Can we establish that men will never understand women, and vice versa? Perfect, thanks.
Wait a minute, let me revise that. Women understand men just fine, only we don't like what we've found and spend our lives trying to change them to suit our emotional requirements. And men understand women a lot of the time, they just can't be bothered analyzing our emotional instability.
Having recently attended a wedding with most of my high school and college friends, the majority of whom are married as well, husbands and wives and all their psychoses were a frequent topic of conversation. And, while many aspects of marriage and partnership were discussed, one dilemma in particular cropped up several times. After much serious thought, a panel discussion, and even a few drunken sobs, my friends and I compiled some ideas, with which I have constructed this quasi-thesis. Hey, it's worth a try.
The question: What am I supposed to say if the wife asks, "Does this look OK," and I don't think it does?
The answer: Lie. No, seriously, just lie (in most cases; I explain below).
She has just spent the past hour getting ready, picking something out, doing her hair, putting on make-up and jewelry, and slipping into heels. At this point, she's not looking for your opinion; if she wasn't sure it looked good, she wouldn't be modelling it for you. She's just looking for validation. And, since confidence looks better than any name brand, it's in everyone's best interests to do your best validating and move on. She thinks she looks good, now it's your job to reinforce that.
If you hate the style or color, that's irrelevant. You're a guy, after all, and probably know less about women's fashion than she does. If there's something you think might look better on her, too bad. Cross your fingers and hope she wears it next time around, but never suggest alternates after she's already made her decision. That black dress she pours herself into that you happen to love, will look terrible if she's not comfortable in it or doesn't believe she looks her best.
Now, having said all that, there is an exception to this rule that is crucial. You don't want to be insulting, but sometimes it's necessary to hand out a little tough love. You're her husband, and the only person who is permitted to dole out the brutal honesty she'll sometimes need. I suppose there are underlying body-dysmorphia issues simmering somewhere beneath the surface of this circumstance, but that makes it no less your problem than it is hers, since you're the one who has to be the bearer of bad news.
Sometimes when she sees an outfit, she loves it so much that the common sense screaming "don't buy it!" is drowned out by the flood of endorphins created at the sight of such a beautiful outfit. Even after she gets it on at home and sees that it's very obviously too small, comfort, practicality, and resignation are thrown out the window in favor of primal spite. She will wear that dress if it kills her, and there is little you can do to change her mind.
Little, but not nothing. This is the only circumstance when telling her she looks bad is acceptable. Trust me, despite her resistance to reason, she doesn't actually want to be seen out among other women with even a miniscule muffin top hanging over her belt. She doesn't want to be "that woman", the one other women are laughing at because of her ill-fitting outfit. So, tell her you're saving her from that, and that she'll thank you in the morning (she won't, but tell her that anyway).
This is no time for an unsteady hand, husband. Be assertive and be clear, without being hurtful or using descriptive terms you don't understand. "You can't wear that, dear, that silky stuff makes your butt look like a hot air balloon," is not what she wants to hear, but, "Honey, every time you see a woman in a dress that tight, you make fun of her," might be a better start.
Women are not like you when it comes to getting dressed, guys. We don't smell our clothes to see if they're clean, and we don't have to ask you whether or not something matches. We know how to use an iron, when an outfit needs a scarf, and where to buy the perfect t-shirt. What we do not want, being the brimming encyclopedias of fashion that we are, is a misplaced two-cents from someone who dressed like Kurt Cobain before we came along. For the most part, we know best. You guys get power tools, we get clothes, so don't burst our bubble unless it's absolutely necessary.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
A New Adventure
If you hear wailing sirens in the Tamarac area after lunch on Wednesday afternoon, don't be alarmed - I'm sure they're only coming for me. September 9 is my baby's first day of pre-school.
How does this happen? I know it's a cliched question, but it truly feels like he's too young to be going anywhere without Mommy. However, I'm very aware of the real story within the story: he's perfectly ready; it's Mommy who's got the cold feet. And, thankfully, his first independent foray into the world is being facilitated by the very best person for the job.
