TMI, or, to De-Friend or Not to De-Friend

The downside of social media:  not necessarily what you think it is.

Ordinarily, I am enthusiastically positive about the Internet and everything it brings to our lives.  Access to information.  Varied perspectives.  Connections.  Used for good, it can foster empathy, understanding, insight.

But then sometimes there are things you just don’t want to know.  Have you ever liked someone a ton until you saw that she joined a group entitled “Marriage = one man, one woman” on Facebook?  Or that his latest status update equates Obama with Darth Vader?  Or that he has absolutely no clue how to spell most polysyllabic words?  Or that she’s wearing (shudder) jeggings in her profile pic?

Yeah.  It’s a problem.

Some friends I like better and better the more I know about them.  Others?  Not so much.

I’m all for diversity of opinions, different voices, food for thought.  Many issues are not all that clear, and any thoughtful discussion or reliable information goes into the mish-mash of mental material that informs my opinions and decisions.  And I spent nine years as a litigator (and many more years engaged in argument or debate of one form or another), so I have no aversion to honest disagreement or thoughtful, substantive discourse on contentious issues.  But you can’t have a meaningful discussion with someone who fabricates facts, who prefers blind fear and instinctual hatred to any form of logic, who scorns knowledge and reflection as somehow stuffy or effete.

I’m sure I’ve been de-friended or blocked in recent weeks for some of my more pointed political jabs.  So be it.  I know I’ve adjusted my settings to block status updates from certain “friends,” just for the sake of my blood pressure.  If online absence makes the heart grow fonder – or at least prevents the heart from wanting to stab someone in the eye repeatedly –  I guess I can live with that.

But poor grammar and bad taste?  There’s no place for that shit.

Not satisfied with simply having me block your status updates?  Want me to de-friend you?  Some helpful tips:

1.  Refer to healthcare reform as “Obamacare.”  Nothing says intellectual honesty and thoughtfulness like parroting Beckspeak.  Referring to the President of the United States as “Barry” or “Nobama” also earns serious demerits.

2.  Deploy other coded language, like “traditional values” (translation:  I hate and fear gay people and women who earn more than men do), “elitist” (translation:  I was too lazy / stupid / short-sighted to get an education myself, and firmly believe that some woman / racial minority / ethnic minority took my spot), “reverse racism” (translation:  I want to revert to a time when mediocrities like me were handed the world on a platter just because we were white males), “big government” (translation:  I only like government programs and services that help ME, not ones that help other people), or “strident” (translation:  strong, opinionated, independent women threaten my fragile worldview).  I can go on, but it’s just depressing.

3.  If you are over the age of eighteen, quote or reference Ayn Rand without irony.

4.  Imply that Muslim = terrorist.

5.  Imply that all goodness and morality stem from religion (or, more specifically, from the “right” religion).

6.  Be an ignorant, intellectually stunted douchebag (see 1-5).

Easy enough?  Apparently so.

Walking down on Market Street, feeling my heart skip a beat…

Oh San Francisco. Why must you toy with me like this?

It almost makes me forget the summer of 1998, when you only let me see the sun once.

Sun, Sun Go Away!

Really, Tucson? Triple digits in mid-September? Really?

I’m so ready for Fall. In the mood for sepia tones and soup simmering on the stove and amber handbags and boots and tights and a swingy little trench. I’m not asking for much, really: just enough of a chill in the air that I can throw a log in the chiminea, wrap an afghan around my shoulders, and cradle a steaming cup of coffee in my hands.

Instead, I’ll be grateful if I am only moderately drenched after the two-block walk from my car to the office in the morning, at least for the next month or so.

Sigh.

I know I’ll be grateful in January, but I’m really more the instant gratification type.

Be True to YOUR School

. . . that is, after all, how the song goes.  But if you want to be true to MY school, that’s OK too.

I don’t get rabid college sports fans who didn’t actually attend the school they favor.  Then again, I believe that student-athletes should actually have to be students and that universities shouldn’t just be a big farm system for the NBA and NFL, but I don’t think about that too hard when I’m loving on my school or my 8-clap starts to fade.

