The Death of Facebook.

July 28, 2009

Ladies and gentlemen, the Facebook fad is dead.
Saturday was a day that will go down in history as the day when McDonalds in the mid-1980s first used comercials with cheesy raps and breakdancing. Or in the late 80s, when adults began wearing Zubaz pants. Or in the early 90s when Macy’s began selling flannel shirts to capitalize on the grunge era.

The end of an era. The shark has been jumped. What I’m trying to say, is “Welcome to Facebook, Mom!”

My mom, age 59, has asked to add me as a friend on Facebook. After adjusting my profile settings to block her from seeing most the content, I added her. And my aunt is on it, too. It’s now time to find the next thing (More of you should be on Twitter. Although, Twitter is more of a marketing/writer’s tool than a social networking site).

Facebook has it’s got it’s pros: I found out my “kid brother” (really next door neighbor growing up) and his wife were expecting a child. I copied the sonogram she posted and emailed it to my mom. Then saw baby pictures a day after Jackson was born (and sent THEM to my mom). But apparently, she learned their source. And two weeks later, (about 10 days after my “kid brother”‘s mom joined Facebook and added me), my mom decided to get on board.

My brother is also on Facebook now. And now I’m getting “people you may know” from all kinds of blasts from the past.

It’s a scary thing now that my mom has ruined the internet. As I explained that on Facebook with the bold copy that leads this post, my mom replied:

MOM: If you have something on here your mother shouldn’t see, Shame on you!

ME: What if I want to talk about your Christmas gift with [my brother]? Or invite him over over to do crystal meth? Or call Him a shithead? Way to ruin the internet, Mom

MOM: I don’t have to worry about you discussing Christmas gifts until, say, December 23 or 24th. I hope you won’t be doing the other two either.

I suppose I should have censored myself a long time ago. Or slowly uncensored myself to mom earlier so she could deal with it. Or I could just leave Facebook completely.

Its The Worst Storm Ever

July 21, 2009

On Deadliest Catch, they get a weather report about a Hurricane in the Bering Sea, and one of the captains says:

“What worries me, is that every time they’ve said we’re going to get severe weather this year, we’ve gotten far worse than what they anticipated.”

The Bering Sea has got to be the only place on the PLANET where the weather turns out to be worse than they say!

In New Orleans, any amount of weather is predicted to be “THE WORST ____ EVER!”

All everyone does is dramatize the upcoming event and make it sound incredibly horrific.

It’s amazing how much of a role ratings play in the prediction of storms.

Why I Eat Bacon

July 15, 2009

I bet my friend Leisha that I would die before her. She took the bet. $10.

The bet came about because a facebook quiz said he would die after me. But there was no bacon question. And I eat a lot of bacon.

Scientists say bacon is unhealthy. Scientists know a lot. So why do I eat bacon?

That's right, 1975 prediction of GLOBAL COOLING!

That's right, 1975 prediction of GLOBAL COOLING!

So, I’m trusting that in 2030, they’ll discover bacon is good for me. And I’ll lose the bet. But she’ll be dead and I won’t be able to pay her.

Granted, if I die first, I can’t collect. But she forgot that I plan on crawling out of my coffin during my funeral using animatronics, while my DJ plays Michael Jackson’s Thriller (yes DJ. Big party at my funeral. Also booze, shot girls, TVs, etc).  So now I’m going to program my corpse to chase her down like the Thriller video, and get my money.

I am Just a Hot Mess

July 14, 2009

After last week’s softball game, and the July 4th kickball game, I was ridiculously sore. Because I am old.

At today’s game, I realized that my lack of arm strength from last week has somehow turned into me wondering where my right rotator cuff has gone. Basically, I have no arm left. I’m like Chet “Rocket” Stedman at the end of Rookie of the Year.

It left me wondering if I had injured it the last time I played softball (in Dayton in 2006) and just didn’t remember it (we tended to drink heavily after games. And non-gamedays). Or if it was something else (hockey-related perhaps?) or maybe stems from my previous back problem from last winter.

Needless to say, I can barely lift my right arm.

