The Dumbest Short Story Ever Told

An atheist was seated next to a little girl on an airplane and he turned 
to her and said, "Do you want to talk? Flights go quicker if you strike 
up a conversation with your fellow passenger."

The little girl, who had just started to read her book, replied to the total
stranger, "What would you want to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know," said the atheist. "How about why there is no God,
or no Heaven or Hell, or no life after death?" as he smiled smugly.

"Okay," she said. "Those could be interesting topics but let me ask
you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same
stuff - grass. Yet a deer excretes little pellets, while a cow turns
out a flat patty, but a horse produces clumps. Why do you suppose that is?"

The atheist, visibly surprised by the little girl's intelligence,
thinks about it and says, "Hmmm, I have no idea." To which
the little girl replies, "Do you really feel qualified to discuss
God, Heaven and Hell, or life after death, when you don't know shit?"

And then she went back to reading her book.

I saw this on Facebook recently. I did not say anything to the person who posted it, because I don't want to be the bitch who trolls other people's walls. And the tolerant, open-minded part of me thinks it's great that we can state our beliefs on Facebook in short story form.

But.

According to this post, NO ONE should talk about anything unless they can explain why the poop of various mammals looks different. Can the average priest/minister/rabbi/imam/otherreligiousleader explain that? Really? And what in the hell does one have to do with the other? I mean, does understanding  the bowels of animals have anything to do with the Bible? (Note to my vehemently atheist readers: don't answer that).

Aside from the animal poop, the story is still ridiculous. Atheists don't go around striking up conversations with people about their beliefs; it's Mormons and Evangelicals and Scientologists who recruit, not atheists. Most atheists don't even admit they're atheists because of how horrified their social/family/professional circles would be if they did. Also, how many little girls travel alone on airplanes any more? And how many non-creepy men would start a conversation with one?

This post isn't celebrating a belief in God or religion, it's attacking atheists. "Flights go quicker. . .blah, blah," what a pompous dick this atheist is, amirite?  It's skipped to that point in an argument where you just yell, "Well, you don't know shit!" because you can't think of another coherent point or because you just want the damn argument to be over. I guess what bothers me even more than the attack on atheists (who, btw, haven't  started any wars outlawing church or done anything to anybody except disagree) is how clever the writer thought (s)he was being.

 If the writer was truly clever, the premise would have made sense and the little girl would have had some proof of God, heaven, hell or at least a way to shut the stranger up without resorting to "logic" that undermines anyone who doesn't have a degree in large mammal medicine. Or the whole point about the differences in animal shit would be a metaphor for the different ways people interpret God and faith. But instead of making actual points, the story ends with a silenced atheist.

And are we really supposed to believe that this pompous atheist, who initiated such a loaded conversation with a CHILD, would shut up because she implied that he doesn't know shit? Think of any pompous asshole you know of any religious persuasion and ask yourself if the little girl's retort would shut him/her up.

I swear, this Facebook share makes the "Click like if you love Jesus" one look like a nuanced theological discourse. 

Protesting Too Much

I love Facebook. (Like my page and I'll prove it to you!) Except when people that I am friends with on there show me how frightfully stupid they are. And I don't mean in a not knowing the difference between "your" and "you're" kind of way. I can overlook that if I love you enough. (Although I find it difficult. I can teach you the difference, you know. My first graders used to learn it.) 

You see, I'm terribly nosy. I like House Hunters and reality shows where they pretend they're filming people's actual lives, so Facebook is like a constant gossip drip. Except it's gossip about people I actually know, or have known, in real life. Sure, no one I know posts crap about cheating on their spouses (unfortunately) but I can see what it's like to live in Europe or Hawaii or a studio apartment. 

But I also have to look at people's political thoughts. Most of the time, I am amused. Possibly because most of the people I am friends with seem to agree with me politically, or what they post is obviously a joke. 

Then there are the frightful posts. The ones that make me want to message the posters and ask them if they've joined militias. You want to bitch about tax policy? Fine. You think President Obama is secretly Kenyan? Or comparable to Josef Stalin? You are a fucking idiot. A SCARY fucking idiot. 

In fact, most of the people who seem to post these have no idea what Obama's tax policy is. They don't understand what "Obamacare" is. They say nothing about gay marriage, abortion, birth control, rape, worker's rights or actual gun laws. They just make these sweeping statements that have no actual meaning. 

When George W. Bush was re-elected, I was heartbroken. I totally get what it feels like when the guy you think is terrible is re-elected. But it never occurred to me to compare W to Hitler, Stalin or Pol Pot - all of whom I've seen Obama compared to on good old Facebook. (Though no one in the thread seemed to know who Pol Pot was) In reality, neither W or Obama is anything like those genocidal assholes, you know? 

(Ann Coulter I'm not so sure about)

Sometimes, when I comment on these posts - not with insults but with facts, I promise - the person just deletes it. Other times they ignore me. 

