Social media

If I could wish anything for you guys, I would wish you a couple of siblings like mine. 

My younger sister is enough like me to hold my interest (what?) but shows me all the potential available to me if I suddenly get a bug up my ass and decide I want to be a better person. 

It seems our DNA, after seeing what it created the first time, with me, rearranged itself…to try again…to do better…in both my brother and sister. 

She is a much kinder and more generous being than I could ever pretend, even on my best day of pretending—to be.
So much so, that she had the two kids, a boy and a girl, that I could never be bothered to have—and then raised them better than I ever could have, all the while teaching them to love their “auntie”.  For over two decades she has freely shared them with me and my love for them is limitless. So much so that now, on my best pretending days—I pretend they’re mine.

My brother has a heart the size of an Amazon warehouse and we share the same twisted sense of humor. He’s actually made me snort-laugh coffee out both nostrils. If I had the presence of mind to record everything he says, which I don’t—because

1. My last name isn’t Parnas.
2. I’m usually choking with laughter (and swallowing my gum). But if I did I could fill stadiums full of hysterically laughing fans, hire an assistant to steal all of his material, AND chew my gum for me.

He’s also a teller of truths and “asker of the hard questions”.  

The other day, in between yucking it up, when I was complaining about my husband doing some shit that seemed to me to be detrimental to his health and well being, my brother, a card-carrying member of #teamhusband, drilled down on me with one simple sentence, “Well, don’t you have a vice?”

Gulp.

I stuttered and stammered for an uncomfortable amount of time, “Sure, I mean, no, I mean, I don’t know.”

Vice—A vice is a moral failing or a bad habit.  (Because I looked it up) 

What I think he was really saying was: Jesus, Janet, cut the guy some slack.

But I took the question to heart. A moral failing? I don’t think that’s what he meant. I think he meant more like a guilty pleasure, only on steroids. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m as deeply flawed and hot messy as any of you, it’s just that at the ripe old age fifty-eleven, I’ve had enough therapy, woo woo voodoo, and spiritual interventions to leave most of that vicey behavior in the rear-view mirror— along with my delightful disposition and perky tits.

Let me also state right here, that I’m in no way trivializing addictions or vices for that matter. I’ve seen both up close and personal and I cannot express how INCREDIBLY grateful I’ve felt my entire life for being blessed with a non-addictive personality.

I don’t know who to thank for that, I only know that if the opposite were true—I’d weigh five thousand tons and be in jail. 

Anyway, he’d made his point, loud and clear, so after we hung up I crawled off my poor husband’s back and decided to go deep diving into my seemingly vice-free life and what I found there was a (wait for it) a vice. (Are you surprised?)

To make the term vice more relatable I kinda re-framed it as “a behavior that we do even though it makes us feel bad or is bad for us.”

Cut to: Last Friday night after Trump’s Impeachment acquittal.  I poured myself the rare glass of whiskey and proceeded to get shit faced. Then, I drunk texted my Bff, barfed up a really nice dinner, and ruined most of my Saturday with a wicked hangover. 

WTF?

Remember me? I’m not a big drinker, ask anyone. I am not who you call to tie one on. I’m the one who drives everybody home and cleans the bathroom.

So, back into my deep “Vice” dive, I dove, looking at exhibit A — Friday Night Drunkenness. What had prompted me to go past my limit? 

Sadness? Yes. 

Hopelessness? Yes. 

Anxiety? Yes. Yes. Yes.

And why was I feeling that way? 

Cable TV and FUCKING TWITTER!

Oh, sweet Jesus Christ on a cracker.

Cable TV—The 24/7, home-delivered, IV drip of fear and outrage. And outraged fear. 

Twitter—240 characters of pure, unadulterated, who gives a fuck what you think? 

Those two things had become my heroin and I mainlined them every day—all day. And like most addicts, I hid it well. I was high functioning. I wrote, and grocery shopped and ordered stuff I didn’t need online. But I also had news and twitter alerts going to my watch and my phone literally (Because, Trump) minute by minute. And like any good dealer they didn’t think twice about interrupting my writing, my peace of mind, or my life.

Especially, that rat fuck Twitter! I don’t say this lightly, but I think Twitter needs to shut down. I mean what is it good for besides sowing division, fear, and outrage and giving certain bullies a way to exercise their “power”? Tell me, I’d love to know how we’re better off with Twitter in our social discourse.

I can’t believe it happened to me! (I know, beyond cliche) I’m sooooo late to the Twitter party! I don’t post and I don’t really read anything but politics (NEVER the comments, the comments are the third rail of social media) that being said—that shit is TOXIC.

