Let’s all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.

This is the post where I bask in the glory of the Internet and its ability to transmit all the says I say around the globe.

Remember awhile ago when I begged you to further inflate my oft-pregnant ego and “like” the page on Facebook? Remember how you thought to yourself, “Wow, I never thought I’d see Emily get so low as to flat out beg for hits”? And remember how you liked me anyway because you are nice and you know I mean well but just lack any savvy to garner Internet kudos without begging? Yeah, I remember it too. And trust me, it was a proud moment when I got a whole cartload of likes on just one day. It gave me a wicked case of the kumbayas because only the day before I had gotten a particularly mean-spirited comment on an old post that made me feel all kinds of sad emoticons.

Wop-waaaaaa.

Wop-waaaaaa.

During the Day of The Like, I got a comment on the page from a reader in Australia (hi Jari-Ann!!!) that filled me with a happiness roughly on par with seeing a giant unopened package of Double Stuf Oreos on your counter all for you. So yeah, elation. The reader, who (I’m fairly sure) had never left a comment before, told me that she had been following me since C was born and that she always gets excited when she sees a blog update in her inbox. I know! I was so excited to hear this! And I promise I’m not making it up. You can even go and SEE her comment and know that it’s real and not a figment of my imagination.

I have always been aware of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there are people out there in the other computerboxes who read my things and don’t really comment on them. That’s totally OK by me. Comments are wondrous and right and an angel gets its wings every time you leave them, but they are not everything. Angels do not need to fly and live perfectly beatific lives walking. All I really want is for my words to make you nod along and hopefully see the world in an invigorating new way that complements your own experiences. If you leave a comment, fabulous. If you don’t, that’s OK too. But I want those of you who don’t really interact with me here to know that I appreciate you and I’d like to get to know you. I’d love to know where you live and what makes you tick, not because I am a weirdo who will hunt you down and unload all my baggage on you (which I pretty much already do since I blog), but because I love how reading and writing and sharing makes the world a smaller, cozier place. You may have already noticed I have a raging, hormone-induced infatuation with the Internet. Well, the Internet is all people (except the bots, who I love too anyway because Horse_ebooks.) So that means I have a crush on you.

My parents sometimes took my brother and me to this science and nature museum when we were kids. There was a little exhibit of a fox’s den off the main drag of the museum – nowhere near the giant, shiny pendulum or the taxidermied lions who were rumored to have eaten an entire village in Botswana. You could crawl inside the softly lit cubby hole with brown carpet on the walls and feel safe and small. You could still hear all the tour groups and big kids on field trips outside the hole, but for a moment that tiny spot was yours. It smelled a bit like urine but what did you expect at a kids’ museum?

You all are my fox’s den, minus the pee smell. (This is a major compliment.) I feel safe and full knowing that you care. This Internet is a big black annoying forest where you walk into cobwebs and get them in your mouth and then spin around and spit like a crazy person, disoriented and angry. Somehow, though, we have all managed to find one another without much of a compass, and we have nestled in together in a safe enclave. Even if you’re quiet and don’t leave me a note, just know that the residual heat you leave in our tiny nest keeps me warm and I appreciate you.

Ooooh, Lord, kumbaya.

 

I should probably write a blog.

I have a few extra minutes. I’ll write a blog post.

*Logs into WordPress.*

I should check out Freshly Pressed. It’s been a few days. Anything good? HEY! My blogging friend has been FP’d! I should read what they wrote.

*Reads post. Feels dumb because overlooked it when first saw it in reader several days ago. Writes substantive comment proving that I really did read it and didn’t just check it because it was FP’d.*

OK, so a post. Should I write something serious? Meh, I wrote something serious last time. I don’t want people to think I’m depressed. Am I depressed? I’m a blogger, so I’m probably depressed. Or I have ADD.

Speaking of ADD.

*Checks Twitter. Retweets a bunch of stuff. Remembers that I have unfollowed people for retweeting as much crap as I am retweeting now. Tries to think of a good tweet. Can only say snide things about Caillou. Self loathing commences.*

So, a post. All the unfunny I just spewed on Twitter has cleared the way for the real funny. Should I write about the baby? People seem to like the baby. I like the baby. I probably shouldn’t make fun of her on the blog. That’s a good way to ensure she’ll give me hell in her teenage years. But at least I’m recording her childhood? She won’t be mad that I told everyone about her raisin poops because I also said all those nice things about her. I should just make fun of Facebook. It’s already scarred for life.

