Getting Your Blog Posts Via Facebook: The Ultimate Lazy Writing Move

One of the things that annoys me about television journalism is “man on the street” interviews about important subjects. First of all, I live near a big, metropolitan city in the south. Oh heck, I’ll just say it. I live near Atlanta. Watching the evening news is painful. When the Michael Vick story was big every stereotypical impoverished white person or black person was on the news giving their often inarticulate opinion. And then, because the station is based in Atlanta, their clip would make it on CNN.

So embarrassing.

I sometimes wonder if the producers are just having a little fun, spicing up their already boring day, by choosing the people with the heaviest southern accents, or poor grammar, or ridiculous comments regarding les news du jour.

And then, of course, there’s Fox News (not based in Atlanta, thank God) with their inane banter and shallow commentary on newsworthy events. I don’t want to hear from the man on the street. I certainly don’t want to hear the opinions of news journalist wannabes who got the job because they looked good on camera.

Just give me the news, for God’s sakes. Give me the facts and let me decide how I feel about it. I’m not a lemming. I don’t need to hear how Joe Blow feels before I can decide what I think about the situation in Iran.

So, I read most of my news. But even that can be tricky. I’ll be reading along and mid-way through I realize I’m reading opinion, thinly disguised as fact. By the end of the article, I’m both sure that it’s opinion and I’m disgusted. If the topic really interests me, I’ll Google it and sift through fact and fiction until I get a clear picture. But what a pain in the fingers.

Imagine my surprise when I find an article, online, promising The 13 Things That Blah, Blah, Blah (I’m not going to name it. It wasn’t that great of an article and I don’t want to hurt the blogger’s – dare I say writer’s? – feelings.) 

The article gave a cursory overview of the topic in one or two paragraphs and then……

…wait for it……

…wait for it…..

Facebook fans wrote the rest.

Oh, sure. The writer (I use this term loosely) compiled the responses. But items #1, #2, #3 and so on were quotations via Facebook.

An entire article based on Joe and Jane Blows from Facebook. Their opinion. Not even a collective study of the most 13 Blah, Blah, Blahs. Just 13 random opinions that were gathered from a Facebook page.

Now that’s the ultimate lazy writing move.

And if I ever get a case of terminal writer’s block?

Hmmmmmm……..

She might be on to something.

Giving Thanks For My Fake Popularity

For unknown reasons, my blog spiked in readership…no, make that hits, on November 19th. Exactly 17 days after I published this post on head lice.

News Flash! If you want a lot of hits on your blog, write about head lice.

But 17 days later? It took that long for people to find my expert opinion on head lice?

Find me, they did. And I’ve never been more popular. But I know what is happening. People are Googling head lice images and intrigued by my picture, they end up clicking on my blog. All for this picture:

And it isn’t even a very good picture. I used that pic to illustrate how difficult the little buggers are to identify. But no matter. People have been clicking here anyway. Horrible picture and marginal writing and all.

Wild.

But I haven’t gained any new readers from it. And I haven’t discovered any new bloggers.

Just hits.

Empty hits.

Lots and lots of empty hits.

I hope all you silent readers out there are gleaning valuable information. I hope none of you actually have head lice. Hopefully, you’re just educating yourselves. And that’s fine by me. I was a teacher, after all.

And while I know this new popularity is as empty as the hits I’m getting, I’m thankful anyway.

Even if it is fake popularity.

A Little T-Day !!!

The washing machine hasn’t stopped running since Sunday night.

Shoes are piled in a mountain by the front door.

The refrigerator is opened and closed 4, 738 times a day.

The DVR is jam-packed with favorite Disney movies to share with her brothers and every interview involving the new Twilight movie.

A half finished Monopoly game has taken over the breakfast nook with the promise of finishing the Monopoly marathon “soon.” (But that isn’t going to happen as long as they keep trading Boardwalk for “all of your yellow properties” and being “nice” and only charging whatever you can afford – I’m raising a bunch of Democrats! – when you land on someone’s hotel.)

One minute they’re yelling and shouting at each other and the next they’re all snuggled on the couch watching Tangled.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mess and all.

Because #1daughter is home from college and all of my babies are home under one roof.

Happy Thanksgiving, ya’ll!

I hope you have plenty of !!! in your Thanksgiving, too!