Last year at this time, when I had a busy three-year-old, someone suggested I enroll him at Fun Time Kindergarten. I definitely wasn't ready to let him go that early, but I started asking around to find out what the place was like in preparation for the following year. I've talked to dozens of parents, and every single one of them has repeatedly sung the praises of Fun Time.
And not just, "yeah, it's a good pre-school" praises; kids who have spent a year or two with Miss Tammy have never forgotten her. They send her Christmas and birthday cards, they drop in to visit, and some even cry to go back to her class when starting Grade Primary. Imagine what a force you'd have to be in a child's life to account for that kind of admiration years after the fact! Stories like those I've been told are what gave me the confidence to send him this September.
Every night before bed, we tell him a story, and since I secured his spot in June, that story has had to be about school, as per his instructions. He's nothing if not a fan of repetition, so the story is basically the same every night.
"We'll get up in the morning and have breakfast, and then..."
"But Mom, what's for breakfast?"
"Lucky Charms, maybe. And then we'll put on a new shirt and new..."
"But Mom, what shirt?"
"Maybe the one with Mickey Mouse on it. So, after that we'll put on some new..."
"No, the one with Buzz Lightyear on it."
"Buzz Lightyear it is. So your new Buzz shirt, some new pants, new sneakers, and we have to remember your school bag."
"And we have to remember to put some extra clothes in my school bag 'cause in case I get dirty."
"Yes, we do. And then we'll get in the car..."
"No, I'm going on the bus!"
"No, honey, you can't go on the bus. Mommy has to drive you."
"NO!! I WANT TO GO ON THE BUS!! DAD SAID!!"
"Your father is dead meat when he gets home. Anyway, we'll talk about the bus later, ok?"
"Ok."
"So, we'll get to the school and who's going to be there?"
"Miss Tammy."
"And who else?"
"Miss Tina."
"And who else?"
"Lots of kids who are gonna be my new friends."
"Right. And then what do we do when we get to the school?"
"First, I have to hang my jacket up and my school bag, on the hook that has my name on it. Then I have to give you a big hug and a big kiss and go in the class and see everybody."
"Right, and where is Mommy going to be?"
"At the grocery store waiting to come pick me up."
"Right."
Every night for the past three months we've had that conversation. And as of Wednesday, it will be something he actually gets to do.
I know I should only be happy about his new adventure. He's going to learn so much this year, from socialization to songs to writing his name. He's going to go on field trips, make crafts, and get progress reports. I'll even get to see the cutest graduation ceremony ever at the end of the year. What makes me nervous is being without him.
We play a lot. We crank the music and dance around the house when it's time for me to clean up. We make a huge mess baking cookies and he helps me dry the dishes when we're done. We go to the park and the mall, we play super heroes and cars, and sometimes we just watch TV. But, whatever I'm doing on any given day during the week, I'm used to doing it with him.
It's going to be really difficult to get used to him going on an adventure without me, but I'm leaving him in good hands. My baby's not a baby anymore.
How does this happen? I know it's a cliched question, but it truly feels like he's too young to be going anywhere without Mommy. However, I'm very aware of the real story within the story: he's perfectly ready; it's Mommy who's got the cold feet. And, thankfully, his first independent foray into the world is being facilitated by the very best person for the job.
Last year at this time, when I had a busy three-year-old, someone suggested I enroll him at Fun Time Kindergarten. I definitely wasn't ready to let him go that early, but I started asking around to find out what the place was like in preparation for the following year. I've talked to dozens of parents, and every single one of them has repeatedly sung the praises of Fun Time.
And not just, "yeah, it's a good pre-school" praises; kids who have spent a year or two with Miss Tammy have never forgotten her. They send her Christmas and birthday cards, they drop in to visit, and some even cry to go back to her class when starting Grade Primary. Imagine what a force you'd have to be in a child's life to account for that kind of admiration years after the fact! Stories like those I've been told are what gave me the confidence to send him this September.