*Logs into Facebook. Sees that the blog’s Facebook page gets way more action than personal page. Personal page is the kid with headgear that smells like soup and liked Saved By the Bell before it was ironic and hilarious to do so. Blog page doesn’t know it exists. Personal page wishes it could get to second base with blog page.*

I should really write a post.

Maybe I should read some posts first? The first step to successful writing is successful reading.

*Scans the reader. Reads some posts, all good, as I have excellent subscribing taste. Likes them. Realizes that I should probably comment too or people will think that I’m one of those obnoxious people who only Likes and never reads. Writes magnum opus in the comments section of several blogs. Uses up all eloquence that could have gone to a decent blog post.*

I should respond to all those comments people left on the blog over the weekend. How dare I write a new post while I still have unfinished business! I am lucky to get any comments at all.

*Checks comments. All way thoughtful, all deserving real answers. Responds with Arrested Development references and LOLcats links instead.*

*Glances over at empty glass of water on the side table. Refills it and eats some crackers in the process, in order to nourish self for all the Very Serious Writing that is about to take place.*

Until Klout. How is my score? WHAT. Why is my score going down??? Why do I even care? I haven’t gotten a new perk in almost a month!!!! This website is broken!!!! WHY WHY WHY? Where am I?

*Logs back into Facebook. Messages several people to join Klout because it’s “totally awesome” and because doing so will push up score. BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS THE MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL THE THINGS. At least I don’t play Farmville?*

*Toggles back to WordPress. My novella-length comments have been answered. But soft, what is this? New followers! Eats more crackers to celebrate. They’re all bots BUT CRACKERS AND FOLLOWERS ARE YES.*

I should check and see if anyone read the post I put on BlogHer. I need to dominate BlogHer. BlogHer needs me.

BlogHer doesn’t need you.

Oh right. Twitter needs me.

*Remembers funny thing husband said that morning. Tweets it and passes it off as one’s own. Wonders if plagiarism counts if the person you copied is your spouse.*

*Waits for stars.*

*Waits for retweets.*

*Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.*

Yeah, I didn’t think it was that funny either. Unfunny husband.

*Glances at clock. Baby has five minutes of nap left. Realizes that no blogging will be done today. Decides to write book. That sounds like a fantastically good idea.*

*Tweets about my upcoming book. Sets up Facebook fan page for novel that has yet to be written. Chooses super-flattering picture of me wearing my smart people glasses for the profile pic.*

The baby’s waking up. What an afternoon well spent. I love blogging.

***

You may have noticed that I linked The Waiting’s Facebook page above. That was my polite way of indicating that you should probably “like” it. Now I’m just straight-up begging. Here it is again. I’m three likes away from 100 and it sure would be nice for me to have something to toast this weekend besides a fulfilling life, my health, a beautiful child, and the utter devotion of the other 97. Because priorities. Please and thank you.

Playing Nice in the Blogosphere

Last night I was reading one of my favorite blogs, which I don’t get around to visiting too often because it’s so good that I need to allot at least an hour to just to catch up. With 10,000+ active followers, it’s one of the big blogs where the comments are usually as funny and smart as the posts themselves. The blogger who runs the site admits that although she does profit a bit off the ad revenue that it generates, she has a day job that has nothing to do with the subject she writes about. The blog is mostly for her own fun.

While reading the comments on the latest post, I found one where a commentor complained that the blogger made too big a deal out of the topic of the post. The commentor criticized her (albeit rather politely) for essentially making a mountain out of a molehill when she chose to blog about a specific topic and for using an undue amount of hyperbole. Whether or not the commentor was correct in saying that doesn’t really matter; depending on how you interpret it, she could have been right or wrong. However, the blogger – who does not reply to every comment since doing so would be a full-time job – did come out of the woodwork to defend her words. In the process, though, she pulled out a considerable amount of snark towards the reader, who probably meant no harm at all. What ensued was a comment war of the worst kind where other readers started criticizing the blogger for being too sensitive and hyper-vigilant about the slightest criticism. It was painful to read. Seeing a blogger you like get criticized on her own blog for losing her cool is a lot like being 10 at your best friend’s house and watching her get yelled at by her parents.