After a post-game shower, which included cleaning off the rug burn on my right leg from sliding on astroturf, I noticed I have cuts on three fingers on my right hand. Neither of which was all that painful, so I assumed my arm/shoulder and general stiffness was all the injury I had on the day.

Then I made dinner (bacon, egg, cheese on an everything bagel with tobasco). I pulled our grease cup from the freezer and set it in the sink.

I forgot that bacon grease is like five times hotter than grease from browning ground beef. The grease hit the frozen beef grease, crackled and hissed. I picked up the cup to put it back in the freezer…

… and the hot grease melted the side of the plastic cup, poured out the side down the fingers of my left hand. So now all my finger tips are scalded.

How could bacon do this to me? It knows how much I love it!

All the veggies from my freezer are now ruined, as I thawed all of them on my throbbing hot fingers.

But I’m a hockey player. So I manned up, and pecked away at this update fot you, my faithful readers. On the plus side, I don’t feel any of the normal leg stiffness from softball. At least til I try and get out of bed tomorrow.

Things That Have Always Bothered Me

July 10, 2009

In the Thriller video there’s credits for MJ and the chick, all the directors, producers, choreographers, makeup artists and Vincent Price… but the zombie dancers never get any props.

Nuke LaLoosh’s delivery in Bull Durham. My God, couldn’t someone have taught him how to throw a baseball? Henry Rowengartner’s mechanics in Rookie of the Year were better.

That Jack Bauer has never used the bathroom or eaten anything ever. Like scatter some empty chinese food cartons or pizza boxes around the HQ set every few hours.

Why Lance Armstrong is a hero. For starters, we all know he cheated like a fiend. Ok, so he battled cancer… then immediately after finding out his remaining testicle still worked, dumped the wife who stayed at his side through that adversity so he could nail Sheryl Crow.

That someone always has to be in the doghouse among fans of the Mets and other teams. If seven guys in the lineup are all-stars, the eighth hitter “Sucks” and “should be released or killed immediately.”

In Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You,” the lyrics go “I wish you joy and happiness, but over all this, I wish you… Love.” Love? Why not SUCCESS? Which rhymes with Happiness?

A tribute to Subtle Tributes

July 9, 2009

Ken Griffey, Jr. entered the game to the song Billie Jean and stepped into the batter’s box like this:



Normally, he wears two blue batting gloves. He rocked the one white glove on his left hand as his own, personal MJ tribute.

I’m not sure why, but I love stuff like that.  I love things like Nomar’s 90-second standing ovation in Fenway, Bo Kimble’s tribute to Hank Gathers, and USC’s missing kicker tribute.

Stream of Consciousness Vol. IX

July 6, 2009

After watching a week and a half of coverage on Michael Jackson and all the retrospectives of his career, I see a direct comparison to MJ and the rest of the Jackson Five and David Wright and the rest of the NY Mets offense.

Driving home from the baseball game on the Fourth of July, I saw the ballpark fireworks in my rear-view mirror, the Mid-City fireworks in the distance to the left, the downtown fireworks straight ahead beyond the skyline, and some West Bank fireworks in the distance in between Mid-City and downtown. Pretty awesome.

Second annual Fourth of July Kickball Game went as planned, and I’ve now been on the winning team each year. The MVP was Fatty Boo with a two-run triple, and Meghan rolled a complete game shutout as we won 9-0.

Last night, suffering serious insomnia, I decided to right a chick flick. I had a great idea for a plot, but promptly fell asleep and can’t remember the plot now. So, mission accomplished: I don’t have to suffer through some weak chick flick that will suck (even though I made it) because it’s a chick flick, and I beat insomnia!

I wish I had had an older sister growing up, someone like Zooey Deschanel in Almost Famous, that I could have asked ridiculous questions about girls to. I’m 31 years old, and I still don’t know the appropriate amount of eye contact to make. I know there IS a line between “I’m making eye-contact with you and not checking out your rack, I’m not a pervert honest” and “I’m a creep staring you down and making you uncomfortable.” I just don’t know where that line is.