Every night before bed, we tell him a story, and since I secured his spot in June, that story has had to be about school, as per his instructions. He's nothing if not a fan of repetition, so the story is basically the same every night.
"We'll get up in the morning and have breakfast, and then..."
"But Mom, what's for breakfast?"
"Lucky Charms, maybe. And then we'll put on a new shirt and new..."
"But Mom, what shirt?"
"Maybe the one with Mickey Mouse on it. So, after that we'll put on some new..."
"No, the one with Buzz Lightyear on it."
"Buzz Lightyear it is. So your new Buzz shirt, some new pants, new sneakers, and we have to remember your school bag."
"And we have to remember to put some extra clothes in my school bag 'cause in case I get dirty."
"Yes, we do. And then we'll get in the car..."
"No, I'm going on the bus!"
"No, honey, you can't go on the bus. Mommy has to drive you."
"NO!! I WANT TO GO ON THE BUS!! DAD SAID!!"
"Your father is dead meat when he gets home. Anyway, we'll talk about the bus later, ok?"
"Ok."
"So, we'll get to the school and who's going to be there?"
"Miss Tammy."
"And who else?"
"Miss Tina."
"And who else?"
"Lots of kids who are gonna be my new friends."
"Right. And then what do we do when we get to the school?"
"First, I have to hang my jacket up and my school bag, on the hook that has my name on it. Then I have to give you a big hug and a big kiss and go in the class and see everybody."
"Right, and where is Mommy going to be?"
"At the grocery store waiting to come pick me up."
"Right."
Every night for the past three months we've had that conversation. And as of Wednesday, it will be something he actually gets to do.
I know I should only be happy about his new adventure. He's going to learn so much this year, from socialization to songs to writing his name. He's going to go on field trips, make crafts, and get progress reports. I'll even get to see the cutest graduation ceremony ever at the end of the year. What makes me nervous is being without him.
We play a lot. We crank the music and dance around the house when it's time for me to clean up. We make a huge mess baking cookies and he helps me dry the dishes when we're done. We go to the park and the mall, we play super heroes and cars, and sometimes we just watch TV. But, whatever I'm doing on any given day during the week, I'm used to doing it with him.
It's going to be really difficult to get used to him going on an adventure without me, but I'm leaving him in good hands. My baby's not a baby anymore.
Retail Therapy
I'm stranded in the purgatory of "in between" sizing. You know, when regular sizes are just a bit too tight and plus sizes are always miles too big.
Shopping for clothes is tough for people of all sizes, from what I understand. (That's not true; I can't recall ever hearing my size 0-6 lady friends complaining about lack of options or incorrect sizing. I'm just trying to be inclusive here.) (And yes, there are people in the world who are size 0, for those who might be wondering. They're a bit like unicorns in these parts, but Halifax is full of them.)
Anyhow, back to the point. Shopping for clothes when you're overweight is the most frustrating thing in the world. You know what you want to look like. You know what type of clothes to look for, and what type to avoid. You might even walk into a store with a certain amount of confidence: "I have money, I can buy anything in the store, and today I'm going to find something that looks great on me!"
Forty-five minutes of trying on clothes, sucking in, sweating, throwing pants, cursing, snapping at the poor sales clerk who's trying to help you, getting red in the face, and perhaps even a few angry tears later, you leave the store with three pairs of sale underwear and a scarf you'll never wear.
How does that sound, size 0-6 girls? Believe it.
I've gone through this song and dance too many times to count. Sometimes you'll even find an outfit that fits great, only to look in those unforgiving mirrors and see an image that's about 50 pounds heavier than what you just pictured. "But wait a minute," you think, "this is NOT how it looked on the mannequin." FYI - that's because stores put size 22 clothes on size 8 mannequins and discreetly gather the access fabric in the back, to make you think that's how it'll look on you. It won't.
What clothing manufacturers should (but apparently don't) realize, is that there are an entire subset of curvy, fashionable women who fall between the slim fit duds in regular sizes and the shapeless, plus size fare. Why would they ignore us when the national average dress size is 14? And, if they're going to spend less time constructing clothes that fit us properly, why still would they assume we want to dress like Bea Arthur? I'm only 30 - I want a dress, not a mu-mu!
