Monday, April 9, 2012

The Cowardness of Anonymity - Sign Your Name

My good friend Bushrod Sinclair wrote this piece after a tragic week in our community, made worse by a slew of "anonymous" Facebook posts laden with innuendo and gossip. Please to enjoy his wise take on having the courage of your convictions, even in print. 

_________________________________________________________________

A lie can run around the world six times while the truth is still trying to put on its pants.
 - Mark Twain


Mr. Twain made that observation in the days of the Pony Express and the paddle steamer. We can only surmise what Mr. Twain would have thought of all the heartless tweets, posts and comments made anonymously in a 24-hour news cycle that can race around the world with the click of a mouse.

The tragic events of the past week in my community are hard to comprehend, and the families and friends of those we lost need our comfort and support. Their grief is beyond words.

In the midst of these tragedies, I was alarmed at the number of people who took to the local airwaves and websites with such animosity and ignorance simply to damage other people’s lives and reputations.

The ability to say or type anything — using rumor and innuendo as the only basis to support your “theory,” while hiding safely behind the veil of a user name — is nothing but cowardly. One could make the case that an anonymous post ranks right up there with the “poetry” scribbled on a bathroom stall. We must consider the source. But how do we do that if the source is concealed from us?

The Internet is a wonderful tool. We rely on it more and more for communication, education and information. And since rapidly evolving technologies often outpace the norms and ethics that must govern them (we didn’t need stop signs until we had cars!), our society finds itself wondering, as many of us did last week, if this is what technology, particularly social media, is intended for. It’s as if we tossed the village idiot the keys to a D-9 and then looked on and scratched our heads as he bulldozed over half the town.
In 1981, Bushrod and my small hometown was astounded
when an angry drunk climbed into a D-9 and smashed up cars
and an apartment building in a neighborhood near our school. 

Almost as alarming as the anonymous comments are the responses. It is human nature to correct a mistake and right a wrong, but on the Net this just leads to an endless cycle of “Is too! Is not!” that escalates the hostility without ever resolving the issue. The local media can own up to this phenomenon as well by reducing the power they have given to “Anonymous,” whether it’s through their blogs and comments sections, or on their Facebook pages. They can regulate their audiences’ ability to post.

Lesson learned: Never leave the keys in a D-9.
How do we address all this? Remember: The keys to the D-9 are ours. The village idiot doesn’t need them, and we, as a community, can keep them safely in our pocket. What should happen is that people should leave the blue glow of their computers and get actively involved in this community — leave no doubt about who you are and what you have to say.

A good example would be the Field of Dreams project, which has been a hot topic for several months in our town. Some people opposing the project took to the worldwide web to voice their concerns and frustrations. It wasn’t until those folks showed up at the public hearing — stating their name and their case in full public view — that their opposition had a tangible, concrete presence. That’s a great civics lesson, because in this day and age it is far too dangerous to be silent or anonymous.

Your community deserves better, your government deserves better, and the families who face tragedy most certainly deserve better.

I would like to make a suggestion based on the Cowboy Code — which the State of Wyoming adopted in 2010, and as near as I can tell, anonymous posts defy at least half of the 10 stated codes, such as:

“Live each day with courage,”
“Take pride in your work,”
“Talk less and say more,”
“Remember that some things aren’t for sale,”
“Know where to draw the line,”

My suggestion: Get involved in your community by attending public meetings to show your support or opposition for the topics of the day, and if you’re going to make a public statement — whether it’s in print, radio or other media — use your full name. It is no secret that others in my community and I may disagree on an issue or two, but when we send in our letters to the editor, we both sign our names because we believe in what we say. Demand that your local media (and their listeners and subscribers) follow these guidelines as well.

P.S. I realize that Mark Twain’s real name was Samuel Clemens, but he was not hiding anonymously. We know who he was and what he stood for. 
______________________________________________________________

Like Twain, Bushrod goes by a pen name, but signed his first, middle and last name to this letter when he sent it to our paper. Setting the example, Bushie. I dig. 

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Check Me Out...I'm Social, Yo.

Hi Mom long lost followers! I know I have been ignoring the blog, but the pay ain't great. I have a good one in the hopper right now though, so keep yer pants on. It's tax season, and that always gets me riled.


Check me out, writing for Social Wyoming on their blog TODAY, April 3. I am sure glad it wasn't an April Fools Day, since this is my FIRST paid blogging gig. I choked a little, but the fine editing of my boss Juliette ((snicker)) saved the post. 


