I’m not the biggest fan on Facebook.  I don’t care about the egg you found, or What G0d Told You to Think Today, or your Teletubby name.  I rarely update my status, because it would look like this, “Going to court,”  “It’s raining again,” or “I really need to stop surfing the Internet and get back to work.”  And really, who cares?  But, through Facebook, I  have reconnected with old friends, and I do enjoy looking at my friends’ photos, etc.  So, I check in on Facebook probably once a week.

And, inevitably, on that one day a week, Facebook is always telling me to reconnect with the same person – you haven’t spoken to so-and-so in awhile – it’s time to send him a message!  And who is this person – the first boy to ever ask me out – we carpooled to Hebrew School, he sent me a Valentine, I said no.  He was a strange kid, wore a trench coat and carried a briefcase in sixth grade.  That’s not why a said no, though – I didn’t think I was too good for him, or anything like that – just in sixth grade, it freaked me out – it was weird, and I was a dorky kid myself.  Anyway, he was a year ahead of me in high school, and when Hebrew school stopped, so did our acquaintance.  He always annoyed me a little – he annoyed everyone a little – although, he was always endearing. 

So, when he friended me on Facebook, I was like, eh – he’s kind of annoying, but he’s also kind of endearing, and I would feel badly if I didn’t, so I did.  And, on Facebook, again, he was a little annoying – leaving stupid messages on my wall, etc. But, when I thought about unfriending him, I would look at his wall, and I felt too guilty – nothing had changed, annoying, but a nice guy in his weird way.  So, I just ignored his silly inquiries and went about my Facebook business, which has nothing to do with purple cows, or mafia hits, or joining a group called, “I love Flipflops.”

And then, tragically, he died.  Had a brain hemorage, and died.  Tragic. Awful.  And, when my mom called to tell me that he had died, my reaction was, “He’s not dead, he’s on Facebook.”

And, he’s still on Facebook.  Everytime I load up Facebook, it tells me to send him a message – reconnect!

Can you unfriend a dead person?  I don’t think you can – that’s just kind of mean.   And, look, I don’t get choked up everytime I see his picture – but I’m sure some people do.   So, today, I clicked on his page, and people are still leaving him messages – and I just think that’s weird.  Like Facebook is the new Quija board or something – that you can send a message on Facebook, and the tragically dead person is going to read it?  I’ve never been strong on spirituality – but to me, there’s something not only not comforting about communing with the dead through a computer medium, but also, it’s cheap – to send heartfelt messages that are sandwiched in between “so and so found an egg,” and “so and so found a stash of blackmail photos.”

I guess I’m sounding judgmental – if it gives someone comfort, so be it, do it, whatever gets you through the day.   I guess it’s more productive than virtual farming.

Any given morning, I’ll arrive at my office before the support staff, change into my super lawyer suit, and head off to court.  The office is quiet — maybe someone is getting the coffee pot going, maybe there’s another lawyer around heading over to court, but for the most part, it’s quiet. 

Then I return.

I walk past the secretaries station, and they have the radio playing – not blaring or anything, but just loud enough for the infection to take hold.

Just loud enough to get in your head for all eternity, or what feels like an eternity.

And for the past three days, I have been assaulted by that Taylor Swift song, Romeo and Juliet.

It only takes me about 10 seconds to walk through the saccarine zone, but it’s enough – and to Taylor Swift, I say enough!!! 

Has she read Romeo and Juliet?  Does she know it ended badly?  Really badly.   Does she know that the fathers weren’t onboard?  Did she read it and think, “Huh, this would be such a better story if it had a happy ending?”   Poison shmoison!    Are young girl’s hearts broken on a daily basis when they pick up this classic and find out that the teen teenie lovers actually die in the end?  Do they realize they have been betrayed, lied to, deceived?  Do they then turn to Dire Straits, and their Romeo and Juliet, and say, hey, not only is this a much better song, they got it right?

Of course they don’t – and that is what is wrong with this world.

At least for the ten seconds I have to walk through the Taylor zone.

The caped crusader of fiber artists everywhere strikes at 16th and Locust!   On my way to work, I spotted this very warm bike rack.  Is this a copycat knitter?  Has the Cape May County Midnight Knitter expanded his/her search for truth, justice and the pursuit of yarn into our wool deprived metropolis?

Or, is this simply a crazy person who sees tree people and pole people who need tube top sweaters?

If you’re cold, put on a sweater.