Are there any aspiring clothing designers reading this? You know, someone who can make retail therapy something I do instead of something I need? Probably not, but I'll vent anyway.
Among other things, I need to buy a shirt. This shirt needs to fit over my larger-than-Kate-Moss-but-smaller-than-Kirsty-Alley-sized body.
I do not want this shirt to cling to me so snugly that it looks painted on, nor do I want the sleeves to be tight enough that they cut off blood circulation to my arms. Also, notice how I made specific use of the word "shirt" as opposed to "crop top", in an effort to express my desire for a garment that will cover my entire abdomen and lower back, even when I bend slightly at the waist or lift my arms.
Now, let's clarify for the other camp.
I do not want this shirt to hang off me like a Sam Moon costume, nor do I want the sleeve openings to be big enough for me to fit my head through. Also, notice my intentional use of the word "shirt" as opposed to "dress", in an effort to express my desire for a garment that will cover my abdomen, not my thighs and knees. While I'm at it, I should also mention the deal-breaker: it can't be purple, teal green, or pink.
While I'm at it, I'm looking for pants, too. Not elastic waisted slacks with pleats like Jane Fonda wears, a pair of jeans. Denim ones. Blue denim, not white or black. These elusive pants will fit me in the seat, hips, legs AND waist - though I might die of shock if that actually happened. They will not have studs, Bedazzle jewels, embroidery of any kind, or a neon, screen-printed "COOL!" logo running down the thigh.
Just a few more gripes of note: We hate polyester. At no time do we have the desire to buy a jeanskirt longer than a prom dress. And cotton Betty Boop/Care Bears nightshirts do not equal lingerie.
Is anyone out there feeling me? I don't even have to ask, really. The proof is in the pudding, in that the XL and 1X sizes are always the first to sell out, leaving the XS and 4X on the rack months after the fact. Keep the faith, girls. Someday.
Shopping for clothes is tough for people of all sizes, from what I understand. (That's not true; I can't recall ever hearing my size 0-6 lady friends complaining about lack of options or incorrect sizing. I'm just trying to be inclusive here.) (And yes, there are people in the world who are size 0, for those who might be wondering. They're a bit like unicorns in these parts, but Halifax is full of them.)
Anyhow, back to the point. Shopping for clothes when you're overweight is the most frustrating thing in the world. You know what you want to look like. You know what type of clothes to look for, and what type to avoid. You might even walk into a store with a certain amount of confidence: "I have money, I can buy anything in the store, and today I'm going to find something that looks great on me!"
Forty-five minutes of trying on clothes, sucking in, sweating, throwing pants, cursing, snapping at the poor sales clerk who's trying to help you, getting red in the face, and perhaps even a few angry tears later, you leave the store with three pairs of sale underwear and a scarf you'll never wear.
How does that sound, size 0-6 girls? Believe it.
I've gone through this song and dance too many times to count. Sometimes you'll even find an outfit that fits great, only to look in those unforgiving mirrors and see an image that's about 50 pounds heavier than what you just pictured. "But wait a minute," you think, "this is NOT how it looked on the mannequin." FYI - that's because stores put size 22 clothes on size 8 mannequins and discreetly gather the access fabric in the back, to make you think that's how it'll look on you. It won't.
What clothing manufacturers should (but apparently don't) realize, is that there are an entire subset of curvy, fashionable women who fall between the slim fit duds in regular sizes and the shapeless, plus size fare. Why would they ignore us when the national average dress size is 14? And, if they're going to spend less time constructing clothes that fit us properly, why still would they assume we want to dress like Bea Arthur? I'm only 30 - I want a dress, not a mu-mu!
Are there any aspiring clothing designers reading this? You know, someone who can make retail therapy something I do instead of something I need? Probably not, but I'll vent anyway.
Among other things, I need to buy a shirt. This shirt needs to fit over my larger-than-Kate-Moss-but-smaller-than-Kirsty-Alley-sized body.
