What I Hate About Facebook

Before Facebook, I had an idea about my generation (X, that is). Publically, I abhorred the idea that we were being "labeled." But in my heart I kind of dug the label. Because what is X if not something unquantifiable? It's pretty cool.

But then I joined Facebook and hooked up with a bunch of ghosts from the past, namely Friendwhores who happened to go to my high school. I'm an old softy from way back and I found I couldn't resist someone who wanted to be my friend, even someone who for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger to me.

Well, today, I unfriended someone for the first time. This asshat, let me call him "Brent," would fall into the "complete stranger" category. And his status updates would alternate between the very banal to Howard Stern-lite type remarks. For example, one day he would say, "I have to stop treating my body like an amusement park." Then next day: "Happiness is mostly a byproduct of doing what makes us feel fulfilled."

In fact that last remark is what finally gave me the courage to jettison him from my Friends list. If I wanted to hear that kind of bullshit pablum, I'd go hang out at the flea market and read the appliqued sweatshirts or country-style wooden signs. Also, the amusement park remark was not even clever enough to be entertaining. it was too obvious.

These type of status updates beg the questions: Where is the profundity? Where is the irony? On Blogger, that's where.

I guess I blame blogging for having my expectations set too high. Bloggers of a certain age are so much more like what I imagine my generation is like. And having run into so many like minded bloggers who started off as strangers for the most part, I was given over to the assumption that most people my age who are online are exactly the type of people I'd point to and say: there's a fellow Gen-X-er! Sadly, many of the people who find themselves in my graduating class are cheesy and outwardly wholesome-sounding and don't represent themselves well as cynical, frustrated, unmotivated slackers I expected them to be.

Alas.

Old Stomping Ground

I've been in Cleveland for the week for work...pretty much holed up in the hotel/conference center. But tonight the gang and I went out to eat in my old neighborhood with my former co-worker, M. We had a great meal, laughed and rolled our way out to the car. We all piled into Buttercup's SUV and trooped off to Trader Joe's for supplies.


Getting to Trader Joe's meant driving almost past our old house. It really stirred up bittersweetness. Lucy was a baby in that house but we were so isolated. No close friends or family and a house that was sucking the life and money out of us. It was a very tough time emotionally for me for many reasons.


But still...I drive by and recall the sunny Saturday afternoons when the orthodox folks clad in black travelled on foot to Temple past our window. I remember my elderly neighbors' wild flower garden. I had a great little car and we could walk to about any store we needed to go to.


But mostly, it kind of sucked.


And driving past there opened a wound in my heart. Here I am on the road again, yet near some place I once called home. And I don't have Doc or Riley or Lucy with me. It was a pang and a longing. And some pretty deep sadness. We'd really been through the shit there.


I got back to the hotel and logged into Facebook so that I could dive into my photos of the kids and Doc and soak them up until someone picked up the phone at home.


Poor Doc...all hemmed up with a cold and donuts everywhere at work. The kids are pooped...Grandma is pooped. We're all strung out and discombobulated.


But tomorrow, I'll land back in my nest in my cozy home with near my family and friends. I really want to soak it up to, because, in a way, we've really emerged from a tunnel in into that far-distant light. Sure, we may still be essentially broke. But we've got everything we didn't have in Cleveland: good friends, good neighbors, family close by, jobs we like if not love, kids in school and thriving. And I can't remember the last time I felt depressed.


Maybe the force is finally with me...

Is Blogging Going the Way of the 78?

Do you feel nostalgic when you sit down to post something to your blog? I'm starting to. I'm remembering the hey-day, for me anyway, when there was a certain vibrancy to it. But now, it feels like thumbing through the card catalog: It feels like a task, an obstacle to getting to information and feedback. Especially after Facebook came into my life.

I've thought about not blogging. Didn't work. I tried to set goals for myself so that I would write/comment more often. I began to feel that, even though I don't have cable and I still don't have time to catch up with my catalog of favorite shows, how the hell can I blog?

Maybe now's not the time in my life. When I'm at work...I'm working. When I'm at home, I'm with the kids. When the kids are in bed, I'm on Facebook or listening to the DVD commentaries for the Simpsons or Futurama...or, if I'm lucky, a new Father Ted from Netflix (thank you Dr. Monkey Muck for showing us the light!).

I just don't have the opportunity...since shiny Facebook came along. What's better than "Liking" something there? It shows I stopped by and that I care. Because of it and it's simplicity, I'm closer to far-flung relatives, both physically far flung and genealogically far flung, than I've ever been in my life. I'm playing D&D (thanks Frank Sirmarco!), I'm farming, I have a fishtank, I have an appartment! I'm catching up with people I knew and barely knew in high school. I know my co-workers better and like them for it.