Click here. . Social Wyoming - 4 Reasons Your Social Networking isn't Working


I'll wait. ((drumming fingers))


I am S-s-s-o-o-o-o social, yo.


If you ever wanted to feel smarter about social networking, Juliette and her team are the ones to watch. Like their page to learn lots and oodles about social networking. 


And, because you made the effort to stop by, here is a little something for you to enjoy.


This clip NEVER gets old! 



 Never!!


I might try this on Special Agent or the baboos someday. (tee-hee))

Monday, March 12, 2012

Faceless Dream Sequence

I rarely remember my dreams, but when I do they are normally pretty noteworthy. Or terrifying. Sometimes they have a lot of weird shape-shifting business going on that I strain to remember once the last vestiges of sleep have left my head. The people in my dreams NEVER have faces, which I would like to have analyzed by a doctor with crazy hair and a manacle. While I lay on a couch. But I don't have to pay. 






What my dream NEVER are is romantic. Rarely are my dreams a story. I do not dream in sitcom. Except for a week or so ago when i had a most interesting and dreamy mini-rom-com commercial. It was rad. 


I must have watched Lifetime before dozing off...
or a Hallmark commercial. 
Or a Folgers commercial (those always get me - remember when the brother comes home? *sniff*)


Although it had no dialogue I could really grab onto, I managed to remember it, and wanted to give it a shove into the blogosphere. 


Opening scene: grocery store, freezer cases lining both sides of the aisle.  A mother and her adult son are walking together, talking. The camera zooms slowly closer as you pick up the tidbits of their conversation. Its easy and light. You have the sense the boy has been gone a while and they are enjoying getting to know each other again. His hair is short, and..and...they have no faces. So sue me. Use your imagination. 


As the two cross to a new aisle, they come across a young girl who immediately recognizes the boy and they stop to talk as the mother looks on. The two hug briefly and separate as the mother gives the son a look with her eyebrow raised. The son shrugs and smiles at his mother, a little sheepish. 


The mother and son finish their shopping and continue talking through the parking lot and the mother watches as her son loads the trunk while they chat. He slams the trunk just in time to see the girl crossing to her own car. She waves and smiles at them again, laughing at the coincidence. The mother smiles at the girl and calls her over, digging in her handbag. The pair watch the mother fumbling through the depths of the bag, searching nervously while they wait. They wink at each other over her head, and the young lady finally places her hand softly on the woman's arm. The woman looks up at the girl who smiles and tips her head toward the boy, who has his mobile phone out and open. The girl opens her own phone and they quickly exchange their numbers electronically. The mother laughs and throws the pen she had finally found back in the bag. The boy smiles at the girl, and they part ways. 


 I know, right? Sappy goodness. 

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Post From the Couch: When TV Marketing Fails

I like commercials, generally. I don't even mind the ones with a catchy little jingle I can still remember 25 years after it aired.


((ahem))


Baked Poooo-tato skins got baked potato appeal,
cuz they're made with potatoes and skins that are reallllll.....




Do-doop!!         




Who wears short-shorts?
We wear short-shorts
If you dare wear short-shorts
Nair for short-shorts..


You get the idea, right? 


The point of commercials is to remind people about the product each time they see it, and jingles and things like talking lizards with catchy tag lines is exactly the point. But some, many it seems have decided that they can...
Annoy me into remembering.
Irritate me into recognition.
Gross me out into buying


Check out some of the all-time worst examples:


Unnecessary Noisiness
Noisy, annoying commercials makes me cringe and mute the TV. Not effective, folks. Especially not coupled with new and improved campaign which has subdued messaging and neat, simple graphics. This bunch of idiots yelling at their mail is annoying. And ineffective; I had to look up the commercial via Google search to realize who it belonged to. JCP - Fail.





Gross humor isn't funny
This bunch of toe fungus monsters whipping up toenails like the hood of a Chevy and digging into the tissue underneath literally makes me GAG. And CRINGE. And it makes me produce excessive saliva from the cringing and gagging feeling. ((shuddering)) Fail. ((GAG)) FAIL.







Feminine ANYTHING
I find nothing shameful about bodies, feminine or masculine. Still, I don't need to hear about all of the different accouterments people may or may not require to take care of themselves in their nethers. This goes for feminine products, itch cream, ass trouble, diarrhea, or yeast issues. It's even worse when they attempt to make nice on the subject by flowering up the commercials with soft lighting and a wind machine (wind = fresh, yo). Thank God douches are no longer featured.





In the same vein, this Charmin campaign (playing on the whole "does a bear..?") is really a bit more than we needed to think about what may be left behind..on our behinds...





