Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: changes, Facebook, friends, life without facebook, ridiculousness, social media, updates
I have gone at least a month without using my Facebook.
Some people find this admirable. Some people find this disgusting. Some people find this unbelievable. I really don’t care if you think I am crazy for getting rid of it, deactivating my profile from the pernicious view of the world. Actually I do care: you might be crazy if you’re actually so addicted that you can no longer live without it.
Giving up Facebook has been one of my greatest ideas. I feel like I have more time for living, as opposed to mindlessly surfing profiles, indulging in games inspired by procrastination made for procrastination, and shouting at my laptop in frustration over the ever-changing Facebook home page. While my reversion back to normal sleeping habits may have nothing to do with signing off of Facebook for good, I like to think that it played a part. I do more homework, spend more time on Twitter (reading news as opposed to worthless ‘Notes’ and ‘Status Updates’), and use the internet as a tool, not as a means to connect with my every friend, foe, cousin, viral video, and new game.
I am really enjoying life without Facebook.
Some people gave up Facebook for Lent, like this guy.
But I don’t think that that is enough. I would be willing to bet that there are some Christians obsessing about their lack of social media. They are probably begging themselves to log in. ‘My precious farm!’ ‘What will I do without Jackie’s default to jerk off to?’ ‘Qué necesito para jugar serpiente!’ Those people are planning on returning to Facebook in the near future. I, on the other hand, am not. I think that is the part that gets people.
Facebook has become a necessity. It’s how you stay in the loop with friends, and people you aren’t friends with, and the security team at the mall, and the chemistry club, and your favorite TV shows, and the news about worldwide disasters (including, but not limited to, tsunamis, earthquakes, and that house party you weren’t invited to.) To some, Facebook is as necessary as breathing and bathing. Facebook is a drug. Once you get on, you don’t want to leave — even when you’re bored with Facebook! Is it wrong that I don’t miss it… at all?
Some people think so. I have gotten comments like “I don’t know how you do it,” and “Are you coming back?” and “I would never get rid of my Facebook. I love it.” But do you really? Do you really love your profile page? Isn’t that a little ridiculous? Aren’t we supposed to love family, and that runner’s high you get after a good run, and when your little brother makes you a birthday card? Are we supposed to love the embodiment of commercialism, materialism, laxism, pessimism, nihilism, absurdism, skepticism, solipsism and every other ism you can think of? Can Facebook really be loved? Should it be loved? Or is it due to be burned like a controversial book? I never felt that Facebook love. Perhaps the lust, the hunger for Facebook.
Facebook has revolutionized the world we live it. We now have things like “Facebook Activism” (The illusion of dedication to a cause through no-commitment awareness groups. Specifically in reference to Facebook groups centered around political issues http://bit.ly/fnRjmk ) and different types of friends (“Facebook ‘Friends’” A “friend” on facebook whom you added after meeting for a brief period of time. A friend of a friend of a friend, someone you met at a bar, or just a random acquaintance who happened to add you. You rarely, if ever speak to this person http://bit.ly/fcUwMd ) and we can even decide if those “friends” are worth of looking at our page or not (Facebook audit The act or practice of de-friending people on Facebook, mainly due to excessive status updates. Although this may apply to the de-friending of individuals, it more commonly refers to going through one’s “Friends” list and removing a relatively large number of people, such as people you met at a party once and haven’t seen since, friends of exes, and high school classmates that you actually kind of hated http://bit.ly/dJiAgf .) Even my parents were ‘creeping’ on my page. Anyone could see a snippet — or a decent size photograph — of my life, as of today.
So I when people ask “Why did you do it?” I say “I got sick of Facebook.” It’s not a lie. I was really sick and tired of Facebook. It was a nuisance. It was something I didn’t want in my life anymore, like a crazy ex or a two faced friend.
You don't have to delete your Facebook profile. But it has been nice to take a step back from the digital world of social media.
I don’t mind when people accuse me of being crazy for deactivating my page. I may be crazy, but I am not crazy because I excised Facebook from my life. I know that much. It has been a positive change. It’s one less thing to waste my time with, and it’s one less thing I have to worry about. My social life has not suffered; the people who want to call me, call me. I’m fine. I’ve survived.
