megfowler.com

Are you on Facebook?

Good land, I wish I could say I wasn’t because then I would get approximately 240 days of my life back in a heartbeat. And I’ve only been on there since the beginning of April.

One thing that is eminently weird about the whole Facebook experience is trying to figure out how people find you (did you see me on a friend’s profile? Did you look me up directly?) and sometimes, why they want to “friend” you in the first place. Usually it makes sense, but a couple random adds have sent me into deep wonder and confusion.

Also…

All the little girls from my cabins at camp
All the little girls that I used to babysit
All the little girls that I used to hire at my camp

… all grew up.

And it’s terrifying!

They’re mostly in the 18-24 range at this point, all dewy-eyed freshness and effortless bodies and hair not yet ruined by home dyeing kits and a stylist who didn’t make you look like Mandy Moore but rather Jared Leto.

I want to protect them!

They are so young!

Creepy men could get at them, especially if they keep posing for photos in shirts like… those.

I know that they are capable of taking care of themselves because they are smart, funny, wise, thoughtful young women.

But Facebook is turning me into some sort of… like… MOM.

So much for Social Networking. I might as well just call it Ongoing Worrying.

My brother liked the GI Joe cartoons, but I was only moderately interested. Usually, I’d only sit and watch if there was nothing else to do. But I’ll never forget the classic PSA line at the end of every episode:

“Now you know… and knowing is half the battle.”

That line still comes up all the time, in fact.

I actually found a page with a list of all the PSAs they did… I pretty much DIED at some of the “advice”:

Don’t take drugs without your parents there.
Don’t jump your bike over downed power lines.
Maybe you stink at baseball because you need glasses.
Blind kids can find lost kittens too.
Don’t be in a hurry to build your tree house.

They’re almost Zen.

I always liked the idea that knowing the solution to a problem was half of the solution itself. It seemed like such an encouraging and self-congratulatory way to look at life.

“Something sucks? Well, at least you know it sucks. You could be totally delusional and not have a clue!”

People often tell me that they admire my level of self-knowledge… my capacity to figure out what’s happening in my head and heart, and put it all into words.

I always say that I’m a writer — that’s my job. But inside, I’m either thinking, “Holy crap, glad it makes sense to YOU!” or “Yes, I sure do know myself. And knowing is half the battle.”

But half the battle?

Does not win the war.

I don’t look at myself as someone with a heaping ton of inner conflicts, but I know there are struggles raging on some fronts. I also know that I have troops stuck in places where there hasn’t been action in forever (no pun intended… but FAIR ENOUGH.)

I can write and write and write about all the things I’ve figured out and share all my self-realization anecdotes and all my personality quirks and pages of my past experiences, but those words don’t necessarily do anything but sit like oil on top of water — easily seen and wide-reaching, but surface-stuck.

Developing pride in my capacity for self-disclosure is dangerous. It makes me think that’s “enough for now”, and that I don’t have to take action. I’m really good at giving excuses for not taking action, too. I can talk in giant crop circles about what I “need first” and “how I am” and “what it will take to move forward” and even that starts to look like some sort of deep understanding of my own dilemma.

But it’s just talking, in the end. An important thing to talk through, mind you… but just words.

I need to act.

Now.

To actually walk forward and claim what’s mine. To DO something with anger or hope or compassion or frustration or any other up or down I feel. To be passionate enough to step into the void and make things happen… and let them happen TO me. To exist outside of a thinking state.

And not knowing the next step isn’t really much of an excuse, though truly, I’m not quite sure where to go from here.

Which brings me to my other point, and one that my roommate drove home to me this morning: no matter how much you think you know about yourself and how you are and why you do things… there are 100,000 things you don’t know about yourself.

Some of them will remain mysteries your entire life, in fact… except perhaps to the slightly exasperated people around you.

There’s no such thing as comprehensive self-knowledge, or self-knowledge that is “enough.” You have to keep learning, keep acting, keep your ears open and heart open, keep listening… all of it.

And then act. Because you’re still not even close.

I don’t know why I am finally figuring out all of this at 33, but I suppose that my brain is not unlike my hormones.

In need of a boost.

This is a gorgeous photo Eric sent me of the Pacific Beach Cliffs. And now I want to go back SO badly.

I get accused of being a little cheery now and then… aggressively refusing to see anything but the bright side, etc.

I think this is absolutely FALSE, mind you — I’m perfectly aware of all the fist shaking that goes on in my head and all the whining I do — but I don’t really mind being being perceived as a Pollyanna. After all, it’s nice to be happy. It’s nice to feel good about life in general. It’s nice to laugh. And it’s also nice to overuse the word nice, because hey!

