This Girl

BREAKING: MEDIA NEWS: Millions outraged by reports of a massive spying by the National Security Agency have taken to social media to share the intimate details of their lives in protest. Mary Jean Andreson of Cornerville, WI posted this on Facebook in response to the NSA scandal: "Why the heck does the NSA care that my husband is a no good, lazy crumb who never takes the trash out?" Kevin Treadway of Penooka, MO also expressed his outrage by sharing the details of his dating life on Facebook: "Dumped again. Girls suck. So what if I chew my food with my mouth open and talk while drinking? You've never seen beer trickle down someone's chin? Come on! I'm never asking anyone out again. EVER!!!! Got that, NSA????????? Susan Leapletter of Turnbridge County, TX, who was --feeling crappy, was even more irate with her status update: "My boss and coworkers are such a losers! Who cares if I took extra office supplies home. Doesn't EVERYONE?!?!?!? Why do I

I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. --Rihanna We sat in our seats waiting for the second half to start. With the score tied, the fans were hopeful that our team would come out fighting and put this one away.  The stands were abuzz with folks making the obligatory concessions and pitstop runs, standing up to stretch and nodding mindlessly to the half-time family-friendly events taking place on the field. At the 50-yard line, a group preteen girls danced to a catchy little tune. Their parents dressed the future Bey-Beys modestly and didn't over-do the makeup. How refreshing it was to see girls dressing and looking their age, rather than 10-going-on-30. Finally, I thought, people are getting it. That's when my husband pointed out that the catchy little tune to which they were dancing was none other than Rihanna's S&M.  And the WTF moment quickly descended upon yours truly.

Social media has done it again.  From the ambiguous and uninterpretable meaning of likes to the destruction of civilized language though an overpopulation of 3-4 letter acronyms, punctuation marks and emoticons, we have run the gamut of sorry excuses for words. Or so I thought. Allow me to introduce you, dear reader, to the Facebook Sticker. What is a sticker you might ask? It is a quick and dirty mechanism to scare the crap out of the BFF who is on the receiving end of your impersonal, remote, online dialogue, that's what.  Let me illustrate by defining these new "you can't see me so I am going to try to tell you how I am feeling through creepy cartoonish faces" word stand-ins. Enjoy. Or not.

Dear young people sitting at the table next to me who are obviously on a date, Put those stupid iPhones away and pay attention to each other. We've all done it. Admit it. We've all been smartphone douche bags. It's a cultural change that might not have been welcome or anticipated. But it is here. Smartphone douchery is as commonplace as highs of 67 in June in Chicago. Wait...what? Nevermind. Anywho, I was out for a casual dinner at a pub with the hubby the other night and next to us--as in, not quite a foot away due to European style table crampery--was a young couple who appeared to be on a date. I don't know, maybe they were bro-and-sis and were playing a blinking game. But the short-lived longing stares said one thing--either fireworks were about to hit or there's going to be a heartache tonight.

A.C.R.O.N.Y.M. is an acronym. --as posted on Urban Dictionary Scientists are a curious bunch--and I'm not just talking about our yearning for answers. We tend to use big words like pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis , which basically means something icky is junking up your lungs. Actually, I had never seen that word until about 24 seconds ago when I googled "big science words." But still, we use big words and because we like to pat ourselves on the back for being so busy saving the human race, the planet, the universe and cute puppies from total destruction, we don't have a lot of time to waste using those big words. Solution? Acronyms.

Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking Can't we give ourselves one more chance --Under Pressure Queen, David Bowie I got my first taste of the news when I was a young sap, watching the great Walter Jacobson with my Dad. It was pretty much an evening ritual--newspaper, Wally, and maybe a little Dan Rather. Somewhere in there, Dad managed to eat dinner. I just can't remember the order of events. What I do remember is that this pretty much sums it up. There was no gluing of eyes to the tube watching talking head after talking head report the same exact story over and over, but with a different touch of flair. There was no getting up early in the morning to share your coffee with two spiffy gents and the token female who should really rethink the amount of time she spends in tanning beds. Reading prepared remarks from a teleprompter or repeating what the producer says in your earpiece is hardly what I would call "analysis," but somehow it passes as

