I'm Cranky

Thoughts on attention, attire, and argumentative texts

Yow. I have unloading to do today on subjects that annoy me, though they might seem unrelated. Curmudg is fired up. Rather than vent on my poor unsuspecting dog, I'll unload right here.

MULTI-TASKING.
I don't know about you, but I’m fed up with catching the tops of people’s heads when I speak. I may not be the most interesting person in the world or have earth-shattering revelations to share, but, jiminy, would someone please really listen? Do I have a partner in conversation? Once? Ever?

And while you’re reading this, I bet you’re juggling another device—your eyes darting to a screen, your ear straining for the next signal. But that ping isn’t soothing—it’s an alert that tears through the silence, a reminder that our attention is for sale. And oh! What about that item in my Temu shopping cart? Sheesh.

“I’m multi-tasking. I can hear you.” Yeah, right.

First off, there’s no such thing as multi-tasking—unless you’re a computer. Maybe in a few thousand years, but not right now. Walking and chewing gum at the same time are about the best we humans can manage. And there’s a world of difference between hearing and listening. If I need to spell it out further, you’re not listening.

WHAT MEN WEAR. TOO OFTEN.
A few weeks back, my wife and I had dinner at one of our favorite local spots. It’s not French Laundry, but it ain’t Taco Bell either. While waiting for our appetizers, I noticed another couple at a nearby table. Likely in their 40s, probably a familiar pair. (I know because I was multitasking—feigning to listen to my wife while really eavesdropping on them.) The woman was dressed with care: sleek black pants (not jeans) paired with a chic light blue blouse and a darker, cashmere-like sweater. Her flat, soft-soled shoes and understated yet hip jewelry completed the look, and a stylish handbag hung from the back of her chair.

The guy? A white t-shirt and jeans—neither particularly clean. I didn’t even bother checking his shoes, but I wasn’t optimistic.

If I had been the maître d’, I would have said “right this way” to the woman and seated her at an inconspicuous table to enjoy her dinner in alone and quiet comfort. I would have said “right this way” to the gentleman and shown him to the kitchen. Would have fit right in with the dishwashers who were wearing dirty white t-shirts because that’s what their job demanded. His job was to show up as if he cared not only about himself but also his date.

What’s with men? Did you get embarrassed at age 7 when your mom dragged you to the department store for school clothes? No mirror? The whole point of “you’re going to like the way you look” was to spark a conversation with someone who knew a thing or two about clothing—so you wouldn’t end up looking like a schlub.

And airplanes! Ugh. I see guys on planes (again, mostly guys) who look as if they just finished mowing a lawn on a sweltering day, then decided, “Hey, let’s catch a flight to LA.”

YOU’RE WRONG!

This is what started my rant today.

It kicked off during what began as a calm text exchange with my niece—a conversation that, given her easily tweaked nature, could have spiraled quickly. I wasn’t trying to provoke; I was sharing an article about a political subject we both agreed on. But then it derailed. I stated my opinion on something seemingly trivial, only to be met with a curt “you’re wrong!” Not like I was claiming, “the sun isn’t out today”—just offering my take on what I thought was banal.

Saying “you’re wrong” about someone’s opinion is either a conversation killer or a fight starter. Social media is teeming with strangers hurling vitriol, whether on neutral topics or hot political issues. Do you really think unloading on a stranger on Instagram will change their mind? Is it worth letting someone else’s reaction flip you sideways?

These never-ending digital spats—they’re tearing up our society, and worse yet, gnawing away at our own insides. When the inner world is in disarray, you’re bound to spread that mess to others, creating a cycle where every next person is equally disheveled.

Society isn’t some far-off concept—it’s us, flawed and figuring things out together. If we can’t even fix ourselves, how can we fix the world? When we half-listen and half-live, we let our inner chaos spill over into every conversation, every connection. So, here’s a thought: what if we put down our devices and truly listened—to ourselves, to each other? It begins with me. It begins with you. Let’s embrace our messy humanity, fix ourselves, and in doing so, start healing the world—one real conversation at a time.

I don’t know for sure, just my opinion.

What about you? Tired of being half-heard or watching folks phone it in? Drop a comment—I'd love to hear (really hear) what’s grinding your gears. Share it, too—let’s get the conversation going.

TL;DR: Fixing the world starts with fixing how we engage. That means putting down the phone, being present, and listening with intention. It’s messy, human, and exactly what we need more of.