Yesterday,  thanks to a Baby Bell conglomerate who shall remained unnamed, our office got an unintended retreat from our lifeline, the Internet.

For the first hour, sheer terror set in.  No email, no Facebook, no Twitter, no website access – the very tools of our trade were literally inaccessible.  By hour three, with a bevvy of IT and AT & T (whoops, spilled the beans) specialists working on our equipment like a fine-tuned team of neurosurgeons, panic had turned to acceptance.

Forced to work offline, some began writing, others reading printed materials and whitepapers long ago placed in the “Must Read” box.  Though disconnected from the 21^st century, we connected with each other, our clients and our industry by makeshift methods our grandparents would have thought customary.

Yet an inexplicable calm and sense of accomplishment filled the air, even into hour five.  We had unintentionally yet successfully “unplugged” for the day. Instead of Armageddon, we experienced a temporary respite from the online hullabaloo.  We caught our collective breaths, read about advancements in our industry, brainstormed aloud and on paper, and recollected (or for the youngers, learned) what it was like to be marketers in the pre-digital era.

The Internet is back up today. While we’re all ecstatic to have the trappings of our modern workspace back, our unintentional day of surrender taught us that an occasional day spent unwired can be a beneficial and even necessary experience.

In fact, we can’t wait to tell everyone on Facebook about it!

Who are these people I cast aside?

1. It’s All About Me’s:  You know the type. Their kid got accepted early decision to Harvard, they were awarded top agent in the nation, they’re in the celebrity green room at the Super Bowl (and posting everything from a photo of the Packers-colored rice on their dinner plate to pictures with sports stars way past their prime).  Along the way, you’ve liked most of their posts, congratulated their kids, and even let them know how jealous you are that they got to pose next to 90′s superstars.  Yet they have NEVER commented on your posts or re-tweeted you.  It’s like being at a cocktail party with someone that talks and talks and never asks about you.  So I did what I’d do at a party.  Excused myself and walked away.

2. Lurkers: These are the followers that hide in the shadow, catching you at the market with a “That was a great photo of you at the Chamber meeting last week.  Oh, and hope your mom is feeling better after her surgery.”  What?  I actually friended this person?  Why doesn’t he make his online presence known?  Why doesn’t he ever comment about himself or his family? Why doesn’t he tell me he reads my posts and looks at my photos? Isn’t this supposed to be about engagement and two-way streets?  To me, these people are creepy; not self-sacrificing.   Truly altruistic people wouldn’t join Facebook.  Lurkers are the ones you really have to watch out for.  They’re watching your every move stealthy.  What are they afraid of?  Why don’t they interact?  All I know is I’m afraid of them, so buh-bye!

3. Door-to-Door Salesmen:I’ve been pitched everything from slippers to rap dance lessons online.  And the answer is still NO.  If I wanted high quality Botox/mattress pads/insect repellent or any of the myriad of over-priced clothes, shoes, jewelry and/or purses you hock incessantly, I promise, you would be the first one I’d call.  In the meantime, how about telling me what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other in eighth grade?   Posting a few pics of your family instead of your “exclusive” spring product line?  I actually care a lot more about where you’re gong on vacation than I do about the hostess points I could get for inviting my friends to your Tupperware party.  If you want to join the conversation, jump in.  But for now, I’m done hearing about your purses that match my eyes and also make dinner for five as well.  Ta-ta!

4. Eeyore’s: Your kid has a 103 fever for the third time this year, your mother had emergency surgery, your car broke down and you don’t have the money to fix it, and your husband lost his job.  Guess what?  Me, too.  I have no problem hearing about the bumps in your road once in awhile, nor do I have a problem posting mine. But honestly, did you miss the half-full glass over there?  I generally have a high tolerance for pain, but not for your daily woe-is-me epic.  Go find me three positive things to say about your day, and I might let you back in.

