How to maintain what's left of your dignity on Facebook

Let's talk about Facebook.

By now, I'm sure most of us can't live without it, and if you can, there's something wrong. Of all the times I've mentioned Facebook in a conversation, only twice have I heard the phrase "I don't have Facebook." (I slapped the speaker of those words both times)
Joking aside though, this isn't about why everyone should have Facebook. It's about all the little things people do on Facebook that drive me crazy. For example:

1. LIKING YOUR OWN POSTS: 

Come on guys, this one is a no-brainer. Doesn't having an entire page devoted to you and you alone give you enough of an ego boost? Why on earth would anyone like their own post? If you posted it, it comes without saying that you already "Like" it. If you didn't, you wouldn't have posted it in the first place. Logic.

2. 10,000 PHOTOS: 

So you just spent the last three hours of your life taking pictures of yourself in a mirror. You made some faces, you used some "cool" effects and you made sure the toilet behind you was flushed. Now that you have 246 photos of yourself taken by yourself, it would be absolutely insane not to post them on Facebook, right? WRONG. In this particular case, sharing is not caring. Don't punish your friends with your face featuring an infinite number of expressions from infinite angles. And don't pout either; it's very MySpace.

3. FARMVILLE: 

Lord, I can't begin to describe the pain that moronic game has caused me. I once fell victim to its not-so-distant cousin, Cityville. I'll tell you right now that it was a monumental waste of time. The only thing worse than Zynga Facebook games are the requests you get from friends who play them. They pop up on your page every other day, talking about "lost cow" this and "chicken shit" that and "I need fertilizer or my crops will die!!" Guess what? I don't give a shit! Go and tend to a real fucking plant. Or even better, go out and talk to actual human beings. I can't believe people pay money for that crap.

4. THE EVER CHANGING RELATIONSHIP STATUS:

Some relationships are rocky - trust me, I get it. We all break up and move on. What we all don't do, however, is change our relationship status after every fight/breakup. It's not so much annoying as it is disconcerting to see someone bounce from "Single" to "It's Complicated" to "In a Relationship" every other week. Should we be worried?

5. HAVING 8,000 FRIENDS: 

No, I'm not jealous of people who have more Facebook friends than I do. I just don't understand it. Eight thousand people? That's the population of a small town. Ninety nine point nine per cent of people with that many Facebook friends haven't met at least 60 per cent of them. Ok, I just made that statistic up, but it's probably true. And that brings me to...

6. ADDING PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW: 

Now this is annoying. Every once in a while, I get a friend request from a person my eyes have never had the displeasure of seeing. Just because we have a mutual friend, doesn't mean you can hit the "Add Friend" button. 

"Hi, let's be friends" is the message that sometimes comes with the request. You're kidding me, right? I don't care if we live in the same town or if you know my friend's aunt's brother's sister-in-law. NO. And by the way, re-adding someone as a friend after they've turned you down? Err... think about it.

7. POOR GRAMMAR/SPELLING:

No, I don't care that it's the Internet. Try to write like you have a brain and were taught how to speak English at some point in your life. Facebook is good for many things, but proper grammar isn't one of them. And neither is proper spelling. 

"Wat did u guyz do lst nyt?" 

Seriously? Would it kill you to type in an extra letter? For Pete's sake, S is right next to Z on a QWERTY keypad, and it takes just as many presses to type an S as it does to type a Z on a numerical keypad. Grow up.

8. HOURLY STATUS UPDATES: 

I honestly don't give two shits about what you had for lunch today, unless you ate that lunch with Bar Rafaeli or Ban Ki Moon (in that case I'd expect a photo). But telling the world your every move? No.That's what Twitter is for.

9. FACEBOOK CHAIN MAIL:

If you're dumb enough to believe that Mark Zuckerberg personally messaged you and asked that you forward his message to prove that your account is active and urge others to do the same or else Facebook will shut down, then you don't deserve to be on Facebook. That is all.

10. CRYPTIC POSTS: 

You know what I'm talking about: the cryptically ambiguous status updates that may or may not be about your (ex) lover/crush/sex master. 

"I'm tired of being treated like second-best." 

