Do I Stil Exist if I'm not on FaceBook?

If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around to post it on Facebook (FB) does it really happen? Given that I’m no longer on FB, this metaphysical question keeps me up at night.  If I’m not on FB, is my life really happening?  Philosophers better get back to the drawing board. Humanity is drowning in Narcissus’ reflecting pool and I'm having an existential crisis. 

You don’t have to be King Tut to build yourself a pyramid.  

All you need is a computer and a FaceBook account.

The premise of Facebook is nothing new. Cave paintings, hieroglyphs, diaries, pictographs and film –FB is fulfilling the prehistoric need to show off.  But the difference is FB is in real-time and worldwide.  FB is the Big Bang to man’s vanity.  Cue the Kardaishans.

I blame Zuckerburg.

There are many positives about Facebook.  Since FB hijacked the word friend, you can collect them like Beanie Babies© : i.e.,  "Look, I have 2,032!"  It provides one with a backseat driver to life  (or 2,032 of them), dispensing digital thumbs up instead of directions. And thanks to the tag option, your most unflattering photos can now be made public for the world.  Let's be honest, the best part about FB is that it’s free admission to cyber-stalk.

My real life friends are cooler than this.

The day I read a status update about a ‘friend’ picking his nose was the day I suspended my account.  Ok, that's a fib. But it’s not a stretch. It frightens me that the desire for public validation has become necessary for even the most mundane, and personal of moments. Does one really need global applause for clipping his toenails?  

Andy Warhol was a psychic genius – 

why Dionne Warwick didn’t hire him is a mystery to me. 

The real reason I’m not on FB anymore is that I’m lazy, and it’s a full time job ‘liking’ everything posted by my Beanie Baby collection. Maybe I’m too self-centered to care.  But if FB is part of our collective conscious, my absence from it theoretically makes me unconscious. I’m like a naked hippie, barefoot in cyberspace and completely oblivious to the birthdays, anniversaries, engagements, and baby/pet announcements of everyone I’ve ever met. And it's ok because I'm busy finding myself on blogger.  Wait, blogger...am I really here?  That's Psychedelic.

?????????????????????????????????

Yoda For President

You know things have taken a turn for the worse when the political dialogue is no longer just about a candidate's underwear*, but about the size of the junk in there.  Our once semi-elevated political discourse has hit the iceberg and it’s going down - quick.  When FDR said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself," he wasn't aware just how scary the 2016 Republican debates would be. *(see Romney)

Front and center in last night’s debate was the most crucial issue facing the nation.  Who fits the XXXL condom? Donald or Marco.  Why none of the moderators brought a ruler to settle this dispute is unclear.  Megyn was off her game.  Seriously, someone please inform Trump and Rubio that the term ‘Dick Swinging Contest’ is not to be taken literally.  Unfortunately this circus show was not a surprise.  If there was ever any doubt, it's now been confirmed: The first thing Trump ever 'fired' was his decorum. 

Now I know what happens when oompa-loompas
 leave the Chocolate Factory. Charlie, come get him.

Turns out FOX could've saved a lot of money on a set designer. Petulant children need a playground, not a stage. And why was Kasich the one put in the corner?  Kasich was the lone voice of reason, yet Donald was center ring 80% of the debate.  As predicted, Trump kept the audience in hysterics.  I half expected to see tomatoes fly.  It was insult comedy at it’s best (or worst). I had to turn off the TV and meditate after minute 20. What I should have been doing is praying Ringling Bros. stays in business.  I'm guessing ticket sales are down.

This is the kind of thinking we need in the White House.

Dear FOX, I know Reality TV is ratings gold but this is becoming a little too real.  The news media needs to stop slobbering all over these clowns and not only ask some tough questions, but hold them to the answer.  What is a moderator for, if not to steer the candidate back to the point at hand?  In all seriousness, I think it's time to put Yoda on the ballot.  Technically, he’s an illegal alien.  However, he's succinct, direct and to the point.  The best part is: Yoda probably doesn’t even have a penis. But...I'll bet his lightsaber is bigger than Donald’s.

BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH......

“Brevity is the soul of wit.”  Thanks Shakespeare for making me feel like shit, again.

