After yesterday’s kerfuffle over a prank phone call made to Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker by someone posing as businessman David Koch, I’m become very hesitant to accept the stated identity of anyone I can’t see. How can I possibly know that the people I’m talking to aren’t scheming, lying bloggers trying to embarrass me?

And don’t tell me bloggers who do this sort of thing are today’s equivalent of the pioneering broadcast journalists. Go to the CBS archives. Where are Edward R. Murrow’s prank calls? You won’t find them! And I can say that with certainty, not because I’ve been in the CBS archives, but because I’m a blogger and I can make stuff up.

In the Walker call, the prankster, a fellow identified as Ian Murphy (again, who really knows?), sounds just the way a scared guy would sound if he were trying to imitate the chummy, towel snapping way billionaire puppet masters are supposed to yuk it up with their boys in the back room. He is completely unconvincing when he attempts to encourage Walker with “Now you’re not talking to any of these Democrat bastards, are you?” There’s no fire in his voice when he exhorts the Wisconsin Governor with “Beautiful, beautiful. Gotta crush that union!”

There are plenty of movies where the villain is a fabulously wealthy lout who wants to control the world. Can’t we practice our maniacal cackle a little bit before trying it out for an audience?

The prank call achieved the remarkable feat of making me feel a tiny bit of sympathy for Wisconsin’s Governor. I’ll try not to get carried away, though it has changed my outlook in some key areas. That’s why I’ve taken to recording all my phone calls and producing a daily transcript, just in case someone tries to hoodwink me.

Here’s one from yesterday:

(phone rings)

?: Reference Desk.

Me: I’m looking for a book about prank calls. How to make them, how to record them, that sort of thing.

?: A whole book about prank calls? Phone calls?

Me: Yeah. Some of the social ramifications of it. Legal too.

?: I’ll check the catalog. I don’t think anyone’s written a whole book about it. There might be some magazine articles and … how about a movie?

Me: They made a movie about prank calls?

?: When A Stranger Calls. 2006.

Me: That sounds like a joke answer to my question, and I was looking for real information.

?: There’s also a book by Walter Mosley called “The Wave”. It says here one of the plot points has to do with a character getting phone calls from someone claiming to be his dead father.

Me: I think you’re pulling my leg. Are you a real reference librarian or is this some kind of cheap put-on for your juvenile GOTCHA website?

?: You called ME.

Me: That’s exactly what a prank caller would say!

?: All I did was pick up the phone.

Me: You mean you prank answered!

We went around and around for a while, but I didn’t fall for any of her cheap gags. Some people are just too smart to be fooled!

How can you prove you are you?

Dear Dr. Babooner,

I am a middle-aged person who used to feel very special and “with it”, but in recent years it has become obvious to me that I’m not anyone’s 21st century poster boy.

And yet I feel I still have something to offer!

So I started a blog. It helped me feel like I was at the forefront of technology – doing things the modern way, not stuck in routines that are considered “old school.” I’ve been at it for over two years now, and while no one would call me a “successful” blogger (on the Ariana Huffington scale of success), I do feel like I’m making progress.

My reader seems pleased, anyway. At least that’s what she says on those days when she has time to stop by.

Writing a decent blog requires some discipline. You have to spend time sorting through your ideas. You consider your opinions and try to give some shape and structure to these thoughts before posting them online. In an ideal world, you’ll even proofread your blog once before offering it to the world.

But just yesterday I learned that things have changed again, and blogs are over. Only the clueless and the lame continue with it. Blogging is simply too time consuming and the payoff is virtually nil – like setting up your lemonade stand on a street with no traffic. In winter. During a blizzard.

The new thing is to constantly rain your short, random thoughts on the universe using multiple bursts of text delivered through Facebook and Twitter. Communicating with only pictures, videos or emoticons is even better. Blogs are too writer-y.

Dr. Babooner, how can I start over AGAIN? I feel like I can’t keep up and time is running out. Am I just meant to be behind every curve?

And should I blog about this, post it on my Facebook page, or Tweet it?

Sincerely,
Increasingly Irrelevant In Indianapolis

Here’s what I told Four I’s: “Just stay open to new ideas without expressing automatic disdain for things that are old. When young people abandon a thing, that’s no reflection on the thing itself. Young people abandon everything eventually, including being young. Draw some comfort from the fact that they will someday feel as useless and out-of-step as you. So do what feels right and consider using the full range of options, including “old school” communication. So what if ‘blogging is SO 2004’? As for your next carefully considered post, I suggest you scrawl it on a scrap of paper, stuff it in a bottle and throw it into the sea. You can’t call it a mass audience, but there are people stranded on a desert island somewhere who are desperate for something to read.”

But that’s just one opinion. What do YOU think, Dr. Babooner?

This past Tuesday I grabbed a shovel and headed into the back yard to address some of the difficult issues dog owners face when the thaw begins and it becomes horribly evident that Fido has not been telling the whole truth about his business dealings. I should have suspected that story about desperate, out-of-work squirrels acting as personal valets was a mere fantasy. I chose to believe it because it made my life easier. Temporarily.

Walking with grim determination down a south-facing hill that the sun had cleared of snow, I stepped on a patch of brown grass that turned out to be covered with ice. As gravity took over I felt a tearing sensation in one of the major muscles of my left leg. I’ll spare you the spluttering and thrashing around and the Biblical oaths that followed. The result is that I can’t drive my car because I can’t lift up the foot that operates the clutch. I am suddenly impaired, but feeling lucky. I might have hit my head or fallen on the shovel, or toppled into the area that the dog has been decorating for the past three months with … well, let’s just say it could have been worse.

Yesterday my dear wife was kind enough to give me a ride to the doctor, but then she had to go to work and I undertook my errands by hobbling from one city bus to the next. It opened my eyes to part of a public transportation system that I had overlooked – namely, the part where I climb on and use it. I went from Shoreview to Rosedale to the University of Minnesota’s St. Paul Campus, then to the Minneapolis campus, downtown Minneapolis and back to the northern suburbs. It all went smoothly and just as the Metro Transit website had predicted. The only drawback was my sudden inability to hurry from one thing to the next.

It was a pleasant surprise to be forced to take things very slowly. The weather was fine. There was plenty to watch. At one point I had to kill 40 minutes at the central library in downtown Minneapolis. Was that a problem? Yes, the bus came too soon. Next time I’ll try to arrange it so I have to waste a couple of hours. And then there was the U of M stop where I felt compelled to fill the interlude with a cup of coffee and an apple fritter. The wait was no problem but the fritter was about 30% too big. I should have shared the extra chunk with the campus squirrels, but a misunderstanding about squirrels and chunks had gotten me into this situation in the first place.

In between rides I got from place to place the way Marty Feldman did when he played Igor in Young Frankenstein. Remember when he said “Walk this way”? That was me, minus the hump.

When have circumstances forced you to slow it down?