Oh! The Pressure To Write So That I Can Become Famous!

On WordPress, I read about David McRaney, a WordPress blogger who garnered a book deal based on his blog.

I thought, Yay! Good for him!

Then, I read on msn.com about a writer over at cracked.com who wrote a piece about Hollywood’s inaccuracies about the work place. The piece garnered much attention, enough to be mentioned again on msn.com.

I enjoyed both articles. But it got me thinking…..

Oooooo. What if something I wrote got noticed by someone big?  How cool would that be? Oh, the hits my blog would get. I wonder how many new people would find me? How many would click that handy-dandy little subscribe button so that they could read what I’ve written every single time I post?

Every.

Single.

Post.

Oh God. They would click back here and expect another stellar piece. What would I do then?

I enjoy this writing outlet. I love sharing my inconsequential thoughts on the controversial and the mundane. But the majority of my posts are pretty boring and only interesting to a select few (other nuts) out there. And I have typos. And grammatical errors a plenty. Shoot. I’m willing to bet my former English teachers roll in their graves every time I click publish.

But I’m famous now. And I have a public to appease. So I’ll agonize and write and delete and write some more. I’ll spend hours searching the internet for new post ideas and the perfect picture to illustrate my point. The laundry would pile up. We’d eat Chef Boyardee or take-out Chinese every night. My kids would start going to school with mismatched socks and lollipops stuck in their hair. The dog would never get a walk. Dust bunnies the size of tumble weeds would turn our breakfast bar into a wild, wild west saloon.

Nope.

I can’t do it.

You’re stuck with the mostly average and the occasional stellar blog post.

So, go away you fancy, schmacy editors, you.

I just can’t handle the pressure.

Where In The World Are The Kindness Police When You Need Them?

The head football coach of the New York Jets, Rex Ryan, is under scrutiny by the NFL after telling a fan to “Shut the f— up!” as the team walked off the field at half-time.

The coach is under scrutiny by the NFL.

Fine.

But what about the heckler?

Where are the kindness police when you need them?

Apparently, this isn’t the first time for Mr. Ryan. He was fined $50,000 for flipping a fan off at a mixed martial arts event. The fact that the NFL is demanding appropriate and exemplary behavior from its players and coaches on and off the field is admirable.

But what about the fans?

Who holds them accountable?

I’m all for having opinions. I have plenty of opinions about the over-paid players, the outrageous cost of tickets and the searches that make me throw out the 5 month old fun-sized candy bar smashed at the bottom of my purse that I wouldn’t have tried to eat inside the stadium anyway (yes, this really happened.)  But if I have a beef with a coach or a player or the fat cats raking in the ticket money, I’ll go through the proper channels.

I can write a letter. I can place a phone call. Shoot. I can write a blog post. (I’d tweet it but I don’t know how to tweet. I’ll leave that for the experts that eat off my bird feeder.)

But I’m not about to heckle the coach in the middle of the game.

Cheer your team. Boo the ref.

But keep your insults to yourself when you’re at the game.

Just a little thing your mother should have taught you.

For The Love Of God. No More News Videos. Please!

I admit it. I get the majority (dare I say all?) of my news from the blurbs that pop up on my computer screen. My home screen is msn.com and my email is yahoo. Two news sources from which to glean the top news stories of the day.

As you all know, my computer is a dinosaur. Yes. Money is tight right now for our family. But, I’m also cheap. Very cheap. With some things, anyway. And buying a new computer every….ok, this is embarrassing……every 10 years (I think the one I’m on right now is about 8 years old)….is ridiculous. They should make things that last, right?

Oh, I know my computer is still working but the programs are quickly becoming obsolete. And updating them is almost as expensive as buying a new computer…but I digress. But you’re used to that, right?

Focus, Jane. Focus.

So, I click on a news story that interests me and BAM. I’m locked onto a page, with a video loading. My dinosaur of a computer is trying its darndest to load that sucker before the next load of laundry needs to be shoved into the dryer. And I’m stuck. Watching that silly little twirling-arrow-counting-down thingy. For forever.

So, I get annoyed. And do one of two things.

1.) I walk away from the computer and straighten the playroom, get myself a beverage (sometimes I have time for a hot beverage) and unload and load the dishwasher.

