Signs you are old

When instead of paeans to women’s summer clothes and peach body spray*, one of your chill, fun university-era friends posts on Facebook “Concert done, and we had a great time. I can confirm after watching all the college kids parade around that the trend du jour is high waisted short shorts with butt cheeks hanging out the bottom.”

*This is a reference to a non-Internet column at Boston University’s Daily Free Press in about 1997, that caused the first-ever feminist uproar I’ve ever seen. Jeremy Catalino praised the smell of girls in summer clothes and peach body spray or something. Four people remember this, and we are all old. Catalino didn’t make the short-shorts comment, because he knows how to properly use a hyphen.

Your first reaction to this pitch will most likely be to overlook it.
The first line of an email in my Inbox that arrived at 5:08 pm on a Friday.

In retrospect — a lot of retrospect — it was a fucked up situation. I picked him up at the train station after a weekend away and a couple check-in texts, a couple weeks into dating, and drove us to dinner. I picked a place that was kind of a drive. Halfway there, I told him.

How did I phrase it? Something like, “I didn’t want to ruin your weekend, but…”

Someone broke into my apartment. He sexually assaulted me. I spent Friday night and into Saturday at the ER waiting for the medical violation, and Saturday day in a hotel room waiting for the cops to finish processing my apartment.

How do you respond?

He actually was perfect — or as perfect as I needed him to be. In the terrible dance he found himself in, he let me lead. He never questioned the buccal swab or the police questioning about whether I’d been cheating on him to make him jealous, not the obsessive lock-checking or the meltdown after I came home from one police meeting to the news that D. had died and I had nothing else to give anyone.

I would feel more self-satisfied about the fact LinkedIn just showed me my ex’s profile as someone I should know and that the picture is from a couple years before we dated, but then I’d have to admit I was on LinkedIn.

But: We dated in 2003, so he’s rocking on LinkedIn a 15-year-old profile pic from his post-divorce online dating profile. So I win.

cammiecat:



“If you will try raising your upper lip, you might, at least, create the illusion of a smile.”


 - Paris When It Sizzles (1964)

Relevant.

cammiecat:

“If you will try raising your upper lip, you might, at least, create the illusion of a smile.”

- Paris When It Sizzles (1964)

Relevant.

(Source: yoyohelmet)

(Reblogged from someauthorgirl)

Things I Might Be Doing This Week, My Last Week At This Gig

  • Tumblr’ing.
  • Passive-aggressively using Tweets about equal pay to demonstrate how to properly use Hootsuite.
  • Wearing the dress I know my boss hates and told someone else to tell me was too low cut for the office.
  • Coming in at 10 am.
  • Leaving at before 6 to make the two-for-one happy hour that ends at 7.
  • Looking up people from college on Facebook.

A Guide To Using Facebook To See Pages You “Like”

There have been a lot of complaints lately about Facebook’s algorithm driving down organic views of Page’s posts. (A terminology check: You, an individual, have a Facebook Profile. A publication, business or brand has a Facebook Page.) Some writers have hinted, and Facebook’s more-or-less said outright, that many people have hit the Like button on many a Page (some of which they don’t actually care about) and are also connected to a lot of Profiles that post a lot of things, much which you would almost certainly never see anyway if, like Twitter, Facebook’s News Feed was just a basic chronology of posts.

Whatever you think about the various arguments, the fact of the matter is that Facebook is unlikely to change course radically and re-fill your news feed with every single thing — assuming that is what you want, which is a question that doesn’t often get asked. But, assuming you do, what follows is a way to get all the posts from all the crap you Like’d in one place.

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Throwback Thursday

I’m not big on selfies or hashtags or whatever, so I don’t normally do a #tbt on Instagram (which I use almost exclusively for looking at pictures of other people’s cats because sometimes you just want a spot on the Internet to relax with a wine and enjoy your experience), but I was struck with the urge this morning when I noticed a pile of pictures my mom found in a closet and gave me. Some were mine, some were hers — just a mish mosh of photos from baby photos to doubles of stuff I probably have in an album somewhere.

In the middle was a bunch of pictures Erin and I took at our 10th high school reunion — long before most of the class was on Facebook, so I brought a film camera after she called my folks and asked me to bring it because she forgot hers (and I think I paid extra to have the pictures put on a CD to upload to a Geocities site I built, fuck you I’m old).

She had apparently taken two of my ex D., the one who died not two years later. They’re probably the only pictures I have of him that aren’t in a yearbook, because after I found after I went off to college that he’d been screwing around with another, younger classmate of ours while we were dating, Ted and I ritualistically burned the class photo he’d given me as a memento.

[This is the part where I went and Facebook friended Ted, who I haven’t seen since 1996. He accepted. Ted was awesome.]

The other two people in the photo with him are a little overexposed, so in the center, he’s hogging all the richness of the shadows, half-smiling — he didn’t really ever smile-smile for photos — and looking exactly as I remember him always looking. (It’s an illusion, of course, which he encouraged that night by wearing a touque to cover up the bald spot he’d told me in college he’d already started growing.)

It’s so weird to think that he’s gone, and that it’s been 6 years.

Sentiment analysis has also been used in political efforts. Earlier this year, the nonpartisan, nonprofit group No Labels—which seeks to strip partisanship from politics—teamed up with Los Angeles real-time analytics and trend-intelligence company Bottlenose. The goal was to find places to inject meaningful messages in measured, bipartisan Twitter conversations—which in part means hunting for tweets that eschew anger, sarcasm and other emotions that indicate a hard-line view of politics.

During the State of the Union address, Bottlenose analyzed the keywords being used in tweets hashtagged #SOTU, among other things. Adam Blumenfeld, Bottlenose’s director of client digital strategies, says he and a team from No Labels found a subset of tweeters expressing support for bipartisanship were also using the hashtag #TeamUSA.

Into those conversations, they tweeted, “Both Democrats and Republicans are a part of #TeamUSA. We need a national strategic agenda. That’s #HowWeFixIt.” And they included an image with No Labels’ Web address. In about 120 seconds, that tweet was retweeted 32 times.

- “32 Whole Retweets, A Memoir Of Failing Up” is going to be the title of my next poorly-disguised non-fiction fictional novel of our times.

[Source]

HEY LADIES! Don’t bite your tongue when your new paramour starts clumsily hurting your feelings about your physical features. Make it crystal fucking clear that you are unique and beautiful in your own way and if a dude can’t see that with his lazy pig eyes then he should get his rocks off with 2-D images and leave you the fuck alone. (You can get this point across without sounding like a vengeful evil queen in training, of course. Theoretically. Not that I’ve tried.)

From Ask Polly. I disagree with one thing — you should say it as rudely and dismissively and insultingly as possible, so that he learns to spew diarrhea out of his asshole and not his mouth.

(To all the ladies unfortunately enough to date A.P. after 1996, the reason he didn’t say a fucking word about “how your breasts don’t look like the ones in the magazines” is because I put mine away and told him that’s because mine were real and if he ever wanted to touch ones not inked on paper he should never fucking speak those words aloud ever again.)