Right about now, you’re probably like “Well, what is this blog you’re talking about, Emily?! I want to see too!” To that I reply that it doesn’t really matter. This is only the most recent occurrence I’ve witnessed lately of people dumping all over online writers who are just doing their thing. Hang around the Intertron long enough and you will see it:

It hurts even when a pink bunny says it.

It hurts even when a pink bunny says it.

A self-published author puts his/her book up on Amazon and the reviews are nasty, angrily chastising the author for wasting the reader’s time with their “drivel”.

A writer of a small blog gets trolled for being “too boring” when recounting how she spent the weekend with her family.

A Twitter user takes personal shots at fellow tweeters who gave one too many details on their inane daily activities.

Each time I run across comments online that skewer bloggers who write for free (or nearly free, as self-published writers often give away copies of their e-book free of charge or heavily discounted to drum up readers), it frustrates me. Next time, it could be me who is criticized for minding my own business online and writing a blog that someone takes the wrong way or doesn’t like.

The fact is, it has been me before. Although it rarely happens, I can easily recall the times when I got comments that were hurtful and where strangers personally attacked me for what I said here. To be sure, these comments were never from regular blog visitors. They have always been from people that dropped in to tell me I suck and then never made a reappearance. One of them commented when I was only five days postpartum. I was sleep-deprived, hormonal, and already thinking that I was a horrible human being for not loving motherhood. The commentor didn’t like it when I wrote in one of my pregnancy posts that babies who wear glasses are really cute and that I hope my baby has poor eyesight like me so she could wear glasses. I thought it was an obvious joke, but the commentor certainly didn’t think so because she wrote that she felt sorry for my baby for having me as a mom. I can spot a troll a mile away and she wasn’t one; while most trolls strive to protect their anonymity, this person was a blogger herself who I could track down simply by clicking her Gravatar image which linked to her own URL and email. Would she have said those things if she had known what a horrible day I was having? Was she just shooting her mouth off because she could? Ten months later, I’m sure she probably doesn’t remember what she said, but I certainly do.

I want to take responsibility, though. I could have just as easily gone down to a store and purchased a blank book to write in, but I have chosen to record my thoughts in an online format and then made them available for everyone to read. I have opened the comments. So have many other bloggers, vloggers, tweeters, and Facebook users. We are allowed to say pretty much whatever we want on our blogs, so can we really be all that angry or surprised when someone uses their voice to condemn the quality and substance of our words? I often wonder if I gave up the right to be offended the moment I started blogging.

This is not just an issue of online etiquette, although that does play a part in it. Since I started blogging, it has been my personal policy to not comment elsewhere if I’m incapable of saying anything civil. No one has ever seen a snide comment regarding something they posted on Facebook and said, “Wow, what a valid point. Please tell me more about how stupid I am so that I can change.” I’ve disagreed with things I’ve read, but if I don’t know the blogger, I’m not going to rip the person to shreds. If I do know the blogger and have a constructive relationship with them, then I will respectfully explain why I disagree. The other day I saw a tweet that was meant to be humorous where the tweeter admired a 12-year-old girl who told a boy of the same age to “suck her d*ck”. I came close to asking her how that was remotely funny, but instead I just unfollowed. Obviously, I am not her audience. I love a good joke but that one was not for me. No commentary needed.

But the ubiquitous “unfollow” and “unfriend” sometimes doesn’t pack that whollup. I am a blogger, and I want to be heard. I want to tell people why I disagree or disapprove of what they’re saying. I want to be snide. Kindly backing into the shadows does little to no good when you read something that incites violence or promotes negligence and ignorance. I often wonder, if I really cared about the world I write about, wouldn’t I want to defend it when others pollute it with hate? Wouldn’t I use my words to stand up to these people, rather than just unfollow them? What about the times when they don’t necessarily say something inflammatory but something that’s just dumb? Should I just close the window and walk away?

I will never close the comments to my blog. (And I promise that that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I wouldn’t even know how if I wanted to. That’s a joke for those of you who were wondering if I was even going to make even a lame attempt at humor today.) I value the opinions of the people I regularly converse with here too much to ever let the meanies or the ill-informed spoil this blogging experience for me. But I do often wonder whether I really did waive my right to be offended the instant I started writing here.

What do you think? By making ourselves “vulnerable” in the Digital Age, are we basically saying we can deal with whatever the people behind those screens throw at us?

