The Facebook Movie: the Me Generation v. the iGeneration

"I really think this whole performing thing is a way for me basically to just be myself...and have a microphone. To be myself, and be louder than anybody else in the room."

-- Lyle Lovett, 1992

"Facebook profiles are always something of a performance: you choose the details you want to share and you choose whom you want to share with."

--The New Yorker , 2010

Security was irritating at last night's screening of The Facebook Movie (the Social Network), precipitating an exodus out to the cars to stow the banned cellphones. Kids could've been emptying bags of syringes and spoons as long as the iPhones didn't make it in. "Here's your lighter, miss. And your pipe."

It wasn't a sell-out, but it was a good crowd -- filled with exactly the 20-somethings director David Fincher aimed for -- all batting their eyes a little at the late afternoon September light, still recovering from the afternoon when facebook crashed.

Sadly, the news had to break on Twitter that facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg had just given the New Jersey public school system $100 million bucks. (PC Magazine -- and the ultimate Twitter Transparency Mayor Cory Booker -- suggests that Zuckerberg nearly made the donation anonymously. But it's hard to imagine Oprah standing for that.  "YOU get an education! YOU get an education!" A commenter notes that it's like the "episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Ted Danson gets lots of praise for donating an art gallery wing 'anonymously' while Larry David is scorned because his donated wing had his name on it.")

It seemed cruel to deprive the audience of such a self-referential, self-aware movie an opportunity to discuss it while it played out in front of them. (If a tree fell...)

This is a movie made entirely, and expertly, by grownups Fincher  (Seven, Fight Club) and Sorkin (A Few Good Men, West Wing) and to a great degree: for grownups. The hippest thing about it is Trent Reznor's score and Trent Reznor is what...46 now? The dialogue is smart, sharp, and sparkly -- and bears no resemblance to how Zuckerberg speaks in interviews -- you can't handle the truth? On paper (if such a thing still existed), it might be hard to imagine how a movie with long sequences devoted to coding -- and explaining coding -- could be riveting, but it is.

This movie is big and expensive and almost 80s-like. It's the Me Generation vs. the iGeneration.

It is all Wall Street (the original), not the handheld verite of the new indie facebook-preoccupied Catfish.

(The movie previewed the same night that Twit My Dad Says premiered on TV -- painfully illustrating that not all social-media stories or phenoms are transferable to the screen. The TV suits took a slight, modestly amusing twitter feed and tried to shoehorn it into the nearly-dead sitcom format, brought to you by KoMut "Will and Grace" Entertainment.)

The grownups seem a little angry. Much like the 80s. Even cocaine  makes a comeback (at least for the Justin Timberlake Napster character, Sean Parker) ...just like the 80s.

Fincher, Sorkin, and Jesse Eisenberg (the Squid and the Whale), who plays Zuckerberg, go out of their way to "disclose" that they don't personally use facebook, and that it's immaterial to The Story (which is played out as half Shakespearean, and half courtroom drama, which has now been replaced by the new procedural: the deposition drama, where nothing ever actually gets to court).

Newsweek ("Friends Without Benefits") is pissed off because Facebook -- unlike the old HP/Intel/Apple days of Silicon Valley -- doesn't actually make anything. (In related news: GET OFF MY LAWN.) Plastics. Plastics. Their argument is, facebook isn't science and it doesn't solve problems. Elsewhere though, they turn in an elegiac rave review, quoting Thornton Wilder and the "typical American battle of trying to convert a loneliness into an enriched and fruitful solitude."

But facebook has made something -- and it isn't inherently good or bad -- it's a platform, a tool, a means for connecting, or not. The typewriter wasn't evil when it replaced the pen. The phone wasn't evil when it replaced door-to-door communication. In the early days, nobody wanted to be the douche who stood around Starbucks talking on his cellphone, but these are universal social network applications as well. (Just like everybody shuns the guy on Twitter or Facebook who always tries to sell you a house.)

As the New York Times review puts it, puts it, "Mark builds a database, turning his life — and ours — into zeroes and ones, which is what makes it also a story about the human soul."

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Doppelgangers?

I don't really understand this whole "doppelganger" thing on Facebook -- but suddenly all my friends' profile pics have been replaced with Celebrities. One of my councilman friends is now William Hurt, for example. One of my writer-buddies is Hunter S. Thompson.  It's kinda entertaining.

I'm not sure if their "doppelgangers" are supposed to be people they look like.... or people they want to look like? I mean, I know what a doppelganger is; I went to college and all. But it's my recollection that seeing one is bad luck, so I'm not sure I should even play.

I just went through and picked two women I'd like to be when I grow up -- Bonnie Hunt and Amy Sedaris. The only plausible resemblance I can find is that they're also blonde and frequently wear glasses. Who doesn't love a smart funny blonde? (That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.)

I'm a Qwitter... or Why I Left Twitter

This is what my friend, writer Holly Goddard Jones wrote about her decision to leave facebook this weekend.