There are many, many, many more. What commercials do you DESPISE? Lay the ones you love to hate in the comments below. Don't hold back, yo...

Monday, February 6, 2012

Reverse Bucket List

Perhaps you remember that I don't have a bucket list. I don't even enjoy the concept. Or the movie (Sorry, Mom). I like the idea of doing a lot of fun things in my life, but not in relation to before I die. Life is complicated enough without having more pressure to do fun exciting daredevil shit.


Also, I don't like jumping off of things.
Or eating gross food.
Or working hard.
Or geriatric buddy movies.




I was thinking about the things that I will NEVER do. I don't dislike them, I just won't.
Not gonna.
Caaaan't make me...


1. Climbing Mt. Everest.
I have read Into Thin Air several times. I love it. The mistakes made, the struggle, the ego, the realization that we can't always out-do nature. But I am not going. No way, no how. Hard work and challenging your body against the biological makeup of your lungs is fun to read about, but not for this girl. A sherpa would be nice though, if just for groceries.






2. Sing in a Band
This is one I would like to do, but it's time to realize it is not gonna happen. In my alternate life, I learned to play the ukulele and such but now I just have to push my dreams on my kids. Sorry, kids. Now go practice. 





3. Sleeping with my College Professor
This was something I thought I would do when I was young (Animal House reference, perhaps?) but I was a child-bride, didn't go to college as a traditional student and I re-watched the movie and that guy's sweater/ass combo is a little too weird.


4. Falling from height in any manner (Skydiving, bungee, Cliff Diving, Roller Coasters)




Yes, never. I have never thought this was cool. I like heights, planes, but have NO desire to jump off. I have cliff dived and ridden a roller coaster, but I lend those to peer pressure and lack of knowledge about spinal injuries from ill-depth water landings.


5. I don't have a #5. 
See, I'm a quitter.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

THose Su-hu-mer Niii-hights....

Summa Lovin
Had me a blaa-ast.

Summa Lovin
Happens so fast...

In French. Why? Because its hilarious.



I crashed my banana seat bike down memory lane today when a blast from the past sent me a series of messages on face book.

This fellow was a friend of the older neighbor kid, sort of the pet of their family, the sidekick from a sitcom. He was a little strange and i found him annoying. He had a nickname that I thought lent to his annoying-ness. I spent a lot of time rolling my eyes at he and the neighbor kid, since I was pals with his sister. They did things like burn tattoos on their asses with firecracker punks and laughed hysterically at the similarities of the words
"Spam" and "Sperm".

Jerk-offs

(Why do I remember this shit? I can't even remember where I ate lunch yesterday. Wait, it gets worse.)

I will admit that we saw a lot of each other, but usually those idiots were flipping us off or spraying us with the hose while we worked on our sun tans. Occasionally we played evening games like "Hope to See the Ghost Tonight" (Ghost in the Graveyard) with the whole street, but we wouldn't hide with those dicks.

My memory pretty much fades here as I got older and too cool for neighborhood nonsense. Twin and the neighbor girl remained close, so she still spent a lot of time there, but I had melted into my clique of mean girls and breathed them like air. Mean air, but air nonetheless.

For whatever reason I don't remember, we decided to spend the night at the neighbors and sleep on their trampoline. (Remember when trampolines didn't have safety nets? Awesome.). The boys made a big game of usurping our plans and stealing the tramp. Dicks. We fought in spurts about it before dark, cussing at each other with our junior high vocabularies.

Fuck you you fuckin' fuckers! (sorry, Mom)



As it got later, we settled into sleeping bags and blankets, pillows and, I'm sure, a stash of junk food. We ignored them and they ignored us. It was a big tramp. Later, we found common ground on something and chatted while looking up. Several drifted off, but Skippy and I continued to talk in the dark.

And then it happened.
I kissed the neighbor kid's weird friend.
A lot.

For a long time.

((whispering)) Hours.

I have never said that out loud before.


And, I never really spoke to him again, and never told anyone. Those who shared the tramp inevitably found out, but we
just
didn't
talk
about
it.
20+ years later.

A Facebook message from the weird guy.


 How's life been treating me?
(Benign convo, I like it..)

Very well, very well....

The weird kid was pretty much the same as I remembered, except it was strange to hear him talking the same way in his 40's as he did in his teen years, like Captain Cool Guy. He big-wheeled about being a musician and his rockin and rollin' lifestyle and inquired about mine.

I shared my less than rock and rollin' lifestyle. I hoped my friendly but polite responses would maintain a decorum which would allow a polite avoidance sidestep to our teenage encounter.