By who? If you're that pissed about it, write it on the perpetrator's wall instead of leaving it hanging there hoping your lover/crush/sex master will read it and get the hint. Because, guess what? He/she/it probably won't. Listen to the voice of experience.

And that, dear readers, is that. I don't want you to be an upstanding member of the Facebook society just to improve your sex/love/work life (and possibly, reputation). I wan't you to become an upstanding member of the Facebook society so I don't have to cringe whenever I see one of your misdeeds.

Vampires. You know the drill.

I love vampires. Really, I do. I love how fast they are, I love how they have super-hearing, and I love that they are always attractive. I have that last part covered though.
What amazes me is how people are still interested in them. After everything Twilight has done to vampires, and after all the exposure they have received, it's amazing people still bother. I guess vampires are kind of like Rolling in the Deep - refer to my previous blog post.
When I was 10 years old, the word vampire would conjure up pictures of coffins, death, blood and evil. Now when I hear vampire, I think of Edward Cullen. 

Scary in a different way.

When I see a movie or TV show title with vampires involved, I automatically assume it revolves around a love story, usually between a human and said vampire.
The woman is usually the human one (cue analysis of sexism in vampire fiction) and the male vampire resists his evil, carnal urges to suck her dry because they fall deeply in love. But because they are deeply in love, she is exposed to all the dangers that obviously accompany a relationship with a blood-sucking, undead, mythological beast. However, love prevails, and through many trials and tribulations and attempted murders, the unlikely couple emerge at the other end a little shaken up, but all in all, better than they were before they started.
That's usually how it goes. Oh, and there are usually other supernatural beings involved. I'm sorry if I just ruined a number of vampire novels for you. You'll thank me later.
The first vampire novel I read was Twilight. I'll admit it had me hooked. I read non-stop, I dared not bend a page of the sacred book and I even picked a side (Team Edward, if you're wondering). Then when it all came to an end, I stepped back and looked at the entire series without the haze of vampire love clouding my eyes. It was then that I realized vampires had been ruined. I was never going to look at them the same again. No longer were they the creatures that occasionally haunted my illicit drea- err... I mean, nightmares. I thought I'd never be scared of vampires again. 
Before any real vampires decide to instill the fear in me once again, I'll have you know that I was saved by my author-god Stephen King's novel, Salem's Lot. After I read that masterpiece, all was right in the world again.
The moral of the story? 21st century vampires suck, pun intended. Still, I'll admit it'd be nice to be one. Of course, I'd go on the "vegetarian" diet, as Stephanie Meyer so elegantly put it. Or maybe I'd try some friends. We'll see. But just in case, hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and hide yo husband 'cause they suckin' er'body out here.
Wait, that sounds wrong...

Rolling in the Deep. Seriously?

Ok, so you know how every year there's one album and one song that just won't leave the spotlight? No matter what the Hollywood machine throws at it, that one little album holds on to its 15 minutes like a cat that's just dug its claws into your arm. This year, that album seems to be Adele's '21'.

The album cover doesn't quite convey how I feel right now.

Don't get me wrong, I think the album is fantastic. I love(d) the songs, I love Adele. But seriously, I think it's time we gave it a rest. How many times am I going to have to hear 'Rolling In The Deep' every time I turn on my TV? (Here's one more time for good measure)

How long is that very song going to be playing in one of those hip stores all the kids love to go? I don't know. All I know is enough is enough.
I don't know about you, but excessive song playing eventually ruins the song for me. If I hear it enough times I start to hate it. It kinda goes like this:


1st time: Meh, what's special about this?
4th time: Ok, this song is kinda cool.
6th time: I freaking LOVE this song!
18th time: Hey, it's an old favourite of mine! Don't change the channel!
30th time: Yeah, it's cool. Skip ahead though.
50th time: Again??
70th time: Turn that shit off already!
98th time: Seriously? I'm gonna fucking break that CD, bitch!