5. TMI’s: These used to come yearly in Christmas letters; now we get them daily, and some recent ones have been doozies.  How do I say this delicately?  I DO NOT CARE TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR HUSBAND’S COLONOSCOPY OR WHAT HE HAD TO DRINK BEFOREHAND.  NOR DO I CARE HOW LONG HIS SURGICAL SCAR IS OR WHAT IS COMING OUT OF IT.  Enough said.  Hasta la vista, baby.

I am the first to admit I’m not perfect.  I’ve posted a few items that I later deleted; I’ve embarrassed my kids; I even had a local store owner send me hate mail for a post I wrote about his poor business practices.  But one thing I know I am is a good social citizen.  I’m in this to learn as much about you as I can; to celebrate your joys and cry along with you if needed.  I friended or followed you for the same reason.  Maybe it’s me.  Maybe I expect too much out of this “social” media stuff.  But until I get back from you what I put into it, I’m done with you.  I hate to say this, but it’s likely for your own good.

That’s essentially a 1907 model.

Newsweek’s only hope — after the new owner loses his pants, having already lost his shirt on it — is to make it immediate and interactive. NewsWEEK, aping  Time, was intended to encapsulate all the news in a timely fashion for busy people. People too busy to read 2-3 newspapers a day, as was the norm at the time. That was 1933.  Today, no one would wait a week to find out anything; that’s why the magazine’s best hope is in realizing that the news and information cycle is now 24/7 — 24 seconds, every 7 minutes — and that much of the news comes from individual users, not from press poobahs sitting on high.

I personally think that people have a love affair with marketing.  Though, I’m aware my opinion might be slightly biased.  After reading this article, I realized that these messages reach far deeper than simply getting people to buy.  Even if you don’t notice it outright, you probably let media influence you in more ways than one.  Marketing can inform and entertain, break up your commute or just provide an endless amount of conversation.  Now it seems that commercialism may even help you like your favorite show better.

Some of it is good, a lot of it is mediocre, and (let’s face it) there are some downright ugly messages out there in the world of marketing.  When was the last time you laughed or cried at an ad? How about the last time you bought a product after seeing their media? Do you think those commercial breaks help you enjoy your favorite show more? Let us know what you think.

Today, I experienced my own unintended blank screen day. For the first time in years, I spent 6 full hours without online access. Sure, I’ve spent 6 hours away from the Internet, but of my own choosing.  Today, silence was thrust upon me by the California desert and a mobile broadband card that can’t connect in this desolate terrain.

Now I know how addicts feel.  Other than for prolonged absences from Diet Pepsi, I’ve never experienced withdrawals like I did today.  Hello, my name Lisa and I am an Internet addict.

My job as a social media specialist notwithstanding, I use the internet in almost every facet of my life.  What do cook for dinner? FoodNetwork.com.  How to tie my son’s tie for a school event? YouTube.  Visiting east coast colleges with my son? CollegeWeekLive.com. I even solve stupid fights on Google, like a bet my husband had with his friend during the Olympics.  (How many Winter Olympics sports are there? Answer: 15).  That one actually cost me money.

How did we exist before we had the world at our fingertips?  As I ponder this  amidst the never-ending desert horizon—not a building or person in sight—it occurs to me that maybe we didn’t need to.

Here I sit in a car with my family, laughing about silly city names, admiring the beautiful native plants in bloom, and listening to rap music that gives me a headache but simultaneously exposes me to my kids’ minds. 

My phone isn’t ringing, and Skype isn’t sounding. I’m unplugged from the world wide web, but I’m totally tuned in to the world around me.

I could—and should—get used to this.

The Station Fire in La Canada Flintridge

This week, for the first time, I experienced Facebook in much more than a “reconnect with your 8th grade crush” way.  For the residents of La Canada Flintridge, facing the raging “Station Fire” with a dearth of TV news coverage (check LA Observed blog on that topic), Facebook became our lifeline to each other and to word of evacuations, power outages, friends’ safety, offers of shelter, and even panic and hearsay.

