Oh Facebook, I love thee....

Facebook is like the Ben & Jerry’s you hide in the fridge. You’ve been good all day long; you pretend to ignore the temptation, the deep desire to log on, to check in – to post a silly inside joke on someone’s wall….

Facebook is a giant, sticky spider web, slowly expanding across demographics, spreading to all corners of the earth, and bleeding into every crevice of our brains.

Yep. That is what I said, BLEED… The ultimate question: How does one efficiently and effectively navigate around the applications, the personality tests, the “news feeds”, pictures albums, and worst of all, the dreaded, forbidden and addictive “wall posts”.

Is there such a thing, as Facebook protocol? I can't remember if you can even poke people anymore? What is a "poke" anyway?

Facebook unearthed something wildly inherent in the homo sapiens- there is something fantastic about celebrity-izing ourselves… to the point at which, we leave messages for each other- with the intent on everyone else, seeing them. It’s credence to a measurable level, its pompous, favor trading, and down right delicious.

Sure, stay connected with friends – a message here or there, years can move by, and you remain close – throw out the Christmas cards, who needs 'em.

But a single question beckons to be answered: WHAT ABOUT THE PEOPLE WITH WHOM YOU DON”T WANT TO STILL BE FRIENDS?

I’m referring to exes. Earlier today, a friend mentioned that his former girlfriend (who didn’t take the breakup with any type of sanity) began spreading virulent rumors. He “unfriended” her, as by any standard, she did not deserve his friendship, even if it was defined solely by an Internet algorithm. However, she friended him again. He is polite and considerate, so under the premise of "friends" he accepted. Yes with hesitation, and utter annoyance. But more than the irritation of being "friends" again with her, he was baffled, isn’t there a facebook, ex-etiquette involved?

You want to rid of exes, entirely. You want to forget they existed, waltzed into your life and stormed out, but thanks to Uncle Zuckerman, we’re forever tied to the people who piss us off. Unless we continue to unfriend the unfortunate souls, there isn’t a whole lot we can do…. People can no longer wander off into the distance, their shadows eventually fading away, and your only chance of seeing them is random and happenstance, twenty years down the road, when you could care less. Nope, now you can google/skype/gmail/facebook/twitter the hell out of your ex-significant other. You can pinpoint (thanks to google maps) exactly what restaurant they’re eating at, how often, what kind of car they drive, and the kicker: with whom it is they’re sipping that cocktail.

WE DON’T WANT TO KNOW… but sometimes we can’t help it… It’s like ol’ Ben & Jerry… you want to throw out the fudge brownie flavor, but you haven’t even opened it yet. It is safe knowing, in case there was a famine – the brothers would be there to save you with their delectable dairy… You always know updates on your ex, are just a click away…. So when the past is so convenient, how can one comfortably move forward?

So my conclusion is this: Thanks to the Internet you can no longer properly and appropriately remove previous loves from your life, they’re forever tangled in your web of networks….

Solution: don’t forget that a “facebook friend” will always outlive a first date, no matter how bad....

The Night Ron Jeremy Made A Fool of Me

Canonizing Reality

There are two ways of telling a story, skimming the surface and pausing at the chapter headings for a witticism or insightful quote. Then there is digging deep into the trenches of our stubborn history tugging at the debris of leftover memories. And only once that happens, you can thoughtfully move forward.

However, sometimes the most pivotal part of a story is the part we try to forget.

It’s the part where the “protagonist” fails. But it is a crucial element in any storyline. It isn’t fair for a reader to see solely the strength in a protagonist, rather than be witness to vulnerabilities too. It is impossible in nonfiction to pretend that every chapter ended perfectly.

Nonfictions are supposed to be about suffering as a human, and coming out at the end accepting that is what we are. As a writer, I prefer not to talk about the parts in my life I’m not proud of, but that’s only human of me right?

We each have two sides. What we keep inside, and the outside. The thoughts we think and the things we actually say and while the two are related, they’re never exactly the same.

But no real memoir has a perfect ending, because a memory is only a thread, a single account. A memoir is a life dissected by pages and paragraphs, alarm clocks and holidays. Its purpose; somehow analyze and make sense of an existence, one that is temporal and fleeting.

There are certain characters in my narratives who are now, just ghosts to me. There are certain people who slip in, unassuming and unarmed for a minute or two. They must make an appearance for the entire story to make sense, but if they stayed any longer, there couldn’t be an ending.

Sometimes fate will throw you a bone, Lord know I was handed enough luck to keep people entertained for hours, but as a writer, it isn’t difficult to manipulate fate a little bit too.

In what phenomenal and inspirational nonfiction is there not an element of transformation on the protagonist’s part?