It actually depresses the hell out of me. It tells me that they are too stupid (delusional?) to have a debate and that they don't even understand what they are endorsing. It's so different from when I get into debates with an actual conservatives. I got into one about gun control recently and it turned out that we agreed on like 80% of the issue. If we were in Congress together, I bet we could work shit out. 

Of course, we'd use things like "facts" and "compromise". Stuff Stalin - and all the people who accuse Obama of being Stalin - don't like. 

Oh Facebook, I Can't Quit You

I'm a member of a secret Facebook group. Not SECRET secret, as there are a few other members. But secret, as in Facebook can't tell everyone that we're in it.

Yet.

The Wall Street Journal recently published an article about two college students who were outed to homophobic family members because they were invited to join a group called Queer Chorus.

The group was open, so that meant everyone could see everything.

Also, now if you are invited to a Facebook group, it is assumed that you want to join. You can quit, but not until everyone sees that you're in the group, "People Who Hide the Good Halloween Candy From Their Kids". Could I invite people to an "I Act Like I'm Still in High School" group? Or an "I Was Kind of a Douchebag in High School" group?

Not that I would ever start such such groups. Of course. Imagine the embarrassment it would cause the people I invited!

Not that I am friends with any of those people on Facebook, but they are friends of friends, so I think I could. . . .

Um, wait. I am actually writing this post because this whole group invite thing is BAD.

You shouldn't be forced to join any group just because they invited you. Imagine that happening in real life. Tea Party people accosted me at the post office last year, folks. They INVITED ME TO JOIN. If it had happened on Facebook, there would have been a notice in the activity log of all my friends and family saying I had joined the Tea Party.

Everyone I know would be wondering if I had a brain tumor to account for this massive personality change or if I'd just started popping pills or something.

I think you should have to accept invitations to be included in groups and I think you should have to agree to have group memberships shared publicly. However, I don't think Facebook cares about my opinion. I don't think it would help to protest or complain.

So, consider this a warning. If you want to start a group, make it secret unless you are completely positive that no one could ever be embarrassed, hurt or worried about joining it publicly.

I suppose you could also leave Facebook. If you're made of stronger moral stuff than I am.

I Am Not My Children

Quick quiz: What picture do you use as your Facebook avatar?

According to Katie Roiphe, if you answered, "My kid's", you are erasing yourself and making Betty Friedan turn over in her grave. According to Katie Roiphe, men don't do this. According to Katie Roiphe, you are spending your time at dinner parties talking obsessively about your kid(s) instead of talking about books or movies. According to Katie Roiphe, we are all constructing our identities solely around motherhood. According to Katie Roiphe, we are all too involved with our children and that's why they can't play independently.

To which I say, Katie, when are you going to stop assuming that your experiences with your friends constitute a sociological study? And why don't you get some different friends?

It's not that I disagree with Katie, exactly. I do feel that our generation of mothers is the most overly involved and self-critical generation of mothers ever. I do worry that kids today aren't learning to self-entertain or problem solve. It makes me sad when we only celebrate women who have chosen to be wives and mothers as well as rocket scientists, instead of women who have chosen to be rocket scientists and knitters and aunts. Or whatever.

But to say that our generation is going to disappear because your academically and professionally gifted friends can't talk about anything but their kids? That's ridiculous. I don't know know Katie personally, but I know that she is a professor at NYU. So let's assume her friends, for the most part, are fellow New Yorkers. She mentions how educated they are. I'm going to guess that they are also financially secure, because it's pretty hard to host dinner parties when you are poor (and over 25). That's a pretty small slice of the population on which to make assumptions.

When I look at my Facebook friends, for example, most of whom aren't upper middle class New York academics, I see a lot of pictures of people with their kids. Or even - shocker - alone. A lot of the men also have pictures with their kids. Of course, I realize this is about as scientific as Katie's sampling*, which kind of proves my point. Or maybe we're just more enlightened in the suburbs?

To quote the article about using your kids' picture as your avatar:

But this particular form of narcissism, these cherubs trotted out to create a picture of self, is to me more disturbing for the truth it tells. The subliminal equation is clear: I am my children.

Not to dismiss Facebook as a place where you can discover social trends, but are you fucking kidding me? As someone who loves social media, who self-identifies as a mommy blogger and who spends way too much time on Facebook, I found some subliminal equations in Katie's article: 

If your social media presence comprises your entire identity, you've got bigger problems than being your children. 

If you put so much thought into your social media presence among your alleged friends on Facebook that your avatar picture indicates your soul's health, you need to stop using Facebook. 

If you feel the need to bitch about your friends' lack of interest in the world around them in an article for Slate, you need new friends.**

If you feel that women are disappearing into motherhood, write something engaging to bring them out. Don't write an article slamming them. 

If you feel that your friends represent womanhood as a whole, get out and meet some new people. 

If you think your friends aren't parenting their kids the way you would like, cite some studies about effective parenting techniques. 

