The Social Network

We watched the move “The Social Network” last Friday night. It was PaulA’s first time. My third. I could easily watch that movie a fourth time…and I never ever repeat movies….although I do repeat myself. I have been known to repeat myself.

How did the movie make you feel about Mark Zuckerberg, the creator of Facebook? The movie shows him possessing many positive qualities…extraordinary intelligence, ambition. But he isn’t shown in a positive light. Arrogant, insecure, socially handicapped. I wonder what Zuckerberg thinks of the movie? Maybe a billionaire 12 times over doesn’t give a lick…he gets the last laugh.

There were many aspects of the movie that I liked…the acting, the familiar scenes of Cambridge, insight into the creation of Facebook. But I absolutely HATED…the portrayal of young women. Except for the young lawyer and Zuckerberg’s ex-BU girlfriend…every other young woman in the movie was either a clinger, a drunk, a sex addict, a drug addict, a whiner, a moron….or the ultimate combination…a psychotic whiny drunk sex-addicted bimbo. WTH? What the Heck?

The young men in the movie, on the other hand, were shown as intelligent, sharp, athletic, and goal oriented. WTF? What the Farce?

Anywhooooooo………………….

I discovered that PaulA and I had actually watched the movie on Facebook’s 7th birthday…which was February 4th. So I got to thinking about the world 7 years ago. OMG…It was a different world. Where would we be without Facebook? We have Mark Zukerberg to thank for our social network.

Without Mark and his Facebook…we would actually have to face our friends. We couldn’t have hundreds of friends that we kinda know. It would be hard to poke each other without getting slapped. When we wanted it known that we are ‘single’ or ‘in a relationship’ …we would have to wear a billboard around our necks….or a ring around our fingers. And we couldn’t blurt out: What’s on our mind."

Facebook has made a huge impact on entertainment, commerce, advertising, and politics. Obama and Sarah Palin might look like they don’t have much in common…but they both have used/abused Facebook. The Eyptian protesters even used Facebook to organize rallies. WTD? What the dealio?

7 years ago before Facebook…I had a few friends. Now thanks to Mark Zuckerberg…I have 27.

Thank you, Mark Zuckerberg.”

Ps. My favorite line from "The Social Network" is when Zuckerberg calls the Winklevoss twins… “Winklevii.” Cracks me up.

Super Bowl XLV- A First

Give me a B
Give me an O
Give me an O
Give me a Hoo
What does that spell?
Boo Hoo!

Did I hear cries during Super Bowl XLV...or was that you crying over a spilled nacho plate?

Super Bowl XLV made history. It was the first Super Bowl in 45 years without cheerleaders on the sidelines. The Steelers and Packers are among 6 NFL teams that don’t have professional cheerleading squads to cheer their teams on to V-I -C-T-O-R-Y.

The Dallas Cowgirl cheerleaders did poney up and offer their services (ooh yea)..but their offer was turned down because they didn't have an affiliation with either the Packers or Steelers. If they wanted to perform, they were told: "Kick it outside, Cowgirls." (Probably the first time any one of them was ever kicked to the curb.)

Anywhooooooooo............

Did you feel cheated out of the full football experience at this year's Super Bowl? Without the cheerleaders doing their thang...what would a fan watch between plays? There were no pom poms, no cheers. no claps. No grinding, no shaking...no booty, no booby.

And what was the cameraman to ‘shoot’ right before going to commercial?...A little boy and his Dad smiling? The cameraman would have gotten more entertaining shots of grown men drooling...if the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders were allowed to perform.

Some say that scantily clad, gyrating cheerleaders distract the fans from the game. One player was quoted as saying that they don’t need “eye candy” at their games. But I hear they do need a good gyro. Yum. Yum.

There are others who say cheerleading is a part of the game and it adds to the atmosphere. They say showing half naked women is not degrading...in the least. And least is best. Cheerleaders are an American tradition. Apple pie. Fourth of July. Hot Cheerleaders. Who are we to mess with a slice of Americana pie?

At least the Dallas cheerleaders were allowed to cheer outside the stadium: “That’s alright. That’s okay. We’re shaking booty, anyway.” I wonder how many were late getting to their seats...because they were watching the shake and bake outside.

Go. Fight. Shake. Shake. Shake.

Wish You Were Here

Do you remember going on a vacation before cell phones, iPads, and delicious blackberries? When you wanted to send greetings from your vacation spot to your family and friends back home…you dropped a postcard in the mailbox. “Scribble and drop” came waaay before “click and send.”