One day, I may reactivate it. Never say never. We’ll see how things go. But for now, I like my life without Facebook.
I don’t see going back anytime soon.
Filed under: Flash Fiction, Late Night | Tags: college, dorm life, drinking, flash fiction, friends, hunting knife, kids, ridiculousness, rules are meant to be broken, stranger than fiction, travel, video
Grease and cheez whiz dribbled down their fingers as Pat, the purported king of steaks, watched them through the window.
Katie Mac and Clyde Thornton happily discussed their holidays as they attempted to finish their massive cheese steaks.
“You met a vagabond in the middle of the desert?” Katie asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, he was asleep at the top of a sand dune in the Mojave. He seemed like a pretty cool guy,” replied Clyde.
They departed the Philadelphia landmark, driving down the dirty alleyways of south Philly, the sky dusting the air with dandruffy snow. It seemed like a moment appropriate for a remixed Beatles ballad, or perhaps some Creedence Clearwater Revival. But the radio remained silent, and the two chattered on, occasionally interrupted by the creepy woman narrating the GPS directions.
South Campus seemed eerily quiet when they arrived at Villanova. Few students roamed the grassy knoll or slushy sidewalks. The street lamps illuminated the falling snow like Christmas movies often do. Clyde grabbed Katie’s luggage and followed her to the dormitory.
“You lost your wildcard. Your banner ID is 00692443, if they ask. You study biology here. You are not a freshman,” Katie coached him before they walked in the door.
“Got it,” Clyde replied. Does she honestly expect me to remember that? thought Clyde.
The automatic door swung open with its familiar malaise.
“Howdy folks,” said the security guard upon their entrance into the building. They tried to keep walking in, but the guard stopped them. “You’re going to have to sign him in,” he said to Katie, gesturing to the grizzly Clyde.
Stupid all girls dorm in a Catholic school, she cursed for the thousandth time.
“I lost my wildcard,” Clyde said. “Here’s my driver’s license.”
The security guard was not amused.
“Are you confused? I know the rules are confusing. All guests, especially males, need to be checked in,” he stated coldly.
Clyde and Katie glanced nervously at one another. Of course there’s a problem, Katie thought.
The guard took another look at Clyde, back to the identification card, back to Clyde. Begrudingly, he took out the sheet of paper and began to sign Clyde into the dormitory.
“You know,” he said with a sly ‘I know you’re lying’ tone to his deep voice, “you really don’t look like someone who goes here.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Clyde replied in disbelief.
What is that supposed to mean?
“Well, obviously I can’t know everyone. I don’t know everyone. But I know I’ve never seen you around here before, and you really just don’t look like someone who goes here.”
Really now? What the fuck has gotten into this guy?
“Wow,” they said.
“So, Mr. Thornton, where do you live around here?” The guard would not stop.
Shit, shit, shit, I didn’t tell him what dorm he lives in!
“Uh.. I live off-campus.” It was a save, or at least as quick of a save as they could get. Whatever.
“Mhmm,” nodded the guard, as he handed Clyde his ID back. The two continued to walk down the hallway, silently.
A flight of stairs and the usual fidgeting with the lock to her room, Katie exclaim “WHAT THE FUCK?” with some notable exasperation. ”I had no idea there would be so much red tape to get you in here.”
They discussed their options. Clearly, Clyde needed to get the hell out of there once midnight rolled around. That guard was watching. A couple beers later, they emerged from the room, game plan set.
*******
She looked at Katie with wide eyes, pink Blackberry pressed to her cheek, mouthing “what are you doing?”
Don’t give me that, Barbie.
Katie knew she need not explain to the curly haired visitor. That chick knew exactly what was going down.
Katie opened the window to the laundry room, gazing back at Clyde, who carried a 4.5 inch hunting knife. It looked like a murder weapon, but apparently Clyde had already checked with the police years ago if that was the case. Clearly, it was just a weapon used for breaking and entering.
