It’s all about the data.

That’s right, the Benjamins still count, but they don’t tell the complete story. Twitter sells advertising, Wall Street is happy, but users are abandoning the service. How do I know? The number of Oscar tweets fell 47% this year, from 11.2 million to 5.9 million.

The spinners will say the telecast decreased in viewership by 16%, that there was no Ellen DeGeneres selfie to go viral, but that’s what’s wrong with America, those with access to the media tell us one thing when the truth is quite another, and the truth is we’re over Twitter, not only is it hard to use, no one is listening.

That’s right. Everyone’s given up. Except for the delusional who believe they’re building a brand by tweeting twenty times a day. Have these people never heard of MySpace? Did those friends port over to Facebook or Instagram?

Of course not.

The truth is social media is the new fad. Yup, once upon a time it was hula-hoops, and then music. Now every year there’s a new social media platform that’s gonna change the world when the truth is it peaks and then people abandon it.

But even more important is the decline in tweets proves that we’re over the paradigm. You remember the paradigm, don’t you? That live events were gonna save television, because we all wanted to sit at home and snark. But we don’t if no one is paying attention.

That’s the story of the teens (and why don’t we call them the teens?), the separation between winners and losers. The truth is you can connect with the friends you already have but you can’t grow your fanbase via social media, not unless there’s an outside force driving it.

Of course there are exceptions, the occasional YouTube star, the Vine star (and ain’t that a fad), but for those at home playing the game believing they can win if they just post enough, can increase their followers and become rich and famous…it ain’t gonna happen. And people realize this and stop participating.

So people have stopped tweeting. But since Twitter makes money, this story does not dominate. But it’s the only one that counts. Twitter is a moribund service. One where, as Mark Cuban says, corporations go to make announcements. He said it’s the new PR Newswire. As for interacting with others, that’s moved on. Cuban himself has moved on to dark social. Will that be the last stop on the social media train…OF COURSE NOT!

Meanwhile, all these live events keep trumpeting their social media values, that people’s desire to participate, to hate, to deride, is going to prop up their viewership. But not only did the Oscar ratings decline, but so did those of the Grammys.

Maybe sports still triumph, because the game is enough. Whereas with these awards shows, there’s no there there. They only exist for ratings. They’re hollow at the core.

So where do we go from here?

Back to where we once belonged. Eventually the public is gonna figure out that not everybody can be famous, not even for fifteen seconds, never mind fifteen minutes. There’s just too much noise and you’re not interesting enough.

The desire to group and be social will persist. In an alienated world, we want to belong. But it turns out we don’t want our rallying points to be phony events created for the sole purpose of bringing us together so the usual suspects can get richer. Homey don’t play that game no more.

And we’ve got no allegiance to any platform. The public will gravitate from one to another, almost nothing lasts, like the acts on the pop chart.

So when you hear someone trumpeting their Twitter followers, when they start talking about the social media element of their campaign, roll your eyes. Yes, it’s important to get the word out. But it’s cheaper and harder all at the same time. The tools are free but you cannot get to everyone. Famous people can, but if you’re not one already…

And stop tweeting, no one is listening.

And if you really want people to pay attention, develop a skill. Hone it. Get it to the point where people find you as opposed to you dunning them to pay attention. It’s your only hope. It’s very slow. It won’t work in most cases. But everything that lasts takes a long time to develop.

P.S. Talent does not always take a traditional form. The Kardashians are excellent marketers. They picked out a target audience, impressionable young women, and titillated their aspirations. The fact that you deride them only adds fuel to the fire and has their adherents cling tighter. Same thing with Bill O’Reilly. As to whether they last… The Kardashians eclipsed Paris Hilton, their time will end too. As for Mr. O’Reilly, he paid a lot of dues before anybody knew who he was. He kept on doing the same act. He found a small audience that appreciated him and a protector, Roger Ailes, to run interference for him. That’s right, O’Reilly is a musical act. With a great label and manager. Once upon a time musical acts played this game, before everyone lost their backbone and desired instant success built on social media for kids without pubic hair who had no experience and nothing to say. That’s right, the music business killed the music business, the managers, labels, agents and acts, they bought all the new hysteria, that the internet could rewrite the rules and make everyone bigger and richer. But the truth is without something at the center, without a new take on the game, you’re just throwing crap against the wall. And it never sticks.