BREAKING: ENTERTAINMENT NEWS: Reality TV power house, Bravo announced today that it will be addressing Punctuation Mark Addiction in a new series, Breaking  Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad Habits!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The idea for the show was pitched by the Collective Union of Simple Messages, or CUOSM, after a campaign to fight message loss through punctuation mark abuse failed miserably. CUOSM teamed up with the informal organization the Punctuators to stall what appeared to be unsustainable punctuation overpopulation. The message had an anticlimactic effect, though, when social media users started sharing the memes originating from the campaign, while adding comments like "So True!!!!!" and "IKR?????!!"

My first encounter with social media was Facebook. At the time, I had no idea what it was and felt I had passed the age limit for such things anyway. A bit old school, I still held on to the belief that social networking meant popping by your friend's office and seeing what's doing for the night. When we had a meet up, we'd actually meet up--as in, at someone's house. It was expected that you just wouldn't BYOB, but you'd also bring your game face, belly laugh, tears and your provocative commentary. It was kind of like "The View," but without the redhead...Did we have a redhead in the bunch? I'm just not remembering a redhead. But I digress. Again. Anywho, I had moved on to another phase in life that was met with yet another circle of friends who were younger and more tech savvy than yours truly. We'd get together a couple times a week to blow off steam. One time I missed an opportunity to smack down a rival bar trivia team once and for all

Last November I wore purple just about every day of the month. Whether it was earrings, a bracelet, t-shirt, underwear didn't matter--every day was purple day. I like the color purple and all-- movie included--but it's not exactly my favorite. You have to think a little with purple. It just doesn't "go" with anything. And depending on the fabric and shade, it can leave one feeling like Barney's surgically removed conjoined twin. Wearing purple had nothing to do with my taste in color. It just happened to be the color associated with Epilepsy Awareness and November was Epilepsy Awareness Month. Normally colors might go unnoticed, but I'm not exactly a proud peacock in my choice of apparel. So when people noticed me wearing my purple bling, they'd remark how nice it was or how it made my complexion pop. Taking that as my cue to deliver my lines, I'd tell them about my sweet nephew who has Doose Syndrome, a rare form of childhood epilepsy that is

"What? Is this a baby shower?" --Karen Swallow Prior, in The Atlantic A Sunday night in March in Chicago. Clothes dryer humming. Wind whistling through the cold, urban canyon. 60 Minutes segment on the plight of Pussy Riot just wrapped up. March Madness is dominating headlines. Even I'm distracted by the madness as my team earned a spot in the second round today. Keep it up ladies--sweet sixteen is only a game away. Christian folk are gearing up for Holy Week. Lucky duck spring breakers are breaking. Lots going on this month. Did I mention it was 15 degrees on the first day of spring and that the snow is still flying in parts of the Plains? All this made me wonder: who's the Madame Curie who got the bright idea to have Women's History Month in March?

"I respect your views. I ask you to respect my views."-- Senator Dianne Feinstein Dear Woman Who Criticized Sen. Feinstein : Please take a cue from No Doubt and Don't Speak . If you are a political junky, you undoubtedly have read or heard about the recent exchange between Senator Dianne Feinstein (CA) and some guy from Texas over gun control. I generally extend respect to those in elected positions by using their earned titles and proper names. I hope you can excuse me, dear reader, if I exercise my right to be rude in referring to the elected official from the great state of Texas as "some guy." I anticipate that after his next bid for re-election, he will find himself among the ranks of just some guys.

Around my neck hangs a medal of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It's been there since June of 2004, when my Dad gave it to me as a birthday present. Those who knew my Dad might say, "Oh that's nice" before scratching their heads and back tracking a bit. The confusion would not lie in my Dad giving me a birthday gift; it would lie in the fact that my Dad passed away in March of 2004-nine years ago today, to be exact. This is going to sound crazy, but bear with me, dear reader. I might be a rational scientist type of person, but I do believe in the sweet hereafter.