"My dad once told me that the only thing worse than a drunk is a recovered drunk. That’s why I’ve hesitated to write about my decision to leave Facebook (and how serious that sounds! as if I’ve declared that I’m leaving my political party or religion!), and that’s why I decided to not even announce my exit last week before finally finding the magic button...."
 

At first I was horrified -- because I am a big fan of her writing, and facebook was a great way to see it on a regular basis. Then I read her blog pretty carefully... and then I was inspired.

Inspired to delete my Twitter Account -- just the private, social account --I still have one for work, and that's the job, and I guess that won't change). Reading it, I can still get a local snow report if I need one; hear from my favorite bands; get my national news feeds, and keep up with my real-life friends' whereabouts. I don't expect I'll have a lot to say there, other than reporting news, and work, and chatting with the Readers about that from time to time.

Like Holly, I hasten to point out that I could always change my mind, but right now: it's one less thing to do, and one more way to Unplug. Don't worry, I haven't suddenly become Amish. The BlackBerry isn't going anywhere. I'm not going to stretch a couple cans out on a string between two trees. I should also clarify that I haven't generally found Twitter to be the time-suck I hear about (usually from people who aren't on it) -- as long as you have a working phone, it's an extremely time-efficient way to get caught up.

And best of all: it's kept me off the phone (which I do find to be a prehistoric time-suck) -- if I post that my parents are in town or I'm Yondering or ORounding, nobody wastes time calling me for dinner or movies and other stuff I would do, if I wasn't already occupied.

As for what to do with Facebook, that's next. There's a very public "fan page" there for work. There's even a "facebook fan page" for this blog (the Link NEVER works, so that's up to Intern)-- much as I hate the (Taylor) Swift-ian implications of that.

But the friend profile page that's Me also shares my work name and, as a consequence, is filled with 900 people I don't know and have never met (down from 1500 after a lot of aggressive whittling over the past six months, when I realized this whole thing was getting ahead of me).

I.R.L (in real life, for those who spend their time there and not on facebook), I have maybe seven friends. Not 900. So a change has gotta come.

I am reminded of Bill Maher's New Year's resolution a few years back "to know one less person every day." He has a point. At least when it comes to Strangers.

30 Rock: the YouFace Glossary

 the Secret Santa episode (better known as the YouFace episode)

"Those sites are for horny, married chicks with kids who want to exchange pervy emails with all their high school boyfriends."

--Liz Lemon

YouFace: "The Company has acquired an up-and-coming social networking site called YouFace." [Jack]

FoLo: "This Picture will be my FoLo" ["not a word"] which is a contraction for Photo and Hello."

FingerTagged: "means I have been contacted by someone else on YouFace."

"Post you Public or BM you?" "Check her FaceWall to see her previous Bang-Bangs."

Working-on-it: Marital status ("six months ago her status said she was married, but 14 days ago, she changed it to 'working on it.'"

Weirdsies: Marital Status ("she just changed her status from 'working on it' to 'weirdsies.' "OMFG."

Ending a date: "I'll hit you on YouFace, but you gotta promise to fingertag me back." [Julianne Moore]

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Naked on Facebook: the new Privacy Settings

I'm not "suffering from endometrial pain" but thanks for asking Facebook! That was the first ad I saw when I logged on this morning (I just read as far as the question; I don't know what remedy they promised). As always, I'm mystified by how exactly how their sooper-scientific "data mining" works. I do know whoever paid for that ad wasted their money.

I've missed a lot of the fuss today about the new facebook privacy settings because my blackberry battery died while I was waiting for a friend at Starbucks, and we had a lot of catching up to do, so I'm out of the loop. I did gather that people are pissed.

I vaguely remember getting a "letter" from Zuckerberg a few weeks ago mentioning that Facebook would be "improving" its privacy settings, which I translated loosely as "bend over." Facebook is in the business of selling eyeballs, and anything it can do to improve its position there, I assume it will.

Are they publishing our chats somewhere? I don't think I've had any really drrrrty ones -- but after Ambien, how would I know?

If Facebook really wanted to improve my "user experience," it would give me a setting that would allow me to ban people from sending me pieces of Flair, or MafiaFarmWars invites, or "what rockstar are you?" quizzes.

And could they stop letting people I don't know send me Invites to Events? I de-friended one guy because he blizzarded everyone with Invites to "fundraisers" (also, because he's a douchebag) -- and I still get all his spam.

As I've said before, I've always thought the Profiles don't divulge enough information. I don't just want to know if you're "interested in men" or "interested in women" or "single" or "married" or "complicated," I would like a clickable link that would take me to all ex-wives and ex-girlfriends where I could then read their profiles.

I don't want to see "married," I want to see "happily married." And a bank statement. Along with a photo of the secretary. 

To save us all some heartache, I'd like to see terms of separation: "amicable," "antagonistic" or "gunplay."

I'd like the word "separation" defined geographically and emotionally.  And I will smack anyone who lists their status as "complicated." Almost nothing in life is complicated. Sometimes we want to leave people who don't want to be left. That is not complicated. It is common. Are the left-behinds armed? That should be a status update.