Transformation, whether voluntary or not, isn’t simple, it’s barely describable, pulls you out of reality so instead of colors and voices the world is garbled together like static.


Several Autumns Ago….

My white corduroy jacket with princess sleeves is being harassed by an unidentifiable rank odor. Why do some cabs seem infected with vermin and lice and the residue of people who have just hooked up? I’m not going to lie, I don’t shower every day, but I also don’t usually share this information. The driver of this cab almost certainly smells, he probably retreats home everyday so sickened by the stench of his cab… which must permeate his clothing, having a necessary quick rinse to even kiss a wife hello. I wonder if people who work in the porn industry shower everyday. I hope they do, it would be absolutely grotesque if they didn’t, however it might not be as vulgar because they’re sharing so many bodily fluids, so maybe it’s more the merrier in regards to the germs.

My mind cannot dislodge the visual image of Ron Jeremy in a man thong. Harsh I know, but with hundreds of filmed titled "Blank Blank Blank Blank" my feelings toward him are a big skewed, even if he claims that he is empowering women. I’m surprised he still has a rattail, I’m sure it dates him. The porn king/guru- C Hollywood star, porn director/producer is also scholarly. He actually has a Masters in special education- of all concentrations. Please forgive my inappropriate assumption, but did he earn this degree to facilitate communication with his colleagues? I’m curious if a graduate degree in special education was the only route to understand such “touchy” issues? Don’t get me wrong, it’s commendable to dedicate your life to helping those who have extraordinary needs, but should an inability to climax four times in two minutes (biggest problem in porn industry) be categorized as a special need?

Last night a debate was held on Huntington Street in South Boston between the Porn Guru/God himself Ron Jeremy, and an ultra conservative Priest. They argued the ethics of the porn industry, its influence on pop culture, children, and crime and most importantly, us college students.

Peering out from the third row in the large auditorium cascading with college student’s popped collars, seven jeans, nose rings, and Uggs. Dead silence was followed by the brisk; formal taps of expensive shoes on wooden stage floor. The shoes belonged to a very metro non-denominational priest. He sported shaggy, sandy blond hair, a veneer- engineered smile and twinkle blue eyes. Come now. Come on, I just thought he might look more like priest. Especially considering, hairy ape man, whose 30-year-old rattail had yet to be cut off. Ron Jeremy could not look any more like the stereotypical porno dude. I don’t even know the proper title for people in that industry, actors, models, and the imaginary titles need to stop.

Ron trained his eyes to look up and down every body, if not for his own pleasure, but the pleasure of making the body observed uncomfortable. The awkwardness between Ron and the priest (whose name we never learned) was disquieting. Even before the debate began, ooohhhh, ahhhh, booos and the unsettling, romping cheers for Ron filled the auditorium. It was frightening knowing that each male cheering a little too inappropriately had seen his member, and fully erect. Ron was the greasiest version of the grossest person you can conceivably imagine. And the funny thing is, he is the only person who can accurately represent the porno prodigy is himself, Ron Jeremy. In addition to his 1,800-porno flicks he also made, “making the movie of Ron Jeremy”. As Jeremy’s rebuttal began my friend leaned to me with a whisper similar to a whisper intended for telling 40 kindergarten children it was nap time, “You know his blank is blank inches long, it has some sort of record or something.” My mind went black, and thank God no visual picture accompanied that factoid….

The eruptions of perverted guys all around us put my feminist bitch attitude in four-wheel drive, which started revving when Ron refuted the Priest with, “Pornography is empowering for women….”. I had unconsciously stood up, thrown my jacked on my friend (for safe-keeping) and publicly throated a “WHAT” and began to descend down the stairs to get to have a word with the legend himself….

In transit, shaking starts under my feet, I grab the hand0rail, vibrations are everywhere, my mind retraces this feeling, and I remember lying awake in Costa Rica feeling an earthquake. Suddenly the sound of stampeding has stopped, which has been replaced by deafening laughter and screaming, STREAKER…

The rest tomorrow…

"IN TREES WE TRUST"

China owns 24% of America's liabilities.

China has a billion more people than America.

Do the math, it ain't pretty.

Just finished an article in TIME. And while the writer characterizes FDR with astounding applause, he fails to mention the horrific acceptance of the deficit, which yes dates back to 1700, but grew significantly with the inception of " The New Deal."

Pondering the deficit, while from a financial standpoint (and those who know how to balance a checkbook, or god forbid understand a balance sheet), its implications are frightening, yet even to us aren’t close to debilitating… as far as “Joe” knows the government is visibly handing out “invisible” money, and who cares where it’s coming from? Or did Obama lose all sense of “where”… just because paper comes from trees, doesn’t mean the trees will back our spending. I think Obama is trying to make "inflation" popular... inflation, a cousin to the word "infection"....

