Tag Archives: Facebook

A snowy disposition

This has been kind of a weird week. Today I am looking at it differently.

Sunday night I came down with a miserable cold, which had me completely down and out on Monday and feeling miserable but functioning on Tuesday. I decided that, with my husband out of town and no outside meetings until Friday, I’d take it easy.

I saved the heavier lifting for later in the week, when I knew I’d have regained my energy. I’d need to make trips to several grocery stores in preparation for a dinner party Saturday, get to a couple of appointments and run some errands.

Today I awoke to snow on the ground and a forecast of another six to 10 inches to come later in the day. I threw a coat over my PJs and did some preliminary shoveling because I didn’t want those other inches to pile up on top of what was already there. I have a bad back that doesn’t take to shoveling and I still have that cold. And I still need to get out to the store. Poor me. Wah, wah, wah.

Then, as usual, I checked in with Facebook. A friend’s status read: “made it to the gym for a decent workout before heading out early to day 2 of chemo.”

I knew she had begun her third regimen of chemotherapy yesterday for what has been a long and frustrating battle with cancer. Still, since the first diagnosis, she has completed a number of half marathons and competed in bike races to raise money for cancer research. She also follows an ambitious daily workout regimen. Before I am out of bed in the morning, she has already done her aqua-jogging, ridden her bike many miles, gone for a run or worked out at the gym.

Today, she worked out before chemo; more astonishingly, after day one. And I’m sniveling about a head cold and a little snow.

Funny how life finds a way to smack you with a little perspective.

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What’s your sign?

This is the dawning of the Age of Ophiuchus.

Facebook was ablaze yesterday with people renouncing their newly assigned astrological signs. I suppose people have become so comfortable with the signs they’ve had since birth–or since the 1960s, when we first knew we had signs.

Capricorns who woke up Sagittarii and Tauruses whose bull horns are now rams horns felt their identities had been stolen. Even the Today show’s Ann Curry yesterday feared that, now that she’s no longer a Scorpio, she’ll no longer be good in bed. Just think how many of our friends we’re offending, though, when we shun our new zodiac designations. The moment I read that someone didn’t want to be a Sagittarius, my hackles went up.

In case you’ve been living under a rock, it seems the Earth has tilted and, hence, requires our 12 astrological signs to be compressed to make room for a 13th.

If this is true, then I am now an Ophiuchus, the serpent holder.

When I learned this, I immediately set out to learn the traits of my new sign, pronounced “oh-FIE-uh-cuss.” For decades, I have felt so aligned with the distinctive Sagittarian traits, candor and philosophical adaptability.

I haven’t come upon much information about my new sign except that, anecdotally at least, Ophiuchus is a healer, a doctor and a scientist. He is “intellectual and enlightened — achieving high success and authority in life.” This descriptor was followed by, “If you are a woman…well…you are just badass.”

Elsewhere I read that we have lofty ideals, are seekers of peace and harmony and like to wear plaid. Alrighty then.

It all boils down to this: I went to bed a candid, yet open-minded archer and woke up a lofty, plaid-wearing badass. This might take some getting used to. Then again, some might say the new persona isn’t that far off base.

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Bottomless skit

As a native of Washington, D.C., I have always thought the nation’s capital could take some lessons from New York City. Fashion. Taxicab regulation. Pizza. Liverwurst on rye.

Unfortunately, it seems that, several years ago, Washington took a tradition from the Big Apple and planted it right here inside the Beltway. C’mon. I’d rather have the liverwurst.

Sunday afternoon, between 3:00 and 6:00 p.m., Washingtonians observed their fourth annual No Pants Metro Ride by boarding the subway and peeling off their pants. Organizers rallied riders via Facebook and other social media, instructing them to act as if nothing were wrong as they rode past all the popular tourist stops. Amusing, I suppose, as temperatures stayed mostly in the 20s. The stunt paid off for riders who took advantage of a local eatery’s offer of half-priced hamburgers for half-dressed patrons.

Those who know me know that I can’t even bear to sit next to someone wearing shorts on an airplane. The thought of spending Sunday afternoon in a crowded subway car awash in goosebumpy, pale, shivering, shrinking flesh made me glad to have been, well, anywhere else.

Now, D.C., can’t we find a more mature way to be like New York?

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Button Button

This might seem a little trivial, but I thought I’d get your thoughts, especially from readers who might be Internet savvy. Which I thought I was, until a recent phenomenon.