“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.”  --Rudyard Kipling A friend recently posted this article about author Joy Williams' take on "Why Writers Write." Declaring the post a good read, I shared it with another writer friend who eloquently stated why she writes. Being the smart alec that I am, I merely replied, "Usually, I write to make fun of stuff." While that is true as you can glean from past blog posts, I think I owe my dear friend a better answer. After all, she is partially to blame for me gaining the confidence to just write. This might be one of the most convoluted answers to a simple question I've ever given. Such is the danger when a writer "free writes" or starts typing before knowing which words will appear on the screen. Some words may end up on the cutting room floor. That is not to say that each word is not an important character in my prose. Perhaps they will reappear in future features. For now

There have been so many awards shows lately for the entertainment industry, that I actually thought that the Oscars were over and done with. On the contrary, they will air tonight. So logically, the interwebs will be ticking with analyses of who got snubbed, who wore what and with a little luck, who said something controversial on camera to add a touch of flair to the seemingly stuffy evening. I love movies and all, but really have no opinion-good or bad-on the Academy Awards. It's nice to see artists recognized for their hard work and dedication to their craft, but I don't need some committee to tell me who did a good job acting, directing, film editing, composing, cinemetographing, etc. (Okay, I made that last word up. Sue me). I've seen enough movies to know what's good and what's not according to my own tastes. If I had my druthers, there would be an award for Best Movie that Got Snubbed in the Past or Went Unnoticed by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and S

Dear Female Reporters and other Female PR-types, Please quit fighting for the wrong side in the war on women. 2012 was an odd year. I know. I know. It's an even number. That's not what I meant, math nerds. I meant odd in the sense that I had absolutely no idea just how poor our STEM education really is in this country. 2012 revealed that there are men out there who believe that lady parts have a way of distinguishing a rapist's sperm from the sperm that swimmeth forth from the loins of a one true love. We also learned in this historic year, that there are people out there who actually believe that evolution means that all creatures, big and small, eventually become human .

"Liking" redirects here. For the psychological concept, see reciprocal liking .--Wikipedia A funny thing happened while strolling through the cybersphere today. An email notification from LinkedIn appeared in my inbox informing me that one of my connections endorsed me for five skills. This isn't so atypical. I can honestly say that I am adept at each of the skills for which I was endorsed. The problem is that I have no idea how this particular person could say with any confidence that I am adept at each of the skills for which I was endorsed. The fact is that I simply cannot remember how I met this connection.

"Privacy."--Jodie Foster The role that cemented my Jodie Foster fan-dome was Dr. Ellie Arroway in Contact. At the time I first saw this movie, I was toying with pursuing a graduate degree in science. My mentors prefaced every conversation with the acknowledgement that a career in science is "not all it's cracked up to be." As a fresh-faced undergrad, I sort of blew that off considering I did not know what to crack it all up to be. All I knew was that I thought bacteria were the shit and I wanted to get to know the little critters better.

Dear Banks of America and Other Rich Dudes, Please quit buying shit and putting your boring-ass name on it. We used to have this thing in Chicago called the Sears Tower. Now when you do a Google search for those two words--and that's what they've been relegated to--the top hit is this site dedicated to some monstrosity called the Willis Tower. This self-proclaimed "global icon" is now the seventh largest building in the world and still first in the US. What you don't see on that site's welcome page is the name Sears and no indication of the nostalgia wrapped within its walls. Instead, you are welcomed with a cold reception as dry and bland as partially done white bread toast.

Like if you like chocolate.  Share if you love chocolate.  Comment if you have no taste buds, but would definitely give chocolate a shout out.  Ignore if you are the devil. --A true smartass I posted that as my Facebook status update the other day. Granted, it did not reflect the fact that my heart rate, pulse and breaths per minute were all normal (#clinicalstatusjokes) , nor did it answer the pressing Facebook question, "What's going on, Tina?"  But it did satisfy my inner social scientist inquiring mind. As a result of this little experiment, I can conclude that 13 of my friends like chocolate, none love chocolate, two do not have taste buds, but would give chocolate a shout out, and the rest are all the devil's spawn. Either that or they just rolled their eyes, shook their heads and said, "Oh, for the love of Rudolph! How do you hide people from showing up in your News Feed?" Devil's spawn is funnier, though.