FACEBOOK FRENZY

January is the month we start anew, and for me, the new included a new face. No, I’m not talking facelift, although I certainly could use one with all this sagging and drooping going on. My face is dropping faster than last year’s portfolio. No, when I talk about getting a new face, I’m talking about the new obsession of Baby Boomers – Facebook. (http://www.facebook.com/)

Baby Boomers, historically obsessed with popularity, have flocked to Facebook where we can Befriend anyone we’ve ever met. And not only can we Friend them, we can boast about how many friends we have and display their names and faces like trophies. Now instead of asking, “How many grandkids do you have?” we ask “How many Facebook Friends do you have?” (I have 55……... my dog has 34.)

Nothing is more fun than shopping someone else’s Friend list to see if you recognize any names. Well, okay one thing is better – someone coveting your Friends list. And, it’s never been so easy to make friends……

Hey, you shop at Publix? Want to be my Facebook friend?

You went to WaCoHi? Let’s be Facebook friends.

You were once married to my husband? Hey – wait a minute, I think that is one degree of separation I’d like to keep.

As for the rest of you, let’s be friends. Oh, not in real life. I don’t have time for that between my job and my garden and my French lessons and my upcoming colonoscopy. “I’m sorry, but at this point in my life I just don’t have the time to be a good friend to anyone else.” (I read that line in the November issue of O Magazine. Thank goodness for email because that line could never be delivered eye-to-eye. No siree.)

But I have time for Facebook. We can be friends on Facebook. You can post photos of your grandkids and I’ll post even cuter photos of mine. You can post photos of your cat or dog. Your car. Your new apple tree. The blister on your big toe. Any photo is newsworthy on Facebook and any newsworthy post is always greeted with a Comment.

Oh, did I forget to tell you that? You can leave Comments on your Profile and your friends can Comment back. And if you write something funny enough, or controversial enough, or just plain stupid, you might even get enough Comments to fill a page.

It’s better than a prom date, I swear. And it lasts a lot longer. Remember, nothing on the Internet ever disappears. It just falls into Cache where it hides until you run for some political office, or your grown kids find it and hang their heads in shame.

Maybe that’s the real Baby Boomer appeal to Facebook ….. those 15 minutes of fame.

At Facebook, your fame lasts as long as your internet connection.

Your fame is as large as your list of Friends.

Your fame can be reinforced by ribbons and awards.

If you like a little competition – and what Baby Boomer doesn’t? – you can play games at Facebook. Right now the most popular is Farmville. It’s Facebook’s answer to going green.

Oh yes, I’m doing my part, I have a little farm where I grow my own organic vegetables.

At Farmville.

While I sit in front of the computer, munching on Lay’s potato chips.

But if you excel at Farmville, or get a high score at Farkle, you make headlines. Facebook headlines, and for most of us (especially me), it’ll be the only headlines we ever make.

Oh, did I tell you about Bejeweled Blitz? It has more bling than QVC. At Bejeweled Blitz you match up jewels and earn limitless praise from a man whose voice sounds suspiciously like Sean Connery. If you’re lucky, he’ll say things to you like, “Marvelous!”, “Excellent!”, and Outstanding!”

If you’re into almost any cause, you can locate their Facebook page and read their updates. You can become a Fan of your favorite charity or restaurant or magazine.

You can save the money you normally spend on therapy by spending a couple of hours at Facebook where you can take quizzes like “What Disney Character Are You?” and “What Type of Dog are You?” and “What Type of Shoe Defines You?” and “What is Your Vampire Name?”

You can learn so much about yourself at Facebook.

And you can learn about others.

I think they call it social networking.

I call it fun.

If you agree, look me up. I’m listed under Linda.S.Amstutz.

You can be my friend.

c2010 Linda S Amstutz -- This essay first appeared in the January issue of The Baby Boomer News.

TODAY WAS AN OK DAY

I was thrilled when my teen aged son asked for a journal. And then I was even more thrilled when, night after night, he announced, "Well, I guess I'll go to my room now and write in my journal."

"He's sure sticking to this journaling, isn't he?" I asked Keith, fanning my mommy peacock feathers.

This went on for weeks and weeks. And then, one night, he asked, "Would you like to read my journal?"

"No, no, no," I protested. "Your journal is your business, not for me to read."

"But would you like to read it?" he persisted.

"Well........if you really want me to..........."

"I do, if you want to."

"Sure, of course, I'm happy to read what you've been thinking, writing." I looked at Keith with that I'M A BETTER PARENT THAN YOU Look.

My son ran up the stairs, grabbed his journal and brought it to me. I was never so proud. What a good job I've done with him, I thought. He wants to share his inner thoughts with me. He cares what I think! I nodded at Keith, barely concealing my smug smile.

I held the journal, feeling it's weight, wondering what secrets it was about to share with me. I sat still for a minute, enjoying the anticipation.

And then I slowly opened the cover and looked at the first page. It said TODAY WAS AN OK DAY.

Well, good, I thought. Everyone deserves an OK day once in a while. Not too good, not too bad. OK.

So, I turned the page and read the next entry, TODAY WAS AN OK DAY.

Hmmm.

I turned another page and read TODAY WAS AN OK DAY.

I flipped through the rest of the pages. Every single day contained the handwritten words TODAY WAS AN OK DAY.

I looked at my son and he smiled at me. I smiled back.

