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Right. So. First, I had a birthday. Then, I wrote a post about how when you have a birthday on Facebook, all these people start wishing you Happy Birthday, but really all the people in your life who are your friends already know it’s your birthday without Facebook telling them, and I made fun of Facebook Friends. I do that sometimes. It pissed some of you off. Then I confused even more of you. But I promise this is the last of it.
Guess what, Facebook: when I want people to know it’s my birthday, I will post pictures of myself as a toddler a few days beforehand on my blog — you know, the one that is read by like a thousand people, most of whom don’t know me in real life, mmkay?
The reason I do it that way is because I don’t need everybody in the world who actually has my telephone number calling me on the telephone to wish me a happy birthday. I would rather not have to field phone calls all morning from people who would have otherwise forgotten that it’s my birthday because we are not really that great of friends.
What gives, Facebook?! I’ve seen your creator. He’s a bigger dweeb than I am. I cannot imagine he wants people who aren’t really his close friends calling him all day on his birthday. Wait.
I’m not a Facebook kind of person. You never convinced me to figure out your idiotic overly complicated interface that doesn’t make sense to people with less than ten minutes of time to kill trying to figure it out. And besides, you know as well as I do that I can’t sign off on yet another media that popularizes the institutionalization of Friends Who Aren’t Really Your Friends. I was already in a sorority and now I’m a mommyblogger — throwing in Facebook Friends in earnest is just too damn much to ask of my already overtaxed bullshit fake nice resources.
Let’s just say there’s a reason you’re the PC of social media outlets. Look, Evan Williams is not going to beat Samuel L. Jackson in a cool-off any time soon, but line him up next to Mark Zuckerberg and I think you’ll catch my drift.
Sure, just like with Apple, Twitter sometimes gets shoved a little too far up its own ass with the “who to follow aka people you’d be following already if you didn’t despise them” and “power users aka people you already know and hate,” but at least they are straightforward with their nomenclature — they don’t fuck around, they just straight up call them followers and we all bought it hook line and sinker. You know why? Because that’s what we ARE!
How, and when, do you just know things are true in life? Do you need proof? Or is proof just the thing that makes you feel better about relying upon the bits and pieces of stuff that your unconscious mind has picked up upon and processed to make a gut decision?
This is going to annoy people (and by people I mean Kerry) because I’m talking about basketball again. But only to make a point about something. It’s to do with how there are things going on around us, all the time, that we absorb . . . like pieces of the cultural imagination that we absorb without really realizing it. And they kind of influence us and how we make decisions or opinions, even when we don’t realize it. When I was in school I got used to reading culture in this way and I know it totally makes me sound like a blowhard but I’m saying it anyway: I still read everything like that now. I still look at things the way I did in graduate school, even if it’s just an episode of Fanboy and ChumChum. It’s not because I want to be a blowhard. It’s more like . . . a pathology. So anyway, a lot of times people will say that I’m reading into things. I’m used to that. Anyway.
As you might be aware, last week LeBron was to announce where he was going to play basketball in a big dog and pony shown on ESPN. And Mr. Right-Click and I had been discussing it, and I had announced rather authoritatively that he had to go to Miami. That there was no chance he was going anywhere else. That if he didn’t go to Miami, then he was not really serious about wanting to win an NBA Championship, and that he just wanted to be a big fish in a little pond, etc. After we found out that Chris Bosh had signed, then I was even more resolute in this thinking.
Mr. Right-Click, I think, was leaning toward him going to Miami as well, but wasn’t as certain as I was — the main reason being the eight player question (ie can they get 8 more players to get a full team with those salary restrictions — and incidentally, the answer to that, unfortunately for the Lakers, is starting to look like yes) and also the loyalty to Cleveland. And Mr. Right-Click, by the way, is a far more learned student of basketball than I. He has studied the game for the entirety of his life, and can cite games like Bible verses. So for him, watching a basketball game is like studying a text, but still he was not so sure about LeBron’s intentions, even if he thought that Miami did seem more likely than most of the other choices. I think he just wasn’t totally convinced.
Now, after the fact, and in the media chaos that ensued, things have started popping up that suggest that LeBron had always already intended to go to Miami. That — despite his claim to have made the final decision that morning — there have been rumors about a documentary being made about LeBron, Wade, and Bosh deciding to make the move to go to Miami. And that if you go back and piece through the media ephemera that is available on this, you can find bits and pieces that suggest the Miami decision was there all along. And that, if you had been looking for it, you could have seen this coming, months ago, because they really were not hiding it all that carefully, as it turns out. The charade of making it seem like a “decision” that we were in on was all a lie that was built up for PR hype, and one we could have figured out, if we had been paying attention.