OR

2.) I jam my finger onto the turn on/turn off button on the hard drive and wait for the computer to shut down manually. Then I re-boot the computer, realizing that I will now never know how to stay healthy while traveling or why Kim Kardashian’s marriage (fling?) really broke up.

Sometimes there is a warning. Sometimes I see a little tiny video camera icon that alerts me to the time sucking dangers ahead.

I love those times.

But online journalism has gotten sneaky over the years. Sometimes there isn’t a warning. Sometimes it’s a really clever headline teaser for a really juicy piece of news gossip and I get sucked right in.

I hate those times.

Give me text! For the love of God. Please. No more news videos. Let me scan the information at my leisure. Let me decide if the information is useful or entertaining. Do not, I repeat, do not make me sit through 3 minutes and 45 seconds with your goofy model wanna-be posing as a newscaster, complete with inane banter to tell me something I could have read in 27 seconds.

That’s 3 minutes and 18 seconds of my life wasted. That I will never get back. Not including the 2 minutes and 14 seconds to download the waste-of-time-news-story in the first place.

Don’t do that to me, please.

I beg of you.

And now, dear readers, back to your regularly scheduled blog cruising.

Buy A Balloon. Help A Child. How Easy Is That?

A dear friend of mine has recently started fostering dogs. I admire her generous heart and am waiting to see if she’ll actually be able to let go of dear, sweet, little Abby when the time comes. Her latest crusade inspired me to dig deep and see if I could do the same thing.

Alas. No.

One cat and one dog is enough for this family. I know that when you foster an animal it eventually finds another home. But after cleaning up not one, not two but three disgusting throw-up piles this morning from a dog that never knows when to leave well enough (from pinecones to candy wrappers to fallen birdseed to whole tennis balls) alone, I’ve decided that fostering animals is not for me.

But there are other ways to help. MyOwnPet Ballons is sponsoring a program right now when you buy one of their balloon animals, and there are many to choose from, $5 will be donated to Canines For Disabled Kids (CDK). CDK is an organization that provides families trained assistance dogs for children with autism, hearing impairments and other disabilities.

If you’re in the market for one of these cute little balloon animals (think party favors) you can purchase them here.

If you want to donate to Canines For Kids directly, go here.

Either way, it’s a win-win.

20 And Counting! Are You Freakin’ Kidding Me?

The Duggars announced yesterday on the Today show that they’re expecting again. For the 19th time. (They had twins in 1998) Adding the 20th child to their family.

20 children.

Except that his name isn't Timmy. It's probably Justin or Jackson.

And if that isn’t freaky enough, are you aware of the names they’ve chosen for their children?

Joshua. Jana. John-David. Jill. Jessa. Jinger. (Jinger? Seriously? Where in the world did you find that name? Surely there were other J names to choose from. Oh say, like…..) Joseph. Josiah. Joy-Anna. Jedidiah and Jeremiah. Jason. James. Justin. Jackson. Johannah. Jennifer. Jordyn-Grace. Josie.

I’ve always thought it odd when parents went a little overboard with an overtly common thread to their children’s names. For instance, naming all of your children after nature: River, Thorn, Brooke. Or months or seasons of the year: June, August and Summer. (Yes. I actually know this family.) And of course, naming your children with the very same initials.

I haven’t formally studied this naming phenomenon but it has always struck me as odd. A couple of kids with the same initial? Not a big deal to me. A little lacking in creativity, I think. But no biggie. 

But 19 (soon to be 20) children with the same initials? That’s just weird.

And weirder, or should I say more disturbing, is having 20 children in the first place.

I thought I wanted a “large” family. Five children. That’s what I was aiming for. Didn’t happen. And I’m OK with that. My three keep me hopping and happy. I know a family with 8 children. And I’ve witnessed a lot of love but a lot of struggle, too. Children clamoring for attention. Children taking care of children. The older ones seem to be beyond their years – and sometimes, not in a good way. The middle children sometimes seem disconnected. And the youngest? A little too clingy. But overall, their family works for them. Despite my judgements on their choices. (Which I keep to myself, of course.)

But 20 children? Seriously?

How in the world can two adults give each of their 20 children the amount of quality time a child needs to develop into a self-assured, confident, happy and well-adjusted adult?