My mother was a bad cook and I can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Greetings from Snowbird, Utah where I endured a muscle cramp standing still and am still feeling the pain one day later. That’s right, I was minding my own business, luxuriating in the landscape, and I leaned back ever so slightly in my ski boots and I felt a sharp, jolting pain, only lasting an instant and I knew I was in trouble. It’s been that kind of year, falling on my ass, spraining my ankle, getting in a car wreck and now this. It seems whenever I’m on the verge of being healthy the unexpected arrives. And life is all about the unexpected…I had four pairs of ski socks for five days, was I gonna have to do laundry or wear a stinky-poo pair one more day? Now that no longer matters. If I can get back on the snow, and hopefully that will happen tomorrow, I’ll have enough.

And it’s so weird being back in Utah. On one hand it’s changed and on another it’s exactly the same. Vail is an ersatz village with wide open but easy skiing with a smidge of lifestyle injected into the sport. Snowbird is bare bones. You live amongst the people, i.e. Mormons, in the suburbs and you drive up the canyon where there’s only skiing, of the most difficult variety in the States, and only the hard core are in attendance, surprisingly oldsters, who remember when skiing was a hip sport, and very few women, just like it was in the seventies. And the conversation revolves around skiing. As if world peace relied on it, or it was the most important thing in the world and once upon a time it was to me and on some level it still is and looking at the landscape I see myself if I’d stayed. It’s hard to veer from the course. There are two kinds of people in this world, those who can’t make change and those who constantly jump the rails, go from one gutter to another. But to experiment, risk, leave your comfort zone for the unknown and then stay long enough to make it work…that’s hard. When I moved to Utah I wanted to leave, when I left I wanted to come back. Which is all a prelude to the fact I spent the morning reading the new Anne Tyler book “A Spool of Blue Thread” wherein a family stays in Baltimore, and it’s very good so far and I keep hearing that Carole King song in my brain…”so far away, doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore.” And I know that kind of contradicts my prior thesis but Carole is singing more about reliability…can we count on people, to be there for us, is there community. That’s one of the weird things about the social web, we know where everybody is but we’re no closer in real life. I reached out to an old college friend for the very first time Monday, figured he’d be glad to hear from me, I saw an article he wrote online and hit him back…but he doesn’t want to know me now. That’s the truth underlying Facebook, there’s a reason we lost touch.

So I’m staying at the house of someone who doesn’t want to be named, so I won’t. And I’m one of four, like the Tom Petty song, I’m the outsider. And I behave differently from the outside than I used to. I used to get all nervous and talk and alienate, now, after decades of psychotherapy I assess the landscape and wait for holes. The only problem is sometimes time runs out before holes appear. But this trip is long enough for me to find my place.

And Jackson’s place is to cook.

No, not Jackson Browne, although he used to snowboard, not sure if he still does. This Jackson has a pedigree, from Andover to Yale, but skiing owns his life, and somewhere along the way he learned how to cook.

Cooking?

I eat.

My father was a gourmand. There was almost nothing as important to him as a good meal. He treated everybody and was always up for a new experience. Which may be why I was raised on a steady diet of going out to dinner. Sunday night Chinese or pizza. But there were finds, like El Faro in NYC for paella. And I must remind you, Bridgeport, CT had phenomenal pizza. You know, thin crust with an oil slick on top, what did they call it, scamotz? My Italian is not good, as a matter of fact, it’s nonexistent. Jackson speaks French but he did not learn his culinary skills in school, or from his parents, he cracked cooking books, he experimented, and what he’s plating is positively mind-blowing, I’d rather stay in than go out.

He cooks breakfast, but I’ve only recently learned how to eat breakfast. And I don’t eat eggs, so I haven’t partaken of Jackson’s concoctions, one with a yolk in an sea of whites. But on the first day back from skiing, on our lunch break, Jackson cooked up some croque monsieurs.

Do you know what this is? Basically a ham and cheese sandwich, but so much more. You start off with white bread, Jackson asked if there was a Pullman loaf. And he saw some ham in the fridge, along with some cheese, so he was inspired and… He dipped the bread in some egg, put mayonnaise on one piece, mustard on the other, ham and cheese in the middle, plopped the result in a frying pan and what came out was…

Utterly delicious! As good as any I’ve ever had in a restaurant. I wanted to testify. And right now I am.