NICE!

But seriously now… I DO have my edges. You KNOW how I talk about rain, and Nancy Grace, and butterflies, and Joe Francis. It’s not all pastries and coffee around here.

(Although I wish it was, because I would always be slightly full and slightly buzzed, which seems to be as ideal a state as any on earth.)

I feel the need to give you more, though. To fully unleash the madness that is my… madness… and just RANT ABOUT THINGS.

ARRRGHHHH! GRRRR! MEEHHHHHHH!

(You have to say those things out loud to yourself to really make them work. Come on! Put your diaphragm into it!)

So, for your reading displeasure:

10 THINGS THAT GET UP MEG’S TREE

1. Over-sexualization of young female culture — I don’t want to see another starlet boob-flash. I don’t want to see “hotties” at Spring Break. I don’t want to see up your skirt. I don’t want to see your Playboy bunny tattoo. I don’t want to know that the only calories you get are from vodka coolers. I don’t want to hear how cute you are because you swear like a sailor. I don’t want to know that you can totally pick up older guys (oh, yeah… THERE’S a challenging group.)

Young women have always made lots of dumb moves, just like young men. Young = mistakes.

Young = rehab is a really unnecessary equation, though.

Never have I seen a culture SO dedicated to making sure that women had mistake role models, mistake opportunities on video, mistake websites, mistake clothing, mistake drinks… and the cost is fairly scary.

I believe with all my heart that there are millions of amazing young women doing their thing and making themselves and their friends and family proud and having fun… and not necessarily posing in their boyshorts on MySpace with twinkling graphics. I know many of these women. I love these women. I used to hire them. It’s just very sad to me that they’re losing attention and credit to little lost girls with big girl bodies.

This is why I loathe Joe Francis and his entire ilk. Because they take a stupid moment and turn it into a product.

2. Energy drinks — I’m sorry, DOES ANYTHING TASTE MORE GROSS THAN RED BULL?! Ewwwww. BESIDES EVERY OTHER ENERGY DRINK EVER? And the cans are SO FRIGHTENING. All that red and green and the weird flames and demonic lettering and overuse of terms like “extreme!” and “fuel!”

Mercy. That paragraph looks like I just drank one.

3. Oprah Winfrey — I KNOW SHE GIVES A LOT OF MONEY TO CHARITY. Let me just say that right off the bat. I get the useful aspects of her celebrity and her ability to direct serious cash towards causes. Also? I KNOW SHE’S VERY SMART. No one gets as far as she has gotten without having some serious business savvy and making some very bright choices.

And one more thing… I KNOW IT’S HER SHOW AND HER MAGAZINE AND SHE CAN SAY WHATEVER SHE WANTS. Hell, I have a blog under my own name. I say whatever I want here, too (well, that’s not absolutely true, but it’s MOSTLY true, and that’s good enough for horseshoes.)

(What?)

What I DON’T like about Oprah: the bizarre amount of cultural and social capital she’s gained for someone who isn’t all that discerning about what they endorse, what they claim to “love”, and who they promote. There are legions of people just waiting for Oprah to like something so they can, in turn, really like it, too. At this point in the debate, my friends often say to me, “Well, it’s not HER fault people listen to what she has to say and then do it. It just means they TRUST her.”

Yeah, okay. People also believe in Scientology, secret underwear rituals in temples, the infallibility of George Bush, that “skinny jeans” look good on ANYONE, and that McDonalds has “healthy options.” Living in denial is a North American pastime! And another thing?

We really want to like the same things that rich, successful people like, because a) it makes us feel more rich and successful; and b) some of us think liking the same things as the rich increases our chances of becoming rich. It sounds like an overly reductionist way of putting it, perhaps, but it’s the same thing that motivates us to buy a lot of magazines and watch a lot of TV shows, too… we want to emulate “powerful” taste.

I definitely buy in to some degree. I’d never deny it.

But will I buy things just because Oprah puts her name on it? No. Will I buy ANYTHING just because someone’s name is on it? No.

Will it make me read a book? Will it make me buy sheets? Will it make me buy a magazine? Will it make me go see a movie? Will it make me adopt some hackneyed new age philosophy? Hell, no.

This is a woman who slides her beliefs around to fit the current zeitgeist. This is a woman who endorses people with all her heart and then tears them down on her show a month later. This is a woman who accuses people of racism without any evidence other than the fact that they didn’t bend to her personal wishes. This is a woman who brands everything she does so aggressively that even her charitable projects end up netting her more personal profit than any of us can possibly fathom. This is a woman who has not done something positive without dragging a camera to capture the moment in years. This is a woman who makes political statements that are shockingly irresponsible and unsubstantiated.