And, if you’re a tree, and you’re cold . . .

Put on a sweater.

I wonder if the mystery knitter wears a knitted cape.

When I was growing up, we had family dinner.  Not Walton’s family dinner, or Eight is Enough family dinner – there was no chit chat, no revelations, no drama.  We ate, and we watched the local evening news.  The lead story was always a fire.  A warehouse is burning, a tractor trailer is aflame on the highway, smoke is roaring through an apartment complex.  Fire, that was the big story.
Then, if there wasn’t a fire to report on -and, really – there was always a fire – a church, a car, a backyard leaf fire, if nothing else, the reporter could always light a cigarette and set a garbage can on fire.  In any event,  there was always weather as a fall back.  An approaching storm, inches of rain, record breaking temperatures.  Like Jane Austen advises, if you have nothing nice to say, confine your comments to the weather.

So, I don’t expect much from the local evening news – at this point, all I want to know is is it going to snow? and is Donovan McNabb finally going to get the boot?   But, really, that’s my issue – I’m sure there are many out there who think that there can be truth in reporting, that our local newscasters are striving for something a little more than mediocrity, and that  covering the health care debate, the wars in the Middle East, etc., is still an essential function of even our local news.

So, taking into consideration my obviously low expectations, and an optimists unreasonably high expectations, the newscast should land somewhere in the middle, right?  It should hit about mediocrity, shouldn’t it? 

Well, you be the judge –

Last night, I sat down to watch the 11:00 NBC10 news.  Ok, you don’t want to cover a fire – fine.  The shooting on Dorrance Street?  Ok, you don’t want to lead with local crime, so be it.  So, Renee Chenault Fattah, married to a congressman, what’s your lead?  That the President of the United States was right here in our area last night, plugging away at his health care plan?

Nope.  Facebook.  Idiots who put their ridiculous photos online, only to have someone snatch them, and  – can you hear the beat of the sympathy drums – post them elsewhere only to make fun of them.  Gasp!   The lead story, which lasted a good five minutes, was some idiot woman, by anyone’s measure, overweight, who had posted pictures of herself ONLINE, scantily clad, in ridiculous outfits, eyeing her camera with “come hither” looks.  Really?  We’re supposed to feel bad for this woman for forgetting to check the box that clearly pops up every time you post a picture on Facebook about photo privacy and who can see your pictures.   But, the bottomline is – they are ONLINE – they are accessible by anyone who wants to see them – there is no such thing as online privacy.   Everytime you post a picture, the question should be – could my boss see that?  And if the answer is yes, ok, post it, and if the answer is no you’re just an idiot.  And this blog that highjacked her pictures – Philly Burn?  Does she really think that the exposure on Philly Burn is greater than the exposure of being on NBC10?  So whoever you really didn’t want to see them before, certainly has seen them now – because you put them on the local news.  So, the only news there really is that Channel 10 got snookered, because she is clearly proud of those pictures, and wanted the widest audience she possibly could to see them. 

And what could possibly follow that story?

The President at Immaculata University, right?

Nope.  People who wanted butt lifts, but instead had some chemical injected into their butts that gave them infections – something like window filler – I can’t give you accurate reportage about the story, because by then we were already actively comparing the NBC10 telecast to the 6ABC telecast, and in the time it took NBC10 to report on Facebook idiocy, and rotted butt injections, 6ABC had covered the shooting on Dorrance Street, the death of a medic, and the burglarly of a church for its copper piping, and the President’s visit.  That’s not to say 6ABC didn’t have it’s feel good story – suburban teenagers addicted to heroin – but at least they got some actual news in there before they got to the meat of their telecast.

And what’s up with NBC10′s good news segment?  I don’t even know what the regular time is – but it’s a half hour a day, and it seems like its on whenever I turn on the t.v.  For a half hour, they only report “good” news.  Good news, bad news – really, aren’t you just supposed to report the news – the days events – and let others be the judge of whether it’s good news or bad news?  And, a half hour a day – that’s 2.5 hours of what NBC10 dubs “good” news a week – 2.5 hours of kids with cancer to promote fundraising, maimed animals rescued from animal shelters to promote fundraising, and maybe a few minutes adorable adoptable children, again to promote fundraising.  If they want to do a telethon, just call it what it is, and don’t put it on the “news.”

And what does that make the happenings of the rest of the telecast – the bad news hour?  Good news, bad news – just tell me what happened today, ok?