It's bizzare and intoxicating. It's Hi-fi, digital, THX communication.

But...

It's somehow lacks the authenticity. The groove has been melded into a sleek metallic grapevine. While useful and somehow easier to deal with, it can't compare to the comfort and ease I get while sliding your blog off the shelf and cranking up the Victorola to revisit your latest post, which is two weeks old. There's something in the quality there...

So, I think I'm going to do what my Dad would do. I'm keeping my collection and I'm still adding to this old blog. I'm going to stop by and visit, even if I have nothing to say. Because if I got rid of them, I'd lose the original record...it would be like tossing the old 78 that captured my Grandpa's performance (in drag, mind you) of his interpretation of Mae West singing.

Come up and see me some time, sailor. Landerhaven Ho!

Bleurg! Post ER Droops

Last night, Lucy was trying to keep up with Riley on the trampoline. The were doing running somersaults and Lucy landed on her head funny. She was inconsolable, though she was able to move her arms and legs, so I knew she was somewhat ok. I moved her into the house. Every time she needed to turn her head, her forehead would rumple and fear dissolved into her eyes.

I was pretty sure she was ok, but I couldn't console her. I managed to get some ibuprofen in her, but I was scared. So, I called my parents and the urged me to call 911. And I did. The fire station is like a half a block from our house and they were there in no time flat. They got her neck in a brace and loaded her onto the ambulance. We headed over to the hospital "nice and easy," which meant no sirens or lights.

In the mean time, my parents had shown up and were looking after Riley. A mom convention had spontaneously started on the front lawn as my neighbors gathered to see if they could help or at least find out what was going on.

Needless to say, Lucy is fine, if a bit sore. We spent about 3 hours at the ER where Lucy proceeded to charm the pants off of everyone she met. With her neck secured, she was no longer in pain and perked up quite a bit. When we got home, my parents doted on her for a while and headed on their way home.

Lucy and I sat up for a bit until I convinced her to lay down in bed with me. We watched the Simpsons as I waited for her little eyes to slip shut. We finally conked out, exhausted.

So, I'm dragging booty today. But It's a good tired...my baby is fine.

Grrr!

I just had lunch next to the most obnoxious dozen people! Not only did they all talk loudly and smugly, but they talked about boring shit. Ugh! They all appeared to be co-workers because they had that sort of comraderie one finds in a machine shop. I'm sure they were in manufacturing because of their swagger and their work talk was technical.

The worst, though, was the adnoidal woman of a certain age who went on ad nauseum about how nice and "womanly" it was to have lunch with just women. Imagine! They only talked about sales and it was so relaxing! No one mentioned construction, or, one presumes, math. They just were girly!

She also went on at length about a trial she was on the jury for, which I won't burden you with. I was ready to impale myself on my drinking straw by the end of my meal when she started talking about someone's birthday at the table and whom did that man secretly want to spank ::winkwink::.

Needless to say, I read 1.5 pages of my book...8 times. Next time, I will trust my instincts and go ahead and ask for a different table before I even sit down.

Now I'm in such a bad mood, nothing but a ton of comments on this post will make me feel better.

Wednesday Whimsy

I've been a bad blogger. I have no excuses. But I do have a list of words I love:

• Cloying
• Redundant
• Pedestrian
• Visualization
• Instantiation
• Redolent
• Clipped
• Far-fetched
• Adnoidal
• Flee
• Alacrity

The Canoe Trip: On the Homefront

While Doc was on his canoe trip a couple of weeks ago, I got to spend a few evenings at tiki. One night, Wednesday, which is traditionally tiki night, I got to hang out with my neighbor dudes and one of my coworkers. And what did we talk about? Cable wiring, in particular, RGB, HD, the value of having multiple boxes. At one point, I was like, "Seriously? This is what you talk about at tiki?" No one answered me, of course, because they were all in the throes of a heated debate over who was right on a job site issue. Three of the guys were working together to expand the patio of a local bar. Markus had said he didn't want to talk shop at tiki but one of the other guys persisted. I think they were looking to my other neighbor, Jerry the Cable Guy, to add his opinion and resolve the matter.

I have no idea if it was settled or not since I was bored out of my mind...and I'd had a couple of beers. So, at the first breath in the conversation, I said, "Peace out" and headed home. What a bummer. But I understand work issues, particularly political ones, can be the source of endless debate and conversation for those directly involved. Since I wasn't involved and the subject matter wasn't sexy enough for my taste, I couldn't be compelled to stay. I did try to hang in there, though and learn something. But beer on top of a full day's work triumphed and led me to bed.