Today it was a three course lunch. The pasta… Jackson didn’t have a name for it. But he threw in a little butter, and then some ham and some cheese and what came out was not only al dente but minimal, not overdone, no wasted elements…the opposite of mainstream dining. That’s right, go to the Olive Garden and you get too much, they try to impress you with tonnage. Go to the upscale place and it’s small and simple and exquisite, like Jackson’s.

Then there was chicken soup and something with noodles and meat and carrots all thickened with sour cream that was unnameable, but delectable. I asked Jackson what inspired him. The wine added flavor, the sour cream…thickened.

I’m learning.

But my life is so fast, I can’t slow down. I can’t watch television, I’ve got no time. The incoming is persistent. They’re always making more news. And we’re constantly reminded we’re inadequate and behind the times. Not only do we need the latest technology, we’ve got to know how to use it, to find out the media is manipulated by the marketers and there’s absolutely no center.

So what’s a poor boy to do?

Not play in a rock and roll band. That’s so very sixties, maybe seventies. When the elite triumphed, when talent was paramount, when artists pursued their dreams independent of constraints, when they dictated to the label as opposed to vice versa, when they didn’t have to tell us how rich they were because we could tell, and we wanted to be them.

I don’t want to be Justin Bieber, I don’t want to be any of them. There’s something phony there. It’s kind of like a hula-hoop, some fad that preys on the innocent and uneducated that’s ultimately forgotten. But the difference is life is so hard that everybody is dunning you with their wares and complaining when they’re unsuccessful. We’ve turned into a nation of complainers, both left and right. Both believe someone is holding them down, whether it be the government or the corporations. And I’ve got a dog in this fight, but recently he’s been tired and wondering if it’s worth the struggle.

I’m burned out on politics.

I’m burned out on so much.

At the end of the day, I’m just an animal, here for a short while. I forgot to procreate, so now it’s just about eating, crapping, screwing and having a good time. There ain’t much more to it than that. As for achievement… The money will buy you a better lifestyle, assuming you have time to live it, the fame will buy you nothing. Fame doesn’t keep you warm at night, it’s not even a decent friend. Get old enough and you realize we all really are equal, with our own predilections and desires, and if you’re looking for someone to validate you you’re in trouble.

Oh yeah, Jackson also made these sandwiches, yesterday… Pulled pork and spaghetti sauce on Ciabatta bread. How’d he come up with this?

How’d we all come up with this?

We’ve all got our own stories.

My mother was a bad cook because it just wasn’t important enough to her. She lived for culture. She can barely walk but she’ll never miss a transmission from the NYC Opera. She sees every movie. She can actually cook a decent meal when she wants to, but normally she doesn’t care.

I’m trying to discover what I care about. For years I ran on sheer will and determination, striving for an unknowable prize. But realizing I’m in control I now wonder, where should I go next? How should I tweak the thrusters? Do I just proceed blindly, will I then be pissed if I miss the target, or do I risk going somewhere where everybody else is not, that might leave me happy but possibly alienated and broke.

I don’t know. But I do know when I eat a good meal I smile and life makes sense.

And I’ve smiled a lot this week.

You’ve got to believe in yourself.

I’m gonna tell you one of my favorite Irving Azoff stories.

So I’m in the bowels of the Hollywood Bowl, talking to John Baruck, Irving’s old fraternity brother from Illinois. And I’m getting history, I love history, for the story alone, never mind what you learn.

So Irving goes to the west coast with Fogelberg, gets a gig with Jerry Heller and eventually moves over to Geffen Roberts, where he starts booking the Roxy.

Baruck stays home with REO Speedwagon.

Two years later, Irving calls Baruck, tells him in that voice that only Irving has, conspiratorial, sotto voce, with a hint of humor… “Pack your bags…WE CAN TAKE THIS TOWN!”

And there you have it. That’s why Irving can form his own performing rights organization and put the threat of the devil into Pandora, because he believes in himself.

I’m not talking about false bravado. I hear that every day. You recite who you know, where you went to school, accomplishments made out of cardboard, but then when you get on the diving board…

You back out.

The winners have confidence. They know they won’t always win.  They realize risk is part of the equation. But they realize we’re all human and all equal and someone has to take the lead and it might as well be them.

That’s another thing, if you want to set the world on fire you’re best off doing it yourself, if you want to move up in the organization you’re going about it the wrong way, that’s already someone else’s gig.

