Relax! It's Not All About YOU (or Why Facebook Kind of Sucks)

So, here’s the thing.  I’ve got a lot on my mind.  I’m going to try and break it down as quickly and clearly as I can, but I may digress, so be forewarned.

The first point I guess I want to make is that Facebook is insidious, and Mark Zuckerberg is the devil.  Don’t pretend you haven’t thought this too. 

The second point I know I want to make is that IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT YOU.  Not always, anyway.

A little backstory.  The other day I posted a rather innocuous message on my Facebook – something a little deeper than “Gosh, I’m hungry!” and “Wow! Look at this funny LOLcats picture!” though not by much.  It was something like, “If you play with fire at work, don’t be surprised if you get burned.”  Well, holy cow, did that open up the floodgates.  My email notification didn’t stop pinging (or wheeeing – if you’ve been near me when this happened, you’ll know what that means) all day.  I got no less than eight messages asking who I was talking about – the senders’ surreptitious way of asking, “That’s about ME, isn’t it?  ISN’T IT?” 

The short answer is no.  It is probably not about YOU.

See, and this is the other thing:  I work five different jobs.  I work for three or four universities at any given time.  I work as a consultant for multiple clients (both academic and corporate), plus I have a pretty good network of friends and family who are bound to screw things up on an almost daily basis.  (And I mean REALLY screw things up.)

So, over the past week or so, I’ve gotten the following scuttlebutt:

1. Someone has gone beyond swiping Swingline staplers and “really good pens!”  at work to stealing thousands of dollars in actual cash-money. 
2. Someone has been put on probation for poor job performance.
3. Someone has stolen a work product – a serious work product – and wrecked it.  They are now in the slammer for this theft and destruction.
4. Someone has been outed for sleeping with students.  (By the way, the trouble with teenagers is that they’re teenagers.  They have mouths like torn pockets.)
5. Someone has been stealing and selling proprietary information to the competition.
6. Someone has been cutting a lot of classes – and it ain’t the students, either – and the hammer is going to fall soon.
7. Someone has been showing up to work drunk, almost daily.
8. Someone died unexpectedly.
9. Someone slept (and is probably still sleeping) their way to the top.
10. Someone is going to call the spouse of their current squeeze and spill the beans as a means to fast track that pending divorce.

  

These are just a few of the sordid tales that float around during any given week.  There are more, lots more.

So if you felt a surge of panic at reading that Facebook message, I’m sorry.   But honestly, it’s FACEBOOK.  Don't take it so seriously.

And finally, if you did get that little surge of panic when you read my post, maybe you shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing.  Spend more time thinking about that than thinking about Facebook.

Now, for some truly valuable content:

Dirty Yellow Rat B******!

Okay, so apparently I’ve been ratted out by a writerly friend’s blog.  Who knew that other people’s blogs kept track of the last time you blogged?  ::shakes fist at the Internet::

So I’m back.  I’m blogging.  And I’m better than ever.  (One of those things is untrue – I’ll leave it to you to figure out.)

Today at Writers Camp (more on that another time), after I’d been told that I had been “ratted out” I got to thinking about some of the best insults I’d ever heard.    The one that stuck with me is “Dirty yellow rat b******!”  Some Southie mobster was being interviewed about the arrest and plea deal of one of his esteemed colleagues and he called him that – right on TV!  I laughed and laughed and laughed.  Not only was the guy a rat, he was a rat-b******.  And he was not only yellow, but a dirty yellow.  How descriptive!  (I’ll bet that guy has a book deal by now.  Dirty ******.)

Another one that comes to mind is something a friend was called in a British pub.  He got into a shoving match with some guy and the guy called him a “big girl’s blouse.”  I have no idea what that is, but it tickles my fancy.  Another insult (same guy also in the UK), “You stupid fist!”   Where do they come up with these things?  Or, maybe more importantly, how does my friend find himself in these situations?

So tell me, what’s the best worst thing you’ve ever called someone or been called?  I want to know!

Oh, and brace yourselves…I’ll be blogging more often before that ******* blog rats me out again.

PS:  The writerly friend is Penny Piva at http://pennylou.blogspot.com/2012/06/arch-she-sways.html. Go there and read her blog too!)

Welcome to the Dark Side

I was always one of those people who said, "I'll NEVER get an e-reader!  I want to read REAL books.  A Kindle just isn't the same."  Well, that changed on December 25, 2011 when my mom got a Kindle Fire for Christmas.  She, being the technically-challenged person she is, promptly handed it to me and said, "Here.  Figure this out."

Oh, I figured it out alright.  I figured out how to play this AWESOME game called "Bubble Shoot."  And I also figured out that I can get books sent DIRECTLY to the Kindle.  (I'll bet you already knew that, huh?) 

I also figured out that I can blast through books much faster.  


I spent some time thinking about that and figured out that when I read something in an electronic format, I don't take the time to savor every word as I might with a traditional book.  When I have a paper book in my hand, I look at every sentence, read every single word.  Sometimes I'll even go back and re-read a passage again, just to get the full value of the writing.  It's a commitment.