So that's basically the life cycle of a song. Keep in mind this doesn't all happen in a short amount of time; it takes weeks. Right now, Rolling In The Deep is somewhere between the 50th and 70th marks. Lady GaGa's Born This Way is between 30 and 50, just to give you a better perspective. I love the women, I really do. But haven't you ever heard "Too much of a good thing is bad?" Even though it may not apply to awesome stuff like ice-cream and cake and money and s... yeah those things, it definitely applies to music.
To make a long story short, please quit playing the same shit over and over again. We can only take so much before our brains start to leak out of our ears like guava puree, and I'm too young to die.

Ma-ma-malaria

Nothing feels better than finding out SOMEONE reads your gibberish. It is for that same reason that I am back today. Woohoo! I know you missed me, but I’ll skip the pleasantries and get right down to business.

Let’s start with the basics – I’m in Zambia! I survived my flight (didn’t get to sit next to anyone hot), survived my initial Canadian withdrawal symptoms, and survived a little get-together my parents threw for me. I’m a survivor. Unfortunately, I have another item on my list that I need to survive: malaria.

If you’re not from sub-Saharan Africa, you probably think malaria is BAD. Like “OMFG I THINK I’M GONNA DIE!” bad. Hate to break it to you, but it’s really not. Well, it is deadly but then again so is the common cold in rare situations. With the right treatment, I expect to be up and running in no time.

Now that you know I’m not gonna die (even though that might be a little disappointing for some), let’s move on. There are bigger problems here than malaria.

First? Zambian internet. I know it’s not terrible EVERYWHERE, but I am yet to see an internet connection functioning normally. It’s like ghosts – they probably exist but very few people have seen them, and those that have aren’t usually taken too seriously.

Two ISPs came down to “assess” how well an internet connection would work at my house, and the results were abysmal. And before you ask, no, we don’t live in the middle of nowhere. Just a regular old residential area in a regular old town. But apparently, their base stations are either too far, blocked by too many objects, or facing the opposite direction. Once again before you ask, no, apparently we don’t have cable here.

Secondly? Zambian air. Or rather, the air at my house. I don’t know what’s in it besides the usual oxygen, carbon dioxide and other gases, but it’s giving me allergies. Every night before bed, my nose runs like a leaky faucet, and no matter how soft the Kleenex claims to be, my nose still gets irritated from the constant wiping and blowing. It’s not pleasant. Not at all. Maybe it's the cat...

But besides everything that’s so obviously going wrong, I’m glad to be home. I’m more than happy to see my parents, my friends, and even my dad’s annoying secretary… Ok, I lied. I’m not happy to see her. But you get my point.

By the way, a little piece of advice: don’t fly Ethiopian. They may be cheap, but you find out why as soon as you get on the plane. Honestly, Air Canada wasn’t that great either, and they’re not even cheap. It’s a lose-lose situation.

Ok, think I’m done ranting. I shall now retire to my comfortable bed and medicate my ailing body while sipping on a nice cup of tea. Yes, I think that sounds about right…

Check on it

So I walk up to the check-in desk and there sits this haggard-looking woman who appears to be in the middle of what could only be the worst period of her life. I can tell by the I-hate-my-job expression on her face. Or maybe she just actually hates her job. Who knows? Either way, she doesn’t appear to be having a good day.

“Good evening,” I say politely with a smile on my face.

She eyes me for a split second before responding. “Good evening, sir. And how many bags will you be checking today?”

I look down at my solitary piece of baggage then back up at her.

“Just the one,” I reply, trying to hide the frustration in my voice as I point to the bag besides me. As if she can’t see.

I place the bag on the weighing platform or whatever it’s called, and the scale reads 53 pounds. I bite my lip, knowing the limit is 50.

“Oh dear, looks like you’re slightly overweight here,” she says with an attempt at a concerned facial expression. “You’re going to have to pay for the excess weight.”

Stupidly, I stare at the scales. I knew this was going to happen but I decide to act surprised.

“So how much is that going to be?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “One hundred dollars.”

I blink once, then a second time.

“Ok, so you’re telling me I have to pay one hundred dollars because my bag is three pounds over the limit?”

She replies that I do.

“Are my three extra pounds going to prevent the us from taking off? Or are they going to bring that plane plummeting out of the sky?”

She replies that they won’t – the plane can handle it.

I take a deep breath. “Well then why the fuck do I have to pay one hundred dollars?”

She says it’s the company’s policy.