That’s one of the reasons the major labels are in trouble, none of them were founders. That’s right, the CEOs always worked for the man, how do you expect them to be nimble, how do you expect them to take great leaps forward? Whereas at least lifers, promoters who had their own money at risk, are still running the concert business. They know the bottom line. Sounds like a good idea, but WILL IT PAY OFF?

Confidence cannot be instilled by others. No one else can prop you up. It’s internal.

That’s right, so many of those fluffing up the external are weak internally, incredibly insecure. If someone is boasting, they’re usually losing.

Ever hang with the rich and famous, the powerful? The amazing thing is almost all of them play it down. They don’t talk business, they don’t talk their accomplishments.

Furthermore, they know it’s about relationships. Which is why if you ever meet someone further up the totem pole become friends first, talk family, movies, anything but business. Because they hear about business all day long from people a lot more powerful than you.

And if you think you know it all, believe me you don’t.

There’s a reason people are successful.

And it’s not only because they believe in themselves, but because they work the relationships and they’re a fun hang.

Don’t try to tell me how great you are, TELL YOURSELF HOW GREAT YOU ARE!

Karma’s a bitch.

They’re out to get him, but it’s Bill’s response that has me flummoxed.

Why does everybody in power double-down, why do they try and blow their attacker’s house down? It makes men look foolish, that they can’t admit that they are wrong, believing he with the biggest megaphone wins when it really just makes them look like a blowhard.

I don’t care whether Bill O’Reilly reported from a war zone or not.

But the truth is this guy is such a bully that people are afraid to contradict him. It’s kind of like Kanye. What do we hear when Kanye begins his shenanigans? Crickets. And when Bill O’Reilly twists the truth and trumpets insignificant, made-up canards like the War on Christmas? Not much.

Actually, we heard some blowback on the War on Christmas, but that’s just a sideshow to the big stuff, we tire of responding to him and then he gets away with so much.

But this is what the world has devolved into. One of gotcha and denial.

And this is not like the Obama birth certificate fracas. You don’t respond to trolls. And Bill O’Reilly could have ignored “Mother Jones.” But he chose not to. He chose to get on his high horse and contradict the truth, the footage and the other newsmen in attendance in Argentina.

I don’t want Bill O’Reilly to lose his job. I don’t think his offense is equal to Brian Williams’s. Then again, this is not the first time O’Reilly has bent the truth/lied. But I do want to point out that just because you’re famous and powerful you do not get a pass. Just because you can marshal flacks and TV power, you’re not entitled to have things go your way.

And what kind of bizarre world do we live in where celebrities get more leeway than politicians? The Governor of Oregon had to go, Kanye’s left unscathed.

Everybody’s afraid. It’s like the world has turned into high school. And the nerds did not inherit the earth. We’re all using their devices, but they’ve got no power over the organization, how things run. No nerd is Frank Underwood.

So, if you get in trouble, if you do something wrong, APOLOGIZE!

It won’t hurt your credibility, it will only increase it.

And if you think your attackers are only out to get you, to tear you down, because they’re jealous and want your job, IGNORE THEM! Defending yourself in this case doesn’t work, the trolls will just change focus.

So, Bill O’Reilly, you’re losing here. Fox is never going to fire you, you’re their cash cow. You could have said you stretched the truth, you could have said it was in the past, you could have ignored it.

But no, you had to be superior, you had to be invulnerable, and now you’re looking like a pussy who’s just waiting for the principal to step in. You’re like a football player or frat brother who vows to get even, scaring the pipsqueaks into sleeping with one eye open.

And one of the great things about leaving school is you leave the schoolyard behind. There’s real justice. You can’t punch someone in the face, you can’t do something illegal, we’re all safe, all protected by the rule of law.

But O’Reilly is an adolescent.

Why do we pay attention to him?

Because we’re tribal. We need an enemy to point out everything keeping us back. That’s right, if you just dismantled the government everything would be cool. And it’s Bill who’s standing up for the little guy.

WAKE UP!

Bill is only standing up for himself, he only cares about himself, he needs your adulation to survive. And if it’s threatened, if there’s a chink in the armor, his whole enterprise caves.

Once again, this is different from Brian Williams. Williams was an empty suit. Williams was a newsreader. Whereas Bill O’Reilly keeps telling us he’s standing up for the truth.

Ain’t that a laugh.