“You might want to move back,” he said as he thrust the dagger into the heavy-duty screen.
Their spectator looked on for a minute, then pledged to stand outside the door to keep a look out. She kept talking on the phone with her mystery friend about pie or something tragic.
Clyde was no match for the screen. Within two minutes he had sawed a gaping hole into it, his passageway into the building. Even John Madden would’ve been rendered relatively speechless (at least for John Madden standards) by Clyde’s dexterity with the knife. “Brett Favre is a guy where, he puts on his contacts and he can see better. But this Clyde– he doesn’t need any contacts!”
Clyde hoisted himself over the ledge, hopped down, closed the window and brushed himself off. It seemed like the perfect moment for the Mission: Impossible theme song to play for the near-celebration. Katie couldn’t believe their little plan had actually worked. He was inside (not a sex joke.)
Wow, that was easier than I thought (also not a sex joke.)
Now to just get him upstairs.
Before they made their way into the hallway, Clyde noticed a rip in his shirt.
“My favorite shirt! My Mom gave me this,” he said dejectedly. (Even rule-breakers love their Mamas.)
It took a while to creep Clyde up the stairs to the dormitory room. After all, anxiety rendered Katie half a moron.
There has gotta be another set of stairs, she thought a hundred times. (After twenty minutes, she found them.)
Clyde did make his way to Katie’s for an evening of card playing, boozing, and other stories of their respective adventures. He even got to take a hot shower to wash off some of that mountain-man.
Morning crept up on them like Christmas to a Jew, but it made no difference. No one ever suspected Katie of the torn screen, and the snarky guard never came to beat Clyde’s ass. (Like anyone could do that to Clyde– kid’s like Wolverine, Batman, and the Fantastic Four rolled in one!) Clyde completed his road trip, Katie finished her calculus homework, and no one died in a freak accident involving falling library books.
It was such a good day with good feelings, it would’ve inspired Katy Perry to write a song.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: eggs, music, ridiculousness, video
Just watch this.
Filed under: College | Tags: college, Exams, Father Guido Sarducci, finals, finals week, Five Minute University, graduation, ridiculousness, sleep, St Augustine, Stress, video
It’s finals week. After a week of three or four too many all nighters, and two intense examinations, I crashed. I can honestly say that I slept for nearly twenty hours. Some people call it disgusting, but I just call it college.
It’s unfortunate that I have to go to such great lengths to get a B. It frustrates me- what the hell ever happened to the middle school grading system? If you did your home work, were polite, and did maybe an hours worth of studying for anything, you earned an A for the term. Spark Notes, YouTube how to videos, and asking Dad for help were sufficient study guides and reflected some honest effort from you as a student.
But now, I’m in college, a place only 6.7% of people world wide graduate with degrees from (Huffington Post). The old standards, they just don’t cut it.
The college philosophy is this: because we need scheduling to be efficient, and we only have a definite period of time in which we can fit everything in, we are going to hope and pray to God, Augustine, and the textbook companies that A) you haven’t died, ODed or dropped out by the end of the semester; B) you naturally have the energy levels of a meth addict; C) understand everything you’ve learned in all your classes; so D) we can give you two and a half hour long tests every day for a week right before we kick you out for a month.
In the worlds of Run DMC, it’s like that y’all and that’s the way it is.
I like the way Father Guido Sarducci refers to college: “It’s all memorization. And it don’t matter how long you can remember anything, just as long as you can parrot it back for the test.”
It’s true: in five years, I might remember the titles of the books I read. Probably not all of them. Maybe I will recall that Antigone is about some rule breaking girl, and that Inferno is about hell. But I am positive that I will never recall the contents of Gorgias. Hell, I can barely remember how to spell the title- and I read it maybe ten weeks ago!
If I had the opportunity to attend Fr Sarducci’s Five Minute University, I would definitely sign up. $20 is a very reasonable price for tuition.
For my foreign language requirement, I would hope they teach me how to ask for a beer at the pool bar in whatever language. No conjugations, like he said- just that one sentence.
