An old friend of mine consulted a medium. During the conversation the medium asked, “Who is Jeff?”

My friend told the medium about me, just briefly.

The medium responded, “I find him annoying.”

I am, therefore, annoying. I mean, it’s one thing if a regular old person says I’m annoying — that’s debatable opinion. But a medium is supposed to know, feel, and understand true spiritual energy. If she finds me annoying, I cannot argue. I am, at the essence of my spiritual energy, annoying.

It’s somewhat liberating, to tell the truth. If I’m annoying at the spiritual level, well I might as well just go ahead and annoy the heck out of you and everybody else. Because, to quote the Highwaymen, “I is what I is ’cause I ain’t what I ain’t.” And I is annoying.

(For the record, Blogenberg may be skeptical but is in no way dismissive of mediums as Blogenberg is not arrogant enough to think the world can be fully understood.)

My teenage daughter is living in a completely separate universe. I know because of a conversation I had with her last week. She had just won the 800 meters in the county regional track meet by 30 meters (now she’s on to the county championship):

Me: I wish you’d consider running track in high school.

Teen daughter: I don’t want to.

Me: But you have so much talent.

Teen daughter: I don’t want to.

Me: Well, maybe when you get to high school you’ll change your mind.

Teen daughter: Dad, if it didn’t mess up my hair I’d run track, but it does, so I won’t.

Me: [Speechlessly praying that she returns from this other universe]
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A local radio news reporter broadcast a 30-second story this morning. It included, “beyond his wildest dreams,” “apple of his eye,” and “hope against hope.” Wow. All in 30-seconds. But this only comes in second.

Denzel Washington wrote a letter of support for Wesley Snipes. “Wesley is like a tree — a mighty oak,” Washington wrote in his letter to the judge. “Many who know him have witnessed the fruit of his labors, have sat in his shade and even been protected by his presence.” Wow. That wins the first ever Blogenberg best writing I’ve ever, ever, ever read while using metaphor like an editorial stealth missile award.

Every morning I stop at a Starbucks near my house for green tea and a bran muffin. (Did you notice how I used Starbucks, green tea, and bran muffin in the same sentence? My fake cool quotient just rose dramatically!)

Every morning the same woman tends the cash register. She’s too nice to customers. She talks to them. She pretends to care about them. She needs to stop it, immediately, because she’s taken good customer service, put it on steroids, and created irritating, bad customer service. Because in line, behind the people she’s chatting up, is me, damn’t. I’m very anxious to get to work. And all her chatting adds probably three minutes to my wait. Call it crazy, but those three minutes mean something to me. Frankly, more than her inane chit chat means to the people she is chit chatting.

This morning, somebody asked her where the milk is. She answered, “Up front, by the door, to the left.” How about just responding, “Up front”? It’s a small store. They’ll find the milk, damn’t. And I’ll get my damn Starbucks green tea and bran muffin quicker, damn’t!

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Two very important questions deeply troubling Blogenberg today: One, is April Fool’s day dying, if not already dead? Today is April Fool’s day. Good bet you didn’t think about it until just this moment. I’m old enough to remember when April Fool’s day meant something — something foolish, of course. Maybe we just take ourselves too seriously — like demanding our Starbucks green tea and bran muffin three minutes quicker?

Second, I was in a hospital the other day. One wing of this hospital is named the Progressive Care Unit. What’s that make the other units in this hospital? Perhaps the Obsolete Care Because Our Doctors Haven’t Read a Medical Journal in Two Years Unit. Or maybe the We Weren’t Able to Dump this Equipment on the Underfunded Public Hospital in the Inner City Unit.

Two recent parenting episodes from inside my Toyota (I note I own a Toyota since Toyota just won it’s first NASCAR race and that makes Blogenberg even cooler!):

Blogenberg: Sure, you can go over Katie’s [my almost 14-year-old son’s adorable girlfriend] Friday night, but I have to talk to her parents first.

My almost 14-yeard-old son: Something unintelligible into his cell phone.

Son [to me]: What are you going to say to Katie’s mom?

Blogenberg: What do you think I’m going to say? I’m going to say [in my best Dick Vitale voice — think very loud and irritating], Hey, Katie’s mom, BABY, how ya’ doing BABY?!?!

Katie, my almost-14-year-old boy’s adorable girlfriend, was still on the cell phone, listening. Oops.

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Blogenberg [driving my almost-14-year old daughter and friend to watch a boy’s soccer game] : So have you decided to say yes to Connor’s asking you to “go out”? [They call it “going out.”]

My almost-14-year-old daughter: We are going out, Dad.

Blogenberg: Oh, okay.

Daughter: He’s like some big soccer star. He’s on the boys U.S. National team.

Blogenberg: Oh, you can definitely go out with him!

Pause.

I mean, is he a nice kid?

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Blogenberg Oxymoron of the Day: “High-end prostitution ring.”

Blogenberg goofy media moment of the day: Fox News Channel “fuzzing” out the faces of the call girls shown on the website of that “high-end prostitution ring.”

I’m in my 10th day as a single parent — as my wife is still out of the country. I have changed. I have become Brooke Shields.

In the new NBC TV show Lipstick Jungle she plays a character you’ve seen a million times: high-powered female executive overwhelmed and flustered as she tries to balance business and children. At the end of every day the end is the same. Business deals aren’t quite consummated or, if they are, it’s by luck. Children are in bed (though probably text messaging under the covers to their boy and/or girlfriends), but at least nobody got killed or arrested. And her heels are killing her.