Birthday Wins

Is the idea that when you turn 25, you blow out flowers instead of candles? What is this I can’t even

Yesterday was my birthday. You know this if you follow me on Twitter or Facebook because I let you know in the form of many, many notifications. What can I say? I’m thorough. I haven’t always been a fan of birthdays. The getting older part doesn’t really bother me at all because I am eternally youthful (LOL LOL LOL), but what does bother me is when the universe doesn’t deliver the acclaim I deserve on my special day. You only get 25 happy birthday greetings from people on Facebook instead of 200 or your husband only spends $200 on jewelry for you instead of the requisite $4000. Life is so hard. Yesterday, however, I had a wonderful birthday. And I didn’t even have to leave home! Thank you to everyone who gave me a shout-out. It made me feel warm inside.

As I was giving C her bath last night, I started thinking about birthdays. That detail about the bath has really nothing to do with anything but I think it indicates that I’m a swell person for caring for my child even on my special day. I was thinking about birthdays and it occurred to me that they are the best holidays of all. If there were a holiday competition, birthdays would for sure win. Would you like to know why? Good, because I’m going to tell you.

1. Birthdays are custom made. Even though you don’t get to pick when you’re born, your birthday is specific to you. You don’t have to share it with anyone and all the glory is heaped upon you and you only. This is another reason why being a twin would be horrible. First you have to share your room and now you have to share your cake. Tragic. I guess the idea of twin languages kind of cancels this out but I doubt those things exist in the first place.

2. You get to spend time with whoever you want to. Unlike Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, there is no requisite family misery. You don’t have to spend half the day with your sister and then schlep yourself over to your ex-cousin-in-law’s for the afternoon like you do on Christmas. If you want to hang out with all your high school friends on your birthday, you can. And if for some reason you want to hang out with your yoga instructor, you can. Since it’s your birthday, she can’t really say no. This is also known as Birthday Leverage.

3. You get to do whatever you want. There are no stupid traditions that are foisted on you by others. You don’t have to put lights on your roof and risk breaking your neck. You don’t have to buy a bunch of eggs and then hide them. What the heck are your supposed to do with the eggs after they’ve been found? You can’t donate them to charity. That’s gross and plus I doubt the needy want to get high cholesterol from eating your gently used eggs. The only real tradition that is specific to birthdays is eating cake, and if you’re complaining about that then we have nothing in common.

4. Facebook is fun for a day. Poor Facebook. It has become the whipping boy of every single blog post written this year. This one will be no exception. Facebook is not fun on holidays because everyone is talking about the holiday or complaining about the holiday. Even though Halloween is pretty great, you have to look at pictures of people wearing costumes they made themselves, as if it’s Pinterest or something. Ugh, just leave me alone, Holiday. Facebook on your birthday is fun, though. People tell you how much they love you and how awesome you are. Even though they may only say “Happy Birthday” with no exclamation marks or even your name, you know that they are telling you that they really admire you and your incredible nature.

5. There’s no cleaning up. Since it’s your birthday and the party is for you, you don’t have to clean up the mess. Even if you chose to put up a Christmas tree for your birthday and decorate it with rubber gloves and pictures of Rainn Wilson, you won’t have to clean it up at the end of the party because all the guests are basically your servants. So when you open your gifts, be sure to tear the paper into tiny little pieces of confetti because you don’t have to clean that mess up.

What is your favorite or least favorite thing about your birthday?

Facebook

There are a lot of things I could say about Facebook. I could talk about how people love it as fervently as they hate it. I could talk about how it brings us together and tears us apart. I could talk about how conflicted I am over someeecards.

But today, I will save you all that. It’s Sunday, so I hope to capitalize on all your weekend goodwill by asking you to “like” The Waiting on Facebook. That’s right – I made a Facebook page for my blog. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Depending on what kind of device you’re using, there is a box on the far right or at the bottom where you can like me.

So please, if you are a Facebooker, go do that. I’ve already liked it myself so you won’t be the weirdo first person at the party who says that they got there early due to light traffic but we all know it’s because you just wanted to eat the entire cheese ball before the other guests arrive.

I promise I won’t vaguebook or quote lyrics to country songs or put up pictures of macaroni and cheese with old timey filters all over them. I can’t promise I won’t share pictures of Miss C, but they will be good pictures. Pinky swear.