Economics – I think I have that one down now. Supply and demand. Erasmus, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t need you anymore. Please don’t be angry with me. (I think Caroline might come too.)
If my business dynamics was Fr Sarducci’s definition, I definitely would not have left the exam yesterday stupefied, anxious and gaping like a cod fish.
I am taking theology next semester. (This time around I had to endure philosophy. SIDENOTE: I go to a Catholic school. Why can’t we just be like ‘Hey!… Believe in God.’ as opposed to beating around the bush with all this cock’n'bull ‘What are ideas?’ and ‘thingification,’ which is a real thing thank you very much, and ‘Where do we come from?’ I know you want me to respond ‘GOD MADE ME!’ so just tell me that at the beginning of the year, and then I don’t have to schlep my ass to class three days a week. Okay?) And I already know what a heap of BS they are going to throw at me. If only Fr Sarducci taught the class…
I think the Five Minute University is a great idea. After all these sleepless nights, there is nothing I would love more than for Fr Sarducci to hand me a cocktail and to tell me- hey! Don’t worry about those tests. You’ve already graduated!
And one last thing: when they made up the idiom “the old college try,” they were absolutely referring to Five Minute University. I have no doubts.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: complaining, discomfort, drinking, family, holidays, katieism, kids, kids table, parade, Rant, ridiculousness, Thanksgiving
A good friend of mine is spending her first Thanksgiving abroad, or rather, is having her first year sans Butterball, hoopla, and football games. But being the friend that I am, I decided to remind her of the realities of Thanksgiving, or rather, that Thanksgiving is a kind of shitty holiday anyway, and that Chrismahanukwanzika/New Year’s/St. Patrick’s Day are way better holidays anyway.
My advice to her: “I encourage you to have a beer, watch a bootleg version of “A Christmas Story”, and read this list of the top reasons why Thanksgiving Sucks, and You Aren’t Missing Out Anyway.”
So here it goes.
1. Watching your parents get drunk all afternoon- It’s one thing if it’s the summer and everyone is kicking back margarita’s at the BBQ. But in the winter, it’s a bit different dynamic. Everyone is bitching about their job and their shitty football team. Plus getting drunk with other family members is entirely different from getting drunk with neighbors. Family feuds, old slides/photographs from the Triassic era, and handle races surface. (Okay, so maybe not handle races, but it certainly does seem like your father and your uncle are trying to see who can drink more of that Johnny Walker, doesn’t it?) Best part of all: you get to be stone cold sober all day. Gotta love being underage.
2. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade- Parades are overrated, and that is fact. It’s one thing when firefighters (or Apple Blossom Queens) are chucking tootsie rolls at your 8 year old head, hoping they get extra points for getting you in the eye, but it’s another to watch idiots-dance-on-floats/giant-balloons-of-characters-from-children’s-television-walking-through-a-city hundreds of miles away… on TV. The coverage is always littered with commercials, people singing about Christmas (you got the wrong holiday, dumbass!), and obnoxiously perky journalists dressed like they are stuck in the Tundra (wimps- like New York is even cold.)
3. The Kids Table- Personally, I have been sentenced to Life at the Kids Table, (even though I was already taller than my Grammy at age 10.) Since graduating high school, I am now not only sitting at the kids table, but I am Resident Bitch (RB) of the Kids Table. I wipe snot and ketchup off their grubby faces, make sure no one eats the stick of butter, and that a food fight doesn’t erupt. And, in my free time, I listen to the chillens discuss the latest from Pixar and Thomas the Train, while I cut their turkey into bite size pieces and their parents get sloppily drunk off cheap booze in the other room. It really brings joy to my heart knowing that I am helping the community. Not.
4. Being Uncomfortable- It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving if I didn’t sit in an exorbitant amount of traffic, sleep on a futon, or have to get crammed in the middle of five people in the backseat of a mini van on the way to the high school football game. But Thanksgiving doesn’t stop at physical discomfort; there is always social and mental discomfort too. Like when Great Aunt Emily comes to town, so does her nasty choke-up-mucous-and-old-lady-cooties cough, and questions about my bowel movements and dating. The Thanksgiving visit might only be a pregame to Christmas, but in and of itself, the discomfort of dealing with her is still one hell of an ordeal.