"So..............every day is an ok day?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, grinning.

I handed his journal back to him, he asked Keith if he wanted to read it, and I watched Keith's face as he read all the TODAY WAS AN OK DAY entries. Keith laughed. My son laughed. I laughed. My son took his journal upstairs, announcing, "Well, it's time for me to go write in my journal."

Now for years, we've laughed over those journal entries. Nothing too exciting, nothing too wonderful, nothing too horrible, just TODAY WAS AN OK DAY. Pretty boring.

Or so I thought, until recently. I am now approaching my 60th birthday, and I've been thinking about my 50's and assessing my last decade and I have come to realize that THE 50's WERE AN OK DECADE.

They weren't great. In the 50's, I didn't really earn enough money to buy a beach house and I didn't really write well enough to earn a Peace Prize, I just did OK. Sure, I sold essays to magazines and I wrote a comedy novella which hasn't made it to anyone's bestseller list, and once I was featured in a Skirt! magazine profile, but I'm losing my fight with the copyright infringers. I guess I'm holding my own, but not soaring. Yep, THE 50's WERE AN OKAY DECADE.

They weren't particularly great years, personally. I'm still mostly-happily-married and I am now the proud grandmother of five perfect grandchildren, but they live hours away and I don't see them as often as I wish. I want to be the grandmother who takes the kids out to dinner every Friday night, not the grandmother who sees them every few months. But still, don't get me wrong, I'm lucky to have these healthy, happy grandchildren and I love being a grandmother. I'd just like to do it more frequently.

In the 50's, I lost a really dear friend to breast cancer. I'm lucky to have lots of wonderful friends with whom I share my life and laughter, but I really miss my childhood friend.

My 50's health has been OK. My blood pressure creeps upward accompanied by my weight, but I didn't need any major surgeries during my 50's, so I guess THE 50's WERE AN OKAY DECADE FOR MY HEALTH, if you ignore the thyroid and the bp pressure and the esophagitis and sinusitis and my right hip and the varicose veins and the skin tags and who-knows-what-else.

I've had some ups and downs the last few years, but I would say the ups have been more frequent than the downs and yes, I am getting older and wrinklier and more forgetful but I am also getting wiser and more tolerant and quicker to laugh, so I guess, all in all, THE 50's WERE AN OKAY DECADE.

LAST YEAR WAS AN OKAY YEAR.

THE LAST TEN YEARS WERE OKAY YEARS.

I hope the 60's continue along that line.

At least.

c2010 Linda S Amstutz

DIRTY, SEXY MONEY

I heard this about a hundred years ago: If you put a penny in a jar every time you have sex the first year you are married, then take a penny out of the jar every time you have sex after that, the jar will never be empty. In other words, a newlywed couple will make love more times the first year than they will ever make love in all the years after - combined.

In the words of Bonnie Hunt, "That ain't right!"

I just didn't believe it. Sure, if you're only married two years, and you fought a lot the second year or your husband was called away to active duty, that old saying could be true. Otherwise, I think not.

I mentioned this old wives' tale to my soon-to-be-husband, and he doubted the validity of the statement also. Then he said, "Let's just see."

So the first year we were married, he put a penny into the glass jar every time we made love. It was like a game. We'd have sex. After, I'd light a cigarette while he'd get up and put a penny in the jar.

KA-CHING!

On our first year anniversary, we examined the pennies. Here's a photo of them...




Of course, you know how you get fond of old keepsakes and hate to part with them? That's how we felt about our penny collection....so we decided to prove/disprove the legend about sexual frequency in a marriage a different way. We continued to make love (thank God) only instead of removing a penny, we marked our anniversary level on the jar and added pennies. We figured we'd compare and contrast and decide if the sex after the first year could ever equal how much sex we'd had the first year.

You can see for yourself. Here are the pennies from 22 years of sex.



Now, compare and contrast. On the left, the pennies from the first year of marriage. In the heart, the pennies from the next 22 years.



As you can see, the pennies from all the years do outnumber the pennies from the first year.

From this experiment, you can draw the following conclusions: (take your pick)

1. It's not the size that counts, it the lifetime warranty that matters.

2. In the case of the tortoise and the hare, the tortoise does INDEED win!

3. Inflation is a terrible thing, but it hasn't hit the bedroom yet.

We're still collecting pennies and after we're long gone from this life, I hope our kids find our penny jars and wonder what the hell the parents were thinking, hoarding all those pennies.

In the meantime, I gotta close. I gotta go see a man about a penny!

c2009 Linda S Amstutz

BODY IMAGE

He said: My body is a temple. Is yours?


I said: No, mine is a playground.


c2010 Linda S Amstutz

DIGITAL CANDY HEARTS

It's time to update the messages on those candy hearts. If you'd like a mug or shirt or tote bag that tells that special someone to Text Me, Email Me, Ping Me, then click here.

SPICY CANDY KISSES

Candy kisses don't have to be overly sweet. Sometimes we like them spicy. See this design on shirts at Printfection.

TURNING 60

Why not have a sip of honesty with that coffee? The magazines and talk show hosts all say that 60 is the new 40, but will someone please tell that to my knees?! And my hairline?! And my waistline?! Should I continue???????????????

Mugs, shirts, mousepads and more with this design available now. Order one before you're too old to get the joke!

CUPID IS STUPID!

If you wear this shirt around your ex, he'll get the point. Available at Printfection.