I don't get Facebook. I didn't get My Space either, when it was all the rage. Oh I joined My Space at the insistence of some friends. Only problem was it repeatedly refused to let me sign in - to my account. Frustrated me no end so I abandoned it.
Then, Chris Hansen does all those exposes of predators who frequented My Space chat rooms and suddenly My Space lost cred. And along comes Facebook. I got a tip that someone I had been searching for might be found on that site, so I signed up. The only people I found were those who only shared their info with "friends". Since I had little interest in befriending these people, I closed the account. And after I did, I got an e-mail from the nice folks who run the place assuring me that I would change my mind, and when I did, they would welcome me back. Nice to know they're keeping my seat warm. But it seems to me that the only reason people want to be on Facebook is to see how many "friends" they can garner. Apparently it gives one a sense of achievement to get to say. "I have xxx number of friends. I'm so popular."
Now the thing that makes me crazy is the New Age of Advertising where companies ask me to join them on Facebook. They offer coupons, and contests, and information about the product. On Facebook. Any takers? Not I, sez I. May not mean much to the giants of industry, but I refuse to do business with a company whose only identity is how many "friends" they have. The point of being in business is to have customers. And the way to get customers is to have a good quality, reasonably priced, readily available product. Tell me about it on TV or in the newspaper. And give me a coupon to introduce it. My return purchases will tell you how friendly I am.
Like I said earlier, I don't get it. If you really think all of these "friends" are friends, tell 'em you're moving and need help. That's when you find out who your friends are.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Dance Recitals and Ugly People
My two youngest granddaughters are dance students. The little one takes ballet and tap, while her sister takes ballet and jazz. She did take tap for a couple of years but switched to jazz last year. I'm not a big fan of jazz, which in recent years has become more hip-hop and less Bob Fosse. Anyway, they had their dance recital(s) over the last two weekends and it's important to them that Grandma attend. I love to see them dance. The only drawback is that one must watch everyone else's kids dance and while the really little ones are cute, the rest of the evening(s) are very long. So, the first Friday, the little one appeared in two numbers - one being her ballet and the other being her tap. She did a good job and basked in the glow of floral tributes, compliments, and lots of hugs.
Saturday night, the older sister had her ballet recital as one of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz production. This is her first year as one of the "Big Girls" so she has to work her way up to a premiere role. Since she isn't yet nine years old, it will be three years before we see her on pointe. The young lady who danced the role of the Wicked Witch was a remarkable dancer, although she was a bit on the heavy side. So we got to hug Our Girl, and give her flowers, and tell her how wonderful she is, and then we got to go home.
The following weekend, the big girl had her jazz recital, on both Friday and Saturday evenings. For the first time, the dance school she attends had a young boy in the jazz class. The choreography of her routine called for the boy to lift her during the performance, and for her to cartwheel over him. They both did a nice job and the audience cheered and applauded as they took their simultaneous bow.
I attended the Saturday evening performance and was seated with my son, his wife, and his sister-in-law. In the row in front of us, a man, a woman, and a young boy were seated together. You may be sure that anyone at the recital has a very close relative or an extremely special friend's child. What follows is what was related to me several days after the show.
The jazz dancers were performing, and the girls were wearing pink and black striped shirts, under-leggings and long black shorts. The only boy was dressed in blue and black striped outfit and a ball cap. The woman in the row ahead remarked, "Is that a boy?" and her male companion said, "Yes". The woman responded with, "What is he? A faggot?" The man said, "Leave the kid alone".
The person who heard this exchange was too taken aback to say anything, but I'm afraid I would not have been so reticent. In the first place, why would an adult make that kind of remark about a kid? Within earshot of the kid who had accompanied her? In public? If this sorry excuse for a human could see how ugly she is, she would hide from the world.
As for the young dancer, at age nine he fears being labeled gay by his peers. He's a Little Leaguer with a crush on one of the fifth grade girls in the dance class.
He's taking dance for movement improvement so that when he plays sports, it will enhance his capability on the field.
Would it be poetic justice if this woman's own progeny turned out to practice an alternative lifestyle? I'm only sayin'.
Saturday night, the older sister had her ballet recital as one of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz production. This is her first year as one of the "Big Girls" so she has to work her way up to a premiere role. Since she isn't yet nine years old, it will be three years before we see her on pointe. The young lady who danced the role of the Wicked Witch was a remarkable dancer, although she was a bit on the heavy side. So we got to hug Our Girl, and give her flowers, and tell her how wonderful she is, and then we got to go home.
The following weekend, the big girl had her jazz recital, on both Friday and Saturday evenings. For the first time, the dance school she attends had a young boy in the jazz class. The choreography of her routine called for the boy to lift her during the performance, and for her to cartwheel over him. They both did a nice job and the audience cheered and applauded as they took their simultaneous bow.
I attended the Saturday evening performance and was seated with my son, his wife, and his sister-in-law. In the row in front of us, a man, a woman, and a young boy were seated together. You may be sure that anyone at the recital has a very close relative or an extremely special friend's child. What follows is what was related to me several days after the show.
The jazz dancers were performing, and the girls were wearing pink and black striped shirts, under-leggings and long black shorts. The only boy was dressed in blue and black striped outfit and a ball cap. The woman in the row ahead remarked, "Is that a boy?" and her male companion said, "Yes". The woman responded with, "What is he? A faggot?" The man said, "Leave the kid alone".
The person who heard this exchange was too taken aback to say anything, but I'm afraid I would not have been so reticent. In the first place, why would an adult make that kind of remark about a kid? Within earshot of the kid who had accompanied her? In public? If this sorry excuse for a human could see how ugly she is, she would hide from the world.
As for the young dancer, at age nine he fears being labeled gay by his peers. He's a Little Leaguer with a crush on one of the fifth grade girls in the dance class.
He's taking dance for movement improvement so that when he plays sports, it will enhance his capability on the field.
Would it be poetic justice if this woman's own progeny turned out to practice an alternative lifestyle? I'm only sayin'.
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