It was a much different experience the following Saturday, after we got home. I had slipped over to the Tiki for a quick break and found Frank there alone. He gave me a beer, as he is wont to do and started a conversation. We ended up talking about relativity, which was a trip as it was a concept he was unfamiliar with and he kept trying to grok my meaning. We were both the worse for the beer and I found myself struggling to explain while he struggled to understand. This was more the type of conversation I was looking for. I think I might have helped him create a new wrinkle in his brain.

However, things turned ugly after a while, since he started to complain about the actions the government (he's not a fan) are taking to set up universal heath care. He's very upset that they are trying to spend money they don't have, since they robbed social security to pay for the war and other pet projects. He was very vocal in his outrage, so much so that I found myself listening more intently. People who yell don't scare me anymore and I believe they are yelling so they can be heard. So rather than fight back, I try to set aside my interior monologue and just listen.

I'm somewhat of a fan of government. I appreciate the protection it provides and I believe that, people being people, there will always be some foolishness involved. So I don't sweat the red tape, the bureaucracy, the inherent unfairness of the fact that the government can over extend itself financially, but I get busted for $39.50 if I overdraft my checking accont by seventy-nine cents. But after Frank's outcries, I'm starting to smart a little bit more from the unfairness.

I'm not sure what Frank hoped to get out of that conversation. Perhaps some catharsis. Perhaps some action. But here's a guy who's self-employed and a host of problems stemming from money (just like most of us have) and he's mad as hell and doesn't want to take it anymore. People are so wrapped up in their own financial maelstorms that they can't or won't look at the source...the butterfly flapping it's wings. And will killing the butterfly fix it? This is where Frank and I disagree. But there must be some middle ground, right?

Shaping up and shipping out

I'm turning this lurching barge of a life around and transforming it into a lithe sailboat that is complex yet fine tuned. One might say I'm trading in the African Queen for the True Love. I'm tired of getting caught up short on things. I hate clanging a wrench on the steam engine of my life to get it running. I'd rather do a series of graceful movements to make smooth transitions over placid bodies of water. I don't want to drag this thing through the swamps encountering leeches, slugs and all manner insects. Especially now, with two kids in school (gasp), I need to stay on top of things. And I'd like to do it with some panache.

Here's a list of what I've done so far:

• Organized the kitchen cupboards
• Removed the excess layer of crappy toys from the girls rooms
• Set up a "cozy corner" in their bedrooms so they have a spot to read
• Organized Riley's armoir...I ran out of time to do Lucy's drawers and closet yesterday
• Rearranged furniture
• Adopted a stern tone and voiced my expectations clearly and resolutely
• Cancelled the cable (just internet and netflix. It's good for you...)

Doc and I are the baby and the only child respectively in our familes and let's just say that we've both experienced some discipline issues in the past. To put it plainly, we procrastinate. Well, not anymore. Now, it is my plan to get the work out of the way before goofing off. It's just like my Mom told me it should be. And I hope to have all hands on deck for this. I'm sure it's going to take more than a whistle to make it happen; we are all so daggone independent. But I think the benefits of teamwork will reveal themselves in this endeavor.

Mom was right of course. I'm happier when I leave the house and it's standing tall, rather than dashing off and coming home to one mess or another. Also, it feels good to have everything ready in advance. I'm hoping the feeling is addictive...and contagious. I'm also more open to others when I know I don't have anything hanging over my head. I want to be a better friend, daughter, mother, wife...

Wish me luck and bon voyage that I can trade my clunker in for style, grace and peace.

If Doc's Huck Finning It, I'm Tom Sawyering It

Recently, my friend and colleague, Valerie, posted the above picture on Facebook and asked if anybody wanted the furniture. I happened to catch the notice first and jumped on it with both feet. So as of Sunday, my family left and this furniture arrived. Well, my Dad and I went to get it. Of course, there is far less snow on it now.

Over all, the furniture is in decent shape. It's a bit weather-beaten and it might need some reinforcement, but, then again, who doesn't need a bit of TLC? So, my project for the week has been to beautify this wonderful Adirondack furniture.

