Schultz + Cohen = MOTs or Members of the Tribe). You organized, unfortunately without the credit you deserved, a four day national committee conference that came off beautifully (I personally would like to have a little more spontaneity other than from Bernie’s people). You obviously have a dynamic brain between your lovely ears, but are you really so naïve (dumb) as to believe that electronic information goes from just one person to just one other person without the Russians, the Chinese, and 726 teen age boys with severe acne reading it?
Everyone who has ever been on a nominating committee, whether it be with a small local organization or a gigantic national committee, has their favorite candidates for whatever position, but if they are smart, they do not publicize their choice or certainly do not send it out for international consumption. That is why Roberts’ Rules of Order specifically states that a member of a nominating committee cannot be a nominee. On the Internet!
Oy, Debbie! Debbie!
Draymond, you, as you well know, are a magnificent, championship caliber, all-Pro basketball player. As one who in his younger days enjoyed playing the game, I realize that in addition to your natural advantages of height, speed, and coordination, you had and have the discipline and desire to achieve at the highest level of the sport. (Discipline and I were total strangers.)
Do you really think the entire world, however, is interested in seeing pictures of your private parts? Oh, it was an accident! Sure. Perhaps (come on) you are really so naïve (dumb) as to believe that electronic information goes from just one person to just one other person. As a professional athlete, you must realize that in ten years you will be a has-been; an over-the-hill jock. Do you think that any reasonable school board would hire you to coach their children? (Reasonable and School Board are probably contradictory terms. As Mark Twain said over a century ago, “For practice God made idiots, then He made school boards.” That discussion, however, is for another time.)
Mr. Green, you are physically advanced way beyond most of us. Maybe it is time you thought about growing up and becoming an adult. Can you imagine a coach telling young players, “First you have to learn how to handle the ball; then you need to know how to knee a guy in the groin; and then you send images of your . . .” Get the point? I hope so. I personally love to watch you play ball, but most of your life will happen after NBA basketball. So now a great, big “Oy!” for you too.
Now to both of you, Debbie and Draymond, as well as to 325 million Americans, and to 7.5 billion Earthlings I say unto you:
THERE AIN’T NO SUCH THING AS PRIVACY.
For all of us: if you have credit card, YOU HAVE NO PRIVACY; if you have some kind of bank account, have ever taken out a loan, or if you have ever passed within 100 feet of a bank, YOU HAVE NO PRIVACY; if you have and use a computer, YOU HAVE NO PRIVACY, if you have a cell phone, forget about it, YOUR PRIVACY IS LONG GONE. If you use a card or your phone number at a supermarket THEY KNOW MORE ABOUT YOUR LIKES AND DISLIKES THAN YOU DO. Ever contribute to a legitimate charity? Guess what? Yep, it’s gone.
Our privacy began to die when they cut down the fruit trees in Saratoga and Palo Alto and planted silly silicon baubles and toys that may have some usefulness for business, but are mostly grown-up playthings for the adolescent in us. I personally know people who if you say, “How are you?” they have to consult Siri or some other disembodied voice that rattles off blood pressure, pulse rate, body temperature, and cholesterol count before the person can answer, “Pretty good!” And then it’s there for everybody. (All right, I do not know anyone like that, but I will bet they exist.)
The number of people and organizations that know more about us than we ourselves know boggles the mind. And, unless you opt out, they sell the information about you and me to other people and organizations. (My cynical mind thinks they sell the info even if you do opt out.)
What is the moral or lesson to this open letter? It seems pretty simple: Gentlemen, if you are going to say “I love you” to someone, either whisper it in her ear or in a private, extremely private, place. If you decide to email it, realize that your wife and the recipient’s husband will both probably read it and you will never be the chair of national committee or a great athlete. (You might want to go online first and discover the cost of a good divorce lawyer.
Sincerely yours,
No way will I tell you my name. That is PRIVATE. (Nuts! You probably already know it anyway.)
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