When I read an e-book, I don't have that pressure.  It's like reading a CNN article - I can skim over parts and linger only on portions that interest me.  I can also read my e-book when the TV is on...something I can't do when I'm reading a paper book.  


So is that a good thing or a bad thing?  I don't know.  What I DO know is that I've read a bunch of books since Christmas.  Here they are, in no particular order:

Darkly Dreaming Dexter

Not as good as the series...but maybe that's because I've loved Michael C. Hall, ever since he was David Fisher in Six Feet Under.  The finale episode STILL makes me cry even though I've watched it about a million times.  (And I'm still a little bitter about Keith.  Just saying.)


The Girl Who Would Speak for the Dead

Didn't love it.  Great concept, though.  'Nuff said. 


Almost Moon

Not a feel good book. Fer realz.  You've been warned.


Looking for Alaska

This won an award!


Where Men Win Glory

This should be required reading for EVERYONE.  Period.

American Gods

Neil Gaiman.  What's not to love?  He had me at The Graveyard Book. 


So now that I've got this nifty Kindle all figured out, what books do you suggest I check out next? 

Jeezy Creezy!

I've embedded one of my all time favorite SNL skits below.  It's my favorite for  couple of reasons.


1.  It's got Jon Hamm in it.  Hello, Jon Hamm!!!  
2.  It's got Vincent Price (of a sort) in it.
3.  It's funny.

The sad thing is that very few people in the current generation (or ones that come after) will understand why it's so funny and who these people are supposed to be.  


Other things that this generation will be robbed of:   Jim Croce and Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.


But for now, the happy!

Click Here & Sorry in Advance for the 15 Second Commercial!

Tidbits from the Trenches

Here’s a laugher for you:

Student had to make a presentation on Deutsche Bank.  You know he called it “Douche Bank” throughout. 

Or another:

“American Airlines should try to avoid bankruptcy by remaining profitable.”

Or:

“I know I may fail English 101, but I had to put my time and effort into my important classes.”

And finally:

“I used to be a nursing major. Then I switched to social work. But now I want to be an English major. My mom is mad, though.  She said, ‘You’re climbing DOWN the ladder of earning – you’ll never get a worthwhile job with a background in English.’”

Sigh.

Itchy Trigger Finger

Itchy Trigger Finger.  Do you ever get that?  That urge to press “SEND” that cannot be denied.

I do.  I did.   I maybe shouldn’t have.

See, I finished the revision of my manuscript, the one about which my  agent said, “Hey…this is really ambitious…” which, as we all know, is code for, “Oh, god.”

Okay, okay, I thought. I'm not going to let that break me, so after a few days of turning that over in my mind (ie, worrying it to death)  I took another look.  She was right.  It needed work.  She said it needed more depth and stuff.  Fine.  It did.  So what?

I cheerfully (fake cheerful, actually) promised to take another look, this time sans rose-colored glasses.  I told her I would revise it.  And I did.  I revised the heck out of it.

But now I’m not sure I made it any better.  Oh, sure.  I made it LOOOOONGER.  But better?  Eh…we’ll have to see.

Did that stop me from hitting SEND.  Nope.  Not me.  Why reflect when I can act, right?  RIGHT?

(pause for crying and chocolate)

So now it’s gone.  And , sure enough, two hours after hitting that dreaded SEND button, I thought, “Oh, man…I could have made Chapter 48 better!  Or even deleted it!”  (Yes, there are at LEAST 48 chapters.  Ambitious, you say?  Oh, god, I say.)

But now it’s too late.  The itchy trigger finger got the better of me.  It’s off into the ether and when she opens that Word document tomorrow morning, I hope she is floored by the mastery of the words and scope of the storytelling, and not the sheer size of the document she must plow through.

And now there’s nothing left for me to do but wait.  And I will…on pins and needles.

In the meantime, however, I’m going to go chop off a finger.

Deep Thoughts on a Stressful Day

What’s a soul worth to you?

Weird question, I know, but I was thinking about this.  What would you sell your soul for?

Sure, we all say things like, “I’d sell my soul for a piece of cheese!”  (Okay, that was me.  I’m on a low cholesterol diet.  Don’t ask.)  Or things like, “I’d sell my soul if I could just get _______ (fill in the blank).”   Published?  Recognized?  Rewarded?  Laid?  (Okay…me again.  Sorry.)

Writers say they’ll sell their souls for a book deal.  Musicians will sell their soul for a gold record.  Students will sell their soul (and those of their grandparents, dropping like flies at this point in the semester) for a passing grade.  Actually they want much more than a passing grade.  They want a GOOD grade.

Now think of all the people who have done that.  I mean it – they’ve literally sold their soul for something.  The friend who knifed you in the back…now that had to have cost a pretty penny.  The ex-significant other who cheated with your best friend?  Cha-ching!  The co-worker who gave directions to the driver of the bus that rolled over you?  

These things happen every day and they have to cost something.  Nothing in life is free.

So, with that in mind, answer the question.  What would you sell your soul for?  You can say the obvious things, of course:  

To keep your kids safe from danger.
To give a terminally ill loved one a few more years.
To win the heart of your one true love.
Ten bajillion dollars.
Chocolate.
 

But what else is your soul worth to you?