That, after 10 full days of parenting a teen boy and teen girl (the older one is away at school) by myself, that Brooke Shields character, is me.

My wife will be home soon. That’s a good thing — because these heels are killing me.

I think it runs in the family. My mother lost me when I was an infant. She left me, sitting in my circa 1959 baby carrier, on the counter at the army base PX. She had driven halfway home before she realized she left something behind.

Today, as a parent, I’ve lost three children. And it’s good.

I’m not talking literally. Well, maybe I am. Because I have indeed lost my three children. I don’t have children any more. I’m father to one man and two 13-year-olds, a boy and a girl, who are fast maturing teenagers. I know many parents find it scary. I find it exciting.

This past New Year’s eve my 13-year-old boy wasn’t with us. He was at a friend’s party. I told my wife to get used to it.

My little girl, I’ve lost her childhood to friends, phone, shopping, IM, parties, etc.

The oldest boy, I lost his childhood years ago to music. A very talented musician, he decided by the age of 13 what he wanted to do with his life.

Losing my children and watching what each of them is finding in the place of the children they used to be is thrilling — thrilling kind of like the new generation of roller coasters I’m too scared to get on.
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We’re working on slogans for every aspect of our business. How’s this one? — Rosenberg Communications’ market research: Better than exit polling.

The iPod Touch as marital aide: My wife and I love my iPod Touch. We lay in bed, one earpiece in my left ear, one in her right ear, and watch episodes of Showtime’s Weeds. We spend more time together and talk less. Clearly the iPod Touch (and all video iPods) was invented by a man!

Oh gee, what to say to my twin 13-year-olds about the 16-year-old star of the popular TV show they watch who got pregnant? According to the media, parents everywhere are struggling with this quandary. Here’s what we said to my young teen son and daughter: “That’s why 16-year-olds should not be having sex.” Gee, didn’t seem that hard to figure out what to tell them.

We’re doing a marketing video. Stay tuned — in a few weeks it will premiere on Blogenberg. Of course, I was interviewed. Now I have even greater empathy for the dozens of folks I media train every year. When you go on camera to talk about your business or your organization, something that means so much to you, man it’s hard. Much harder than the hundreds of interviews I’ve done “flacking” for some organization or issue.

My business New Year’s resolutions: market, market, market (interspersed with lots of work for clients that makes us proud). As 2008 starts, I’m exceedingly excited and equally terrified. This is the year we either continue to build on a run of success or fall backwards. We’ve got a big plateful of opportunity before us. Blogenberg fans will be the first to know what direction 2008 takes us.

Happy New Year!

From the back seat of my car last week, this conversation takes place between two 13-year-boys (one of whom is, of course, my boy):

13-year-old knucklehead: Hey, if you were trapped on a desert island, what are the three things you want to have?

13-year-old goofball: Uh, food. Lifetime supply of food. And a lifetime supply of sour gummy bears. Plus girls.

Knucklehead: That’s good. But what about a phone? You’d want a cell phone for calling and text messaging and stuff.

Goofball: I know: food, gummy bears, and girls who have phones.

Knucklehead: Good. That’s good.

Bonus Blogenberg: My oldest son attends a conservatory in a major Midwest city. Before that I spent a good amount to send him to a very good private high school. He applied for his first job last week. The crucial interview test? – Is he tall enough to reach stuff on the top shelf of the IT office because the rest of the staff members are kind of short. He’s tall. He got the job. Good thing I’ve been spending all that money for five-plus years now on tuition.

I’ve raised one boy to manhood. This second time around, with my 13-year-old son, I’m being even tougher, putting him through ordeals that some might, shall we say, question.

Like last Friday, at the mall. I sent him in with his twin sister, into a clothing store catering to teen girls and young women. I watched from a seat at a pretzel kiosk. He followed behind his sister, she loading him down with jackets, sweaters, and blouses as she pulled them from the display racks. Occasionally, she would try something on, and then toss it back on to the pile of clothes growing in his arms.

He rolled his eyes. He slumped his shoulders. He huffed exaggerated sighs as the minutes felt like hours.

And I just sat there thinking, you asked for it, in such a rush to become a man – now you know what being man is all about. (more…)

Blogenberg Bit 1: My daughter said she wants to be in the military when she grows up. “Why would you want to do that?� I responded in such a way that both she and her twin brother immediately asked why I sounded so negative. Wow. Just the question had terrified me. I could only be honest. “I have great respect for the military. Serving is very honorable. Having one of my kids in the military would scare me.�

Imagine how I would feel if I were a parent of a son or daughter who was serving today – not just asking me about it.

Thank God we have parents brave enough.

Blogenberg Bit 2: My 13-year-old son had a lacrosse tournament this past weekend in Princeton, NJ. I’m driving him and three other 13-year-old boys to watch a high school game Saturday night. One of the boys asks my son if his 13-year-old twin sister is “hot.� My son is smart enough not to answer. I’m driving, wondering what would happen if I let one otherwise very nice, very likeable 13-year-old boy out on the side of Route 1.

Blogenberg Bit 3: Two things I’ll never enjoy in business. One is calling up a client and pushing for payment. I think I want to get big enough that I can have somebody whose job it is to do that. Second is busting our humps on a very strategic proposal and then being met by silence. Yep, can do without both.