rynling: (Gator Strut)
Type One: I Don't Like Your Face
When you post a selfie and someone says something shitty about it.

Me: Off to an interview and having a great hair day!
My Aunt: Try some anti-frizz cream, girl!

Type Two: Have You Considered that You're the Problem
When your behavior is apparently to blame for systematic injustice.

Me: It's so annoying when people don't address me by my proper title.
Colleague: Have you considered dressing more formally?

Type Three: Men Explain Things to Me

When (male) people try to teach me basic facts about one of my areas of expertise.

Me: A true fandom friend is someone you can hit up for Tumblr gossip.
Some Dude: Did you know that there is a huge video game fandom on Tumblr?

Type Four: Shameless Self-Promotion
When someone doesn't get that nobody is on Facebook for professional networking.

Me: I think it would be hilarious to write a gender-swapped version of Twilight.
Professional Acquaintance: I once wrote an article for Buzzfeed about the Divergent movie.

Type Five: Way Out of Left Field
When someone responds to a conversation they only had with you in their head.

Me: I just challenged my first gym in Pokémon Go!
College Friend: Team Valor is existentially invalid, as pure being is superior to action.

Type Six: Looking for Trouble
When someone takes offense at something incredibly innocuous.

Me: I really need to find a new dentist, any recommendations for the DC area?
Woke Bae: So cool you can afford medical care when people without insurance are suffering.

Type Seven: Old People on Facebook
When your relatives don't know how to internet.

Me: I'm really enjoying the new Harry Potter!! What do you guys think?
Mom: Dear Katie, it's your uncle's birthday next week, so please write on his wall. Love, Mom

(Actually, this last one is adorable. I love it when the olds are on social media.)
rynling: (Cecil Harvey)
I've been avoiding Facebook for the past two or three months because everything I've posted has turned into a pilot episode for "Men Explain Things to Me: The HBO Miniseries."

What I've decided to do is to remove every straight cisgender man I'm friends with from my feed. Whenever a dudebro leaves a comment on one of my posts, I'm going to flag it as inappropriate.

I'm not a radical feminist, and I don't hate men. I don't understand male-gendered patterns of interaction, though. Like, in what universe is mansplaining considered a prelude to civil conversation? I'm not saying that my female friends and acquaintances are all 100% easy to deal with, but at least I get the impression that they assume a basic level of competence and intelligence on my part. If nothing else, I don't find other women (and gay and trans men) as emotionally draining.

I'm still not sure what to do about Twitter.
rynling: (Terra Branford)
I resisted Neko Atsume until two of my friends started spamming Facebook with screenshots, and then I could resist no longer.

Yesterday evening I finally got a picture of Peaches, thereby completing my Catbook.

I'm not done playing the game, though.

I can still remodel the house a few times, and I think there might be more possible expansions. Also, the nekos I've atsumed have started bringing me mementos, and it seems that collecting them is going to become my next project.

Although I caved in to the temptation of cuteness and bought myself a Neko Atsume teacup on Amazon, the real longing that this game has engendered in me is for a nicer living space. I'm not sure what I would do with a house if I could actually afford one – would I have to buy furniture?? – but I'd kind of like to have my own yard.

Instead of investing in real estate, I think what I'm going to do is to buy a small wine rack (it's that time of year, and people will insist on giving me alcohol). I can already imagine the orange circle on my kitchen counter where I can set it down with a satisfying thonk.
rynling: (Cecil Palmer)
Both my Tumblr and my Facebook went apeshit yesterday because of certain world events.




Meanwhile I drove to Bethesda and got all my Christmas shopping taken care of. It's only the middle of November, but I still had to get creative in order to find parking.

People talk about the collapse of global capitalism, but honestly, I don't see that happening anytime soon. DC could get nuked to shit and the Pottery Barn would still keep regular hours.
rynling: (Gator Strut)
This morning I was informed that I will be spending a week in September in Israel. My days will be mostly divided between Hebrew University and Tel Aviv University, but outside the cities is a huge and terrible desert, and I'm going to have to put in some time there too.

I was complaining about this on Facebook, and people have been all, "That's so cool, it'll be like Mad Max!" Don't get me wrong, Fury Road is a fantastic movie, but the desert is legitimately the worst thing. To quote from the introduction to Marc Reisner's Cadillac Desert:

Confronted by the desert, the first thing Americans want to do is change it. People say that they "love" the desert, but few of them love it enough to live there. I mean in the real desert, not in a make-believe city like Phoenix with exotic palms and golf-course lawns and a five-hundred-foot fountain and an artificial surf. Most people "love" the desert by driving through it in air-conditioned cars, "experiencing" its grandeur. That may be some kind of experience, but it is living in a fool's paradise. To really experience the desert you have to march right into its white bowl of sky and shape-contorting heat with your mind on your canteen as if it were your last gallon of gas and you were being chased by a carload of escaped murderers. You have to imagine what it would be like to drink blood from a lizard or, in the grip of dementia, claw bare-handed through sand and rock for the vestigial moisture beneath a dry wash.
On one hand, I'm going to need to stock up on summer scarves, order another pair of polarized wind goggles, and resign myself to dying from skin cancer. On the other hand, my administrative assistant booked me a three-day layover in Paris, so at least there's a silver lining.
rynling: (Cecil Palmer)
After not nearly enough time away, I'm back in Georgia for five days. That's one day to drive here, one day to drive back, and three days to hate myself and wish I was never born.