Although I now arguably have two schools – UCLA, where I attended undergrad, and The University of Arizona, where I work (this may be the only time I’m grateful that my law school wasn’t affiliated with an undergrad campus) – and even though I may secretly own a UofA Football t-shirt that I DEFINITELY NEVER WEAR OUTSIDE THE HOUSE, there’s never been any question that I’ll always be a Bruin.

And my alma mater does have the most beautiful campus on Earth.  That much is indisputable.

Go Bruins!

(p.s. Happy 229th Birthday, Los Angeles!  You look mahvelous.)

Back-to-School To-Do List

It’s the beginning of a new school year, and, even though I’m the one wielding the red pen these days, I still feel a little bit like I did when I was a student.  Like this is a clean slate, a new adventure, a time for resolutions and vows of self-improvement.  So I’ve come up with a few for this semester.

1.  Make some mint-infused vodka;

2.  Start formally outlining The Great American Novel version 7.0;

3.  Improve my drumming skills to the extent that I can actually drum live for the Gotes on a song we actually play on a regular basis (i.e. not Folsom Prison Blues);

4.  Every day, care a little bit less about what other people think (making ass of self on blog is excellent first step?);

5.  Organize my refrigerator with all kinds of sleek little containers (ooh, and I can use my labelmaker!);

6.  Sign up for a writing workshop;

7.  Organize the pile of papers in the scary room at my house (another use for fun labelmaker!);

8.  Bring fresh flowers into my office every Monday;

9.  Walk Phoebe around Reid Park before work at least twice a week;

10.  Read at least two of the cognitive linguistics books from my bookshelf at work.

Loads of cool things coming up in the next couple of months:  trip to LA for a 50th anniversary celebration, trip to San Diego for a wedding, trip to San Francisco for a law school reunion.  I’ll be working with a great group of 3Ls on the Moot Court Board and four amazing writing fellows.  We’re starting a brand-new 1L writing program with some brand-new department staff, which is exciting but a little scary.  Opportunities for adventure abound.

Happy Back to School, everyone.

Aaaaaand….action! (figures)

In a world where suddenly every misbegotten passing thought we utter is simultaneously both ephemeral and indelible, sometimes it’s kinda sweet to find that a silly, harmless little thing that used to make you giggle once upon a time is still floating around out there in the Wide Wide World of Web.

Picture it:  San Francisco, 1999.  Offices of the Hastings Law Journal on the 23rd floor of McAllister Tower.  2am.  You can smell the crack smoke wafting up from the street below.  Two bleary-eyed law students stare at their computer screens, desperately trying to avoid any meaningful progress on their law review notes by any means necessary, when one of them runs across a funny little website.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Alien Icepicktures:  The Web Adventures of Mulder and Scully, inspired and facilitated by the release of the X-Files action figures.

The intrepid duo, joined by a cast of plastic and plush pals, had numerous thrilling adventures, but A Boy and His Cow will always remain closest to my heart.  It has everything:  alien abduction, a touching story of platonic love between man and bovine, cows in peril, squishing of things, and a heroic rescue . . . but the real star of the story is a surprisingly expressive Chik-fil-A cow:

I know, you would have thought my favorite was The Dogs of Xmas, right?  Especially since I’m pretty sure I actually had this Wishbone dog:

Who is the genius behind this charming diversion?  Dunno; some lady named Barbara.  Doesn’t look like she’s maintained the site in a decade.  No idea who she is, what she does, where she lives, or even if she’s still out there at all.

But a little bit I love her.

Apparently I Love Me Some Shirtless, Ill-Tempered Redneck

Who knew?

I guess you can take the girl out of Paso Robles….

Apparently I also have TV show bulimia.  I’ll gorge on episodes of a show for days in a row, and then suddenly quit cold turkey and stay clean for weeks.