To make a long story longer, about three years ago I bought a black Anne Klein pant suit. It’s rare when I can buy a suit off the rack that fits me, needs no alterations, looks nice and travels well. This one met all the criteria so I snapped it up.

The first time I wore it, I lost one of the jacket’s three buttons, so I took the spare and had it sewn on. Shortly after that, I lost another button. I was working in a large conference center and had covered a lot of ground that day. Miraculously, after extensive searching, I found it in the press room. I had it sewn back on. I’ve since lost all three buttons at least twice each and, with the exception of that first one, I have always found them. I even tried sewing them back on myself, in an effort to make them stay on permanently.

Last week, I lost a button in Florida and never found it.

I went online and tried to find a supply of replacement buttons, and was able to contact someone through the Anne Klein website. I provided an e-mail address that I use only for Internet business.

Over the last eight days, I logged in 14 e-mails back and forth with the Anne Klein company and its parent, Jones New York, narrowing down manufacturing dates, style numbers and something called an RN number, to determine availability of said buttons. Everyone was responsive, and I’ve just received a message that my new buttons are on their way. But the dialogue has provided an interesting glimpse into how this exceedingly narrow slice of the industry does business.

There are two mysteries at work here. One is why buttons keep falling off my suit. The other is this: Since I began my search, everywhere I go on the Internet, an Anne Klein ad pops up. On Facebook, on Comcast, several others and just now, on a blog about words and phrases. That one ignited my curiosity. I presume my initial Google search and visit to the Anne Klein site led to this, but I really don’t know how it all works.  All I know is, in my online travels, Anne Klein is omnipresent.

Will I forever be stalked by Anne Klein and, of so, how can I use this to my advantage? Perhaps all she now knows about me will help me find another great suit in my size, preferably one with a jacket that zips or snaps.

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Royal flair

Some headlines are just too good not to re-post:

Queen joins Facebook, but you can’t be her friend or poke her (UK Metro)

The Socialite Network: UK’s Queen joins Facebook (Associated Press, London)

Queen Elizabeth on Facebook, not looking for friends (Montreal Gazette)

What do you know? Today Buckingham Palace is to launch a Facebook account for The British Monarchy, which will feature news, photos, videos and daily updates about the activities of Queen Elizabeth II and other members of the Royal Family.

We don’t know what kind of settings are available uniquely to Her Majesty but it has been made clear she’ll be protected from common pokes, Friend requests and any direct contact other than a distant “like.”

I’m not one of the Royal Family’s 70,000 followers on Twitter, so I don’t know what kind of updates are already tweeting out of the palace on a regular basis.

Will we now know what kind of tea she’s sipping or what’s in her porridge? For whom she’s voting on Britain’s Got Talent? How many animals she’s feeding in FarmVille? What she really thinks of Kate Middleton?

Have you liked the Queen today?

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Autumnal agida

I gather that, regardless of our individual political leanings, most of us are glad to have Election Day behind us.  

This has been a stressful time for our nation and its citizens as we’ve nearly wrestled each other to the ground for power. Personally, the raw nerves and ugly behavior displayed in past months have had me gobbling Tums like movie popcorn.

I have close friends and family members at both extremes of the political spectrum and in every gradation in between. Nowhere is this more evident than on Facebook. While I have personal connection to—and fondness for—each one of my 147 Facebook friends, the reality is that there are as many flaming liberals as there are arch conservatives, each living true to his or her values. I like having a rich diversity of friendships. After all, life would be painfully boring if we surrounded ourselves only with those who look, sound and think as we do.

It is for this reason that, while I do disclose my political orientation in my Facebook profile, I deliberately refrain from spilling forth my political views from the Facebook platform. This takes a good deal of restraint on my part. The reason for the restraint is that I do not wish to upset or offend my friends the way some do me when they post politically and emotionally charged judgments from their Status boxes. Thankfully, we live in a free country, and we are fortunate to have the right to express ourselves as we choose. But, as someone who abhors conflict, especially among friends, I prefer to avoid it. And gobble antacids.

However, I do wish to list the top reasons I am glad Decision 2010, or whatever your network calls it, is behind us.

  1. No more robo-calls at inopportune times
  2. No more mudslinging political ads souring my evening television comedy or morning news
  3. No more bulky flyers in the mailbox
  4. No more need for conflict avoidance on Facebook
  5. No more, or at least, I hope, fewer, mispronunciations of the word “pundit” by smart, well-paid broadcasters.