Did I hear something that made me think LeBron was going to Miami? Not that I remember, certainly. Not consciously. But it made me wonder when I found out that there had been these slip ups. I definitely remember seeing LeBron take off his Cleveland jersey after losing to the Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals, and there is no mistaking the symbolism involved in that act. What kind of arrogance is involved in thinking that nobody is paying enough attention to pick up on the clues to figure out a stunt of this magnitude? Or is it not arrogance, but just the assumption that by the time the cat is out of the bag and everybody has been traded, nobody will care when the decision was made, or whether what you said was true or not, because new jerseys will be sold and new teams will be formed with new tickets to be sold, regardless of whatever you’re talking about?
Maybe they’re right.
Most people aren’t paying attention. And even if they are paying attention, they won’t say anything about what seems like an inconsistency or something that requires further explanation or something that suggests less than plain dealing because the truth is, most people would rather not get involved. And to be honest, I understand why people would rather not get involved. It is kind of a pain in the ass to always be the one who gets involved. It sucks, in fact. Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a giant room full of people, and there’s somebody in the middle of the room acting like a jackass, and I’m sitting in the corner, looking around, thinking, “REALLY? None of you are going to say anything? SERIOUSLY?” And then, once again, I find myself saying something. And then, once again, I find myself having people hate me for it.
Sometimes, I’m the person in the middle of the room acting like a jackass, too. But the bitch of it is, nobody will say anything, because, umm, I’m the only one who does it. So that’s the flipside, I guess.
The other day on Twitter, I suggested that something another blogger said was inappropriate, and it made me question something this blogger had said had happened to their kid. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’m not going to link to the post or even discuss what the issue is at length only because I don’t want the blogger’s kid to read this at some point and be hurt by it someday. I could be wrong, god knows, and also — worse — what if I’m right, and then not only does the blogger’s kid have to read about this but then they have to read about what all of these other people are saying about their mom and dear god how did I even become involved in any of this? In short, people, this post was originally a lot longer and made a lot more sense but I just cannot do it. I fear that if I do, even if I’m right, you all will hate me for making you look at something horrible, and the blogger will hate me a lot more than she already does, and the kid will be hurt further. So basically, big time loss for everyone involved, with no real upside that I can see.
But still. I am sitting here feeling like I should post something because my gut is saying something. My gut is saying something is wrong here. I think people are under the impression that when I post things it is to stir up trouble or to get attention but actually there are times when I’m pretty conflicted about it. This is one of those times. I am not at all convinced that I should post about this. I hate being vague about this. I know that some of you will instantly know what and who I am talking about and hate me for this. I know others of you will be pissed off that I’m being vague again. This is one of those times where I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I feel compelled to say something. I feel like nobody else will. Something is wrong. Maybe all that is wrong is that I didn’t like something I read the other day. And maybe that’s all that needs to be said. So whatever. I’m saying it.
So go ahead and start burning my jersey now — because I’m taking my talents to South Beach. I have been planning it all along. I was only pretending to let you in on The Decision.
Just Like The Number Where 2+2=Six. A blog about life in the family Six, party of four.
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ONLINE DATING CHRONICLES
Sure, I eventually met my husband, Mr. Right-Click, through online dating. But not before I had dated nearly one hundred of Los Angeles' least suitable bachelors. Laugh along in my Online Dating Chronicles.
SPY ON ME
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MUCKRAKING
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LISTS
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LOS ANGELES
Los Angeles is where I was born and raised. I always thought I'd leave, but for some reason I never did. Sometimes, I like it here. Other times, I'm not so sure. But good or bad, it has made me who I am.
Sometimes I take the melodrama of my life and twist and turn it until it looks almost charming. I do this because I want you to like me:
Cigarettes & Green Felt: This is about the time I figured out that adults were mostly full of shit.
Assburger: It's not just a disorder on the autism spectrum: it's also one of your relatives!
On Truth: Sometimes somebody will say something and it hurts your feelings. And then you will write a story about it and your aunt will call it "phenomenal." Everyone else will try to pretend like it never happened.
The Sheer And Unmitigated Power of Bob Mould: Sometimes you spend your formative years obsessed by an unrequited teenage crush, and then one day you realize that person is now an orthopedic surgeon who lives in your neighborhood. It kinda sucks when that happens.
Ben From Madera: For one Halloween, Ben dressed up like a bee, like that kid in the Blind Melon video. That's how I will always remember him.
Mr. Right-Click
He is my best friend, even if he uses a PC. And the fact that sometimes he will pretend to be a "Pancake Pirate" is only part of the reason. Arrrr!
Mini
His cutie-pie percentile group is off the charts.
Spinning
If you think this is just about exercise, then you have underestimated how wildly inappropriate people can be when they undergo physical pain in a group setting.