One thing I realize when I write is that I have a difficult time editing my own pieces.  Paring it down.  Shaving off the excess.  Self-awareness can be a real bummer.  Basically I’d rather self-administer a waterboarding than re-read my posts. 

sculpture by Frank Kovalchek

Saw this is the NOMA sculpture garden yesterday.  I got lots to say....

Words can be my albatross.  So yeah, this blog will have some loquacious rambling.  Forgive me in advance for not always having time to trim the fat.  But, the thing about writing from my kitchen table is that no one is around to proof, except my dog.  Reading, amongst other things, is not his forte.  Sometimes I just need to get it out.  I’ll have someone else proof before the book is published.

Katherine, out. (mic. drop)

A-Hole is My New Favorite Word

My son’s first word, or one of them, was shit.  At least that is what it sounded like when he began babbling it, as luck would have it- during a visit with my mother-in-law.  Shit! 

Having a kid around is like having an network censor, except my three-second delay is broken.  Like my mother before me - I have been known to curse and will likely curse again in front of my child. It’s not like I use the 'F' word in general conversation with my son. It's more like - Whoops, I just said Fuck! ...Bleep!! Have you ever noticed that expletives seem to have a symbiotic relationship with vocal punctuations?  FUCK is like a leech on the exclamation mark, and often BULLSHIT follows around the question mark.  Therefore, it’s easy to see how these words can slide out by mistake in the rare ‘oh-shit-what-did-I-just-say’ moments.  

When these unplanned occurrences happen in front of my child – now 9, there is a general protocol that follows after.  He laughs and says, “Mom, you just said a bad word,” essentially tattling on his mother, to his own mother. And then I say, “I know, but you know not to say that, right?  It’s a terribly nasty word!”  And then we laugh again and eat an apple pie or something wholesome.  Later on, of course, I stick a bar of soap in my mouth.

Surprisingly there is no parenting book on the subject of profanity and children**.  But it seems parents and society in general have come to the collective consensus that the two not be mixed.  Minor slip-ups aside, I’ve dutifully kept them separate.  Until recently.  Recently, I not only used a-hole in a conversation with my son, I broke it down.  In all its unabbreviated glory, I actually defined asshole for him. Sure he’s 9 so he’s heard it before, and knows what it means.  The point is I crossed the line. (**or for that matter what to do when your 12 month old starts babbling shit to your mother in law There probably is, but none that I know of.  Any takers?).

The day he came home from school complaining about a not-so-nice kid is when I found myself on the other side of that line. Basically a playground bully was doing his job that day.  The kid in question had a mean reputation - and not in the nice sense.  The thought of someone deliberately hurting your kid does terrible things to the heart.   My initial thoughts on his mini -crisis would have technically made me a sailor.  However, restraint was calling.  It was a short call.  After all it was, as Oprah touts, “a teachable moment.’  

I seized the opportunity to teach my child a universal truth - the world is full of Aholes, and people who behave like them. Seriously, if Aholes didn't exist, neither would the word (in the non-literal meaning).  No need to take their Ahole behavior personally. There was some more in between, but I neatly ended the Ahole lesson with a quote from Disney, “ let it go.” He giggled and the mood lightened, and not only did he feel better, but I did too. So that was my response: cold and raw and with a heaping side of my favorite, albeit abridged, curse word Ahole.  We shared the dish.

Sometimes cursing is just necessary. First off, there are no synonyms that do any of them justice except other curse words. The fact is these words are cathartic by nature.  When used properly, the effect can be intensely gratifying, and in this case, alleviate a situation. And on the right occasion, bad words taste so damned good coming out -- it’s like the reverse gratification of chocolate. Like anything, though, overuse will diminish their flavor.  

So don’t worry I’m not going to employ Fuck, Shit and Ahole in my daily dealings with my son from now on, even though I seriously think Ahole is the funniest word on the planet (for the moment).  He is also well aware that he is not to direct that word to the Ahole on the playground, or to anyone else. I view our Ahole conversation as a short but necessary educational detour.  And I’m cool with it. Why?  Because we are hard wired by our ancestors to nurture, protect, and prepare our kids for survival without us. I mean shouldn't we be honest with our kids about what's out there?  The reality is, there are some harsh winters outside of the family nest.  So the more layers my son eventually leaves with, the better. If that means he’s got some profanity at his disposal, so be it.  

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If only our dog could talk - wonder if he's a potty mouth too?