I do not want this shirt to cling to me so snugly that it looks painted on, nor do I want the sleeves to be tight enough that they cut off blood circulation to my arms. Also, notice how I made specific use of the word "shirt" as opposed to "crop top", in an effort to express my desire for a garment that will cover my entire abdomen and lower back, even when I bend slightly at the waist or lift my arms.
Now, let's clarify for the other camp.
I do not want this shirt to hang off me like a Sam Moon costume, nor do I want the sleeve openings to be big enough for me to fit my head through. Also, notice my intentional use of the word "shirt" as opposed to "dress", in an effort to express my desire for a garment that will cover my abdomen, not my thighs and knees. While I'm at it, I should also mention the deal-breaker: it can't be purple, teal green, or pink.
While I'm at it, I'm looking for pants, too. Not elastic waisted slacks with pleats like Jane Fonda wears, a pair of jeans. Denim ones. Blue denim, not white or black. These elusive pants will fit me in the seat, hips, legs AND waist - though I might die of shock if that actually happened. They will not have studs, Bedazzle jewels, embroidery of any kind, or a neon, screen-printed "COOL!" logo running down the thigh.
Just a few more gripes of note: We hate polyester. At no time do we have the desire to buy a jeanskirt longer than a prom dress. And cotton Betty Boop/Care Bears nightshirts do not equal lingerie.
Is anyone out there feeling me? I don't even have to ask, really. The proof is in the pudding, in that the XL and 1X sizes are always the first to sell out, leaving the XS and 4X on the rack months after the fact. Keep the faith, girls. Someday.
The Common Goal
In Canada, when someone decides to have a baby, it's a often a complex decision. Aside from the various social factors that have to be considered, the big question always comes up: "Can we afford it?" Food, diapers, child care, clothing, college - all those things add up fast. But, luckily, one thing we never have to wonder or worry about is the actual up-front cost of pregnancy and childbirth.
If I had been living in Maine four years ago, here's roughly what it would have cost me to have my son: $1400 for pre-natal appointments, $6200 for the birth itself, another $2400 for a 2 day hospital stay, $600 for ultrasounds, and $250 for a post-natal check-up. The total is $10,850, and that's for a run-of-the-mill pregnancy. Any mother or baby complications or health issues make that number skyrocket.
Arrangements can usually be made to pay the bill over time, and the average cost of a monthly post-partum hospital bill is $800. Imagine that. On top of stress, pain, discomfort, sleep deprivation, and the sometimes staggering everyday cost of this new human in your house, you're also faced with an extra $800 bill every month.
Health care is absurdly expensive in the United States, and childbirth is only one example. If you have a broken ankle, it's going to cost you, from the doctor's treatment, to the X-ray, to the cast. If you need stitches, that's going to cost you. Even if you go see a doctor and there turns out to be nothing wrong, that's going to cost you, too. If you go to the emergency room without health insurance, they can (and often will) refuse to treat you.
Living in Nova Scotia, it's hard for us to wrap our heads around paying for health care. This isn't to say we take advantage of our system (for the most part), only that we can't imagine a world where anyone is sick because they can't afford to make themselves well. That's not the kind of people we are around here. We have fundraising benefits to help those who have fallen on hard times, and often put ourselves out, if only temporarily and on a small scale, for the sake of someone else.
So, is that the root of the U.S. health care crisis? That American citizens are so selfish they'd see their neighbors suffer before giving up an ounce of personal comfort and security? Or, are they so fearful of government control that they're willing to settle for health industry corruption for the sake of avoiding some perceived socialism?
I'm don't subscribe to Michael Moore's politics in most cases, and I usually disagree with his method of delivery, but his movie "SICKO" is one of the most compelling films I've ever seen. It examines health care models in Canada, France, Mexico, and other countries, and compares them to the United States. It shows us milling in and out of doctor's offices and emergency rooms without paying a cent. It shows the French enjoying their paid, mandatory 8-week illness recuperation time. And between the personal accounts of poverty causing death and bankruptcy due to sickness in the U.S., there was a noticeable tone and attitude among American taxpayers throughout the movie: they want and need things to change.
