Effin’ Facebook / Effin’ FoMO

Damn it. Every time I think I’m out, they pull me back in!

It’s been two weeks since I visited Facebook. I wasn’t even thinking about it. Not being there was seriously becoming second nature and I was liking it. The ban/boycott, whatever we call it, was becoming less of a thing and more of a normal.

Then they sent me a friggin’ email. I’m pretty sure I marked Facebook notification emails as spam, yet they still come through. It said there were 18 notifications. No sweat. It said there were three friend requests. WhatWhatWhat? Fear of Missing Out officially triggered.

I mean, let’s be honest here… they are all going to be porn spam. That’s a given, isn’t it? We all know that. I don’t get a lot of that shit at Facebook, but given that I haven’t interacted with anyone in weeks it feels like a great big pornographic red flag.

I don’t know though… there’s a big part of me that really wants to log in and see who the friend requests are from. There is a big part of me that also wants to stay away. I am conflicted. I am in social media conflict.

Fuck you, Facebook. Fuck you right in your fucking eye*.


*I don’t think you need to actually see The Book of Mormon to appreciate its brilliance. You just have to listen to the soundtrack. If you do that, you’ll get the reference.


ADDENDUM: I caved. I looked. They were all spam. FoMO. I didn’t look at anything in my time line, I only looked at the notifications. So yeah I was there, but no I didn’t actually put myself into a real position to get sucked into anything. Well… just being there is risking getting sucked in, but I think you know what I mean. FoMO won today, but it’s been reset to zero again. For now.

As the World Continues to Fall Apart

When did Disney World become my personal Covid canary in the coalmine? I don’t know, but what I do know is that they have reinstituted their indoor mask requirement regardless of vaccination status.

Yippee. Why is this necessary? Because half the people in this country are fucking garbage who have no concern for their fellow citizens. That’s why. They make up 100 fake reasons for not getting vaccinated that all boil down to a simple I-don’t-wanna-be-inconvenienced. Fuck them. Fuck them in their eye and then fuck them in their other eye.*

Today is my parents’ 54th anniversary. My sister was able to take my mother in to the rehab hospital to see my father. I’m sure that helped both of their mental states. You know what else would help their mental states? Everyone getting vaccinated and stop being little spoiled fucking brats.

I wasn’t planning on writing a pissed off post about the slime living in my country. I’m just feeling angry about it all. Angry enough that I completely forgot what I was planning to write about.

Get the fucking vaccine, you fucking mental midgets.

*Thank you to South Park creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone for that little nugget from their musical, The Book of Mormon. Sometimes a phrase just fits the occasion, you know?

The Stir Crazy Files – Episode 78: Tone Deaf

I might have snapped… finally.

This morning as we were getting ready for work Jen made an off hand comment about the health of one of the plants in the bedroom. She said it was looking a little dead.

Given that we are still up to our necks in a pandemic, and that all signs are pointing to things getting worse again, my response was incredibly tone deaf.

Upon hearing the word “dead” a song leaped to the front of my brain and lodged itself there. Two hours later it is still insisting that I sing it to myself constantly. At the time, it insisted that I sing it out loud and I did.

A lovely little ditty from the South Park Christmas album called “Dead, Dead, Dead.”

Dead, dead, dead,
Someday we’ll be dead.
Dead, dead, dead,
Someday we’ll all be dead.

Are you effing kidding me Robert? Read the friggin’ room! And by room I mean the entire friggin’ human race!

Asshole.

Tone deaf asshole.

Forty-Two

The following quote comes from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams…

“Good morning,” said Deep Thought at last.
“Er… good morning, O Deep Thought,” said Loonquawl nervously, “do you have… er, that is…”
“An answer for you?” interrupted Deep Thought majestically. “Yes. I have.”
The two men shivered with expectancy. Their waiting had not been in vain.
“There really is one?” breathed Phouchg.
“There really is one,” confirmed Deep Thought.
“To Everything? To the great Question of Life, the Universe and Everything?”
“Yes.”

“Though I don’t think,” added Deep Thought, “that you’re going to like it.”

“Tell us!”
“All right,”  said Deep Thought. The Answer to the Great Question…”
“Yes…!”
“Of Life, the Universe and Everything…” said Deep Thought.
“Yes…!”
“Is…” said Deep Thought, and paused.
“Yes…!”
“Is…”
“Yes…!!!…?”
“Forty-two,” said Deep Thought, with infinite majesty and calm.

As of today, the number forty-two is both the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything…

And it’s my age.

Forty-two years ago today my mother was screaming to all who would listen that she really wanted some damn pain medication. Sorry mom.

All in all, I think I’d prefer it be my 22nd instead of my 42nd, but I’ll take it.

The Book of Mormon

I’m not a theater type of guy. Especially musical theater. The entire genre basically does nothing for me.

I remember back in high school when Pete Townshend staged a musical version of Tommy, most of my friends couldn’t wait to see it. I couldn’t have cared less. As an adult I can only think of three times that I’ve seen a theatrical production.

In 2007 we took my step daughter to see The Nut Cracker. A couple of years ago we were in New York and went to see Wicked. I enjoyed it, but it didn’t exactly rock my world. The reason we went had more to do with just being able to say we saw a show on Broadway than anything else. Back in 2008 or so, Jen and I went to see Spamalot in Boston. That was different. That was a Monty Python production. I’d do almost anything to see a Python show, even one that doesn’t actually have the members of Monty Python acting in it. I’d face down the vicious chicken of Bristol, the Judean People’s Front, and an army of wafer thin mints to see a real Python show.

So when I heard that South Park creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone had launched a Broadway musical called The Book of Mormon, my first thought was to wish them good luck but continue to save up for Team America World Police part deux. I’ve seen just about everything they’ve done. All of South Park, Team America, Orgazmo, Cannibal the Musical. Hell, I’ve probably seen Baseketball 100 times! These guys can do no wrong in my book. But a musical on stage? Well, have fun with that, gentlemen. I’ll catch the next thing you do. At least until…

My wife. My beautiful wife. My amazing, genius, brilliant wife bought the original cast recording on iTunes.

She told me I had to listen to it.

We sat in the living room and listened to it together.

The recording only includes the songs, and they are out of context, and none of the stage production is even hinted at… But it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. I told my wife that we had to see the show. It’s imperative that we see the whole show. We looked into going to New York to see it, but it never happened.

Fast forward to last weekend.

As we were driving to Keene for the state geography bee, tickets for Paul McCartney at Fenway Park went on sale. While I drove, my wife and her mother both tried to get tickets. The Fenway site was sold out before they got out of the virtual waiting room so they both started surfing reseller sites. Jen was in the front seat next to me and after looking for McCartney for a little while she whispers, “want to go see The Book of Mormon next weekend?” And she bought two tickets. Hell yes!

Fast forward another week, and the love of my life and I are going to see the Boston production of The Book of Mormon tonight. For only the second time ever, I’m really excited about going to see some musical theater.