Facehoor

I already cancelled my Facebook account over the titty thing, (because I am all about the boobies) then I reinstated it with a "Facebook Sucks" button, just to see if I could earn me another Golden Shit Stirrer Award, but it didn't work. Facebook wasn't paying attention to my little Agent Provocateur act.

Now there's this.

If I understand this right, Facebook wants its users to recommend products, and they will send those recommendations to all of the user's contacts...um because why?

Am I going to get PAID to recommend things? And even if I am, do my contacts have a way to opt our of my noxious ad-spewing blast?

Look, I recommend things all the time. I back my truck up and dump my shit into the Internet's tubes and people seem to like it.

Sometimes on my own blog, other times of Epinions,Chowhound or other sites.

So what's the difference, then?

On my site, Epinions and Chowhound, I don't go banging on anyone's virtual door to advertise to them. They stop by for a reason, to see if they want to wreck their spines with a crappy Dirt Devil vacuum or not.

"But you have ads on your site. What's the difference NOW, Ethical Girl?"

I hope people who read my site know that my ads come from a feed, and while I can choose not to carry particular content (I don't do tobacco ads, for instance), I have no choice over what advertisers appear in my sidebar and I don't endorse or unendorse (is that a word?) any of them.

I'm already not so big on Facebook. It is a minor part of my online life because my blog is where I live on the internet. But if every time I go there, I get a pile of ads from contacts I may or may not know well, recommending everything from hair product to hemmoroid cream, well, I'll go play somewhere else. Again.

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Goldie loves squeaky toys, and the ones she loves most of all are these little soft hedgehogs. She has about 8 between my parents house and my house.

Because the old ones were so torn and drool-covered, I bought 2 more this weekend. I am amazed at the amount of joy she gets out of them, considering the fact that she has so many in reserve. She is so proud of her new toys. She really knows the difference.

Of course, my mom always says her granddog is a genius.

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Three more seconds in my 15 minutes of fame over at Queen of Spain's BlogHer video cooking thingie. More fun than the FoodTV network.
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She who pays the piper

My gym, LA Fitness, is extremely lame.

As a result, we haven't had music in my water aerobics class for 3 weeks, despite whining, complaining, cajoling and getting pissed off.

The plug out by the pool blew and apparently there is no modern invention that can take the place of AC power for a boom box. Crazy!

Doing aerobics for an hour with no music makes it seem like 3 hours, especially when the quiet, timid Israeli teacher is there on Saturdays. And I go to class 3x a week. Interminable.

After a fruitless call to the manager ("We're working on it," her voice mail said) I decided to act like a Muffett (my sister's old fake sorority - motto: "Don't fuck with a Muffett) and take matters into my own hands.

I loaded up my high-tech $50 boom box with C batteries and a CD and took it to class.

Thus, for the first time in 3 weeks, we had music. And I guaran-damn-tee you it was the first time that particular class ever got to, in our very vanilla suburb, dance along to "Say it Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud!"

doot doot.

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And a movie reco: "Talk to Me" with Don Cheadle. It is the story of Petey Greene, a legendary Washington DC DJ (back when that meant on the radio). The acting is great, the story is great, the costumes are fabulous, and the music is too cool. Suebob says 2 thumbs up.

I can't make this up (in 3rd person like an NBA star)

Scene recap: Suebob sits reading blogs and eating reheated frozen pizza (not bad, actually).

First, she reads
Kevin Charnas' post about people who RSVP and then don't show up:

So, I don't want to turn this into anything nasty. I don't want to tell you how approximately 40+/- people who actually made it a point to tell us that not only were they coming, but they were bringing people, DIDN'T show.

Not only did they not show up. They haven't called or emailed to apologize.

Suebob mentally agrees that these people are kind of jerky.

Then she reads Queen of Spain and thinks about what it would be like if the Queen and Kaiser moved away, and how much she likes all the local bloggers she has met and

HOLY CATS!! SHE SUDDENLY REALIZES SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE DRINKING WINE WITH VenturaMom at that very moment. At a soiree she had RSVPed for and was in great danger or not showing up to.

So that's what she did. And it was fun. Period. End of story.

Color my world

Conversation at the Pharmacy

Woman with her cart parked in front of the hair dye: Oh, excuse me, let me get out of your way.
Sue: That's okay. It always takes me a while to remember what color my hair is.

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(Pecan, by the way)
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Advantage of dragging your floor-length mirror outside to dye your hair in the back yard: You don't get dye all over the bathroom wall like usual.

Disadvantage of dragging your floor-length mirror outside to dye your hair in the back yard: You get to see your body in a swimsuit in a full-length mirror in the unforgiving light of a fall afternoon (and then I died).

A whole new world

Oh, boy, this is going to sound stupid. But that has never stopped me before! So I beat on, a boat against the current borne ceaselessly into my own dorkness.