Twitter says we’re in a Constitutional crisis. Twitter says it’s 1933 Germany all over again. Twitter says it’s just like the fall of the Roman Empire.

It’s poison. All of it. And I’m addicted. I’m addicted to poison. (Sounds like a vice to me.)

It all started a year and a half ago (a simpler time) with the political screenplay I was writing. I needed to keep myself well abreast of current events and Trump creates those like sixty times a… Blah, blah, blah! There I am, making excuses about why my vice isn’t really a vice.

So I deleted it. I deleted Twitter on Sunday. That’s when the twitching and reaching for my phone every six seconds began. At least that’s when I noticed it.

Don’t be fooled the detox is real. But don’t worry about me. I’m taking it slow. I only look at half of my news alerts.

But then…Shit went down at the DOJ yesterday and I wasn’t sure what level of outrage to feel. Because we’re always at DefCon 5. What did Twitter have to say?

I unconsciously reached for my phone. Put it down. Did it again. And again. And again. Like those rats who push the button for a fix. After a minute, it passed. The twitching, the wondering, all of it. And I have to say, so far, day three, I feel better. Calmer. Like the world won’t end if I don’t “like” a tweet.

Hi, My name is Janet, and I’m a news junkie and a recovering Twitter addict. And I’m better when I’m not marinating in fear and outrage. I’m smarter, more strategic and able to make clearer decisions about what happens next. 

Carry on,
xox

cheers!

What trends do you follow and why?

Back in the day, I used to slather myself with baby oil and squeeze lemon in my already blonde hair because that was what the fashion magazines told us to do. Sunscreen didn’t exist yet and neither did any common sense. I have the dermatologist bills to prove it.

Sunburned blonde girls with blue eyes and skin damage were trending.

My right hand grabbed a bag of Mango Licorice at Trader Joe’s this morning faster than my left hand could bat it away.
“Mango Licorice…hummmmm…” I heard myself say with the same curiosity I expressed the first time I saw a Diva cup.

Just like I did with yellow beets, fingerless gloves, Kobe beef, a fax machine, burrata cheese, and avocado toast.

“Yeah. They have mango everything these days”, said the purple haired girl stocking nuts nearby. (What a great sentence that was to write. The purple haired girl stocking nuts nearby—Even better the second time. Sorry, writer geek-out. Ha!)

Anyhow, she’s right! I just bought Mango lemonade last week and it lasted all of thirty seconds at my house because—it was LEMONADE! With MANGO! My husband snacks on dried soft mango strips. There are Mango Newtons out there (like Fig Newtons—only mango), and a few days ago I tried a piece of dark chocolate covered frozen mango that was so delicious I had my memory voluntarily erased so I wouldn’t be able to find my way back and have more.

Mango is trending.

Broccoli is also trending.

I love broccoli so that makes me happy, and luckily for me, I can’t go to a restaurant here in LA without seeing some broccoli mash-up on the menu. Seared broccoli with a balsamic reduction. Broccoli and bacon. Broccoli, kale (another trender), and some other obscure green that used to be flattered to make it to the plate as a garnish. Now we pay fifteen bucks for all of them shredded into a slaw with grapefruit sections—in a light MANGO dressing (extra points for a double trender).

But I know a lot of people, and maybe you’re one of them, who were traumatized as children by broccoli.

They would no sooner eat broccoli than sliced dolphin.
Yet, I see them try a bite every now and again when we order it.

Because it’s trending.

Speaking of trending, let’s talk about social media. The very minute I got comfortable with Facebook, I HAD to start Tweeting. Then I HAD to have an Instagram account. Then I did Blab. And Huffington Post Live. Now you’re nobody without Snapchat. By the time I get good at that—it’ll be obsolete.

Kinda like my iPhone.

Businesses need to have an internet presence.
Retailers sell their wares online.
I get it.

Publishers now want their writers to have huge social media platforms. To craft an online persona and sell ourselves. They want us all to be trending. They want already pre-packaged social media celebrities—just add water. Tweeting and vlogging, podcasting, blogging and hashtagging…apparently anything but writing.

That is a trend I may not follow. I have tried it and I say, yeah, not for me.

Oh, the irony…

I’ll stick with what I like and what I’m good at and maybe, just maybe, at age 58, I’ll have the common sense to stop chasing the trends.

What do yo think?

Carry on,
xox

“I am who I think you think I am.” – Charles Horton Cooley

This is a trip. And, I think, important to try to wrap our brains around.