I would also like to be able to read realationship references (like on Linked In).

If you list "Bette Midler" in your CD collection, I can do my own "data mining" there.
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Blog on Facebook

"Wow. You're getting married? Congratulations. That's funny that your only status update on facebook was that you had become a fan of 'Big Bang Theory.'"

--New Adventures of Old Christine (which I am watching because AMY SEDARIS IS ON IT; she just told Julia Louis Dreyfus "you smell ...poor.")

I haaaaaate the term "fan page" on facebook. There's probably a place for them, but that place should be reserved for 12-year-old girls and Taylor Swift.


Everytime I click on "become a fan," I cringe. Then I cringe more when facebook sends out that feed to everyone I know. (And sometimes, I become a fan of things for purely work-related reasons -- for example, I had to "become a fan" of the Today Show, in order to tag them in posts whenever they do a segment that's local-eque. Now, typically, I do have the Today Show on while I'm getting ready for work in the morning, but I most definitely would not characterize myself a "fan" -- that is a strong word. It's a commitment -- one I am certainly reluctant to ask friends to make.

But once I started the whole blog-a-day commitment, they started complaining that they would like to keep up, but that they would like for me to make it easier and more convenient. I use the "follow" feature here on my blogger dashboard, but I definitely don't think it's convenient. I miss stuff all the time, and the more prolific bloggers drown out the ones who post less frequently.

Plenty of people use Twitter to auto-post their blogs, and I find it terribly masturbatory (yeah, I'm lookin' at you Seth Godin) -- akin to the people who just use it to post micro-press releases. The one thing I know about my facebook is that the feeds are pretty non-disruptive and non-intrusive -- follow what you want; leave the rest. Click, don't click. Nobody minds. Nobody knows. Nobody cares.

So there's now a Facebook Fan Page for the blog. Yeah, I'm sorry that's kinda asshole-ish/douchebaggy. But I'll try to keep up with posting the daily links there. Feel free to follow it if you like, but by no means should you feel obligated.

Leave a Message. Or a Txt. Or an email. Or a Tweet. Or an FB. Or a Skype.

I didn't mean to be out of touch during the seven hours I was at Brunch today. (Doesn't every good brunch last seven hours? Of course it does, if it's hosted correctly.)

I thought I was posting TwitPics and yFrogs and FB Mobiles throughout -- like these -- which never showed up (casualty of the Margarita'd BlackBerry, presumably). These are hopelessly old, because I had to wait and post them from the bigscreen, like an ANIMAL.

It is possible I am becoming over-accustomed to immediacy (in that I have asked mah Geek, Jason, to install a port in my neck so that I can just think everything right onto the screen -- and printing press, cause yes, that's also how I roll; I've been trying to get the pressmen to let me dictate directly into it for years). He said No. So far. He didn't say he couldn't do it, only that he wouldn't do it.

Out of deference to my hosts, I did not check my BlackBerry at all during brunch (other than to theoretically post a few photos that never arrived onscreen -- but that's broadcasting, not dialogue). I try not to engage in online conversation during any real-life physical social interaction. It always feels like that's better-dealing the person or people I'm with: "Yes, you guys are fine.... but let's see if I can do better, shall we?" I will check in occasionally -- to see if someone's gotten lost, or needs a ride, etc. but that's about it (and if the group is really large -- as it was Friday, for example -- we have been known to Text and Twitter each other from a southern table, to a northern table). The room I am in? That is the absolute best room in the world to be in. I will not better-deal you (I will just leave if it stops being the best room in the world).

I wasn't the host today, so there was no need for me to check in and provide directions or anything, and I stayed pretty wireless-free. And then I came home.... to 7 facebook messages; 5 texts; 7 BlackBerry emails (that's the private email that no one has);  four Direct Messages on Twitter (but three had just shown up from last night, so they don't count); and even one Skype (which I really only use for mah BFF and mah Sailor, pictured here, on a boat ... cause that's sailor-esque).

The two of them kinda got me hooked on Skype, cause for some reason it just feels like leaving a note in a knothole in the woods or something -- it feels old school to me.

I get invited on "detox" vacations sometimes -- the kind where there's no wi-fi, no blackberry, no twitter, no facebook, etc. I think they have a word for destinations like that. It's called Prison.

###
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Unfriend is "word of the year" - Seriously?

Facebook and Twitter just exploded with the "news" that the The New Oxford American Dictionary just named "unfriend" its new word of the year.

Which is funny.

Because more people use the word defriend than unfriend.

I remember when "locavore" made the list, because I was tired of explaining the definition to people. But I also remember when "Woot" made the list (?) and I didn't know what it meant. I still wouldn't really be comfortable using it in a sentence.

I still use "defriend," as opposed to "unfriend," and I definitely don't consult Mashable for their version of their idea of the 10 wackiest defriending stories (somebody leaves a workplace for a new job and all their coworkers defriend them on facebook? Really?! Scandal!)