If you think your parents did a better job raising you than your friends are doing with their own kids, then parent like they did, not like your friends. But also ask yourself if your own wonderful parents spent so much time judging other parents. 

I mean, I wonder what's more indicative of someone's sense of self: a hastily thrown together Facebook profile or an article written for a well-known website? I can tell you that I've spent more time writing this blog post for my obscure blog than I did choosing what photo to use as a Facebook avatar. 

But just because that's true for me doesn't necessarily mean it's true for Katie Roiphe. Right? 


*If you would like to make it more scientific, please like my Facebook page and expand my informal sample.

**If you're a real life friend of mine who starts getting on my nerves? I promise I'm not going to blog about how all people who are obsessed with their cats are mentally ill. I'll probably just stop asking about your cats, or maybe I'll avoid you or something.

Schadenfreude

I am trying to remember the last time I was in a truly good mood. I have flashes of happiness, like watching ChunkyMonkey hold his siblings' hands as they carefully walked him to the car the other night or watching Ironflower and Lovebug giggle in the pool yesterday. But an overall feeling of well-being that lasted more than a few hours?

I have no idea.

I was fine until I read some happy status updates on Facebook. It's not that I'm filled with  schadenfreude, exactly. I don't like it when skaters fall or waiters drop trays. And it's not that I want every status update I read to be a complaint about kids or jobs. Really.

But when someone is perpetually upbeat these days, I kinda want to smack them. I wonder if there's a German word for annoyance at the extreme happiness of others?

I am grateful for so many things, feel fortunate for so many reasons. But I am also worried and stressed about so many things. So many legitimate and currently unfixable things. And I don't think everything my kids do is adorable. Or even tolerable.

So I bitch. And I was okay with that until I started having violent thoughts while on Facebook. I mean, how do people get to be happy all of the time? Even drug addicts have to come down sometimes.

They Should Definitely Add This Complex To the Psych Journals

It should have started with a semi-famous actor who currently appears on the show House. I went to junior high with him. And I had a HUGE crush on him. Maybe because of the crush, it actually started with a writer I'll nickname M.D. I went to elementary school - and junior high and high school - with M.D. She was a year ahead of me, quiet and well-behaved. I knew her vaguely through drama and the fact that her mother was in charge of the drama department. I never thought much about her, even while we were in school together.

But then in my early twenties I discovered that she had her own column in Self magazine. And her career grew from there. My dad would mention seeing her articles in the New York Times while I hoarded my personally written rejection letter from Cosmo. Then she wrote a book. And I could hide my jealousy no longer. I told everyone how much I'd hated her book - which I felt should have been my book, since it was about a woman from the northeast who learns a lot upon relocating to the mid-west, something I was doing at the time - not that it mattered. Everyone else liked the book. Like the LA Times, where she now has a column. (BTW, I recently reread the book and I can now admit that it's pretty good.)

Anyway, not two weeks after finishing the book, I watched Mad TV. And there was someone else I'd gone to junior high and high school with - we'd actually been friendly - on freaking Mad TV. Since I'd always thought he was funny and since I'd never had aspirations to be a comic, I genuinely enjoyed his performance. And I still do, whenever he shows up on Comedy Central, Chelsea Lately or a Will Ferrell movie.

But even though I like my life as a mom, like my little blog and would HATE to live in LA, I still feel inadequate when I run across M.D.'s work or see the comedian on TV. It's just a momentary thing, but I'd like it to stop. So when several friends started bugging me to join Facebook, I gave in. I thought being reassured that most of the people I went to high school with are not famous and/or powerful (I went to school with some political types too) would make me feel better. . . even though I knew Facebook would also cause me to spend inordinate amounts of time catching up with people I haven't thought of in fifteen years.

For the most part, Facebook has been reassuring. Many of my old classmates are on there and they all appear normal. But last night, after throwing myself a little pity party on the couch (I cannot stand for more than five minutes without my back hurting, my fingers hurt all the time, blah, blah), I went on Facebook. I wrote a whiny little bulletin, too. Then I checked my Facebook messages.

One message was from a girl I was friends with in junior high but not high school. She was writing about another junior high but not high school friend who is also on her third pregnancy. Except that she is pregnant with triplets. Triplet boys. And there was a picture too - of a smiling woman (who I swear looks exactly the same, why is it that no one aged but me? Why?) with NO SWELLING except for the biggest belly I've ever seen. (And that includes those pictures they show on Jon and Kate Plus 8 ) While on the one hand the idea of this woman - the woman who taught me to drink and shoplift back in the ninth grade as well as teaching me what "backstab" really means - having 5 children under 5 including a set of TRIPLETS seems like a sort of karmic justice. On the other hand, I can't exactly whine on Facebook anymore, not with a mere singleton pregnancy that will only result in 3 children under 5.

It's not the same sort of inadequacy I feel when I see my famous classmates, but not being able to whine may actually be worse. I thrive on sympathy.

Anyway, is there anyone from high school that haunts you? Or am I the only one with a famous classmate complex?