Juliness of Fresh and Sassy (aka Sfrontato) wrote a comment on my last post that blew my mind.

I think it's wonderful that he was even comfortable enough to speak to you at all. Which tells me you are doing something very right.

It made me make the Scooby Doo noise (example below).


Reading that comment was akin to having the scales fall from my eyes. It was a real revelation.

I honestly just never, ever thought of the idea of being comfortable enough to speak to people or not. I mean, I know that there are autistic or mentally ill people who have a hard time communicating with others, but the idea of one adult being uncomfortable with approaching another just isn't in my genetic make up, and if it ever was, becoming a journalist drove it out completely.

A good 50 percent of the skill of being a journalist is the ability to walk up to anyone and start talking. But I pretty much do that anyway. My dad does it. My sisters do it. It just seems...normal...to me.

But this clears up a lot for me! Some people aren't comfortable talking to others! Wow! So when I start rambling to random strangers and they shoot me looks, it isn't necessarily that they are dicks or have rotten personalities. It is that they are UNCOMFORTABLE!

I swear I am not being sarcastic. This is a major breakthrough. I am just amazed. I feel like "Why didn't anyone tell me this before??"

Right thing at the right time

Goldie and I got the idea to go for a beach walk last night. She said it was depressing her to hang out at home with me and watch me write sad blog posts.

When we got out of the car, Goldie went into full tractor mode, dragging me forward (SO not like a Dog Whisperer show), because she knew what awaited.

The Bushes of Scurrying Rodents. There is this strip of landscaping that is full of little animals (I prefer not to think of them as rats). Goldie LOVES to hunt for squeaky little animals.

So as I wrangled the flexi-leash, trying to avoid tangles, she ran from bush to bush, jamming her head inside, seeking prey. I am sure we looked like maniacs, this leaping dog and this chunky woman jumping after her.

After 20 minutes or so, I called her off and her tongue was hanging to the ground. We headed for our usual second stop,this fountain where the water alternately squirts about 6 inches high, then gets higher, then goes away altogether.

The dog has it all figured out. When it is on low, she bites the water. When it is on high, she stands next to it and lets it splash her. And when it goes away, she flops down in the puddle, cooling off her tummy.

Most people ignore this. It is something that would make me laugh, but most passers-by act as if they don't even see it. But last night, there was a guy who LOVED Goldie's fountain show. He laughed and laughed and said "That's great."

"Thank you," he said. "I really needed that."

I felt so happy to be able part of cheering him up. I don't know why he needed it or what was going on, but his happiness made me happy, too. Sometimes - maybe always? - we are in the right place at the right time.

Still? Still.

Oh the Joys made me cry with her post about her grandmother's death and how angry it has made her. She was feeling bad about being angry at her grandma for leaving her so suddenly and horribly.

I haven't gotten angry at my sister for dying - no, not at her. Mad at the universe, yeah, of course - I mean, what a crap deal, taking away my best pal AND my sister and leaving me here in the soup for what, another 30 years?

I took that longevity test and it said I would live to 95. To which my response was: "Shit. I hope not."

I get through everything ok until it comes to Friday night.

During the week, there's work and all that other stuff that I feel like I HAVE to keep doing. On Saturday, I get busy right away with the gym and Farmer's Market and all the errands and activities of the weekend that take me right thru til Sunday night.

But Friday night seems to fall through the cracks. I am just tired enough and uninspired enough for the little wobbly fence I have built around my emotions to tumble down into a pile of sticks.

Most days I don't cry anymore. But I really, really miss my sis. I am so damn glad she doesn't have to live in a body where she was so trapped, and I know I will see her again. It just seems so far away, these dark Friday nights.

The Rules of NaBloPoMo

(My rules, anyway, inspired by the Fight Club rules. I don't know what Mrs. Kennedy's rules are).

1st RULE: You do not talk about NaBloPoMo.

2nd RULE: You DO NOT talk about NaBloPoMo. I'm serious. After Nov. 1st, quit writing about it and just do it.

3rd RULE: No whining. If you whine, I will delete you from my Bloglines and Blogroll and crush your bones in my teeth. This isn't brain surgery. It is a blog post a day for a month, fer goodnesssake.

4th RULE: It doesn't have to be brilliant. Write a stupid post already. Literally a stupid post. It wouldn't be the first time somebody ever wrote a crap blog post. If you need reassurance, just read my archives. Do not be afraid. There are no NaBloPoMo referees.

5th RULE: Only one post a day, that's all you need. See Rule #3.

6th RULE: No recycling old posts. No one likes a cheater.

7th RULE: If you miss a day, bow out gracefully. Or keep going and don't mention it.

8th RULE: This was your idea. So just do it already. It's spozed to be FUN! GO!