It seems like my blog isn’t miraculously appearing on my Facebook page anymore. I don’t know why. Have I mentioned that I hate WordPress?
I’ve been sort of homesick this week for things Philadelphian. Partially, I think, the reason is that Philly figured in the plots of two programs that I’m watching on TV.
In ‘In Plain Sight’, a show about the Witness Protection Program, a witness and two marshalls travelled to Philly for a funeral. At the funeral, there was a huge floral bouquet, suitably done in green and white, with an Eagles banner in the middle. Wow, I thought. When I die, even though there are not flowers at a Jewish funeral, I want a couple of those, at least if the season was going well. The bereaved Wit-Sec guy also wore a really cool Eagles jersey through most of the episode. He wore a suit to the funeral.
I’m also watching ‘Revolution’, by those guys who did ‘Lost’. I am somewhat unimpressed by the show, but I like that whenever they show the megalomaniac General Monroe’s headquarters, he’s living in Independence Hall. (General Washington would shit a brick.)
My friend, Michael (from the Bookshop), passed away and I went to his funeral on Tuesday. Thankfully, the casket didn’t get whisked into the oven thingy until after we left the room. It was sad, but he’d done so much in his life, it was not so sad, if you know what I mean. The ‘wake’, which in Brit-speak is the reception/luncheon after the service, was at the ultra-exclusive Burhill Golf Club. I had never been there, so Mike gave me another ‘first’, which is getting pretty hard to do.
Wow. That place is gorgeous. The room where the reception was held was exactly like I expect ultra-exclusive, posh English gentile places to look, with high ceilings and decorative moldings, and two huge Georgian fireplaces. (I don’t really have a clue if they were ‘Georgian’ or not; maybe they were Victorian or Edwardian. They were pretty neat.) The food was good, and I confess I got tipsy on several glasses of wine on an empty stomach too early in the day.
I had to dash home and sober up to get to Syn for Erev Shavuot. I had to take pictures in my Press Agent role, and do a write-up for Haderech in my ‘I simply can’t say ‘no’ role’. The eats were delicious; there were, like, six different kinds of cheesecake for dessert, because, of course, cheese is a must for Shavuot meals.
I sat with Cousin Bernie at dinner. He lived (and worked) in Pittsburgh for a couple years and has this notion that we have something in common because I’m from the same state. I have explained to him many, many times that living in Pittsburgh is not something to brag about. Not only isn’t it the cool side of Pennsylvania, it’s practically in West Virginia, and therefore, they are hillbillies and talk funny.
I went up to London on Friday with Adriana. The plan was to look at a flat she’s thinking of buying as an investment, go to the Victoria & Albert, and have dinner somewhere in the City.
The flat is in South Kensington, which, I guess, is a trendy area. It is chock a block crowded. I expect I have gotten really old, because living in the city, any city, doesn’t seem very appealing anymore.
The flat was… miniscule. Truly. I could not see me living there and I’m one person. It comprised 37 square meters, which is about 398 square feet. It had a tiny galley kitchen, a living room, a smallish bedroom and a not very modern bathroom, a quarter of which was taken up by a washing machine. All that for about a bazillion pounds, because it’s in London. I know. I’m being all American and princessy. But it’s my blog and my opinion. None of it was even ‘wow, that’s nice!’ I couldn’t think of a single nice thing to say about the flat to Adrianna, except that if you were sitting in the living room, you could cook in the kitchen at the same time, if the spatula had a long handle.
We took the tube over to the V&A after our tour of the flat. The exhibit on right now is ‘David Bowie’ for £14.00. I just wasn’t that big a Bowie fan. We wandered through the some of the free exhibits and then found a very nice little Italian restaurant for dinner. The couple sitting at the next table were Canadians on holiday, and we started chatting. Well, duh. One: they weren’t English so they talk to strangers; and two: Canadians are friendly and want to be liked by everybody.
So that was my week.
I’m on a bit of a tear about Facebook at the moment. Why, why, why do people need to post whatever stupid thing comes into their heads? Or share some sentiment they copied when they got locked overnight in a Hallmark Store?
Now that I’m playing Scrabble and Words with Friends on Facebook, I go on quite often. And you see posts and read them, even if you don’t want to.
I have some recommendations.
What I especially don’t like is ‘Like’. You know, the ‘Like’ thingy. I don’t like ‘Like’.
BooBoo very patiently explained that friends click ‘Like’ to indicate that they have seen what you posted. But they don’t necessarily ‘Like’ it.
So I would like it if Facebook changed the thingies under a post. I have a few suggestions.
1. Yeah. I saw your post. So what?
2. That was actually interesting/amusing.
3. Was that post another thinly veiled insult to Americans?
4. And your game scores are breaking news because…?
5. Christ! You posted another banal cartoon about drinking copious quantities of wine? Maybe you need to check out the Friends of Bill W page.