“Oh well that explains everything then! It’s company policy. I’m flying half way across the world for three months and I’m only allowed 50 pounds? And now that I’m just three pounds overweight you’re going to make me pay $100? You know what? Fuck you.”

Her eyes widen as she exclaims there is no need for such language; she doesn’t write the policy.

Slamming my palm on her desk, I say, “Well thank God, otherwise it’d be even more fucked up than it already is!”

By now she’s too shocked to say anything so she just stares at me.

“Now listen here, bitch,” I say, leaning in closer, “this is what’s gonna happen. You’re going to check my bag like an obedient worker. After you’re done with that, you’re going to have a good talk with whoever writes the policy around here because it fucking stinks. And by the way, I’ll pay you that $100 when you see three pigs flying in formation around your house. That’s not gonna happen any time soon, so until then why don’t you just shut your mouth and CHECK MY FUCKING BAG!”

…

That’s what I should have said.

But instead I just nodded and asked, “Do you take Visa?”

Come fly with me

Two weeks to go. 
Two weeks and I'll be landing here: 

Now I don't know how old that photograph is but there you go - Lusaka International Airport. You know, it's that big thing with "Lusaka International Airport" written on it. Not much compared to Heathrow or Pearson but meh, it'll do. 

I can already imagine the landing - I won't have to wait in line like all the other foreigners because, hey, I'm not a foreigner! I'll just run on over to whatever desk they have serving us Zambians, get my passport stamped, and proceed out the door. The process literally takes about 30 minutes, and that's counting the landing. See the top of the tree right above the building? That's probably in the parking lot.

What worries me, however, is the actual flying. I'm not accustomed to sitting in one seat (that was clearly designed for a slightly obese child) for periods longer than an hour, so obviously, transatlantic flights really aren't my thing.

And don't get me started on the person who's probably going to sit next to me. Is it too much to ask for someone at least mildly attractive? Apparently it is. I need something to look at when I get bored and rhinos, endangered though they may be, aren't exactly what I like to call pretty. With my luck, that's probably all I'll get.

Then there are the flight attendants. The majority of them are as pleasant as can be, but there's always the one who seems to detest his/her job. Have you ever been faced with one of those? I have. Half the time you can't even tell they're being rude because they're smiling. Then when they walk away you're like "Wait, what??"

After sitting in a children's car seat next to the hunchback of Notre Dame for seven hours, I'm sure I won't be in the mood for anyone's bullshit. No siree Bob.

Oh well, one can only hope for the best. This time I'll be prepared, neck pillow and ear plugs at the ready. My iPod will be fully charged, my spirits will be high and my wits will be about me. And if I do get stuck with a rhinoceros? I'll take a picture and pray it doesn't snore.

Shit a brick

It's been a long while since I had the living shit scared out of me, but I'm proud to say that I am no longer living an adrenaline-free life.
I had the pleasure of seeing Insidious at the cinema today. After a mild struggle with the ticket vending machine (Visa Paywave wouldn't work for one reason or another...perhaps I was using it wrong?) we waited at the ticket-checking counter for a minute or so before deciding to just go ahead. It made me wonder whether purchasing tickets was even necessary.
Anyway, after starting off with the usual previews, I was thrust head-first into the thrill ride that is Insidious. I was literally scared shitless for latter three quarters of the movie. I haven't seen a horror movie that good in a very, very long time. I strongly suggest you see it. Of course, better stuff has been made before but Insidious is a good refresher for any lover of the horror genre.
After I got home, I made sure to turn on all the lights - I was expecting some sinister creature to jump out from any possible dark corner or a face to materialize in a window. Those are the times you both appreciate and regret the fact that you're living in a basement. Appreciate because, like it or not, the basement is a pretty safe place with little to no windows, and regret because if something did happen to me and I screamed my lungs out for help, no one would hear me. Someone would probably only stumble upon my lifeless body three days after I had died.
Yes, Insidious messed me up. But isn't that the point? A good horror movie's horrors stay with you long after you leave the cinema. If they hadn't, I'd consider the venture an utter waste of $7.45, and in that case, I'd rather have purchased an equally thrilling McDonald's meal.