I saw a husband defriend his wife when his wife left him for another woman. And then, she "became a fan" of "Rain," so clearly, he was better off without her.

Come to Some Bad End

No sooner had I written about my attempts to pare my facebook "friends" down to people I really, actually know (I've been busily de-friending the ones I don't on their birthdays so I can disappear into the crowd unnoticed) -- than I got this alarming status update.

"I've been stood up for the wedding."

 I don't know this girl, but I worried about her all through dinner --- trying to figure out: was she just stood up for a date for a wedding (which is admittedly a bad day), or did she get stood up for her own wedding (as "the" wedding would seem to imply) -- which might (or might not, depending on your point of view) be a real tragedy. (I don't know the guy, but find myself thinking she is probably better off.)

And now if she disappears from my feed, I will assume (like everyone in Nacadoches, if you listen to too much Steve Earle) that she "has come to some bad end."

I once watched a whole marriage dissolve on Facebook -- I didn't know either of the parties. I still had hope that it would all work out, even after I got the news that said "Tom is now listed as Single." I still maintained a shred of optimism when it said "Marie went from Single to 'it's complicated.'" But even I had to give up when Facebook informed me "Marie is now 'in a relationship with Holly.'"

I read somewhere the other day (probably on facebook) that "Social Media is like daytime television for people who went to college."

Facebook Birthdays

I use birthdays as an occasion to de-friend people I don't know very well on Facebook.

The BlackBerry sends a little reminder that says "Today's Birthdays" (it's probably on the bigscreen version too, but it's not very noticeable) along with a list.

I look at the names and figure: if I don't know this person well enough to wish them a happy birthday (and by that, I mean, celebrate the idea that they were born), then I have no business being "friends" with them.

I also figure that on their birthday, they're getting so many facebook messages from their so-called real friends (most of which just say "happy birthday"), they will never miss me from the lineup if I disappear at that moment.

You can always "hide" the people on facebook that are too chatty, or who try to sell stuff via their status updates (apparently a lot of people use the "hide" feature to ignore relatives they don't want to hear from), but I prefer nice clean breaks.

Favorite Facebook Job Description ever

"Amanda" is one of my favorite Facebook Friends. She's one of the few now that I haven't met in real-life (that was on my to-do list this year; there are 1,111 of them -- no one gets in or out now, because it was pointed out to me that's a lucky number). She works in a pet store (which should probably remain nameless). She lists her job description as:
"I tell little kids not to tap on the fucking glass."

That Cal!

"If people could stay out there seven days in the cold and the rain to have an opportunity to enjoy this night, then we're gonna do things that I've never done."--Coach Cal, pre Big Blue Madness

Dang, nowwww I almost wish I was going.

That sounds sarcastic of course -- as it should -- but here's the thing. It is almost, a little bit, true.

Now, it would be an understatement to say I am not a sportswriter. (Let me pause for a minute there while you catch your breath and stop holding your sides.)

I am trying to find nice ways to quantify the depth and breadth of that statement that don't involve me being publicly tarred and feathered.

For one thing, I sort of lump organized sports in with organized religion in that I think the Process can be a little ... polluting.

For another, I am more of an arts and letters/geek gal than a sports gal.

For a third thing, probably because of where I was raised, I am more of a football girl than basketball. I grew up in a "Friday Night Lights"-ish kind of town, to put it mildly. Where the boys had no necks, and now they all sell insurance. I have said before, I live in the wrong city -- and state -- for football to be a valid preference over basketball, but it's true. When I think of Soccer, I can only think of Harry Crews's characterization of soccer vis a vis the debate team in Feast of Snakes (and you'll just have to look that up).

And while I have gone to my share of basketball games -- usually in the name of being a good sport for a date -- I find it generally ... smelly. I don't really know if it's the sweat from the oversized athletes in a fairly confined space, or if it's the reek of the crowd, but I can never believe I'm the ONLY one who seems to notice it.

I only disclose all of this just to reinforce the oddity behind my dirty little confession, which is that... I am positively entranced by Coach Cal. Of course that might not sound very odd or especially confessional in a town that worships him -- possibly in a very unhealthy way-- but it is unusual for Me, because I have rarely had much of an opinion about basketball.

Sure, I vaguely thought Tubby should go. He seemed like a fine family man who ran a nice clean program, but the job description -- as I understood it -- was to go to the Final Four, and win it on a fairly regular basis. It's my understanding that he only really did that with an inherited team, while failing to build his own program. That's all I know.

As for his successor, well, same thing. It's my understanding that he did not win? Now, all that other stuff? Hell, they knew he was a hard dog to keep on the porch when they hired him.

When it came time to replace him, the only thing I said on that front was that I hoped this time they'd go with someone MARRIED, cause it seemed clear they wanted a First Lady as part of the gig. Which promptly got me labeled as... homophobic (?) My response to that was.... huh? All I said was "married." Personally, I wouldn't care who the Coach was married to, and if the First Lady was named Steve, that'd be fine by me.