In a society where “citizens” cannot take responsibility for their own actions, spending dollars they don’t have (and aren’t projected to make), on credit they cannot fairly be accounted for? Our only options are threatening to post a link to bank statements on people’s facebook profiles? Along with “photos, hobbies, quotes are also a lovely links to credit scores." And if that somehow goes against our “private rights”, then we might be abandoned with our favorite/most-disturbing theorist... (see below). And, while the “war of terror” didn’t frighten the most retarded of liberal pundits, I hate to say it, but a war against our kids and their piggybanks should scare the hell out of all of us...

*** The personal “Auna” solution would be highlight the “fun” in investments… this is where my great belief that while mutual funds are titillating (kidding)... Seriously, our banks should have VC booths set up ... Some of our money could be allocated to investing in other people? Sort of like Wall Street minus SEC on a smaller scale?

Why does that sound familiar? I’m thinking Sweden?

An excerpt taken from the FDR TIMES article (our of context it might not make sense), but Obama needs to answer how we’ll stimulate the economy while being the consumer-hungry economy we are…

“Next came tax. Instead of reversing Hoover’s tax-hike error, Roosevelt compounded it by raising taxes again and again. His treasury also cobbled together new businesses taxes. The same caution that had led banks to accumulate reserves during the worst of the downturn had moved corporations to put aside extra cash instead of using it to expand. Roosevelt, angered that firms were not spending to stimulate the economy, retaliated with an undistributed-profits tax on top of ordinary corporate taxes. Taken aback, observers accused him of ‘breaking the nest egg’.”


Revisiting our dear friend (and foe) ethos, I’m curious how to sculpt an argument, which will address not only what the deficit will do to our children, but somehow quantify through tangible scenarios. Is that even possible? Not what the deficit going to do to our kids, or grandchildren… and not from their checkbooks, or student loans, but how exactly that affects us through examples that can be easily understood, not by numbers, but the honest repercussions of losing our country to ourselves.

Here is how I envision a metaphor… A tennis match. We’re at the US Open and we’re the predicted champions, year after year we take home the gold. But instead of practicing our serve, it is far more exhilarating to find practice partners (Mexico/Canada). Killing opponents with our overheads, backhands, and volleys, (Iraq), but through whatever means we can justify (tanks, bombs, first-aid to Africa), we refuse to practice our serve (self-awareness/responsibility). And at the end, we lose the match.

Too many defaults later- we’ve run out of second chances, and we’ve run out of ways to win.

While we aren’t afraid to dip into international political, ideological, and ethical stratosphere, we’ll let them (China) eventually own our debt? Until our country files a Chapter 11. The country needs to go on a freaking diet. Rid of our adipose tissue, addiction to trash television (hell, let’s forgo porn), and habitual trips to the shopping mall.

A scenario even the shrewdest of journalists are too afraid to take seriously.

So little me is thinking… a campaign argued through numbers would be so difficult to capture attention (yes, even in Vegas (where my friend is running for Congress)), and so maybe a way to get people to pay attention to date, is illustrate the unfathomable scenarios, which leads me back to Machiavelli and the Prince. Is fear more powerful? Obama is frustrating, while inspiration is beautiful and tastes yummy, and offers the laziest of Americans warm and fuzzy feelings, pushing aside duty and responsibility, for the future to do lists… Let’s face it – and I can vouch as business development – it is wayyyy more fun to start stuff, than clean up messes.

So all this BS leads us to believe in a greater tomorrow, but sure isn’t helping us achieve that “great tomorrow,” today. Besides isn’t that Oprah’s job? Entertainers and priests, etc. Sure let’s do a check-up every once in awhile on our president, but it isn’t policy-makers beaming smiles that are going to reinvigorate the work ethic of the American spiraling into debt and despair via videogames and McDonalds.

Nope, monopoly money won’t be a national currency this time.

So there you go: Paint a pretty (sad/scary) picture of a future full of debt – and this time there isn’t an American government to bail anyone out. Sure, Japan can bail us out, or hell let’s give India a shot (they've been picking up the phone long enough), but at the end of the day would we rather save a little more, spend a little less or turn to the rest of the world for help, when for so many years we've boasted our capitalistic economy?” It isn’t so black and white. But everything eventually is black and white – when you’ve hit rock bottom. There is only one option. Seeking help, and unless the rock we’ve landed on is solid diamond, we’re screwed.


