All in Soapbox

Just like your mom when you came home with that first tattoo – I was shocked when I saw the blog post from Cathryn Sloane entitled "Why Every Social Media Manager Should Be Under 25" Shock is the only possible reaction to this story, which advocates that social-media professionals over the age of 25 can’t possibly have a clear understanding of the medium.
Think back to your first real job. Remember that one old-timer who had all the great stories? I don’t mean the bitter guy who wore a tie with his dandruff-covered short-sleeved shirt, and referred to upper management as “The Gestapo.” I mean the funny dude who seemed to know his shit, but also had a million great stories about the industry. He knew every client, went to all the trade shows – and talked about flying on airlines like Eastern and Pan Am. Back when they served real meals. In coach.
Every day I wake up, look in the mirror and marvel at the gorgeous physical specimen staring back at me. I soak it all in and think about how lucky my wife is to have me. Then I shake off the remnants of that final pre-alarm dream and take another look at the disheveled guy with unruly red locks and badass Jedi boxers. That’s when I see the 40-year-old father of a 4-year-old daughter, a husband, and a friend to what seems to be an endless array of people. I am blessed with innumerable online "F3s" (friends, fans and followers) with whom I feel the need to connect in some way. I also feel hopelessly out of touch.
I'm torn. One side of me really understands why disenfranchised Americans coalesced under the banner of the Occupy movement. I’m proud of them for asking questions and exploiting the media to take advantage of the platform. I really am. The other shoe drops for me when I see nothing but the loudest, least eloquent protesters at center stage. Not to mention that the "movement" appears to be intolerant of discussion or even agreeing on its key desires. Where's the puritanical manifesto? - This intolerance of so many issues creates confusion, and doesn’t do the Occupy movement any favors.
Currently we are a three-feline family: two Siamese brothers named Ricky and Bobby, and a ragdoll/shorthair mix named Niko. I've also had a tabby and a polydactyl American shorthair. What does this mean, other than all my furniture is scratched, and I can't walk out of the house wearing a suit without meticulously using a military-grade lint roller?