Facebook is such a lousy excuse for a life. Yet you use it, don't you? Perhaps even a lot? Well, guess what? So do I.
My new favorite Facebook-related time-waster is the Pieces of Flair application. I've always been the type of girl to affix that sarcastic pin to the lapel of her jacket or to some piece of her backpack and Pieces of Flair makes that hobby virtual. So now, instead of or along with tapering an article of clothing with expressions of self, you can do so online. This is where the fun of it is for me - that for a shy, introverted type like me, Facebook is a place of my own, in which I can express myself and my own personality (which most people simply seem to think isn't there) to the hilt if I so desire. It's almost like advertising yourself: see! I am a human being with a spirit and a sense of humor, just like you! It's just that I don't show it so easily in a large, crowded group of people.
It ain't a disease, people. I don't need medication for it. And I'm certainly not the only one. Presumably, people that you don't know or only slightly know regularly check your profile for updates; you know, because we're all voyeurs. The fun of Pieces of Flair for me is that I can put up virtual buttons for every side of myself - the place I live, my loves of singing, dancing, and reading, movies I like, sarcastic comments I would actually make, and so on and so forth. It's a no-pressure online environment in which people may get a chance to see you for who you really are.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Date Night, Redux
My wife and I had another Date Night. Well, we called it Date Night, but we actually went out for breakfast. We had pancakes.
We both believe that it's absolutely vital for a couple to do this periodically, just go out together and have a date, even though it's been years since we've actually dated. It keeps things fresh. It keeps life exciting. It reminds us of why we got married in the first place.
So the other day, we dropped the kids off with my wife's sister, and we went out for pancakes. I had chocolate chip pancakes, my wife had blueberry. We both had plenty of maple syrup. Afterwards, we wandered around our little suburban downtown, at 11am on a Sunday morning, and just held hands. Once, years ago, when we first started seeing each other, we wandered around the same neighborhood sharing a cigar.
We didn't have a cigar this time, and we've changed a lot since then. She's gained some weight, and I've gotten a little grayer, but somehow the couple we see reflected in the shop window is still 22. It's funny how that happens, isn't it?
With fun times, there isn't always a lot to say. After all, how much can you say that the day was good, and the company was better? But this was the best of mornings, and I know we'll do it again.
We both believe that it's absolutely vital for a couple to do this periodically, just go out together and have a date, even though it's been years since we've actually dated. It keeps things fresh. It keeps life exciting. It reminds us of why we got married in the first place.
So the other day, we dropped the kids off with my wife's sister, and we went out for pancakes. I had chocolate chip pancakes, my wife had blueberry. We both had plenty of maple syrup. Afterwards, we wandered around our little suburban downtown, at 11am on a Sunday morning, and just held hands. Once, years ago, when we first started seeing each other, we wandered around the same neighborhood sharing a cigar.
We didn't have a cigar this time, and we've changed a lot since then. She's gained some weight, and I've gotten a little grayer, but somehow the couple we see reflected in the shop window is still 22. It's funny how that happens, isn't it?
With fun times, there isn't always a lot to say. After all, how much can you say that the day was good, and the company was better? But this was the best of mornings, and I know we'll do it again.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Fun With Pets
I have a pet parrot. I'm 34, and I've had this bird for as long as I can remember. My parents got her, when I was 5, she'll be 30 next year. She'll probably live another 30 years.
There's something to be said for having a pet with you for your whole live. You really get to know each other. My bird is a White-Fronted Amazon, a bit smaller than a common crow, and while she doesn't talk, it's clear that she understands a lot of what we say to her. She likes to click, whistle, chirp, and mutter under her breath. Sometimes, you can almost understand what she's saying. I guess that's her talking. It must be what we sound like to her.
White-Fronts are the smallest Amazon parrot species. They're from Central America, and they live in the rainforest canopy. This means, for the pet owner, that you need stuff for them to climb on. Fortunately, I'm pretty handy, have a decent size house, and was able to convert a small room (it was desinged as a little office, I guess, and it has good window with southern exposure) into a bird room: the room is criss-crossed by perches, and has two large, parrot-safe potted plants in under the window.
Sometimes, I go in there, sit down, and just talk to her. She'll dangle upside down from some of the ropes I have hanging from the ceiling, and chatter at me in her wordless parrot lingo. We get along pretty well.
Sometimes, she'll climg down to me, and sit on my shoulder or arm. When she does that, she wants to be groomed and scratched behind the ears. It's a bonding thing. I understand that dog owners have something similar.
There's something to be said for having a pet with you for your whole live. You really get to know each other. My bird is a White-Fronted Amazon, a bit smaller than a common crow, and while she doesn't talk, it's clear that she understands a lot of what we say to her. She likes to click, whistle, chirp, and mutter under her breath. Sometimes, you can almost understand what she's saying. I guess that's her talking. It must be what we sound like to her.
White-Fronts are the smallest Amazon parrot species. They're from Central America, and they live in the rainforest canopy. This means, for the pet owner, that you need stuff for them to climb on. Fortunately, I'm pretty handy, have a decent size house, and was able to convert a small room (it was desinged as a little office, I guess, and it has good window with southern exposure) into a bird room: the room is criss-crossed by perches, and has two large, parrot-safe potted plants in under the window.
Sometimes, I go in there, sit down, and just talk to her. She'll dangle upside down from some of the ropes I have hanging from the ceiling, and chatter at me in her wordless parrot lingo. We get along pretty well.
Sometimes, she'll climg down to me, and sit on my shoulder or arm. When she does that, she wants to be groomed and scratched behind the ears. It's a bonding thing. I understand that dog owners have something similar.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Tennis, Anyone?
My wife plays tennis. She was actually on her college tennis team, and was pretty good. I've never picked up a racket before in my life. Can you see where this is headed?
Last summer, she took me out to the tennis courts to teach me the game. At least, that's why she said she was taking me. I think she just wanted to whoop me at tennis.
It wasn't pretty. I'm not terribly coordinated, and while I can hit a softball pretty well, a tennis ball is a lot smaller. And I never really appreciated just how much short-burst running is involved in this game. ESPN just doesn't make that clear.
And I never realized just how hard you need to hit that little ball. There's a reason why Stefi Graff grunts like that. Wow. That's some tiring stuff.
Still, I have to admit, that my wife is in pretty good shape. After two hours of lessons, I was bushed, and she'd barely broken a sweat. A lot of times, fatigue depends on what you're used to doing.
Next time, I'll sign her up with me in a co-ed softball league.
Last summer, she took me out to the tennis courts to teach me the game. At least, that's why she said she was taking me. I think she just wanted to whoop me at tennis.
It wasn't pretty. I'm not terribly coordinated, and while I can hit a softball pretty well, a tennis ball is a lot smaller. And I never really appreciated just how much short-burst running is involved in this game. ESPN just doesn't make that clear.
And I never realized just how hard you need to hit that little ball. There's a reason why Stefi Graff grunts like that. Wow. That's some tiring stuff.
Still, I have to admit, that my wife is in pretty good shape. After two hours of lessons, I was bushed, and she'd barely broken a sweat. A lot of times, fatigue depends on what you're used to doing.
Next time, I'll sign her up with me in a co-ed softball league.
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