Being smart, funny, attractive and successful does not make everything you do worth imitating or paying attention to. It doesn’t mean that you know everything about everything and that all your choices are wise. It does not mean that your heart is always in the right place.

I believe people should take in as much Oprah as they like, just like they should take in as much of ANYTHING as they like. It’s not up to me. But if you aren’t using your brain and your judgment and showing healthy skepticism, you are ripe for a fall.

4. Butterflies — No, I don’t like butterflies. I’m sorry. I know everyone else does. But AAAAH! Not floating through the air, not in a tattoo on my lower back, not on wallpaper, not on ANYTHING, unless it’s a bush really, really far away from me. They are giant, black-brown hairy insects that just happen to have pretty wings. I call them hairy, scary men in pretty dresses.

I also don’t like how they move all drunkenly and land on whatever they want to land on. This is another reason they remind me of hairy, scary men in dresses.

5. “Emo”/faux-punk rock boys — Blechh, Pete Wentz! Blechhh, Good Charlotte! Bleccch, My Chemical Romance! Bleecccch, man in eyeliner that isn’t Johnny Depp! And for that matter…

6. “Hard” rock boys — No! No more Hinder or Nickelback or System of a Whatnot or guys that growl/scream instead of singing. YOU ARE RUINING YOUR VOCAL CHORDS. YOU ARE A GIANT CLICHE. You make guys who drive big trucks think they are being sensitive when they email the lyrics of your songs to their girlfriends and give them a Tasmanian Devil doll for Valentine’s Day!

7. People who don’t proofread their RESUMES — Are you KIDDING?

8. Clowns — Honestly, Completely horrifying. I can’t handle clowns. And Mary, this is not on you! You’re awesome! It’s totally the fault of the clown doll in Poltergeist and Pennywise in IT. Whenever I see them, I just shiver like a freak and feel the need to run or cover my eyes.

9. MySpace — Yeah. I have a MySpace profile. I use it to daisy chain through bands to discover new music. Yes, that’s a horrible cop-out and no good excuse. But I AM STILL REALLY THINKING MYSPACE SUCKS. Facebook, though? BRRRIIIINNNNG IT!

10. White Spot Ads — This isn’t going to make any sense to non-Vancouverites, but the White Spot ads where Chuck the Chef gets visited by all the celeb chefs wanting to try White Spot’s latest pasta dish (just like their last one with more olives or a weird herb, I guarantee you)? THEY DRIVE ME INSANE. STOP IT. THESE PEOPLE DO NOT ADMIRE YOUR COOKING-FU. YOU MAKE BOWTIE PASTA WITH JARRED SAUCE AND CHARGE $11.

And that’s it for now.

1. It’s her birthday, so it seems like a good time.

2. She looks a decade younger than she is, so if you suck up, she might give you some advice on how to stay similarly youthful (not useful, youthful.)

3. She tends not to focus on herself, which means the rest of us have to make up for it.

4. She will cook you a lovely dinner that will make your eyes roll back in your head.

5. She’ll probably babysit your kids if you’re nice to her.

6. She’s the DIY queen, from her hair to house projects to making her own clothes to creating art for her home. You could learn a thing or two from the girl.

7. She laughs at her own stories when she tells them, sometimes enough that you totally miss the punchline.

8. She’s taking care of my grandpa, as usual, and he might forget to say it.

9. She will get distracted from bugging me about going to the doctor, getting more sleep, etc.

10. She is the best, most beautiful, most intelligent, most lovely wife my father has ever had and mother my brother and I have ever had.

11. She adores everyone who loves me. You want in on this deal.

12. She is the best listening ear you ever knew, even if she does raise an eyebrow now and then (but probably just at me.)

13. She has the kind of heart that you wish people had… the world would be a better place to live in.

14. She is turning 57, like Heinz.

15. I love her. And you should, too.

To my beautiful mama, who is brilliant, beautiful, funny, silly, gifted, creative, wise and unbelievably long suffering, a HUGE “Happy Birthday!!”

May this year bring you a healthy back, good rest, projects that excite you instead of exhausting you, travel to fun places, cute shoes, and friends and family who treat you like absolute gold.

And lots of time with me. Of course.

I love you!

“Hi! You’ve reached Meg’s blog. She’s got 4,000 things going on right now, and can’t make it to a post. Please leave a message after the tone. Hangups will be poked in the eye.”

BEEEEEEEP.