So press that Like button! It feels good! And if you’re not on Facebook, feel free to hit me up on the Twitter as well. It will always be my first love.

Forgetful Jones, You Are Not Forgotten

Awhile back I saw this image macro floating around on the Intertron:

Aside from the fact that the comparison of Mitt Romney to Guy Smiley seems a tad bit forced, this picture bummed me out. It reminded me that there was a time when Guy Smiley – a character from the Sesame Street of my 1980′s upbringing – was part of my everyday life. Now it’s Mitt Romney who I hear about every day, and I have publicly-funded broadcasting to thank for both. It’s a mixed bag, this up-growing. I miss Guy as I miss all those old characters. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on Elmo. I think he’s cute and Wee Cee likes him, so we are kosher.

So what do you do when you think of old friends and decide to troll them? You friend them on Facebook. Then, if you think that your eons-old relationship with them was as magical for them as it was for you, you message them and hope for a response.

Here are those messages.

Dear Forgetful Jones,

Hi. Remember me? Haha. Sorry, that was kind of douchey of me. (Did I just say “douchey” in an email to an old Sesame Street character? Cue self loathing.) I was watching the Gangnam Style horse dance the other day and I thought of you. Random, eh? So, what are you up to nowadays? I never learned to ride a horse, but I did learn that my own forgetful tendencies were due to moderate ADD. Maybe you should get that checked out too. You are probably now thinking “Who is this person and why is she messaging me with a diagnosis of my forgetfulness?” Good question. I was that little girl wearing cowgirl boots and a hat whenever you came one. I loved you. Still do.

Dear Captain Vegetable,

Wassup, homefry? It’s been awhile. I can’t believe I have finally found you! While I was making some kale chips yesterday I thought of you and realized I always liked you more than Cookie Monster. This is likely because I felt kind of bad for you and your little costume with a picture of a carrot Scotch taped to the front. Still keep in touch with Eddie Spaghetti? You will be happy to know that my baby likes squash. I will be happy to know if you ever attacked that unibrow. Please let me know!

Dear Prairie Dawn,

Hey, Prairie Dawn! What’s up?! OMG, you were THE BEST. I don’t know how you were able to deflect Cookie Monster’s tomfoolery all those times, but your sass and exasperation always packed a whollup. So how are things? Do you still live on Sesame Street or did you leave for college? Did you go to Vassar and study music like we all expected? Can’t wait to hear from you, homegirl.


Dear Two-Headed Monster,

I hope you are the same two-headed monster I knew back in the day. Since there were several “Two-Headed Monsters” listed on Facebook, I had to make my best guess that this is you. Otherwise, please disregard this message! I can’t imagine why you didn’t make the cut of the monster-heavy Sesame Street cast of today (yet claymation Ernie and Bert somehow did), but your presence is missed. What are y’all doing these days? Ever thought of staging a comeback by performing The Odd Couple? I know, dumb idea. Put your heads together and I’m sure you’ll come up with something better.

Dear Sherlock Hemlock,

I saw a puppet of you at a flea market this past weekend and just had to look you up. ‘Member how you were the world’s greatest detective? I do, and that’s why I’m surprised you never showed up on CSI, Law and Order, Criminal Minds, or that show with LL Cool J and the principal from Kindergarten Cop. No worries. I’m sure that if half a chicken salad sandwich gets eaten by you goes missing, you will be called in as a first responder. Miss you much, friend.

 *All images Copyright Children’s Television Workshop. Except the one of Mitt Romney. I don’t think CTW would lay claim to that one.

#SomeNotesOnTwitter

So, I have a Twitter account. As with most things technological, it took me awhile to get one. I got in on Facebook a couple of years after I first heard it existed and I started a blog about eight years after hearing about “online web logs”. Of course, I signed up for Google+ pretty much the instant it came into being and bragged all over my Facebook about how awesome and cutting edge I was. Yeah, we can now all see how what a great predictor of online social media trends I was with that one.

Anyway, I like Twitter, primarily because I only follow about eight people I know from real life. I learned my lesson about being a friend whore on Facebook and accepting all friend requests and issuing requests to everyone I’ve ever been within 100 feet of. I applied those lessons to my foray into Twitterdom, so now when I log in, I am not asked to pray for someone’s routine colonoscopy or feign interest in someone completing a 5K. I don’t have to look at pictures of the beer someone is drinking or a someecards post I saw like eight months ago unless I actually click on the link. These are all upsides of Twitter.