Carry on,
xox

When they ask you to holster your cell phone for the night; do you get a little panicky?

Or belligerent? I saw it all!

As we walked into the party on Saturday night, we were asked politely, NOT to post pictures or video of the venue or the festivities on social media.
You could almost hear the OR ELSE that was implied.
It pushed people’s buttons, you could tell. They weren’t asking you not to take the call from the babysitter, they just wanted to keep things special, without the whole shebang showing up on Instagram.

The main idea behind it was that they wanted everyone to be in the present moment; a skill we ALL seemed to have left back in the early 2000’s, you know, when we looked around and people watched.
We can’t seem to experience ANY event without documenting it. Guilty as charged.

I kinda liked being asked not to. It gave me permission and a certain freedom to just be IN. THE. MOMENT.

In the frenzy of all the going’s on, I was a present observer, taking it all in through…gasp…my eyes.
Plus, I could see where I was walking and make eye contact with all the other party participants. Imagine that.

We are like junkies, I am, I know that, and I pale by comparison to the twenty and thirty somethings. So I pocketed my phone.

Even through the entertainment. Fleetwood Mac. I lost my shit, because, well because it was Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, right there in all their…Nicks and Buckingham badassery. May I just say right here: Stevie Nicks is a rockstar beast. Sexy. Transcendent. She held everyone in the palm of her hand – at 66 years old. That makes me so happy on so many levels.
I digress.
My husband took some pictures, hell, everyone had their phone’s out, but I haven’t see one shot on the internet and I’ll keep my promise as well.
And I have to say, not having my phone held up to my face, trying to get the best shot, left me free to enjoy every moment of the evening.

So, thank you event planners and hosts of this weekend’s extravaganza. Thank you for saving me from being behind a fisheye, and allowing me to see the whole picture.

Hey – When was the last time you just watched something awesome without taking your phone out to document it? I’d love to hear about it. It is weird huh?

Big Love,
xox

“The only currency in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone else when you’re uncool.”
~from the movie Almost Famous~

I love that line. It’s delivered by the disheveled, “uncool” underground DJ played by the late, great Phillip Seymour Hoffman. He drops that little truth bomb on William, the 15 year old who is touring with an up and coming band, trying to capture their story for Rolling Stone magazine.

I can relate to that…now more than ever.
I am the un-coolest blogger in the blogosphere, THAT I know for sure.
I’m not really sure why I got the “hit” to blog, I’d never even read a blog before I 
started my own a year and a half ago. I just got the urge to go public.

Confession: When I look at the other blogger’s sites, I just want-to-die…of un-coolness.

When a blogger “likes” something you write, it is only polite to go check out their site. Even more so if they start to “follow” you. 

Some of these people are kids! But they have got it more together than I EVER will!
15 year old girls have blogs that link to their websites. These websites have so much content, it looks like they cost $30,000! They have paid advertising and products for sale, some have books.
WTF? At 15, I had pimples…end of story.

There are incredible 20 something fashion bloggers with tens of thousands of followers, one Italian street fashionista has over 10 million!
There are all these badass photographers who take amazing photos from exotic locals all over the world.
There are ridiculously talented writers and poets. I mean seriously good.

Then there’s me.
Almost 56 year old me, who lives in the burbs, sings musical theater (gleek), rides on the back of a motorcycle and writes about spirituality, life, and and
occasionally I throw in a poem.
I send these musings out into the world every morning. I post them, I tweet them and Facebook them, ( which I’m sure is SO last Tuesday) wondering if anyone reads them.

But every now and then, something will resonate with one of the “cool kids”
and they’ll email me, (They never leave a comment; too un-cool) to tell me it touched them or made them laugh.
They encourage and push me. They tell me I should vlog (video blog) and suggest I self publish.

Whoa, cool kids, let’s take it slow here, I’m just getting the hang of this stuff.

I do have to say, the spiritual blogosphere in general, has such a generosity of spirit. They are a community that embraces everyone. It’s where the cool kids dane to talk to the uncool, and give great advice. They are big hearted smarty pants’ who talk the talk and walk the walk.
I’m starting B-school with Marie Forleo in March. It’s an online business school that all the cool kids suggested, and which I’ve been stalking for a couple months.

I can’t even imagine it now, but I’m cautiously optimistic that I will be just a smidgen cooler come May.

By then I’ll be privy to what all the cool kids know. 

Note to self: stop using words like “smidgen”. 

I’m afraid I’m just terminally un-cool.

XoxJanet