The postcard aka The Boastcard: a 3 ½ x 4 ½ note card subtly boasting: I’M ON VACATION AND YOU’RE AT HOME.

I remember sending postcards back in the day. It was important for me to promptly get the postcard into the mail so it arrived at home…before I did. I remember looking for just the right card…staring at them all on a revolving display rack…spinning it around and around…trying to decide which card subtly said: Nah, nah, nah…You’re stuck at home in 4 feet of snow and I’m in sunny Mexico. (For example, of course.)

The act of sending postcards is a lost art. The process of carefully selecting the right picture and crafting a message to that certain someone is becoming obsolete. Now we simply take a picture with our cell phone and forward it to 10 of our dearest friends…at the same time. Subject: “Wish you were here.”

You always had to be very careful about getting too personal with what you wrote on the back of the postcard. You didn’t want to divulge TMI…after all…the postcard would be read by everyone who touched it. Including the mailman. The mailman always knew everyone’s business.

Anywhooooooooo………………

I was thinking the inventors of Twitter probably got their “What I’m doing…in 140 characters or less” idea from a postcard. Tweet: "Yo. Yo. Wit da posse in Cabo San Juan for Sun, Sand, Salsa, and Siesta." 140 characters is approximately the amount of space you had to cram in your bad handwriting on the back of the card.

Seeing I didn’t get my act together and send out any boastcards…………here’s my postcardBLOG to YOU:

In Cabo…having a whale of a time. Watching the whales breach. One more margarita and tamale…and San Juan will have another beached whale sighting.
Wish You were here.

Mexican Immersion

I totally recommend traveling and experiencing other countries...not just immersing yourself in a resort pool at 86 degrees...but actually immersing yourself in a pool of culture... at 98.6. So while in Cabo...PaulA and I decided we would tear ourselves away from the swim-up bar and do just that.

First of all we would have to change our names so we would fit in. The names "PaulA" and "Kat" SCREAM AMERICANS ON VACATION...so we decided to go with Paulo and Gato. That way we would blend in with Maria, Alberto, Senor Frog, and Frito Bandito. We were determined to be igncognito and not stick out like a couple of gringos. We also decided losing our black socks and fanny packs would help.

Seeing it was Sunday and too early to be drinking margaritas...we decided to go to church...a spanish mass. Not to be confused with a spanish moss. A spanish moss is much longer than a spanish mass...which is generally an hour...like in the U.S.

The best thing about attending a catholic mass is that it is always the same, no matter where you are. You could be in South L.A. or South America...same/same. So even if you can't follow the language...you can follow the mass. Plus you always know that the basket being passed around means..."Fork it over, Amigo." Dinero...mula. Money talks in every language.

I found that the few years I took of high school spanish actually paid off. I just needed the priest to talk slower...so I could comprehend faster. I knew "Dios" was God, "Jesus" was Jesus, and "Amen" was Amen. There was a bilingual mass we could have gone to, but we were not interested in a mass for gringos. We were Paulo and Gato...a couple of Mexicans. GuacamOLE.

Anywhoooo....

One thing that takes some getting used to is seeing skeletons. I know a few of us have them rattling around the closet....but these skeletons are out in the open. They are seen everywhere...art, sculpture, figurines, paintings.

In the Mexican culture skeletons are not considered to be spooky and scary. They stem from their catholic heritage. Death is seen as another stage following life and is celebrated. I think I prefer to celebrate life with a birthday and balloons instead of a Day of the Dead and bones. (Note to self: A total Mexican immersion might be harder than I thought. Where's the hotel pool?)

Skeleton figurines of all sizes and materials (clay, plaster, paper machete) fill the shops.. They're dressed in different costumes from everyday situations and occupations. I've seen a bride, mariachi player, Michael Jackson, cupcake chef...and my favorite...the pole dancer. I was looking for an insurance man skeleton to give to Paulo. I admit...I was feeling left out...I couldn't find a blogger skeleton. Maybe Mexicans don't want to waste their time blogging when they have a siesta to get to . Adios Amigos.

gatoOUT
ps. conejo, conejo, conejo....and for you gringos...
rabbit, rabbit, rabbit

R & R

This Kat is enroute with PaulA on a little vacation...a well-timed break of R & R...Rest, Relax, and Reposado. We're leaving the country for Cabo San Jose, Mexico.

Don Julio. Guacamole. Chimichanga. (Just practicing my Spanish.)

I'm told the area we are visiting is safe from war lords, drug lords, and lord of the rings. But in case, that's not the case, I've made peace with my lord.