Wow, thank you so much for sharing with me proof that you have a sense of humor. I was just pondering the other day if you still have a biting sense of irony, and now that you posted 7 someecards in a row on Facebook, I’m thrilled to see that you do.

Another great thing I’ve found about Twitter is that people tend to feel as though they have to work harder. A lot of people complain that Twitter is annoying because people edit themselves even less than they do on Facebook, but I haven’t really found that to be true. I follow people who appear to be mildly humorous or are aware of their insanity and milk it for all it’s worth. Perhaps it’s because I mostly follow people whose accounts are an extension of their blogs and celebrities who have to be funny or ridiculous to make a living, but people will put any old garbage up on Facebook but on Twitter you have to be terse and clever (@becomingcliche, @themainlandblog, @expletivebaby). Or just insane (@josecanseco) or bizarre (@horse_ebooks, @MAID001). If you are looney, Twitter is for you.

If you come away with anything from this blog post, I hope and pray it is to follow @horse_ebooks.

Nearly everyone famous has a Twitter account now. Unfortunately many have obviously been set up by their publicist. I follow Burt Wolf (@BurtWolf) and Woody Allen (@WoodyAllen) but Woody Allen has only tweeted twelve times and Burt absolutely never. In Burt Wolf’s case this is hilarious because he still has 75 followers, me among them. I only have like 90 followers and I’ve tweeted almost 500 times. It’s a shame that Woody Allen doesn’t tweet more often because he’s awesome. I guess it’s my own fault for following old men.

I miss you.

But then there are the accounts that should tweet but don’t. Case in point: @homestarrunner. Remember how funny that website was? I get it if they don’t have time to make cartoons anymore, but seriously, how difficult is it to occasionally compose a tweet in the voice of Strong Bad? Not hard. Get on that, Brothers Chaps.

There are the little gems of Twitter that make me happy every time I log on. Following LeVar Burton (@levarburton) has been possibly the best choices I have ever made, social networking-wise. Know why LeVar Burton is awesome? Because he gets his own nostalgia factor. I’m not a Star Trek person or anything, but I was a viewer of PBS in the mid-80s, so whenever I read his tweets I always tack on “but you don’t have to take my word for it” at the end, thus inducing Reading Rainbow warm fuzzies.

Judging by his tweets, LeVar was as awesome as I suspected when I was five.

I will likely send out a tweet to notify my followers of the publication of this blog shortly after I publish it. How meta is that? Tweeting about Twitter.

I’m so modern I can hardly stand it.

Things I’d Like to Retire

There have lately been a few things that I would kindly like to be taken out to pasture. Here we go:

1. Mom Jokes

It’s Target, not “Tar-jey.” No one thinks you’re French. No one thinks you’re clever.

2. Obsession with bacon

I think the awesomeness of bacon is pretty evident. Ron Swanson put that one to rest nicely. The glories of salted and cured pork belly were established a long, long time ago and have been recognized by many cultures. Bacon chocolate is not novel anymore.

3. Talking about how you don’t have a cell phone

This may’ve been a somewhat interesting factoid about you five years ago, but now you just sound foolish. Congratulations, you’ve successfully proven that existence is possible without a phone. Now how about championing something that actually matters?

Also, please stop bragging about how you’re not on Facebook. If you were on Facebook, you’d know that no one actually likes it anymore and no one cares. It’s like bragging that you don’t keep up with the Kardashians.

4. Family car decals

Source: grassrootsmotorsports.com

Like the “Baby on Board” signs from years back, these decals make you look like you’re using your kid as an excuse to be a bad driver. Being a parent allows you to get away with a lot of harmless things like not washing your hair for a couple days, but it doesn’t give you a pass for being a crappy driver. I don’t care how many kids you’re carting around; you can still use a freaking turn signal.

5. Most S*$% People Say Videos

On a good day, 20% of these videos are actually funny. An unfortunate 50% are made by people who think that owning a good video editor on their Mac gives them license to make a dumb video that only makes sense to their circle of friends. The remaining 30% are just guys in wigs making fun of their girlfriends and sisters and then smacking a label on it.