But, no. Skippy waded right in, telling me he has fond memories of me, especially the night on the trampoline.

Siiiiigh. (internal screaming)

There I was, 37 years old, embarrassed.

In my kitchen, I looked over my shoulder even though I was alone in the house.

I think I blushed. I know I did.

How does one respond to this forward discussion of a decades long make out session? I awkwardly continued the polite banter, saying "Ah, of course, the trampoline", and "thank you for your kind words", "crazy summertime", etc.

I didn't remember it quite this way, or as being meaningful. I changed the subject and we spoke about his music and his children, his parents whom I had met several times (his mother looked like Dolly Parton).

He told me I should consider myself lucky that we had spoken because he is very busy producing.
I smiled.

He also told me he is on a spiritual quest, and asked me about my faith. I said I was an Agnostic.
I didn't feel judged.

He said he appreciated the night on the trampoline and wouldn't take it for granted.
I wondered what that meant....

 He said he does a cover of a song that fits the bill for him and I.
I cringed, see below.



I teased him that he was making much more of this event that I imagined he would, a traveling musician and producer, ; -) He wrote back about his nostalgia for the summers at the neighbors house, eating buttered popcorn and stealing sodas from the fridge when we all spent the night.

I felt bad for not remembering that part.

In those days, I considered myself out of his league. Yet, somehow in the dark, with the stars above and everyone else asleep, Skippy and I found some common ground that made us connect on a figurative and then literal level.

I still consider my old ass out of his league.

So why was I so flattered to be reminded of the episode 25 years later?

Probably because I am 25 years older and I blushed like I was still 13.

Thanks, Skippy. I think you might have made my day.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

My Interest in Pinterest - Both of Me

Happy New year...


I'm sorry I haven't been blogging much. I know my 2 family members, 1 friend and 3 foreign Facebook stalkers are missing my sparkling ((hack)) wit and humor *sniff*.


I haven contracted yet another crud from the baboos, who are apparently germ infested. This one has had me down; so housebound that I did something I said I wouldn't do.


No, not clean....


No, not work!


I've joined Pinterest.


As a friend pointed out, this was pretty much what it looked like:


www.hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com
Go there and die laughing.
Moum, I go parpy.
I chose interests like women's fashion, food, humor, technology and so on. 

Since then, I have been inundated with beautiful photos of food, boots I must have, snarky quips, and some home crafts I will NEVER DO.  





So now, I have no time for witty banter since I am very busy repinning things (I PIN ALL THE THINGS!!!) I like to my boards and thinking about cooking all of the food I shouldn't eat which is displayed on said boards. It's ludicrous. 

I was sorry I had waited so long.

I sort of wish I had resisted. 

A few friends -who-are-boys asked about this word "Pinterest" floating around our social networks and I tried to share the experience. But, most of my page included hairstyles, clothing sets, cute jewelry and recipes. I only saw one nekkid woman to which other Pinners were protesting. 

Pinterest, in the interest (i did that again, see?) of sharing my thoughts with the government, has linked to my Facebook page, Twitter account and probably knows all of the mood altering drugs I take my address. It has smartly selected a few folks that I should follow based upon my choosing of a few basic interests like Art, Music, etc. 

While I understand the kinds of things one would expect to find on MY page, I had a tough time 'splaining this to my friends-who-are-boys. Just what does a boy page look like? I set to find out. 

Research: It's a layer, yo. 

I can't explain exactly WHYYYYY I have a secret Facebook alter ego, but I do. MYOB. And, for all intents and purposes, this alter ego has also joined Pinterest from what I am imagining is a dude's perspective. 

No stinking jewelry
No fa-rickin hairstyles
Nyet crafts! 

Man Stuff. Special-Agent's-Rules-for-Manly-Manliness-approved SHTUFF. Boobs.

My alter ego selected sports, cars, food, science, history, technology, etc. Boobs. Stuff I thought Special Agent might select. Boobs. I didn't even go too butch, picking food and men's fashion. 


I fully expected to open my Pinterest boards to reveal boobs, sets of tires, hot chicks, some racy cars and maybe a photo of Able Lincoln. I was feeling very manly and virile. 


This is what was on my page:




 What in THE hell? 


Cardigan sweaters? 
Sweet kitten faces?
Musicals?


The closest thing I found was something on BOTH of our pages. 




My alter ego was pissed. It logged off for good and went to watch ESPN and scratch. Not one nekkid woman. Not even an arty one. Not One. 


Manly Pinterest Fail. Don't bother, boys.