Tag Archives: Facebook

Channeling Bob

I’d like to think that if my dad was still alive, and if he could have gotten his friends involved, he would have spent every morning and many afternoons of his retirement years on Facebook.

It would have taken a leap of faith on his part, but knowing Bob, he could have convinced his buddies to join him online. Bob and the guys would have exchanged jokes and funny memes, shared news about those damned politicians and pro golf tournaments and home remedies for achy joints. Time-sucker that Facebook is, he would have been wearing his blue and white-striped cotton pajamas and robe (in summer; same PJ’s with his maroon fleece robe in colder weather) in front of the computer until mid-afternoon. He’d get cleaned up and head out to play golf with the old guys on Wednesdays, but otherwise – after breakfast and reading the paper – Bob would have been surfing the web, immersed in social media. In his pajamas.


Dad and me, summer 2009.

That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway. It’s almost 11:30 am and I am – you guessed it – still in my nightie and robe, screwing around on the computer. I would like to blame it on some genetic gift from Dad that makes me such a procrastinator when it comes to showering and dressing for the day. Bob called it his ablutions. Sometime before lunch he’d put down the crossword puzzle and announce that it was “time to ablute.” A member of a generation that doesn’t see the need for daily showers, his ablutions included what we called a bird bath:  filling the sink with water and using a soapy washcloth to scrub then rinse off the stinky bits. He’d also lather up for a close shave and always exited the bathroom fragrant with the Bay Rum aftershave he used, I believe, for his entire adult life. I wish I’d thought to dab a little on his cheeks before his viewing.

I finally was about to get out of this chair and get in the shower when I thought of Bob. I looked down at my own maroon chenille robe (oh, how I love my cuddly robe and a cool morning!) and felt guilty for not having officially started my day yet. I can’t help feeling that nothing counts until I’m clean and dressed.

Am I obligated to do things that “count” by a certain hour of the day, or for a prescribed number of hours in total? Because I know this for sure – Bob did not feel guilty for one minute about spending most mornings reading and putzing around in his pajamas. He worked hard all of his life to enjoy the luxury of free time. To spend his time as he wished.

It feels odd to realize that Dad was several years younger than I am now when he retired and gradually created his morning routine.

I’ve worked hard. Do I “deserve” it, too? I can’t quite make myself believe it. Maybe that’s because retirement for women is different. I’m not fully retired yet, but what woman ever hangs up her virtual apron and says she’s retiring from the endless chores related to managing her home? Maybe some married people share those chores, but I am alone. Oh – and happy to be, so please don’t think I’m moaning about it! Plus, no one is around to say, “Seriously? It’s almost noon and you’re not dressed yet?”

So on that note, I’ll get in the shower as soon as I hit “publish.” I’ll get dressed and take the dogs for a walk. I’ll choose something lingering on my To Do list – and do it.

Two weeks ago was the eight-year anniversary of my father’s death.

I miss you, Bob. Channeling you this morning has made me smile.




Facebook is messing with my juju

How is it that five minutes after I check out hotels on www.hotels.com, Facebook posts it on my news feed to give me another chance to book that room? Mind you, I do not follow www.hotels.com. However, my friend Fred does. So it shows up as “Fred likes . . . “ and then there’s a post showing the hotel in Auckland I’m thinking about booking for my son in August.

What the hell, Facebook? I’m sure someone could explain to me how this works – not that I’d 100% get it, mind you – but I still think it’s creepy. And this happens to me all the time, as I suspect it must to you and everybody else on Facebook. Looking at refrigerators at Lowe’s? Well, son of a gun. There’s an ad for Lowe’s refrigerators on your Facebook page the next time you check in hoping for another cats-scared-by-cucumbers video.

On the right of the Facebook news feed is a column called “Trending.” Now, I’m under the impression, though perhaps incorrectly, that what you see and what I see in that column may differ, as well. Is that true? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?