6. Weird celebrity endorsements 

Jackie Chan is doing V8 commercials now. Why? I’d really just like an explanation. I’m sure there is one. I hope there is one.

7. Acting like it’s a big surprise that a particular foreign food is good

You tried Indian food. Your response: Dude, SO GOOD!

You tried Peruvian food. Your response: That stuff was awesome!

You pressed your luck and tried Ethiopian food. Your response: WOW! How yummy!

One billion people can't be wrong.

So yeah, it turns out that people all around the world value deliciousness in their food. I couldn’t believe it, either.

8. Intentional Adult Burping

I don’t think a lot of explanation is necessary. If you’ve made it to adulthood, you know that drinking soft drinks and alcohol makes you gassy. Acquiring this kind of life lesson is what childhood is for. So don’t burp in my face and think that it’s cute. You are gross.

I’m going to stop now because I’m dangerously close to starting in on bloggy things that get on my nerves. The instant I publish those, I know I’ll start doing them myself.

Must. Use. Discretion. Dammit! What did I tell you?!

*****

Congrats to nevercontrary for being Freshly Pressed! She’s been a longtime peruser of The Waiting and I always look forward to her hilarious comments. Check out her post that’s getting some well-deserved attention.

“Insert Self-Defining Quote Here”

Remember when Facebook had a section on your profile where you could type out your favorite quotes? For all I know, it could still have this section, but if so it’s apparently buried among the many other changes to the site that have been implemented for the pure sake of busywork. But that’s another topic for another day.

Anyway, I never liked the quote section of Facebook, especially when people typed out like ten quotes that all said basically the same contrived thing. These were often of the “Live simply, laugh often, love deeply” variety and were accompanied by lyrics to “I Hope You Dance.” Really? Of ALL the quotes in the world, this is what you’re choosing? Tsk, tsk; someone was too busy listening to adult contemporary to read the memo on how easy it is to come off looking like a moron on Facebook.

Well, I’m glad at least someone gleaned some inspiration from the music being played in the waiting room of the dentist’s office.

I find solace in the words of Emerson as well as Snoop Dog.

But even if the quotes were a bit more substantial (ie, written by someone who was not being paid by Hallmark), I still got annoyed with them. Again, my annoyance was exacerbated when the quotes came in rapid fire. The person would have a thoughtful and feasibly inspirational quote from Emerson or Thoreau. (Those Transcendentalists sure speak to our generation, eh?) Then, with no warning whatsoever, the next quote would be from some random episode of Friends when Joey drops a meatball sub. The next would be from the Bible. Followed by the next that would come from Ronald Reagan where he waxed poetic about horses or something.

I’ll give it to you that everyone has disparate interests. Watch me drop this one:

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I contain multitudes.” Walt Whitman

Oh yeah! I can wield me a quote! So, yeah, I’ll give it to you that by virtue of our humanity, we’re multifaceted and the quotes we identify with are not going to fall in one single category. But seriously; on Facebook, let’s just keep it down to one or two. Choose the quote you want to sum yourself up with or else confirm all your “friends’ ” suspicions that you’re just as schizophrenic as you seemed in college. Edit, folks, edit.

I think my main beef with people who “collect” quotes and then rattle them off with no commentary whatsoever is rooted in my own aversion to share the ones that mean a lot to me. I have a need to thoroughly explain why a quote is important or relevant to me, and if no opportunity to comment on its importance is provided, I’d rather just forego the quoting and instead create my own content.

Plus, I studied English for too long not to feel as though I’m hiding behind other people’s words when I start quoting them all the time. There is, after all, something to say for an author’s intention and context. Words are fluid and so is the mind, but it’s a failure on our part as readers and passers-on of quotes if we take the ones that sound good and perpetuate them with little regard to their original intent. This is why I cringe a lot of the time when Nietzsche is quoted.

Come to think of it, I also lived in Illinois for long enough to now equate sloppy quoting with tomfoolery and trickery, thanks to Rod Blagojevich.

Should I end this post with a quote? Probably. Someone could’ve always said it better than me.

Correspondence

Dear Facebook Friends,

You are not Jimmy Fallon. Please stop writing “pithy” and “pointed” requests to inanimate objects.

Love,

Emily

****

Dear Facebook Friends,

The USPS is in enough trouble. Kindly mail your stupid letters to the intended recipients rather than spray them to everyone you know.

Love,

Emily

****

Real post later today.