That's why I am annoyed at the opposition to President Obama's proposed health care plan. The same people who crave change are preventing it for reasons that, quite frankly, are petty and just plain not good enough.
Sure, maybe it's a good idea for health care to be regulated on a state level. Maybe a government run, tax-exempt system would damage the private sector irreparably. There are probably dozens of provisions in the proposed Bill which need to be tweaked and even a few that have to be completely re-written.
The point is, for the first time in a very long time, someone in power is trying to put in place a system which would help the most unfortunate Americans and avoid negatively impacting the others. Obama is not perfect, but his intentions are clear - health care for all, so as to eliminate the current, long-standing crisis. And what does he get for his efforts? Resistance from Conservatives at every turn, bad press, and even heckling in an open session of Congress.
It's time for Americans to forget about partisan politics for long enough to look at the big picture. Representatives from both sides of the aisle are capable of putting a system in place that will truly help people, and it's about time they get their acts together and do it, with Obama leading the way. No one should be sick just because they're broke.
If I had been living in Maine four years ago, here's roughly what it would have cost me to have my son: $1400 for pre-natal appointments, $6200 for the birth itself, another $2400 for a 2 day hospital stay, $600 for ultrasounds, and $250 for a post-natal check-up. The total is $10,850, and that's for a run-of-the-mill pregnancy. Any mother or baby complications or health issues make that number skyrocket.
Arrangements can usually be made to pay the bill over time, and the average cost of a monthly post-partum hospital bill is $800. Imagine that. On top of stress, pain, discomfort, sleep deprivation, and the sometimes staggering everyday cost of this new human in your house, you're also faced with an extra $800 bill every month.
Health care is absurdly expensive in the United States, and childbirth is only one example. If you have a broken ankle, it's going to cost you, from the doctor's treatment, to the X-ray, to the cast. If you need stitches, that's going to cost you. Even if you go see a doctor and there turns out to be nothing wrong, that's going to cost you, too. If you go to the emergency room without health insurance, they can (and often will) refuse to treat you.
Living in Nova Scotia, it's hard for us to wrap our heads around paying for health care. This isn't to say we take advantage of our system (for the most part), only that we can't imagine a world where anyone is sick because they can't afford to make themselves well. That's not the kind of people we are around here. We have fundraising benefits to help those who have fallen on hard times, and often put ourselves out, if only temporarily and on a small scale, for the sake of someone else.
So, is that the root of the U.S. health care crisis? That American citizens are so selfish they'd see their neighbors suffer before giving up an ounce of personal comfort and security? Or, are they so fearful of government control that they're willing to settle for health industry corruption for the sake of avoiding some perceived socialism?
I'm don't subscribe to Michael Moore's politics in most cases, and I usually disagree with his method of delivery, but his movie "SICKO" is one of the most compelling films I've ever seen. It examines health care models in Canada, France, Mexico, and other countries, and compares them to the United States. It shows us milling in and out of doctor's offices and emergency rooms without paying a cent. It shows the French enjoying their paid, mandatory 8-week illness recuperation time. And between the personal accounts of poverty causing death and bankruptcy due to sickness in the U.S., there was a noticeable tone and attitude among American taxpayers throughout the movie: they want and need things to change.
That's why I am annoyed at the opposition to President Obama's proposed health care plan. The same people who crave change are preventing it for reasons that, quite frankly, are petty and just plain not good enough.
Sure, maybe it's a good idea for health care to be regulated on a state level. Maybe a government run, tax-exempt system would damage the private sector irreparably. There are probably dozens of provisions in the proposed Bill which need to be tweaked and even a few that have to be completely re-written.
The point is, for the first time in a very long time, someone in power is trying to put in place a system which would help the most unfortunate Americans and avoid negatively impacting the others. Obama is not perfect, but his intentions are clear - health care for all, so as to eliminate the current, long-standing crisis. And what does he get for his efforts? Resistance from Conservatives at every turn, bad press, and even heckling in an open session of Congress.