If it is true, then I have no idea why Facebook would share that particular batch of “trending” informational links with me. I have given them no reason to believe I care about how Britney Spears looks in her bikini while on vacation somewhere or other. I don’t care. Swear to God. Stephen Colbert making fun of Sarah Palin? Maybe. I’ll give them that. But Britney or Real Housewives or the Kardashians (are they all related somehow?)? Nope. I will not be clicking on those links. Never. How can Facebook be so right about Lowe’s and so very wrong about “news?”

However, there was one piece of “trending” information I wanted to share today. Did you know that R. Kelly questions the veracity of testimonies of the legion of women who accused Bill Cosby of sexually assaulting them?

I have several problems with this trending news, Facebook.

First, who is R. Kelly?

Okay. So I looked him up and the GQ article called him “a singer who catapulted to fame in the 90’s and 2000’s with songs like Bump and Grind and Ignition.” I’m going to go out on a limb here and say those songs may not survive the test of time. I didn’t know about R. Kelly or his music, but then, I’m old and hip hop and rap just don’t appeal to me. I do, however, like the Black Keys and Arctic Monkeys, to name a few, so I’m not totally trapped in a 60’s time warp, if I do say so.

Second, why is R. Kelly considered any kind of expert on the Cosby allegations and why would GQ even ask him?

Well, I discovered that it came up in the interview because R. Kelly himself has been accused of child pornography and other sexual mishaps, shall we say. At the big trial addressing whether or not he had sex with a 14-year-old girl in one of his music videos, Kelly was found not guilty when the main witness refused to testify. In fact, Kelly settled a number of other charges of alleged sexual relations with minors out of court, but not surprisingly, he claims that they all were lying.

Okay. Fine. Not my story today.


R in deep thought

What is interesting – and amusing – to me is what Kelly reportedly said, in reference to the Cosby horror show, “When I look on TV and see the 70-, 80-, 90-year-old ladies talking about what happened when they were 17, 18, or 19, there’s something strange about it.” He also stated, “If God showed me they were telling the truth, I would say that’s wrong.”

I’m not sure I saw anyone on TV in her 80s or 90s, since Cosby did prefer them young, but what our friend R seems unable to grasp is that one day the little hotties he’s chasing today will be, God willing, in their 70s, 80s and 90s, too. There have been hotties since the world began. Just the outfits and hair styles have changed. Well, and morals may flex from one decade to another.

As for God communicating directly with R. Kelly – no comment.

While I don’t understand how they do it, I do understand why Facebook wants to show me hotel rooms and refrigerators and such. What I don’t understand is why Facebook or any other entity in the free world, for that matter, would be interested in whether or not R. Kelly thinks Bill Cosby was a dickwad who drugged and raped a bunch of women. Is it somehow relevant that one dickwad is expressing solidarity with another one? Now, if Pope Francis thinks Bill couldn’t have done it, I might be willing to reconsider.

I don’t CARE what R. Kelly thinks, Facebook. Nor do I care what Britney Spears wore to the beach or who Khloe Kardashian is dating. If you are in any way tailoring your trending news to my tastes, you are way off the mark. Just wanted to let you know.

And while I’m at it, would Yahoo! please stop calling that crap on its home page “news?” Vicki What’s-her-face from the “Real Housewives of Orange County” is usually the lead story. Seriously?

And I’ll stop here before I’m tempted to take a crack at Fox News.

How to scare an intruder or get a gazillion likes on Facebook

Have you ever commented on a Facebook post and wish you hadn’t? I guess if you’re on Facebook at all, that had to have happened at one time or another (or another dozen times or so).

The car alarm may be my only hope, so I'm nearly hopeless.

The car alarm may be my only hope, so I’m nearly hopeless.

Here’s what happened. There’s a Facebook page called “The 411 for Madison” and last summer a guy suggested keeping your car keys by your bed and hitting the alarm button if you heard someone breaking into your house.