---
Then Coach Cal came to town... and I fell for him, right along with everybody else.

Probably because I get the same false sense of intimacy everybody ELSE does from his Twitter and Facebook pages. Look! He's walking his dog, RIGHT DOWN THE STREET FROM WHERE I LIVE! Here he is, NOT unpacking boxes in the new house! Awww. Just like every other husband. I imagine a sort of MadMen Don Draper crossed with Ricky Ricardo on I Love Lucy. I would call this series "That Cal!" (Oh that Cal! He is so darn exasperating! And then I'd smile indulgently.)

Of course, in real life, I know perfectly well he doesn't actually talk like a 14-year-old girl, and he doesn't speak in exclamation points, and that he is not, in fact, my "friend," no matter what Facebook might suggest to the contrary.

Don't care.

I find myself engaging in extended conversations with people who call the office from outta town and then happen to ask my opinion of basketball because we'll be in the news for some reason and because I live here, they assume I must know everything about it. Then I start to think I know everything about it, and I'll find myself blurting out something defensive like, "Well you know Mike, he was never IMPLICATED in any of that, and I think you'll have to agree that the NCAA concluded....!"

(WHAT? "The NCAA concluded...?" Seriously? Just add that to the list of three words you never thought you'd hear from me.)

I Licked It. And I Liked it. Really.

Uh-Oh.

I'm reading Professor Kakie's Facebook tonight and I see she's posted a link to this New York Times article:

FTC to rule Blogs Must Disclose Gifts or Pay for Reviews


http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/06/business/media/06adco.html?_r=1&ref=business

Since I suck as a blogger, that link probably won't work, so here's the gist of what the New York Times said:

"For bloggers who review products, this means that the days of an unimpeded flow of giveaways may be over. More broadly, the move suggests that the government is intent on bringing to bear on the Internet the same sorts of regulations that have governed other forms of media, like television or print."

To which I say: WHAT? Bloggers get an unimpeded flow of giveaways?!

And parenthetically: where do I sign up?

Now, I work in the newspaper biz, so I am very aware of the practice of "pay to play," and I have never, ever engaged in it. There are plenty media folks in this town who will happily pucker up whenever an advertiser says "we'll pay you X if you say Y." Lots of people ASK for that kinda consideration, but no one's ever successfully gotten it. Not from me. Not from anybody I've worked with, or for. Even the delightful studio advertisers are painfully aware that if a movie sucks (for example), I'll be the first to say so. Out loud. In print. Online. On Facebook. On Twitter. Anywhere I get the chance really. Even if I got a free pass, or hosted the Sneak Preview. I often get free tickets to fancy parties, and I'm sure the hosts know I'll probably write about it... but they definitely never know what I'm gonna write (and it's not unusual for me not to get invited back).

If I like something, on the other hand -- for example, Bacon, Ambien, and Sam Shepard -- I'll say that too. Ambien certainly SHOULD put me on their payroll, but no, I pay for it just like all the other mortals do.

As a blogger, however -- clearly a naive and inexperienced one -- no one's ever even suggested any "promotional consideration." Hmmmph. I'm feeling kinda offended actually. Because I would totally be the Kathy Griffin of Lexington's D-List given half a chance. (I still remember her getting that sofa paid for on Season One of the D-List.)

Now that I'm learning how all this stuff works though, let me make it clear: I bought the Box of Bandit Wine that I served on Friday. The obvious delight and glee on Jupiter's face is clearly unforced. The subsequent endorsement from our favorite stereotype-busting corporate lawyer who I enlisted/forced to bartend was equally genuine and unsolicited: "Maybe I was just thirsty, but..." (I am pretty sure he said it was OK to quote him on that... And if it isn't, I am pretty sure he will sue me or enjoin me or something). The Wine Boxers are now following me on Twitter, which is funny, because I order maybe two drinks a year (and I rarely finish those).

As for my college buddy who saw me at the Food Show the next day -- she DID give me that fabulous pillar of salt in which we can now serve margaritas. I think she gave it to me because 1. She knew perfectly well I would be a poster girl for the "Lick it. Love it. Live it" campaign. And, 2. She went to college with me for heaven's sake, and as a classmate, she definitely has first-hand experience of my ability to get the word out (for both good, and for evil).

Because of course, here's the double-edged sword of giving me stuff, or telling me stuff, or even knowing me -- if something sucks, I'll say it sucks. And to anyone who then seems surprised, my response is always the same.

It's a variation on the famous tortoise/scorpion story where the scorpion asks the tortoise for a ride across the river and the tortoise says, Forget it, you'll sting me to death. The scorpion says he won't, because that'd be stupid, since they'd both drown. Halfway across, the scorpion stings the tortoise and as they're sinking, the tortoise asks why. And the scorpion says, "it's my nature."