5. Black Friday- Great, I can buy dvds for $2.50 a piece; yeah, if I buy at least ten, and I arrive before 6 AM with my store flyer, a frequent buyer card, and manage not to get run over by a frantic woman driving a Hummer through the parking lot. Pass. Selections suck because everything gets picked over by the time your hung over ass feels like getting out the door (okay, okay, you snuck your own whiskey from home with you), crowds are uncontrollably large, rude and demanding, plus you lose an hour of time alone circling the damn parking lot for a space (you settle by parking half on the curb, half on a melting snow bank, and cross your fingers you don’t get a ticket from that mustachioed cop near the store entrance.) It’s the shit show of all shit shows. I’ll take Cyber Monday. I do much better with beer and a computer.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness, Uncategorized | Tags: agility shows, clothes, dog, dog agility show, fashion faux pas, faux pas, mock turtlenecks, mom jeans, ridiculousness, windpants
Considering what a grateful, loving, and sensational niece I am that make’s me sick, I accompanied my aunt to her friend’s dog agility show. I had never been to any kind of dog show, but being a dog owner, I know how strange and obsessive dog owners can be. I knew it could be awful, but I said, what the hell, I’ll take one for the team. As it turns out, the agility show was kind of cool; save one thing- the attire worn by owners and trainers. If Michael Kors had walked into the room, he would’ve fainted, vomited, or perhaps had some sassy comment typical of his critiques on Project Runway.
So, if you’re ever thinking of going to a dog agility show, here are some ways you can make sure you fit in with the crowd.
Mock turtle necks To be honest, I didn’t know they still made these. But it seemed like every dog lover in the house had one on! Popular colors included white, scarlet, and coffee-stained.
Even Steve Jobs thinks mock turtlenecks are hot.
Wind pants Trainers and owners alike were sporting this ultra athletic look. It was a great complement to their figure, almost as if they wanted to say “I might be out of shape, but my dog is!”
They swished in all their glory.
Mom Jeans Spectators seemed to have bought out the Mom Jean Factory. It was nice knowing that some things never go out of style- and that Lee’s is still in business after all these years. (Gotta support those American brands and businesses, folks!)
It was even better than the SNL skit.
Vests I can understand vests (to some degree.) They are functional, good for winter sports, like skiing, and are a nice alternative to a coat. But you are not making a fashion statement in your ratty fleece vest you bought on sale at the Gap in 1994. It’s a disservice to yourself by not, at the very least, buying yourself a new one. But if you can’t bring yourself to buy a new one, you should get into dog agility. You will fit right in.
Fleece Vest: Appropriate for outdoor or athletic purposes only. Buy a real coat.
Tie Dye Whoa, dude. Where did you get that stellar tie dye shirt, like at the mall, dude? Do they like, have a store for that now? I always thought you had to, like, you know, buy them on vacation in Jamaica, or like, make them yourself! Totally cool, dude. Totally cool, dude. I’ll see you and Rover later, man.
I might be a middle class woman living in Jersey, but I have rocked the tie dye since high school, there is no stopping me now.
Dog themed attire (of course) It wouldn’t rightly be a dog show without clothes that say you’ve already been to other dog shows. And in case you haven’t been to a doggie event before, come down to the booth at the end of the ring and purchase all the poochie gear you can. Paws, silly sayings, and much more, at disturbingly high prices, too!
Shirts with words are encouraged at Agility Shows.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: Are you kidding me?, commercial, drug companies, innovations, Lysteda, marketing, menstruation, period, pharmaceuticals, Rant, ridiculousness, side effects, women, women's health
I was minding my own business at the gym, listening to crude rap music and sweating off my weekend indulgences on the elliptical machine. I was relatively unaware of my surroundings. But my attention was drawn to the silent television, which had the words “heavy monthly bleeding” on the screen.
Now you have my attention.