Assuming the parents sleep an average of 6 hours a night, that leaves 18 hours to: bathe, feed, clothe yourself. We have 17 hours left. With a work force of at least 14, let’s say that housework is done in another hour. Down to 16 hours. Food preparation, meal time and clean up for three meals must take as least 4 hours. Homeschooling takes a minimum of 4 hours per day, by law. Twelve minus 4 is eight. Then there is the care and breastfeeding of the littlest ones. Minus 2 hours for physical care. Kids need time to play. Even if you rotate who plays when, I’m sure there is a lost hour or two in there with mom and dad refereeing fights/disagreements or fixing XBox controllers (I do this daily. So, I would know).

We’ve got 4 hours for some quality one-on-one time with each child. (I realize they have four children over the age of 18. I’m including them in the mix for at least a phone call from their parents if they live out of the house.) 

Four hours divided by 20 is 12 minutes per child per day.

12 minutes to devote to each child. And that breakdown doesn’t include the hour of exercise, the 15 minutes of reading/meditation, the extra 15 minutes locked in your closet to get a few moments peace that each parent needs to stay sane.

20 and counting?

Sounds like just another form of crazy to me.

Thanks For Reminding Me, Andy Rooney, That Writers Never Die

A crotchety curmudgeon. A war-time journalist for the U.S. Army. A humorist. A somewhat reluctant television personality.  A former news correspondent. A husband. A father.

Andy Rooney 1919-2011

A writer.

I had a love/hate relationship with Andy Rooney. He made me laugh. He annoyed me. But always, he made me think. And I love a person who makes me think.

I’ve been watching him on 60 Minutes for as long as I can remember. There are some episodes, thanks to the invention of TiVo, where I’d skip to the last 10 minutes of the show just to watch Andy Rooney.

I’ve tried to copy his style. To no avail. But when I’m a bit down about my own blog and how I don’t seem to have a direction, I think of him.  It annoys me that I can’t find some niche. That I’m a female who blogs but it’s not a “mom blog” or a “writer’s blog.” I sometimes feel like a square peg in a round hole. It’s  just a blog. And I write about the serious and the mundane.

Hey. Kind of like Andy Rooney.

So, I secretly convince myself that I’m more of an Andy Rooney blog. Although, I’m not sure Andy would appreciate the comparison. But that’s ok. He’ll never read me. He hasn’t read me. Not that I know of, anyway.

But some people have read me. And they like what I’ve written. And that is what is important. To get the written word out there, hopefully to be read. But just get it out there.

My readers are kind of like my friends from high school. A mixed bag. I was friends with jocks, nerds and the artsy fartsy types. Today, my readers are executives, homemakers, chefs, musicians and teachers with a few artsy-fartsy thrown in for good measure.

But writers.

Every last one of them.

And am I honored to be in their presence. They inspire me. They make me laugh. They make me think. Together we get our thoughts out there to share, to see and be seen. We do our part to shift the cosmos a little, to shake up conventional wisdom. And I love that about all of you.

Our words are read. Some are preserved on paper. Some words are preserved on the internet. But they live on. And they touch souls. They open minds.

Yes, Andy Rooney. Thank goodness that writers never die.

Just Another Day At The Office

I was having a crummy day. Nothing outstanding happened. Just the usual. Running late. Forgot to sign the permission slip. Almost late on a bill that got lost in the shuffle. (Thank God for online Bill Pay!) Out of milk. Nothing for dinner. Bank account low. Deleted a show by mistake before I actually watched it with no way to retrieve it.

Just your run-of-the-mill terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad day.

So, I called my sister.

“Hey! How’s it going?” she chirps.

I tell her. All forlorn. Waiting for the pity party to begin.

And it does. She’s great like that. After we commiserate, I ask her about her day.

Background info: She is the head administrator at an alternative school for teens.

She had to expel the girl who put the other girl into critical care Monday. A student stole copies of an upcoming test. She had an appointment with someone’s probation officer in 15 minutes. So, no time for lunch. Again. Her lead English teacher turned in her notice because she was following her husband to South Africa. And she had just finished a meeting with one of the plainclothes policemen that would be at the school tomorrow because a student posted on their Facebook page that they planned on bringing a gun to school.

Yep.

Just another day at the office.

Boy, I have it soooo good!

Please pray for all of our teachers and administrators out there. They have the toughest jobs ever!