On Christmas Day, Facebook decided to be a Grinch. That’s when the site took away Santa Claus’ Facebook account and demanded proof of identification. In other words, Facebook didn’t believe in Santa.
We should remind you that Santa Claus is a real person. He really, truly, is on the North Pole, Alaska City Council, and he’s no stranger to firing up a funny yule log, being an outspoken supporter of legalizing marijuana. But Facebook didn’t believe in him, and chose Santa’s biggest day of the year to say so. Imagine you have been out delivering presents to all the good girls and boys all night long, only to come home in the morning and find Facebook has deactivated your account.
But the jolly fat guy didn’t let it slow him down. He sent Facebook multiple forms proving his identity, and his account was reactivated just before the New Year.
In recent weeks, a large group of protesters has halted and called attention to the construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline. The protest was started by Native Americans concerned about keeping the water clean and drinkable at the Standing Rock Reservation, which straddles North and South Dakota. It’s gotten to be such an issue that the Obama administration is seeking to review the approval of the project.
This topic hits pretty close to my day job, but you didn’t come here for an education or to hear about my politics and how they apply to this one issue. You’re here for the yuck-yucks, so we’re going to stick with that.
Monday’s presidential debate had millions of viewers. Everyone wanted to see the prize fight, and TV stations couldn’t wait to get viewers and let them express their feedback. But a Washington, D.C. bartender was confused when her phone started blowing up with hot takes on the debate.
After the debate, C-Span invited viewers to share their opinions about the candidates and the debate via Twitter, Facebook and text message. The problem is, they listed the wrong number to text. The number they told people to text was actually owned by Tripp Diaz, who had no idea what was going on. She has received some 13,000 text messages and has 400 missed calls from C-Span viewers looking to put in their two cents about the debate. That bill ought to be fun.
Also, apparently there are still people who watch C-Span.
When my wife told me she thought she was pregnant, I told her it was probably just the Mexican food. I don’t believe she’ll ever let me live that down, so I may as well put it out there myself.
She’d been telling me about odd sensations for the past day or so, and I kept explaining it away. One time I suggested that the tacos we had the night before were the cause of the weird stuff going on in her body. The next day she took a test without telling me, then walked into the room and said, “Want to hear something crazy? I’m pregnant.”
Then she went out for a run. So I was left with the pregnancy test and some questions. A quick search online showed me that there wasn’t such a thing as a false positive, only a false negative. For days I’d been trying not to get excited over nothing, and now I could let the doubt go. I was going to be a father. I cried, I prayed, and I did my best to get myself together for when my wife got back from her run so I could finally share in her excitement.
They say it’s a journey you take together, but it’s not. It’s a journey that is experienced in two completely different ways by two people. For whatever arcane societal reason, it’s all about the mother from the beginning. She has all the support and all of the knowledge that has been passed down from woman to woman since the dawn of time. Guys don’t have that. We drink beer with other guys and grunt acknowledgingly at each other, because no one wants to make it awkward by mentioning feelings. It’s just how we’ve done it since the Stone Age, and it’s served humanity pretty well, I’d say. But it meant I had to figure most of this out on my own. Continue reading The McBournie Minute: No one told me what I’m supposed to do — expectant dad lessons
Today is election day in Canada. Our friends are going to the polls today to decide who is going to run their country. But who cares about Canada? We’re just 13 months away from the U.S. presidential election, so let’s focus on that instead.
If your Facebook feed is any indication, it’s primary season, and that’s super important. We as Americans get the rare treat of directly choosing who will head the executive branch of our federal government for a period of four years. On top of that, the current guy isn’t eligible for another term, which means that both parties are trying to figure out who to run. It’s double the excitement, and it’s doubly important we get involved in the process. After all, our country’s future is at stake.
Let me repeat that: there will not be a “dislike” button to click when somebody pisses you off. You’ll still have to use two mouse clicks to either ignore or unfriend them.
That said, Facebook is, however, developing a too-be-named empathy button based on at least thousands — if not millions — of requests for one because it feels kind of sh*tty to “like” when somebody’s grandma died. But what those potentially millions of users don’t realize is that it’s also kind of sh*tty to use a single mouse click and think they’re empathizing with someone’s pain.
The fact that thousands — if not millions — of users will finally achieve their dream of expressing empathy with the same calories burned to not type “LOL” at someone’s joke isn’t Facebook’s fault; it’s ours. (Although I will entertain arguments that it’s our fault because of years of using Facebook.) Continue reading Take it from Snee: ‘Disliking’ the bare minimum of empathy
There are a lot of social justice warriors out there. That’s not a bad thing most of the time. Although we all have those friends who seem to hop on Facebook hourly to express their righteous rage about some sort of pop controversy, and connect it to their own cause. What we really need these days are social media justice warriors.
I’m not talking about social media “gurus” or “ninjas” or whatever those step-above-interns are calling themselves these days. I’m saying we need to call out the people we follow on social media when they post something dumb or pointless.
For most of my dating career, there was no Facebook. Looking back, I think that’s probably a good thing. Things you post never die, even when you do. Facebook came on the scene during my senior year of college, and even then, MySpace was the clear favorite of the cool kids, and would be for another two years or so. Before that, you didn’t declare your relationship status publicly. You might brag about your new fling to your friends, or bring someone home to meet your parents if things got really serious, but that was about it.
But before long, Facebook and his relation-ship labeling technology beat out MySpace and its profile song autoplay functionality. If you met someone and eventually had the “define the relationship” talk, you could then announce the results to all your friends with a couple clicks. Of course, this also meant you had to publicly acknowledge when the relationship spiraled out of control and eventually met its demise.
There was a lot of buzz this week when Facebook said it will add a feature that will allow a person of your choosing to take over your account in the event of your death. Are we really that self-important that we want people to continue posting as us after we’re gone? The only thing that should be done to your Facebook account after you die is deactivation. I have friends on Facebook who died years ago. They still show up on my friends list, and even in my contacts on my phone. It’s creepy, and I’d unfriend them if it didn’t make me feel bad. If you were busy announcing you were stepping down the “The Daily Show” this week, odds are you missed it.
Justice take a nap
If you thought that President Obama’s State of the Union speech in January was boring, you’re not alone. Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg this week admitted that she wasn’t sober during the speech, which may have been why she dosed off, despite having a front row seat. She said she’d had some wine, and since the justices can’t stand up or clap like everyone else in the room, it gets kind of boring. Considering what science taught us this week, Ginsberg may be on the bench well into the next century.
Firefighters were called to actor Pierce Brosnan’s beachfront house near Los Angeles this week when a fire erupted in his garage. The fire lasted for more than half an hour. Man, Q is not going to be happy when he finds out what happened to the latest Bond cars.
50 shades of amateurs
The movie 50 Shades of Grey is out, and it’s having quite an effect on Western civilization. Branded merchandise like masks, handcuffs, and probably brands, can be found in the same aisles as children’s toothpaste, a U.K. hardware store chain is training its workers to be ready for an increase in sales on tape, rope and cable ties. And now, hospitals are bracing for a rise in sex injuries. A recent analysis of annual emergency visits in the U.S. collected by the Consumer Product Safety Division has found a spike (heh) in visits around when raunchy books come out, especially for foreign body removals. Have fun this weekend, everyone!