It’s pundit, folks, not pundint. One n.

Now let’s move on. Kumbaya.

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H’lo? H’lo?

Everybody’s talking. They’re saying that nobody’s talking.

In the past week, there’s been some news and commentary about shifts in the ways people communicate. Many are giving up their land line phones in favor of cell phones and some aren’t using their cell phones at all–for talking, anyway. 

In “The Death of the Phone Call,” published in Wired magazine, essayist Clive Thompson puts the bottom line in simple terms. Today, he says, we are in “constant, lightweight contact,” following a dramatic decline in the number of calls made from telephones—especially cell phones. Essentially, we call less but talk more, but we’re “talking” via other media—text messaging, instant messaging, social media and, to a lesser extent, e-mail.

Facebook is a prime example of this constant, lightweight contact. It allows us to know what and how our friends are doing–their successes, worries, vacation plans, and cute things their kids said. We like knowing about these things, but we might not have 30 minutes to spend on the phone hearing about it.

The topic popped up a few other places this week and made me think. If I suspect my son hasn’t read an important e-mail, I usually text him that there is a message that requires his attention. If that doesn’t work, I shoot an instant message across the bow. If that doesn’t work, he gets the dreaded phone call.

It seems, by all accounts, no one wants the call.

An article in The Washington Post yesterday dug deeper into why this is so.

People interviewed for the piece cited a few reasons they don’t reach out and touch someone. Whether or not these are really why the kids don’t call, I don’t know. But, as the caller and the callee, I get it.

The immediacy of the phone call strips the callee of control. By dialing the phone, the caller is saying, I want a block of your time right now–when it is convenient for me. In contrast, texts and e-mails can be sent at the sender’s convenience and read at the recipient’s.  

Those interviewed also said they viewed calling as impolite and intrusive, “more of an interruption than the blip of an arriving text.” Another observed that answering the phone requires a certain amount of psychological energy.

To a large extent, I agree. What disturbs me, though, is a trend that appears to go along with the new communications order. The Post article also noted that people avoiding the phone are often guilty of two sins–not returning calls and ignoring invitations.

Those of us who retreat from a ringing phone are by no means excused of our obligations to behave politely. 

I don’t care what generation we occupy, how busy our schedules are, what time zones we live in or how happy we are to receive a particular call, the rules remain clear:

If someone leaves a message, we return the call.

If someone calls inviting us to something, we R.S.V.P., even if it is by text message.

Postscript:  As it happens, my son called last night, after I was asleep, to share some good news, which he received while reading his e-mail. I welcome that call, day or night.

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Sounds easy enough

You’ve seen me refer to the Fake AP Stylebook before. The group puts out funny little comments about language every day on Facebook and Twitter. If you don’t use these, you can go elsewhere to see some great examples. Some really get me thinking.

Case in point:  A recent post observed, “there/their/they’re – What, seriously? This confuses you?”

I have never had trouble distinguishing among the three. I don’t find it confusing at all. But it’s not because I’m good at remembering rules necessarily; otherwise, I’d have gotten this bring-versus-take thing down long ago.

What I realized is that it says something about the way my brain works.

When I hear and when I speak, I see the words written out. I suppose this means I am a visual learner or perhaps a visual thinker. I envision words as they are spelled. Maybe that’s why I have such a sensitive ear when it comes to pronunciation. If people saw “sherbet,” maybe they wouldn’t say “sherbert.”

Like the Fake AP Stylebook, when I see there/their/they’re confused, I am tempted to wonder how anyone can get it wrong. I also wonder how anyone graduated from second grade without mastering it, but perhaps I’m too quick to judge.

“There,” “their” and “they’re” are homonyms. They sound exactly the same. It’s no wonder people who are not visual learners might be homonymphobic.

If we had to spell according to how words sound (“sound it out,” we were always told), especially in this confusing language we call English, how can we be expected to commit the difference to paper?

Maybe I can offer some tips.

Let’s start with “there.” “There” is often the answer to “where?” “Where are my glasses? There they are.” On top of my head, usually. So that one’s easy:  Where?  There! Spelled the same (after their respective consonant digraphs).

“They’re” is a contraction of “they” and “are.” Until I had a baby, I thought contractions were easy. You begin with what you are (you’re) trying to say and shorten it; for example, “They are” doing something. With a contraction, typically a letter and a space come out, an apostrophe goes in and, voilà, two words become one. In a sense, they’re getting married. To use song lyrics as a prompt, “They’re Playing Our Song” or, for readers of my generation, “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa.” By now they probably are.