The version I learned from my grandmother (subsequently embroaced by one of my favorite boyfriends from my 20s, for reasons that soon became obvious) was about a Woman who's walking through a blizzard and comes upon a snake who asks if he can take shelter inside her shirt, for warmth. She says of course not, because he'll bite her. He says No, no. They both need the warmth, and if she dies, he'll die too. So she puts him inside her blouse, where he promptly does bite her, and as they're both slowly succumbing to the cold, she asks why. His answer is, "You knew I was a snake when you picked me up."

So that's what I say to anyone chagrined by what I write: You knew I was a snake when you picked me up.

I shoulda known that boyfriend was a little too fond of that expression, and it is absolutely true that he already had a perfectly good girlfriend when I met him.

To mix the metaphors, he turned out to be a hard dog to keep on the porch...but I DID know he was a Snake when I picked him up.

Dick and Julie

"I think the dozen people who click onto your website while they take their coffee breaks will manage to carry on if they don't get to read about your sauteing thorny vegetables in butter for one more day."
--Julie and Julia

One of the things I got for my birthday was the book, Julie and Julia, which I just started. And I'm far enough in to have read the part where she confesses to not knowing who Richard Hell is.

I know who Richard Hell is. I've even talked to him on the phone, during which I took cheesy delight in addressing him as Mr. Hell. (I knew his real name of course -- he's FROM here -- And it isn't Richard. And it isn't Hell.) I thought it was pretty funny, and I'm pretty sure he thought I was a dork, but the surprising thing to me was, either way, he was a good sport about it.

And either way, the book has made me think that there are probably A. people who know who Richard Hell is, B. people who don't, and then subsets of people who would admit to that, and then people who would not.

I figure I'm admitting to reading Julie and Julia, which is far more embarrassing than any of the above. But I wanted it, cause I love food and I love writing about food, and it's entertaining, even if it isn't well written. By and large, it reinforces the fact that there are often BIG differences between bloggers and writers -- some people are both (Dana Jennings is one of my favorites off the top of my head), but a lot of times they're the exceptions who prove the rule. This girl Julie, who wrote the book, doesn't pretend to be a writer -- she's actually an Actress -- employed as a Secretary.

(At my first job, I was a writer, employed as a "marketing assistant," which is the euphemism my Engineer Boss was kind enough to call me, because he felt bad about calling anyone with a master's degree his secretary. It was the 80s. I think he felt extra bad because his daughters both had liberal arts degrees like mine and I'm sure he was hoping someone would take pity on them someday and give THEM a job. All I know is, he worked harder than any other boss I've ever had. He was the BEST boss I have ever had. He is the Boss by whom I went on to measure every other Boss. And I was very, very glad to make his coffee. My time in carpetland with him was time well spent. At my next job, I had a real, old-school secretary, who knew actual shorthand and actually preferred to be called a Secretary and not an Assistant. I put in four years at that stop in carpetland and it was much, much harder. But I also made a lot more money.)

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I was just thinking, on my last birthday, I didn't even know HOW to blog (I did sorta know how to MICRO-blog, which is what I was still calling Twitter at the time, and that's because I was doing it wrong).

I still think Writers and Bloggers have very different jobs, and I'm still sorting out the two. And by "writer" I don't mean "novelist" -- which is the kinda thing any Writer will be asked about sooner or later if they go into writing as a profession. (No, I don't write Fiction. At least not on purpose. I don't think it's any more or less legitimate, or interesting, or serious than non-fiction -- just different.)

I'm also not a Journalist -- they have schools for that, and I didn't go to one -- I'm just a writer who sometimes writes about the news.

I love to cook -- but it doesn't make me a chef. They have schools for that too. Again, I didn't go to one. Chef Baby Brother did. That's why we call him Chef Baby Brother.

The blogging thing? Eh. I'm still figuring it out as I go.

Dyn-O-Mite?

Here is a sample of one of those Facebook Ads I get everyday. Seriously? A guy in a HAT?!

My facebook status merely reports that I am single, and interested in men (as opposed to women). From that, I get this cheeseball?

In the Pank

So how is the pink laptop experiment (of being allowed to have a computer at home again: admittedly, a small one). Well, first, I seem to have maybe torn a rotator cuff. But I got a few repetitive motion injuries with the first blackberry, so it's probably just the 24-hour Torn Rotator Cuff that's going around.

First, I caught up on some of the YouTube I've been missing --- and promptly sent out the video to Looking Glass's fine rendition of "Brandy" to 1342 of my closest friends. And then I sent them the Red Hot Chili Peppers' version of it.

And then I found some porn.

And then I noticed that I can now see all the Facebook ads that weren't coming to the BlackBerry. They're obviously very targeted based on whatever's in your profile, and it makes me think Facebook has some odd ideas about the purchasing power of single women in their 40s. The one ad that is there every single time I log on is: "Meet Black Men" which promises "you can meet thousands of black singles in your area today at blackpeoplemeet."

The second most frequent ad is for "Warm Delights," which is kind of uncanny. I rarely buy processed food, but I have a pantry full of these (in case of emergency). I'm not even really that into chocolate -- but this is one of those rare guilty pleasures that actually looks and tastes EXACTLY like it does in the commercials, and really DOES take about a minute to make. (They now make "minis" to which I say... "amateurs.")