It's time for Americans to forget about partisan politics for long enough to look at the big picture. Representatives from both sides of the aisle are capable of putting a system in place that will truly help people, and it's about time they get their acts together and do it, with Obama leading the way. No one should be sick just because they're broke.
Things I Learned on Twitter
Twitter. It hasn't really caught on here, but it's huge in the States.
Twitter is yet another social networking web site, like Facebook. And like a Facebook status update, Twitter's premise is to have users type what's on their mind or what they're doing, in 140 characters or less. The message you type is called a "tweet".
Once you set up your account, you can "follow" other "tweeters" and read their tweets. Then, when you log in, you can read a scroll of recent tweets posted by those you are following. If I wrote "gina_macdonald is waiting for Hurricane Bill," all the people who follow my updates would be able to see it in real time.
Those are the basics. Have I explained it properly? In a nutshell, I can instantly be made aware of the activities and neuroses of anyone I follow, all day, every day. Talk about literally having the world at your fingertips.
So, upon discovering Twitter a few months ago, I quickly came to find that celebrities were using the site as their own little diary and sounding board; because, you see, unlike Facebook, where you can adjust privacy settings to control who sees what information, your tweets are visible to anyone who follows your account. The result is, celebrities find themselves with hundreds of thousands of followers who hang on their every word. Interesting indeed.
I decided that, since very few of my personal friends have Twitter accounts, I would follow a bunch of famous people and entities, just to see what they're really like. An important note, perhaps better explaining why I chose to do this: every celebrity tweeter I've encountered does the typing themselves, instead of having an agent, publicist or manager filtering what they put out for public consumption. It makes for some entertaining discoveries.
First of all, I've come to find that most people who have opened a Twitter account, tweet once and then forget about it. Either that, or there are months between tweets, which makes it a bit futile to follow them at all.
On the flip side, there are people who have millions of followers and seem to tweet as often as they breath. Here are some observations and a bit of trivia about a few people on my list.
Demi Moore has way too much time on her hands.
Ashton Kutcher, her husband, has more followers than anyone in the world (literally, over 3 million; it's a fact).
Rainn Wilson (Dwight from The Office) tries and fails to be as funny as his television character.
John Mayer is absurdly intelligent and witty.
Donnie Wahlberg (of New Kids on the Block) and Ice-T have both turned their Twitter followers into a cult whose members will fly cross-country to compete in ridiculous contests to win an autograph.
Alyssa Milano knows more about Iran than Stephen Harper, one might argue.
If you read Regis Philbin's tweets aloud, it's extremely difficult not to do so in a Regis voice.
People who have been eliminated from Big Brother don't realize that, once they're not on the show, no one cares that they're even still alive unless they're in the jury house.
People who have been eliminated from American Idol don't realize that, even years after the fact, people love them.
Justin Timberlake and Nick Carter, while quite possibly the two best-looking men alive, are also, based on many months of mindless tweets, the two biggest losers on the planet.
Christina Applegate completes the New York Times crossword every single morning.
Pete Wentz and Nicole Ritchie have insomnia.
Ryan Seacrest just doesn't have time to sleep.
Eminem isn't nearly as ignorant as he tries to be. He's really very smart and charming.
Jordan Knight ignores that his prime was over twenty years ago, and that he's basically the new Donny Osmond.
Jesse Jane eats more than any person I've ever heard of.
Adam Lambert only needed a few months on American Idol to develop a really obnoxious sense of entitlement that other celebrities call him on daily.
Sarah Silverman needs someone to wash her mouth out with soap.
Martha Stewart, very surprisingly, has the worst spelling, grammar, and punctuation I've ever seen.
Weird Al Yankovic is, not surprisingly, extremely delightful and smart.
Paris Hilton is happy and optimistic all the time, and who can blame her.
Lindsay Lohan tries to make herself seem philanthropic, but no one is buying it.
Miley Cyrus tries to be very grown-up, but no one is buying that, either.
And, last but not least, Russell Brand is the funniest man alive.
