Happy V Day

Some students are producing Eve Ensler's seminal work this spring and they want to make sure we all know.

Of course, there's nothing profane about calling things by their anatomically correct names. And I am certain that if there were signs everywhere that said ARM or KNEE or even LARGE INTESTINE, I'd be just fine. Nevertheless, I do find it a bit disconcerting to have flyers all over the school screaming VAGINA in 200pt bright red caps. Apparently, I'm not all that mature.

Still, I guess it doesn't hurt to have a reminder posted every few feet. I wouldn't want to absent-mindedly leave my vagina in the lunchroom or something. Now I'm prompted constantly to just make sure I still have it with me.

Directions

Last week I was very aware of how all the cool people were at SxSW and how, if I had made some different choices, say, ten years ago, I might have been one of those people. But I did not and, thus, am not. To wit:

1. I am not altogether clear on what SxSW even is. I mean, yes, there is a lot of music. A great, great deal of music. But how is it also a technological extravaganza? I know nothing. I just joined Facebook for goodness sake.

2. Today, looking over the SxSW musical highlights on NPR, I find I have heard of exactly one of the performers. I am not familiar with his work, mind you, but I have heard of him,

I do have the DVD of North by Northwest, however, if you want to come over.

Only 6 Days!

Confession: I would not have known about this were it not for Facebook despite knowing Rob Reich and Circus Bella up close and personal. Fine. Whatever, Facebook. You're the big winner. Now pipe down.

The Circus Bella Allstars are so, so close to meeting the necessary goal to have their CD project funded. Let's see if we can get them there. Hooray for live, local music. Hooray for homegrown circuses. Hooray for friends who are far more talented than I.

Words, words, words

Recently I was informed by someone of higher authority in these matters than myself that if I continued to recoil in horror every time someone said "social media," I would render myself unemployable. I do not wish to be unemployable. However, I have never been a great one for adopting, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." I have chosen instead to live by the lesser-known maxim, "if you can't beat 'em, continue to carry bitterness in your heart and hostility towards 'em forevermore." Employers are probably not really looking for that, but, to be fair, it's not on my resume; it's secreted in my black soul.

But, fine. I'm 40. My life is passing me by. Time for a bright new tomorrow, etc. So, as informed I must, I joined Facebook. The world did not grind to a halt, though my friends did express astonishment. I think a pretty good indication that you are out of step with the normative culture is when you say to your friend, "So...I joined Facebook." and she replies with genuine concern, "Oh my god. Are you all right?" And the answer is: yes. I am all right. As a Facebook novice, I just have a very short list of "friends" who are actually friends. There is some satisfaction to seeing them all there in a safe little bundle. In some instances, seeing even three words from their keyboards represents more than I've heard from them in years. It's nice.

However, I am unsure what I'm supposed to do now. "What are you thinking about?" Facebook inquires. Well, Facebook, lots of things, but do I need to keep the world updated on all of them? And if I think of anything particularly droll, shouldn't I put it in my oft-neglected blog? How many platforms does one girl really need?

Heaven forfend I join Twitter, as well. Twitter & Facebook together would surely be the death of Cereal for Dinner, or, if not, my thoughts on crumbs and toenail clippings will soon be mined to the fullest.

Interestingly, running out of things to say never used to be a concern of mine. Welcome to the brave new world.

Snapshot

Stopped at a red light, I check out the prices of the tulips and daffodils outside the corner store (incidentally, it must be spring because they are a crazy bargain). Then, from just beyond the cheerful flower cart, a single soap bubble appeared and drifted languidly across the street.

That all seems awfully whimsical for the average traffic signal. Amelie? Are you in the neighborhood?