I watched about twenty episodes of seasons 2/3 Lost on my Roku before Phoebe and I left on our Central Coast jaunt.  Since then – nada.  I’ve totally lost interest.  In Lost.

Son of a….

But I still love me some Shirtless Sawyer.  Just ask Facebook.

Stop me

….before I buy another cookbook.  How often do I cook, you ask?  Ha.  Ha ha ha ha.  Did I mention that I also have a gorgeous Kitchen Aid stand mixer that I’ve used exactly five times in the past three years?

Actually, I’m thinking of baking some strawberry-jam teacakes today from Martha Stewart’s Cupcakes, except with lemon instead of orange and ollalieberry jam from Avila Barn instead of strawberry.  West-coast style, baby.  We have Gote practice at the ungodly hour of 8am tomorrow (yikes), so maybe I can pawn the little buggers off on some hungry Gotes, and thereby save me from myself.  Oooh, or maybe I’ll do Ina’s Lemon Yogurt Cake (loaves of summery goodness; if you even sort of like to bake you should try it), in honor of Kevin’s lemon-loving mom, whom we will be evicting from her guest quarters for practice.  Although I’d have to haul my lazy ass the three blocks to Safeway for yogurt.  Hm.

Who am I kidding.  I’ll probably just end up getting a pedicure.

Can I just mention, though, that I find it more amusing than I probably should that there is a Skinemax flick called “The Devil Wears Nada”?  The plot summary, of course: “sexy mischief threatens a magazine worker’s new job.”  At least they don’t have to worry about the wardrobe budget.

I’ve Heard it Both Ways

People who make other people laugh?  Rock.  Take, for example, Psych.  Kind of a trivial little show, but the timing and chemistry are impeccable, it’s full of almost whimsically good-hearted silliness, and I invariably laugh my ass off at least twice an episode.  And sometimes when the laughter bubbles up I get this overwhelming fondness for everyone involved and just feel so grateful for entertainment in general.  Do you know what I mean?  Yeah, it’s not curing cancer or negotiating world peace, but distracting people from the sadnesses and stresses of everyday life and helping them laugh or smile or just escape for thirty minutes or an hour . . . not to get all Sullivan’s Travels on you or anything, but it’s a noble endeavor.

Plus Dule Hill is dorktastically hot.

Actually, turns out I’m awesome. And stuff.

1.  I finally finished a work of fiction.  Yeah, it’s fanfic for a truly mediocre television show that I didn’t even particularly like –  and a lot of it is just, frankly, soft-core porn for people who like to spend some quality time thinking about Shane West without his shirt on –  but it’s 17,500+ words of everything I intended to write about something, and it has dialogue and characterization and a bunch of showing-not-telling and even a couple of original characters that I created all by my very own self.  Plus the sex and the swearing!  It only took me a year to finish it….but that’s progress, right?

2.  The Old Spice guy is waaaaay hotter than Brad Pitt. I’m just saying.

3.  Paul Rudd:  too sexy for his own good?

4.  Oh, man, I’ve had the best July.  A not-boring work conference in Marco Island, Florida (no tar balls yet), followed by a very brief Key West adventure, a weekend surrounded by giant green trees in Oregon, and eight glorious days on the Central Coast with my family.  Kayaking in the back bay, playing pirates with my mom and brother in the dunes on the sand spit, hiking Bishop Peak with my brother and Phoebe and letting a guy with a baby strapped to his chest kick my ass on the rock-climbing part but WHATEVER, lots of visits to Avila Barn to ogle the produce porn, shopping in downtown SLO with my mom, early mornings on Avila Beach with my dad and the doggies, actually being a little bit chilly sometimes in the middle of summer . . . it truly doesn’t get much better.  And this week, I’ve been doing my best to honor my generation by slacking the hell off.  I made my bed and burned a CD yesterday and that’s the most productive I’ve been all week.  There’s a Susie-shaped dent in the chaise corner of my couch.

Even counting the week of the not-whooping-cough at the beginning of the month, this has been the best summer vacation EVAH.