So there's this boy from the Southern Gothic town where my parents live that I dated briefly during the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He was kind of gross, but I was a scholarship student at a private school in Atlanta, and so I think he must have seemed strange and exotic to me. I was quickly disabused of this notion and tried to wash my hands of him, but it's been easier said than done.

This kid has been creepily stalking me across various social media platforms and creepily trying to stay in touch with me for years, and it's been creepy. Last week, he creepily messaged me on Facebook and creepily said that he knows I'd be in town this weekend. Fuck me, but I actually entertained the notion of responding to him.

I'm caught up in half a dozen projects right now, but one day I want to be able to write a collection of linked short stories about this part of Georgia. The collection would be called "Jackson Lake," and it would revolve around the fact that a lot of people died when a village was flooded in the process of making the reservoir early in the twentieth century. I know this sounds like a cliché of genre fiction, but it happens to be a real thing that really happened here.

Each of the twelve stories is going to be narrated by a different character, and one of those characters is going to be based on my creepy stalker. I therefore sort of want to meet with him and use the opportunity to ask personal and invasive questions about his life...

...but not really. As an actual person, he is boring and sad and has no redeeming qualities. As a character in my head, he is fascinating and tragic and has made painful yet interesting choices. I therefore think it's more productive – and less uncomfortably creepy – if he remains largely a fictional construct.
rynling: (Default)
A friend of mine is planning a week-long trip to Tokyo, and he was asking people on Facebook for advice on where he and his girlfriend should stay in the city. He's a big fan of Durarara!!, so he wants to stay in Ikebukuro, but everyone in the comment chain was telling him what a cesspool that area is. Since he knows I love Ikebukuro, he asked me what was going on.

In my response, I told him that I'm biased, as I lived in Philadelphia for years and find decrepitude charming. I've also grown to find extreme human density and culturally mixed slum neighborhoods comforting, so much so that I actually feel that clean and well-ordered neighborhoods are strange and alienating.

Yesterday I strong-armed a friend into going to the Japanese Street Fair on Pennsylvania Avenue with me, and while we were there some dickhead shot himself on the steps of the Capitol Building. It was a mess. We walked back to Dupont Circle, and I spent almost the entire time grumbling to my friend about DC and how weird and expensive it is. She was like, "Yes, absolutely, that's why I live in Baltimore."

After spending the evening doing research and doing math, I realized that it would be way cheaper to live in Philadelphia, drive to Virginia, and stay in a hotel two nights a week than it would be to continue living here. Also, if I lived in Philadelphia, I could afford a much better living arrangement. And, you know, I would have friends and a community, not to mention access to a huge university library.

I have the summer and fall off on paid research leave anyway, so it makes no sense for me to stay here after April. I already notified my building manager that I'm not going to renew my lease, and then I got in touch with my realtor friend in Philadelphia. I also got a few quotes from movers, figured out where to get free cardboard boxes, and sent out feelers for subletters to take over the remainder of my lease. Snap snap motherfuckers.

Let it never be said that I make enormous life decisions after allowing for adequate time spent in careful deliberation.
rynling: (Teh Bowz)
There should be a word for the combination of justified anger and guilty relief you feel in the exact moment of a conversation when you realize that the other person doesn't know what the fuck they're talking about and that there's therefore no need for you to continue engaging with them.

This happens to me all the time on Facebook.

This also happens to be one of the reasons I hate Facebook.
rynling: (Gators)
I didn't actually quit Facebook.

I can't quit Facebook, although I've tried. I think I made some sort of secret deal with the demon gods of Facebook over partial ownership of my soul. I can no longer remember this secret deal, but I figure that not remembering must have been part of it.

Still, I admire people who do quit, and I enjoy reading "Why I Quit Facebook" essays.

I almost want to put together these essays, get the permission of the authors, and then publish the collection as a physical book. Oh the things I could do if I didn't have a job.

Anyway, have some essays about quitting Facebook!

The Five Stages of Facebook Grief

I Left Facebook, And You Can Too

Is Not Joining Facebook a Sign You're a Psychopath?

Leaving Facebookistan

What I Didn't Write About When I Wrote About Quitting Facebook

Why I Just Quit Facebook

Why I'm Quitting Facebook


rynling: (Default)
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