The next ad I get every time I log on is "Obama says get a degree" and that now would be a good time to finish my education. Uh, don't think either my bachelor's or master's alma maters has lost accredititation lately unless Facebook knows something I don't (which wouldn't surprise me).

I ran these Facebook suppositions by a few friends who also happened to be online, and they were being targeted as well. As a thirty-something mama, Facebook apparently thinks friend Bluebelle would like to go on a diet. And scrapbook.

Tasha is 20-something and they want her to improve her credit score and Meet Christian Singles. And go to Japan. Because she gets ads for Air Nippon. (Apparently, Facebook has become self-aware and knows I don't fly. And that I didn't even know what Air Nippon was.)

Facebook likes travel though, and wants pal Jupiter to go on a gay cruise.

Sandy is the same age I am -- married with dogs, but no kids -- she reports, her ads are for "homeless pets. Oh, and Red Sox & Patriots baby clothes. Apparently not clever enough for pet clothes with team logos."

When Dan asked what we WOULD like to see ads for on Facebook (assuming we had to see them), we reached astonishingly quick consensus on "bacon, booze, and Ambien." Three things we all love. Bluebelle added in Alan Rickman movies. I added in Sam Shepard. Not Sam Shepard movies necessarily, just Sam Shepard. "Add to cart. Proceed to checkout."

I'm just mad I wasn't the one who patented bacon vodka. Please. I was writing about Hop Sing bringing me bacon-tinis in the 90s.

I would also like to see an ad that markets the fact that these pink laptops get so hot I suspect they cause sterility. (Plus!)

I then asked everyone what degree of anonymity they preferred -- should this possibly, at some point, end up in print (spirit of full disclosure); I'd hate to inadvertently out someone's gay cruise (!) -- and surprisingly, everyone was fine.

They're all very comfortable with the world knowing what they think about booze and Ambien and Bacon. It wasn't like that when I first started writing for a living over 20 years ago. In ink. With only a legal pad and an abacus. Like an animal. Now everyone blogs and twitters and facebooks.

(I haven't even gotten around to writing about finding my book -- and by my book, I mean the one I wrote, as opposed to one I simply pre-owned -- on the shelf at Half Price Books on Thursday. It was never, ever sold in bookstores; they ASKED for it, which I understand is nice, and flattering, and possibly good business -- but I really only wanted it to go to people I KNEW. So the "half-price" didn't bother me, it was finding it in a STORE that creeped me out.)

So I'm still a dinosaur adjusting to the different world we live in now.

At the end of this discussion, Jupiter added, "feel free to use my name, but if I get to order someone, I wanna order Matt Damon and I don't care if I have to fly to Japan."

I'm still ordering Sam Shepard. And I'd maybe go as far as, oh, Versailles.

But for now, I just have to go join a credit union and find love, if
Facebook has its way.

The new Facebook's here; the new Facebook's here!

I saw the new Facebook for the first time yesterday, and as someone who resists change with every fiber of my being....I gotta say, I kinda like it.

It's heavy on the status updates (which I like), and with one click ("ignore all"), it gets rid of all those Mob/Green/Starbucks/Seahorse/FlowerPatch/Flair requests (which I never liked or understood).

Access to my groups and fan pages is cumbersome, but I'll probably figure it out. (And there are too MANY groups and fan pages on there as it is. I don't want to be the 1,432,245 person to join anything. Stop asking me. Please. And if the cause you ask me to join directly violates the separation of church and state, consider yourself "de-friended.")

Now that Oprah's there, and Mark Zuckerberg apparently built his page himself with his own bare hands, I can't help but like it a LITTLE less.

But I'm really enjoying watching @MarthaStewart get the hang of Twitter. Somebody must've finally told her she had to stop yammering on about those damn @Flor tiles (no matter HOW much they paid her).

FB vs Twitter

I haven't seen the new Facebook layout yet. It doesn't show up on the BlackBerry so I'll probably wait and see it Monday on the big screen.

If it's as bad as they say, it may cement my incipient suspicion that I'm more of a Twitter gal than a Facebook gal.

Don't get me wrong - I'm as addicted as the next person - but I noticed a long time ago, I don't use FB the way most of my friends do.

As my buddy Ian and I discussed over the Christmas Eve dinner table - we don't play Scrabulous; we don't send each other electronic cups of coffee; we don't tend your virtual garden; and if you send us a seahorse to put back in the ocean, it'll just die. Ian and I don't have any pieces of Flair. Whenever I get a L'il Green Patch request, my response is that I gave at the Office. And I really did. (Even if I did get flamed on Facebook the other night for blowing the tops off mountains because I subsidized KU by turning on the air conditioning. I remain certain that I do more than average to keep the tops of mountains intact.) My new old friends @AliThinks and @AllanThinks suggested by Facebook standards, it meant I'd "arrived." I felt a little better, but in truth, it always hurts my feelings a little when someone hates me. For days, I found myself defensively explaining to everyone I could get stopped just how eco-friendly I am.

