Friday, August 29, 2008

Blah, blah, blog

I've been on the Internet since, oh, 1989 or 1990. My first email account had a BITNET address, that's how long ago it was. I've loved making friends online all these years, and finding information, and just generally enjoying (and building) new things.

But I'm really tired of it right now. I'm tired of posting to lists and having three people contradict me, oh so politely, but firmly. I'm tired of emailing people who don't reply, and friending people I actually know who write and ask how they know me, and finding the same tired text over and over because of the packagers who buy 10 different versions of the same story from one writer and then sell them to 30 different web sites. I'm tired of the trolls on blogs and Propeller and local newspapers' web sites.

I don't know what to do about this just yet; the Internet has been part of my life so deeply and for so long that I don't really know what I'd do without it. But something has to change.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Please, you're embarrassing the rest of us white people

"The Cuban immigrant to Miami is a dead ringer for Barack Obama, from the broad smile to the close-cropped hair," according to this article about an "Obama impersonator" at Yahoo! News.

Uh, no, he isn't. Unless you think all tall, slim black men who wear suits look alike, which you obviously do.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

It's not the sexual predators, it's the friggin' rats

Okay, I'll admit it: I hate the playground. For the last couple of years—basically, since my almost-three-year-old learned to walk—I have felt obligated, as a stay-at-home mom, to take him to the playground on a regular basis. It's not like he's addicted to the playground; his attitude is kind of take-it-or-leave-it. He never asks to go to the playground, but he doesn't refuse to go either. But I just flat-out hate it.

There's no reason I shouldn't hate it; some, if not most, of my exceptionally humiliating moments in elementary school took place on the playground. The time I hit a bully with my lunch box and I got in trouble? That was on the playground. The time my best friend decided to ignore me at recess because she had a crush on the guy who hated me because I beat him in the spelling bee? Playground. My many ignominious two-square defeats? Playground, of course. It's really no wonder I hate the playground, although I had actually forgotten most of those things until I started thinking the other day about why I hate the playground. And they don't explain why I hate the playground I go to now, which isn't the one where those things happened.

It's true that there are sometimes some creepy-looking characters hanging around the two playgrounds with the best equipment, but then, those are both in very large city parks, where creepy-looking characters tend to hang out anyway. But the other morning I was out for my morning run in the park, and I saw something that really gave me the creeps: a rat. I have nothing against rats, as long as they're pretty little clean rats that live in cages and maybe come out to sit on their owners' shoulders at Renaissance faires and that kind of thing. I just don't think big ol' garbage-eating city rats are appropriate playground companions. But in this case, they're giving me an excellent excuse not to go the playground, so go rats.