I haven’t come up with a tip for “their.” Maybe you have one. For now, let’s just say it’s the other one, and remember, “i” before “e” except after “c.”  Oops, and except in “their.”

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Spywear

Here in the nation’s capital, just as it seems things can’t get any weirder than our weather dominating headlines, we’ve busted open a ring of Russian spies and, over the weekend, began trading Russia theirs for a couple of our own.

As this was happening, I had the same gut reaction I had last summer when our government was battling Somali pirates.  Pirates?  Really? 

Russian Spies?  The Cold War ended 20 years ago, so I confess, I haven’t given spies much thought since.  Except, of course, during the arrest of Robert Hanssen, who sold U.S. secrets to the Russians for diamonds and cash.  That was fun.

Before that, though, I had not given Russian spies any thought since, oh, the last time I watched Bullwinkle.  Or Get Smart.  I was a child of the 1960s but never experienced firsthand an air raid drill.  In essence, I never felt the threat of potential communist attack personally.

At a young age, my frame of reference came from bumbling television spies.  Agents 86 and 99 were the good guys, fighting the fictitious enemy, KAOS, an international organization of evil.  And the real reason I rooted for the good guys was that, at age of seven, I wanted to be Barbara Feldon.

Back then, the enemy could be pretty sexy as well.  Take Natasha Fatale, for example.  Natasha’s character on the Bullwinkle cartoon was svelte and always wore a clingy cartoon cocktail dress.  She and Boris were wily spies from the fictitious nation of Pottsylvania, trying to outsmart a stupid moose.  We didn’t know where Pottsylvania was but its spies spoke with Eastern European accents.  

This summer, as the recent spy-busting events unfolded, national attention zoomed in on one particular accused Russian spy, 28-year-old Anna Chapman, nickname, Lady in Red.  Va-va-va-voom!  When she wasn’t collecting secrets she was posing for suggestive photographs (the most famous of which looks like she’s wearing Natasha’s cocktail dress), working as a real estate agent in New York City and living a seemingly normal life on Facebook.

Apparently, she let her guard down one time too many and, before she knew it, her cover was blown, along with the covers of her compatriots.  Whoops. 

Obviously, I am not the first to make the Anna-Natasha connection.  You can’t ignore the parallels.

But I am betting Natasha never came out of that red cartoon cocktail dress.  It was the 1960s after all, people had their modesty.  Plus, Facebook hadn’t been invented yet.

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They is wrong

According to the Fake AP Stylebook’s April 21 Facebook post:  “Avoid using masculine pronouns in sentences where the subject’s gender is not specified.  Broads find it offensive.”

What this broad finds offensive is the subject/pronoun disagreement that often occurs as a result of a writer’s attempt at political correctness.

I am a firm believer that political correctness and grammatical correctness are not mutually exclusive.  (Though if I did have to choose?  Hmmm.)

It is incorrect to suggest that “everyone have their say” or “the winner deserves their prize.”  In these instances, because the subject is singular,“their” should be “his.”   “He” and “his” are considered gender neutral, even though they are masculine pronouns.  For those sensitive to gender equity in grammar, “his or her” is perfectly acceptable.  Or,  if we know that the subject, say “winner” in the earlier example, is female, we may say “the winner deserves her prize.  “Their” is just plain wrong.

Also, remember that “everyone” is singular, even though it sounds like a lot of people.  Every one.   So please do not say “everyone is entitled to their opinion.”  

I recently stumbled on a blog that claims to specialize in writing.  I won’t call out the blogger by name because I know how hard it is to churn out copy day after day, and I am the first to admit that, in so doing, I make mistakes regularly. There is a difference between making a mistake and deliberately breaking a well-known rule.

The blogger wrote this week, “It helps a writer’s ego as well as their ability to write if they have peers to read and give feedback on their work.” 

The writer is a “he” or a “she,” not a “they;” otherwise, it would be “writers’ egos” and “writers’ work,” plural.  And if the choice is to go plural possessive, please note where the apostrophe goes.

Six days earlier, the same blogger wrote:  “Everyone has read a bit of bad prose or poetry in their life and access to the Internet seems to make it easier to point out other’s grammatical and spelling errors as well as their downright awful writing in general.”

Oh, really?

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