Monday night:

• Went to Home Depot and bought sea foam green stain, indoor/outdoor paint, brushes, etc.
• Began to stain the furniture.
• My mind wandered as I spread stain and listened to the crows and locusts. I was glad to be able to do this project uninterrupted with no one giving me advice or taking it over
• My neighbor Wally walked over and took the brush from my hand and showed me how I ought to do it
• I finished the stain, the 50% chance of thunderstorms falling in my favor
• I walked over to the Tiki and had one beer on an empty stomach
• I staggered home and hit the hay with some Murder, She Wrote

Tuesday night:

• I grabbed a bite to eat on the way home
• I goofed off on the computer for too long
• I began painting the decorations on the furniture, whose stain looks lovely (I can't take a picture; Doc has the camera)
• I completed the design on one of the love seats and nearly completed the other, but ran out of light
• I had one beer, hit the hay with some Newhart

Tonight I plan on going straight home and finishing my designs while it's still light out. I also want to paint a quote or aphorism on the cross-pieces of the love seats. Something short and sweet. I was thinking maybe "Tempis Fugit," but I'm not completely sold. What do you think?

The Canoe Trip

So Doc is about to whisk himself and the kids off to the country and I'll be a virtual bachelorette for five days. Of course I'll be working for four of those days, but I'll have my evenings free to spend as I wish. I'm kind of at a loss as to what to do with myself. Here are some of the things I'm considering:

• Organizing the junk drawer
• Painting the living room
• Getting the kids' clothes ready for school
• Finishing my novel
• Squandering every night sipping mojitos in the swamp

Got any other ideas?

Celebrites Who Have Appeared In My Dreams: Greg Kinnear and Beckeye

It was night and all the neighborhood kids were running around like the Lost Boys. Everything was a mess and I went into the house. Greg Kinnear, our handy man, was dressed in painters clothes and came into the kitchen wiping his hands. His sleeve seemed a bit lumpy.

"Hand it over," I said. Greg had been stealing from us regularly, but he wasn't very good at it. He pulled out a bottle filled with glowing beads (much like those in Bejewelled).

"Hey," said Lucy, "That's the engine from your space ship, Mommy!"

I took it and set it on the counter, about to fire Greg.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, "There's a motorcycle gang out front and their causing trouble."

"Ok," I said, "I'll handle this and you and I will talk later."

I grabbed some bottles of water and headed out to the porch. I wondered why so many people were wandering around my house when I saw Beckeye standing in my neighbor's front yard. She was wearing a purple, taffeta, June Cleaver number. Her hair was pulled back in a fetching pony tail and she was running a mimeograph machine. Pink flyers for a party were flying off the machine and heading toward the street where people were grabbing them and heading for our house. She waved at me as she continued to crank.

I handed the bottles over to the gang, who looked like they just stepped out of Thunderdome. They were a rowdy bunch. They were having difficulties opening the bottles and I spent an inordinate amount of time telling them the bottlecaps were left-hand thread and they'd have to turn them the other direction.

A ghost floated over me and I could feel the hair on my head stand straight up on end.

Then I woke up.

Documentary Film of the Day - Blind spot: Hitler's Secretary

In honor of Some Guy's Hiatus and in celebration of his 15 millionth post, I thought I'd steal one of his ideas. So here's my Documentary of the day:

Blind Spot: Hitler's Secretary

Doc recently bought a book from the library bookstore called Never Coming to a Theater Near You, which we kept in the john and would read (since we couldn't read Some Guy's Blog on the toilet). There's a large section of the book dedicated to documentary film, which ordinarly makes my eyes roll back into my head and I'm not well again until I watch a few episodes of the Golden Girls or "Idol Gives Back." But one happened to catch my eye: the eponymous Blind Spot.

The review was so compelling, I went to the library, found it the dvd in the catalog and had it sent from the main library to my little local branch. Now Doc and I are movie buffs from way back, but in the past, oh, seven years or so, we seem to have lost the habit. More often, we'll get DVD's of TV shows, pop one in and pass out after the opening credits. But we were both so jazzed about this particular documentary that I was hoping it would be something we could watch together. Of course, the subject matter is perfect for a romantic night at home...

The movie was due back at the library yesterday, so I was determined to watch it. We put the movie on at about 11:00 p.m. and it was in German. Totally. No subtitles. So, I searched the menu, added English subtitles and we were off and running.

This movie is basically a film of Traudl Junge, one of Hitler's secretary who was stationed at his bunker, speaking directly to an interviewer about her experience from the time she was hired until Hitler's final days and her escape. There are some cut away scenes where she is watching footage of herself talking and she interjects with a correction, more detail, or a restatement of her feelings in hindsight. But that's it. No music. No narration.

It's remarkable. And creepy. It's very personal and she gives quite an insight to what kind of person Hitler was and how he could be a nice guy even if he was killing a bunch of innocent people. She was obviously struggling to relate her experience while history and hindsight lurked over her shoulder.