The Facebook phenomenon started August 26 when fire broke out in the Angeles National Forest–a hop, skip and a jump from many residents on the northern side of Foothill Blvd.  As flames grew higher and ashes rained on our sleepy town, TV news covered the Portuguese Fire in Palos Verdes.  Although “our” fire had a name–the Station Fire–no one source was able to provide the up-to-the minute coverage we needed to keep our families and homes at the ready. 

So we did what any good 21st century town does when there’s a disaster–turned to the Internet.  More specifically, Facebook.  We’d rushed to Facebook once before when a runaway truck crashed into an intersection, killing 2 and injuring dozens–but this time it was different.  This time, it was about the emotional and physical survival of an entire town.

It started slowly at first, after a smoky day of fire over the hills.  A few “Is anyone else seeing flames from their house?” and “Has anyone else lost power?” messages began to pop up.  That gave way to a barrage of speculation as to exactly where  the fire was coming from–”I think it’s at the top of Ocean View.” “It is definitely just EAST of me.”  “We are on Green Crest right below that area. It’s not looking good.”

Soon, vacationers and relatives chimed in, quite panicked that their far-away home or family could be affected. “Thanks to LCF Facebookers, I have gotten better info here while out of town than from news sources,” said one.  Another wrote, ” I am in Spain and have been hearing bits and pieces…any info you can send my way would be appreciated.”

As is human nature, as the fire spread, so did the rumor mill. Everyone was certain their neighbor’s cousin’s best friend’s house was in flames.  “Heard two houses are on fire on Starlight Crest. Probably going to spread,” wrote one.  “A  friend said a young woman walking by his house just told him a house on Crown and Knight was in flames.” Luckily, neither turned out to be true. 

Several posters continually added official updates from the city website and personnel, and others  posted direct quotes from fire personnel on scene. “Just saw one of the Fire Chiefs at Rite Aid on a break and he said it is moving towards Altadena.”

Many people simply prowled the hundreds of postings, adding a short reply or a thumbs up here and there.  For most , it was just comforting to be bound “together” in adversity, somewhere in this little Facebook bubble we created.  I kept picturing us in a (very large) lifeboat, sustaining each other towards an unknown future. Not only did Facebook keep everyone abreast of current and fast changing information, it also gave many peace of mind during a volatile time.

What was most amazing to me was the way our community used Facebook to lend a hand or reach our for help.  There were open offers of shelter, food, help evacuating, animal care—even clothing—from perfect strangers.  One posted about housing an unfamiliar senior citizen couple until it is safe for them to return home.  La Canada Facebookers publicly posted their cell phones and addresses–even told us where to find the spare key–anything to help a neighbor.

Tonight, as the fire rages in a different city (although large hot spots and flare-ups remain), La Canada is trying to get back to a sense of normalcy–whatever that may be.  Facebook has now become “group therapy”–the place where we go to talk about what we’ve been through, how we recover,  and how we can even slightly begin to show our thanks to heroic firefighters.

Soon, we’ll get back to posting about how our teens are driving us crazy or the wonderful travels we’ll take.  But we will forever be connected by the stories and information we shared during this tumultuous time.  For a short while, Facebook became our virtual water cooler, a place to comfort and be comforted.  And that’s how Facebook saved La Canada.

It’s an actual commercial for a furniture store in North Carolina, where apparently, they just received the telegraph from the Pony Express that the Civil War is over.

“For a while, we couldn’t do anything but answer the phone. ‘Yes, we’re a real store. Yes, that’s a real ad,’” said vice president and manager Steve Patalano, whose Red House Furniture Store has been deluged with customers since the video was posted on YouTube. Not surprisingly, the directors’ previous commercial was about a Cuban gynecologist-turned-car salesman.

People of all races shop and work at Red House, so “we just got the idea that it was just like a big Rainbow Coalition,” Patalano said.  

With all the publicity it’s getting, this just might be the most brilliant stupid ad ever made.

Her punishment?  No more texting after dinner.

Oh, thank god.  Because I was worried they’d do something totally lame like…um….take away her phone altogether.

Where is your business going next? Everybody is going somewhere (or they’re going nowhere).