If anyone is interested, you can follow me on Twitter by searching for "gina_macdonald". Stop by, tweet hi, and give me someone normal to follow. God knows I've had enough of reading about celebrities.
Twitter is yet another social networking web site, like Facebook. And like a Facebook status update, Twitter's premise is to have users type what's on their mind or what they're doing, in 140 characters or less. The message you type is called a "tweet".
Once you set up your account, you can "follow" other "tweeters" and read their tweets. Then, when you log in, you can read a scroll of recent tweets posted by those you are following. If I wrote "gina_macdonald is waiting for Hurricane Bill," all the people who follow my updates would be able to see it in real time.
Those are the basics. Have I explained it properly? In a nutshell, I can instantly be made aware of the activities and neuroses of anyone I follow, all day, every day. Talk about literally having the world at your fingertips.
So, upon discovering Twitter a few months ago, I quickly came to find that celebrities were using the site as their own little diary and sounding board; because, you see, unlike Facebook, where you can adjust privacy settings to control who sees what information, your tweets are visible to anyone who follows your account. The result is, celebrities find themselves with hundreds of thousands of followers who hang on their every word. Interesting indeed.
I decided that, since very few of my personal friends have Twitter accounts, I would follow a bunch of famous people and entities, just to see what they're really like. An important note, perhaps better explaining why I chose to do this: every celebrity tweeter I've encountered does the typing themselves, instead of having an agent, publicist or manager filtering what they put out for public consumption. It makes for some entertaining discoveries.
First of all, I've come to find that most people who have opened a Twitter account, tweet once and then forget about it. Either that, or there are months between tweets, which makes it a bit futile to follow them at all.
On the flip side, there are people who have millions of followers and seem to tweet as often as they breath. Here are some observations and a bit of trivia about a few people on my list.
Demi Moore has way too much time on her hands.
Ashton Kutcher, her husband, has more followers than anyone in the world (literally, over 3 million; it's a fact).
Rainn Wilson (Dwight from The Office) tries and fails to be as funny as his television character.
John Mayer is absurdly intelligent and witty.
Donnie Wahlberg (of New Kids on the Block) and Ice-T have both turned their Twitter followers into a cult whose members will fly cross-country to compete in ridiculous contests to win an autograph.
Alyssa Milano knows more about Iran than Stephen Harper, one might argue.
If you read Regis Philbin's tweets aloud, it's extremely difficult not to do so in a Regis voice.
People who have been eliminated from Big Brother don't realize that, once they're not on the show, no one cares that they're even still alive unless they're in the jury house.
People who have been eliminated from American Idol don't realize that, even years after the fact, people love them.
Justin Timberlake and Nick Carter, while quite possibly the two best-looking men alive, are also, based on many months of mindless tweets, the two biggest losers on the planet.
Christina Applegate completes the New York Times crossword every single morning.
Pete Wentz and Nicole Ritchie have insomnia.
Ryan Seacrest just doesn't have time to sleep.
Eminem isn't nearly as ignorant as he tries to be. He's really very smart and charming.
Jordan Knight ignores that his prime was over twenty years ago, and that he's basically the new Donny Osmond.
Jesse Jane eats more than any person I've ever heard of.
Adam Lambert only needed a few months on American Idol to develop a really obnoxious sense of entitlement that other celebrities call him on daily.
Sarah Silverman needs someone to wash her mouth out with soap.
Martha Stewart, very surprisingly, has the worst spelling, grammar, and punctuation I've ever seen.
Weird Al Yankovic is, not surprisingly, extremely delightful and smart.
Paris Hilton is happy and optimistic all the time, and who can blame her.
Lindsay Lohan tries to make herself seem philanthropic, but no one is buying it.
Miley Cyrus tries to be very grown-up, but no one is buying that, either.
And, last but not least, Russell Brand is the funniest man alive.
If anyone is interested, you can follow me on Twitter by searching for "gina_macdonald". Stop by, tweet hi, and give me someone normal to follow. God knows I've had enough of reading about celebrities.
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