As Chris might say, "I highly recommend it." And to quote him again: "Documentaries have exposed me to so many new and interesting things. Like one of the women in the video says, documentaries 'have the power to make you empathize with things you never really knew you could empathize with.'" If there ever was a documentary to make you empathize with things you never really knew you could empathize with...this one is it.

Congratulations, Some Guy on your 15,000,000th post! Cheers and Gesundheit!

Netflix Has It In For Me

Click to Enlarge.

Wish me luck!

Let's Separate the Message Rockers from the Real Rockers

Are you ready to rumble? I heard the song "Sober" by Pink this morning on the radio and I found myself getting pissed off. Don't get me wrong; I don't have anything against her, like some other musicians I could name coughJohnMayercough. I appreciate her swagger and her semi-aggressive stance. I like her anti-airhead campaign; it sends a good message to young women and girls that may not have heard that it's a bad idea to be an alcoholic or a slut, but it's ok to have a good time.

And that's also a problem.

Message Rock rubs me the wrong way. I really don't want to take my cues from message rockers. Even if their message is a good idea. This is probably why I can't even open the door to the room full of Christian Rock. Rock and Roll is not the place for self help or spiritual development. It's supposed to be primal and emotional. Or devil-may-care rebelliousness. If there is a message, it should be buried or backmasked. Am I alone in all of this? Let's look at some samples. Please let me know what you think.

Message Rocker v. Real Rocker	Lyric Smackdown	Analysis
Pink’s Sober Versus Amy Winehouse’s Rehab	No pain inside, you’re like perfection…But how do I feel this good sober? I don’t ever wanna drink again I just, ooh, I just need a friend I’m not gonna spend ten weeksHave everyone think I’m on the mend	The question is, do addicts really want to know how to feel this good sober? No. I don’t think so, though I’m open to information to the contrary. In my personal experience, I’ve actually heard alcoholics say: “I don’t want to drink.” It’s not about feeling good; it’s about not wanting to fuck things up further and believing that not being drunk is the first step. Judgment: Sober is bullshit and throws in the towel at the mere sight of Rehab.
Green Day’s American Idiot Versus CCR’s Fortunate Son	Well maybe I'm the faggot America.I'm not a part of a redneck agenda.Now everybody do the propaganda.And sing along to the age of paranoia Some folks are born made to wave the flag,Ooh, they’re red, white and blue.And when the band plays hail to the chief,Ooh, they point the cannon at you, lord,	I think these two are saying the same thing; however, I appreciate the directness of CCR. I think that Green Day is being too abstract here. It’s not personal enough, damn it. Stop tossing off half-baked imagery. Judgement: CCR by a nose.
Lee Greenwood’s Proud to be an American Versus Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA	And I gladly stand up,next to you and defend her [America] still today.‘ Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,God bless the USA. Come back home [from Viet Nam] to the refineryHiring man says "Son if it was up to me"I go down to see the V.A. manHe said "Son don't you understand"	I don’t have to tell you that Greenwood’s song is a pile of sugar-coated pablum pops for the masses. I’ve probably told you this before. For instance, one can’t gladly stand up and literally defend her and still be honest. I mean, Are we talking about defending her at the water cooler or in Afghanistan? Because I’d gladly defend her at the water cooler but I’d have to say I wouldn’t be so happy about the prospect of tromping through the Hindu Kush mountains to defend her. In my opinion, People probably have similar reactions to her as Bruce Springsteen’s protagonists do to a country that keeps closing doors on them until they have no choices or opportunities anymore. Judgement: Shut it, Lee Greenberg; life is not a parade down Main Street. Bruce Springsteen wins by a mile.
Nickelback’s Rock Star Verses Dr. Hook’s Cover of the Rolling Stone	‘cause we all just want to be big rock stars And live in hilltop houses driving 15 cars The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap We’ll all stay skinny ‘cause we just won’t eat We got a lot of little teenage blue eyed groupies Who do anything we sayWe got a genuine Indian Guru Who's teaching us a better way We got all the friends that money can buy So we never have to be alone And we keep getting richer but we can't get our picture On the cover of the rollin stone	Nickelback are basically lying here. They are claiming that WE all want to be rock stars. Well, maybe we don’t, Nickelback; but sadly, you already are. So why are you patronizing us pretending to want what you already have? Is this supposed to build kinship for with your fan base? Or is this supposed to be ironic? If so, nice work, Alanis. Now Dr. Hook’s take on the celebrity experience is funny. And true. It’s honest and it doesn’t try to pander to the fans. It’s art not propaganda. Judgement: Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show by a TKO.