Well, I had read that before and thought it was a pretty good idea. But when I tried it at my old home in Madison, it didn’t work – presumably because my bedroom was too far from the garage. I never gave it another thought until the guy’s post and I commented that anyone wanting to do that should test it first to see if it works from their bedroom.

End of story.

But wait. Not so fast. This one post has generated 389,840 shares (and counting) and 132,945 likes (and counting) since mid-July. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t get at least one notice that someone either liked what I said or had further comments to share on the matter.

Yesterday I decided to see what on earth is generating all this conversation and I thought you might enjoy seeing some of the more interesting comments, like:

Heather T. said “Try sticking it under your chin and opening your mouth sounds crazy you look stupid but it has actually worked. It makes the signal go farther.”

Kami P. agreed, “That does work I do it all the time to lock my car from work.”

There were other comments on ways to make the signal go further, but then the discussion started wandering off course.

Sammy N. suggested, “Sleep on the couch, or park in your grass.”

Someone else suggested sleeping in the car. These did not seem like viable solutions to me.

Then Jordan D. (whose Facebook page says he lives in Ireland, so how the hell he got involved with “The 411 for Madison,” I can’t imagine) opened the discussion wide open by suggesting, “Hold the remote close to your taint, and Riverdance. Works every time.”

What taint?

What taint?

Whoa! Jordan! I’m not 100% sure what you are calling a “taint,” but I can imagine. While that made me spit out a little coffee and consider friending Jordan for future creative recommendations on any subject, I thought better of it and kept scrolling through to read further comments.

Steve W. had a different take on the situation, saying, “If I hear a noise outside at night I bark like a dog for ten minutes at the door. I do this crawling around on my hands and knees so the direction of the sound of my bark is realistic to anyone outside.”

Steve shared more tips on dog impersonations, but now let’s move on to other ideas people had as alternatives to relying on a car alarm to scare off burglars.

John M. warned us that, “When my dad was here he lived next door. In the country if he need us. He cared his car key and it worked great. So if u have a plan let the neighbors know. I sleep with a 45 colt on the night stand. And if ur coming and I don’t know You will be leaving feet first . . . .”

Joel H. added, “Got a plate carrier (what’s that?) and an AR (huh?) in condition 1 by the bed. 30 rounds on tap and a “few” more on my rig. If someone’s dicking around my house at night, car keys will not even enter my mind.”

I am not suggesting for one second that this might be Joel. But it could be. Thank you to crasstalk.com for the great pic I stole (please don't shoot me).

I am not suggesting for one second that this might be Joel. But it could be. Thank you to crasstalk.com for the great pic I stole (please don’t shoot me).

I don’t even know what Joel was talking about, but you can believe I will not be dicking around his house at night. Nossir.

I kind of agree with . . .

Levi F. who says, “If every time you hear a noise outside you turn your car alarm on, I will break into your house and slap you.”

Is that a burglar? No! It's Levi breaking into your house to slap you for setting off your car alarm AGAIN.

Is that a burglar? No! It’s Levi breaking into your house to slap you for setting off your car alarm AGAIN.

Thank you, Levi, for putting the whole car-alarm-as-burglar-deterrent concept into perspective.

One lady wondered how this could help her if she doesn’t have a driveway and her car is parked around the corner. Definitely a problem. Don’t count on your key alarm, ma’am.

And Alan pointed out that he doesn’t have car keys or an alarm. He starts his 1980 Escort with a screwdriver, but he does keep the screwdriver by his bed.

Finally, Kayla C. appears to be seriously concerned about security stating, “I’ll just keep guns under my bed, on my nite stand and my cameras outside of the home. If they steal I got them red handed and if they come near me and my kids they have to get threw my husband with a asult riffle and me with a 45.”

Rob F. claims, “I keep two lions and a chimpanzee with a machine gun in the house. Never had a break in.”

Dog and gun. Made me think, Moose and Squirrel!

Dog and gun. Made me think, Moose and Squirrel.

Linette, like Kayla, likes to cover all her bases: “I have been taking my car keys, baseball bat, golf club, house phone and cell phone to bedroom with me for some time. And my neighbors know when hubby is not home as my back up system.”