I proceeded to watch the rest of the commercial in a state of mild disbelief, as women of all ages pranced all over (like anyone goes for a walk when they have their period). But once it was over, I was in a state of shock.
What the hell is this!?
A pill to help deal with “heavy monthly bleeding”? Is this necessary? Is this what the world is coming to?
I have several things to say, before I delve into my rant:
A) I understand that there are some women who have painfully and/or unnaturally heavy periods.
B) I understand that the world of pharmaceuticals is crazy. (Exhibit A: Restless Leg Syndrome)
C) I am a woman.
This blows my mind. Women have periods- there is little way around that, aside from turning 50/menopause, and birth control pills that mess with your cycle. Sometimes one period is worse than another. But that is why we have Midol (aka “that legalized form of crack for women”). So pop one, put your sweatpants on, call in sick from work, and watch Steel Magnolias on demand. It’s your goddamn legal right!
I would like to be the first to call BULLSHIT with this Lysteda. What woman over the age of 15 can’t relate? We have all had a time where our whole bodies hurt, you bled like a dying man, and you retreated from “normal” living to just take care of yourself. This is all marketing. “Here, take this, it will help you feel less awful during your period, and you will lose less blood.” Funny, haven’t heard that before. I am sure that by Christmas, hoards of women will be showing up at doctors’ offices across America shouting “Hey! I bleed like fresh cut steak! I need that medication! Give me that!!!”
But get this: the side effects of the drug are the exact same symptoms of getting a period in the first place!!!! Verbatim from the Lysteda website: headaches, sinus and nasal problems, back pain, pain in your abdomen, pain in your muscles or joints, anemia and fatigue. WebMD’s side effects of getting your period: pain, acting like a total bitch, bloating, cramps, headaches, feeling fucking tired!!!!!!!
I don’t know what makes me more angry: that there was someone smart enough to market this drug, or that there are people dumb enough to take it. Honestly, the only way they could better market this one is to either A) give out free samples in tampon boxes at KMart or B) give out plates of brownies with your purchase of a one month trial prescription.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: boobies, infomercial, innovations, Kush, ridiculousness, weirdnerd
Kush, huh?
Well, to be completely honest, my boobs are not big enough to cause such a problem. But I would believe if someone told me they had this problem.
My question is this: what about old lady boobs? Does it still do the job then?
Kush comes from a long line of strange inventions, including Booty Pop Panties and the Wafsicle machine, which have been featured on KatieAtlas. I invite you to share other weird inventions you’ve heard about or seen on infomercials. The crazier the better, but I’ll be honest, you have some tough competition to beat already.
Filed under: College, Flash Fiction | Tags: Calculus, class, college, failure, flash fiction, nonfiction, ridiculousness, stupidity, the Doctor
It was an ordinary morning for Katherine. She paced across Mendel Lawn, the sky spit rain, and her calves ached with their usual shin-splint intensity. The church tolled 9 o’clock, so she quickened her pace and entered John Barry Hall.
As she entered her classroom on the second floor, the Doctor was in, and everything seemed rather normal. Students looked pissed, the moan and groan of morning all over their face, and the Doctor looked like herself- a cross between Ms. Frizzle and Mr. Magoo. Nothing out of the ordinary to report.
Katherine didn’t even think twice when, after starting her lecture, the Doctor left the room abruptly, as if she had lost something.
It wasn’t until a few minutes after the Doctor came back and resumed class that Katherine noticed something: the Doctor was writing with a new marker. It had dark green ink. It was easy to read. But after a minute or so of being on the whiteboard, it started to fade, just slightly. That’s bizarre, she thought.
She cranned her neck to get a better view of the Doctor; she realized that the marker the Doctor was writing with was not a dry-erase marker. It was a magic marker.
The Doctor continued class, getting increasingly flustered every time she tried to erase what she had wrote. By the end of class, the magic marker had visibly stained the board, and the Doctor seemed rather perplexed as to why. As usual, she hightailed it out of the room as soon as she dismissed the students, checking her BlackBerry like a ditz, undoubtedly wondering how the hell she could gain a tenured position at the University if she couldn’t even distinguish between markers.