Obama isn't A Bad Guy:

Enough of my Obama bashing, I do have some respect for the guy- it appears that he has a healthy marriage. What is it with charismatic democrats (or politicians in general) cheating on their wives? Lately the media has uncovered affair after affair, governor after senator caught red-handed, in some intern/secretary/aid’s panties. Seriously, half of why I’d vote Romney is his odds cheating are nearly zip. FDR lost my respect purely for his outlandish affairs.

The only way to come out on top - isn't to cheat the system...

energy

So back to energy: What if something is neutral? Neutral is far more painful than negative. Recently I let something go – it was close to me, daily, it became habit, thus easy, which I interpreted as comfortable, but I was wrong. Comfortable equates to safe - and what was really happening to me, is I was settling, which can be the most dangerous act of all. It was the expected… and with unchanged actions, I assumed positive energy, but the truth… with stagnation eventually arrives maggots, and so neutral shouldn’t be ignored, it should be discarded, and quickly.

Placidity while easy, isn’t… it can become stubborn and dull, no longer providing us with adequate and supple support, invigorating us, challenging us to pursue, pause and catch our breath, barely giving us reason to keep breathing. Energy is contagious...

Neutral is almost worse than negative, neutral is void of energy. With negative you’re aware it’s bad, there is a void in positive, there is something oppositional to reach out to – but it is hard to let neutral go, when you don’t know how to reach out to something better, especially when you don’t have a clue what that is... because your choices requires your energy....

It is so easy to run from terrible, negative energy is a poison we all recognize, but it is difficult to justify leaving something that isn’t so bad, rather, not good…. But sometimes that risk has to be logical enough …

Walking away doesn't mean you're exerting energy searching for something or someone better, all is means is now you’re open to finding it.


"The one who loves the least, controls the relationship."
-Robert Anthony

"He who falls in love with himself will have no rivals."
-Benjamin Franklin

Truisms. Either a waste of time, or can save you years of unhappiness, if you’re capable of untangling meanings, apply to your life, and then proactively alter your character to rid whatever about you is wrong. Now, Go!

- So, Love more and/or control less. Aka: aspire to be a doormat…
- So, Learn how to embrace your flaws. Aka: Cellulite is sexy… take up narcissism as a hobby.

NO. Each is saying that love; this pure magnetic energy is powerful and protective. Ben was a sharp guy, and he didn’t mean love will prevent you from enemies, but it sure as hell will keep you safe from feeling competitive.

Let's venture to my favorite, Anthony the MD venerable hypnosis says that he who loves the most, controls the least, right? Wrong. He is saying that the one in the relationship with the most love (selflessness) won’t have a dire strain to control, because love will take care accordingly, or so we’d like to trust… And yes, I’m a control freak – maybe I need to do a little more lovin’, eh?

Both above generally require therapy, gym membership, occasionally plastic surgery, and/or a healthy relationship. None come cheap monetarily, but more crucial, all require energy.

Ask for surprise and baby, it will hunt you down….

Until it is exhaling fate in your face, it’s a surreal experience, and one stemming easily from energy.

Serendipity will smack you across your face when you have doubt, seeking answers, and when you’re about to abandon hope. It’s that little message saying, “hold on” the answer is almost, not quite, but soon approaching you… You’ve heard all the stories. You can trace the climatic part of your life back to a conscious choice, a song on the radio, a phone call, the person you met on an airplane, or ran into at the grocery store...

Fate isn’t random, it’s a simple negotiation – you’ve put a want out into the world and serendipity is signing off on it– with a little injection in the middle of your day. Nobody would know it were coincidence except for you – so somewhere in your subconscious you were asking for it.

I have this crazy belief that people cross your path for a reason -and sometimes the reason won't make sense for a long time after.

It was late October on a Tuesday afternoon, dark outside, it was after an accounting class and blizzarding. I was crutching through the snow as pathetic as you can imagine a girl with a broken hip could be. And I had called a yellow cab because a girl with a broken hip can't drive. And hobbling through the slush (this is truly a pitiful sight) the cab rolls away from the back of the parking lot, leaving me freezing and stuck at school.

Lugging my backpack inside the building, I huddle on a bench trying to get hold of the cab company. A lovely woman, a professor sees this desperate sight and offers to drive me home. Knowing she had an office next to my adviser, and having said hello before, I accepted. We got to chatting during the drive and I admitted while I loved numbers, words sorta turned me on as well. She suggested I meet her friend (an editor at a magazine- unnamed) for a cup of coffee. I was offered a job on the spot, and through word of mouth I found out about the magazine I'm currently at... landed that gig, and voila here is now. And I can't imagine being any happier...

I sometimes wonder where I'd be, instead of this chair,
writing this email, had that cab waited just one minute longer.