What? No gun, Linette?

As Vincent S. points out, “PLEASE READ AND SHARE THIS BETTER TIP. Put your Glock beside your bed at night because your car key won’t stop an intruder unless maybe you poke them in the eye.”

I’m not in favor of guns, but you can’t argue with that.

The boys bark at stupid shit all day but sleep like babies all night.

The boys bark at stupid shit all day but sleep like babies all night.

In the meantime, I had to delete my comment and I hope that will be an end to the multiple daily “likes” and crazy comments about using your damned car alarm to scare away burglars. I wish I could say the boys are here to warn and protect me, but I’m pretty sure anyone can safely break into my house unless it’s the mailman or a squirrel.

(Note:  All the quoted material is copied exactly as it was written. You know my spelling is better than that.)

Happy birth DAY to me

Today is my birthday. Hurray! Who doesn’t like a birthday, right? Any excuse for cake is my motto.

But some people just LOVE their birthdays.  Some extreme birthday lovers announce on Facebook at the beginning of the month that it is their birth MONTH and they proceed to celebrate in numerous ways up to and even after the actual birth date. Sometimes they wear tiaras (do guys ever do the birth month thing?) and are open to all manner of celebration to commemorate their appearance on earth.

Wait – again – do you know any guys who do this? Or maybe they do it if they have a wife who insists on birth months and are more or less forced to adapt to the same routine? Birth month celebrations don’t seem like a manly thing to me. I don’t know why.

What about big families? What if just about every month is some family member’s birth month? That sounds exhausting to me. They would also be likely to do Christmas in a big way, I’m guessing, so December would be frantic with or without birthdays.

I don't know what baby number this is, but seriously? WTF, you guys?

I don’t know what number Duggar baby this is, but seriously? WTF, you guys? (Photo from ABC News)

What about the Duggars, that family on TV with 19 kids or so? With that many people, maybe they would be forced to have birth weeks. Or maybe they’re part of some religious cult (why else all those kids? I mean, really?) where they don’t even celebrate much of anything. I don’t watch that show because I feel a little ill every time I see the mother. Has she been breastfeeding for 20-some years now, or what? Isn’t she about due for menopause? One recent commercial said they have another big announcement coming soon and I’m thinking, fuck NO! Don’t do it! Keep your pants on and call it a day already! They have two married daughters now and a grandchild, but maybe they have some sort of sick agreement with the TLC channel . . . .

But back to the subject at hand, I have to admit that I am a teensy bit jealous of the birth month people. In order to claim a birth month it is imperative that you have a very doting significant other who will indulge your self-celebratory fantasies. A spouse with mixed feelings about the marriage is unlikely to put up with it, you know? Just saying.

If I make it to 100 I'm going to start smoking again.

If I make it to 100 I’m going to start smoking again.

Since I don’t have a spouse or boyfriend and even if I were to try to rope my only child into it, I know I am damn lucky to even receive a card from Chris most years, so the birth month thing is not an option. I suppose I could try to corral my friends into doing special things with me for a month, but I would have to pay for myself and make all the arrangements, which is as it should be. I’m not planning or paying for birth month activities for them, either, so fair is fair.

When all is said and done, I am far too much of a loner and curmudgeon to enjoy an entire birthday month, anyway. Today I had lunch with my good friend, Fran and, wait for it, I am having dinner with another buddy this evening, Sydney.

Whaaaaaat?!! Me? Go out two times in one day? Are you freaking kidding me? This is people-overload for me. I love my girls, but twice in one day is a lot. Fortunately, I have tomorrow to recuperate alone before meeting two more buddies, Chris and Cindy, for lunch on Thursday. Then I’m seeing sweetpea Ginny for lunch on Friday.

Holy cow! It’s my BIRTH WEEK, you guys!

Can a birth month be far behind? It’s a little scary to contemplate. Maybe it’s something I can work toward in my retirement.