I will try to blog next week from Cabo Wabo, but at this time i don't know if I will have excess access to the internet.

Anywhoooo.......

Baring any unpleasant episodic episodes with tekillya or Montezuma's revenge...lord knows...this gato will be back.

LA LA LAND

Last week I was in LA. There is something intrinsically cool about saying “LA.” Why say Los Angeles....when you can say LA, baby??
LA people own the cool factor, because they believe they are cool. They dress cool, they walk cool, they jog cool. I was hoping the cool vibe would bounce off them and stick to me...but apparently I’m the Teflon Kat. I have the cool-it factor. For some reason people are always telling me to cool it.

Besides the obvious play on initials, there is a reason they call LA... “la la land.” People in LA live in their own world...a happy place of warm weather and sunshine…and are out of touch with reality. And also apparently oblivious to the miserable life we endure during the Northeast winters. So for 5 days I lived in la la land...and transgendered myself…I mean, transformed myself from Le Miserable to Le Happy Kat.


One afternoon we took in the sights of Malibu from the Pacific Palisades Highway. At one point we pulled over so PaulA could put his ear to his phone, his thumbs to his Blackberry...and my toes to the Pacific. The beach was public…not the private off limits beach of the rich and famous. Technically you aren’t trespassing on a private beach if you are standing on the wet sand above the low water mark. I thought about swimming out to sea and body surfing back onto the private beach of the rich and famous…but I’m not a particularly strong swimmer.

Anywhoooooo............

While walking the Malibu beach, I had a few interesting encounters.

Encounter 1: an aging hippie with long hair sitting in the lotus position. I’m not very familiar with yoga so I’m not entirely sure it was the “ lotus position,” but I know it wasn’t the “raging bull” position …he wasn’t on all 4’s. His eyes were closed, so I presumed he was meditating...or medicated....or both. I hoped he was picturing himself as a productive contributing member of society …someday.

Encounter 2: A man carrying a frying pan. I thought it seemed a little odd....but I figured he probably just fled a crime scene and was looking to throw away the evidence into the ocean. This is LA baby.

Encounter 3: As I walked further down the beach…who do I see…AGAIN? Man with Frying Pan…nestled in-between some large rocks. Apparently Man with Frying Pan keeps a small grill in the rocks on the bluff...and was frying some eggs. I only asked him for 2 eggs sunnyside up. I thought ordering an omelet would be asking a little too much.

LA. The la la land of the rich and famous...and the down and out. That’s LA for ya.

It's Whats For Dinner

Are you a meat eater? Or are you a carrot carrying member of the veggie-atarian society?

I could never be confused with a veggie-atarian. I eat meat with many different faces...some cuter than others. I’ve been known to eat pork, burger, ham, turkey, chicken, but never dog meat. Ruff. Rough. I wouldn’t want my Vet mad at me. And Duncandog might give me the cold shoulder blades.

Even though I’m a card carrying carnivore...I don’t eat a lot of red meat. That’s mainly because I don’t like to see red meat in its au natural form. Whenever I see it displayed in the butcher shop case with all that red flesh pressed next to each other...I get the heebie jeebies.

It might have something to do with haunting flashbacks from when we lived on Wheelus Air Force Base in Tripoli, Libya, North Africa. Yes folks...I’m an Air Force brat. (“Brat” is actually a term of endearment for children of parents in the military...not bratty spoiled Lindsay Lohans.)

After school I would take the base bus to a ceramics class. That bus ride provided me with an enriching, eye-popping education...that still haunts me today.

Before getting to my ceramics class, the bus went through the Main gate and off base...by an open Arab market where huge carcasses of red meat hung in the open air...covered with flies. And next to the hanging meat were men bathing in the open baths. Both the men and the meat were au natural. Being exposed to that much exposed meat...in all forms...gave me the heebie jeebies.

Anywhooooo................

This is sooo random, (but this is how my mind works)....when I think of red meat...I think “butcher” and then I think “Brady Bunch.”

Remember the meaty romance on The Brady Bunch between Alice and her beefcake boyfriend, Sam-The-Butcher? They had a lot in common...both had a love of meat. (I’m tiptoeing around lewd meat jokes.)

Ya know...I never understood how Alice wasn’t turned off by Sam-the Butcher’s bloody apron. She must not have been exposed to meat hanging in an open market dotted with flies.

Double Anywhooooooooooo...........

“Beef "...It’s what’s for dinner...should you still have an appetite.