But blood feuds and enemy-making aside, I really just use Facebook to look in on my friends -- see what they're doing, and let them know what I'm up to.

That is, in essence, Twitter. Without all the flair. Without the Scrabulous. Without the Big Blue Waves that I don't know how to catch, much less pass on.I wish there was a little bit more of the FB style profiling info on Twitter -- but name, politics, religion, and marital status all become fairly quickly apparent anyway.

It isn't, as Brian Williams suggested to Jon Stewart, about always having an interesting answer to the question "what are you doing right now?" As with real-life civilized discourse, it's perfectly permissible to sit quietly and shut up.

While I was very late to the facebook party (and was dragged there kicking and screaming by my pals Elle and Kimmy- and I love them for it), I was actually a fairly early adopter of Twitter. By Local standards. (I was on there way after my friends @AustinChronicle, for example, but way before the local Daily Paper).

I kept reading about it in the Wall Street Journal (@WSJ) and thought "this is just crazy enough to work."

Granted, I was slow to catch on.I thought it was more like a Radio you broadcast on, when it's actually more like a CB where you have conversations (to go back to my 70s roots where I was perfectly happy with my 8 track tapes thank you).

Luckily, my official TwitterTutor, @AliThinks -- who knew me on Facebook -- took me aside and showed me the ropes.

She taught me how to follow BACK, and now I can filter my news exactly the A.D.H.D. way I like it. Most of the time @WSJ feeds right on top of @nprPolitics interrupted by bursts of sanity from @Bittman and @MMFA.

She also taught me how to make new friends -- like @MissKristina who's sending me a Ryan Adams bootleg that I wouldn't even know existed if it were not for Twitter.

Not that giving me stuff is the only way to make friends -- but I highly recommend it.

(@ChefDaveO would STILL be one of my favorite people even if he hadn't shared his stash of Baby Bok Choy.)

And that's really what I love about Twitter -- it's a way to gather all my favorite people in the world together in one place and hear what's on their minds.

I'm sure there's a danger -- as with all things online, it could be isolating rather than uniting: everybody sits in their respective houses while maintaining the illusion of communication and connectivity -- but I find it's opening my world up.

I was a FAN of my friend @BiancaLynne for a long time before I even met her, for example -- but Facebook was where we eventually got together and made a plan to have coffee.

The same was true of my BFF -- who now schools me in all things NewMedia and patiently tolerates my baby steps. I was a fan for years (decades in fact) before we ever had a real-life lunch. Facebook is what facilitated that.

My preferences for Twitter over FB will likely end up being moot -- everyday I get a new Tweet that half the people I know are getting kicked off FB.

But for now, you can find me on twitter http://twitter.com/RealityTrucks
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Leave a Msg. Or a txt. Or a tweet. Or an FB. Or a Skype.

Early Adopters

It would be safe to say, I'm not an early adopter.

I admit this, because there are witnesses... witnesses who will be more than happy to confirm that I am the person who said, "this email thing will never catch on," and whined loudly from my 1980's Edit Desk when the writers stopped bringing me disks I could read.

So 2008 was a big year for me.

In February, I ditched my seven-year-old Nokia for a BlackBerry, under protest, and only because I'd finally worn the number eight off that phone.

By summer, my friends Elle and Kimmy dragged me kicking and screaming onto Facebook and MySpace.

A little after that, my banker sent me so many WSJ articles about Twitter that I felt compelled to sign on for fear he might stop cashing my checks.

And by Thanksgiving, my friend Tex had talked me into manning not one, but two blogs. (When I say "talked me into it," I mean: we sat down with some beignets and he mashed a lot of buttons on his laptop, and suddenly, I was a blogger. A blogger lightly dusted from head to toe in powdered sugar.)

When I told him I didn't adapt easily to new technology, he said I reminded him of what his Little League baseball coaches had said once of him -- that it's like watching me run the bases with a piano strapped to my back.

Sounds about right.

Sometime in 2009, I will have an entirely new website at work. By way of direction, I only told the guys renovating it that it must be idiot-proof -- that they should be picturing Lenny in Of Mice and Men when they're thinking of the person who'll be updating it at 3 a.m.

Sometime in January, I'll have a new laptop.

These are not baby-steps, for me.

My friend Ian doesn't even have a cell phone, and over Christmas Eve dinner, he had the same facebook complaints I did -- i.e., we don't know HOW to put your seahorse back in the ocean, or clean your garden, or catch the Duke Sucks wave. Pleeeease stop asking us.

But 2009 will be different.

I have told Wes at TAO and Dave at Elevation that I'd like for them to team up and build me an iCar this year, and then install a thought portal into my head so that I can just communicate directly, without the bother of a keyboard (otherwise, Dr. Nick is going to have to treat me for carpal tunnel).

I'll show YOU an early adopter.