Search results for: "november"

Not so very long ago, MySpace ruled the social roost. It has ended up being the trailer park of social networking, although the music thing has saved it from oblivion and even lends it a shred of dignity despite its hideous appearance (think The Elephant Man). The problem with MySpace was that it didn’t evolve enough to meet the needs of increasingly demanding users, so people moved on to Facebook when it came along. But I’m thinking the property values at Facebook will be plunging pretty soon too…

That’s because the “nice” people are leaving the neighborhood. Or at least the smart ones are. The ones who actually know there’s an Internet outside of Facebook… In fact, they seem to be fleeing like somebody yelled Ebola:

Exhibit A: “delete Facebook account” was the #9 Google keyword search on May 14th, 2010.

Exhibit B: “diaspora,” the current great white hope for an ethical Facebook alternative, was #13.

I killed my Facebook account yesterday. It felt great. I never wanted one in the first place. Their latest sleight of hand act sounded the death knell for my account, but it clung to life for a couple more weeks cuz my kid was still there, although he hardly ever posted updates. I told him I was leaving and sent him an article on Facebook’s questionable morality, and he said “I’m out too,” and was gone before I could reply.

So why did I have a Facebook account in the first place, you ask? Because when I made my début on the Paris startup scene and US tech blog scene a few years ago, people I met IRL and online all wanted to connect on Facebook. LinkedIn was not the first choice for this crowd of young and young-at-heart webby people because it’s stodgy and boring and has limited interactivity options. So first and foremost, I used Facebook for professional contact management. I didn’t have to remember or make note of people’s e-mail addresses or projects/companies. Accepting or sending a friend request took care of all that, and usually included a picture. It not only gave me easy access to the people, but also easy access to the buzz in my areas of professional interest.

Then old friends, dads of old friends, cousins I haven’t seen in decades, former students, and so on began showing up, at which point I started getting asked to help find lambs in cornfields and shit.

I never put much personal info up there; what music or books I liked, etc. My updates were fed automatically from my professional blog for the most part. Didn’t say what or where I was eating, or talk about personal problems or sorrows. Not my style.

Are you really OK with being a lemming?

In the US, 25% of the web pages viewed are within Facebook. (That’s just so beyond sad.) This may partially explain why, when I told Facebook people I was leaving the site because I thought it was an unscrupulous and untrustworhy company (and asked them to connect with me on LinkedIn till something better came along), one of them, an educated woman, said “I am not sure what facebook is doing that you are troubled by, but do share!” and another one, who considers herself a web entrepreneur, just asked “Why are you leaving facebook?”

Upon reflection, I was surprised that I was surprised that people had no idea that Facebook has, from Day One, been subject to scrutiny and criticism for its morally questionable actions, blatant fuck-ups and lack of respect for users and their personal information. Of course (lightbulb)! Ordinary people don’t read about the Internet, they just jump right in and use it. And Facebook banks on that kind of lemming-ness.

The old-school media has obviously not done its job when the general public isn’t even aware that it’s being violated and abused (except for the New York Times, but what fraction of Americans has the attention span for that?). They prefer to inform the public about golfers’ wayward penises, I guess. But online media and geeky bloggers have never taken the heat off of Facebook. I wrote about one of the scandals in November 2007, before I even had an account.

So people don’t know these things because nobody tells them. They must be too busy or lazy to inform themselves. Or they’re stupid, which is not their fault. Society has a responsibility to care for people who can’t care for themselves, which is why complaints recently filed by consumer protection groups in the US have led to an FTC investigation of Facebook.

So this is me suggesting you pay a little attention. For your own sake, read the articles I link to in this post, including this one by Danah Boyd [my emphasis]:

The battle that is underway is not a battle over the future of privacy and publicity. It’s a battle over choice and informed consent. It’s unfolding because people are being duped, tricked, coerced, and confused into doing things where they don’t understand the consequences. Facebook keeps saying that it gives users choices, but that is completely unfair. It gives users the illusion of choice and hides the details away from them “for their own good.”

The honor code

People who live and work online (like me), and many Internet pioneers, leaders and icons, are saying “enough is enough” and leaving Facebook. And “ordinary” people need to listen when these people talk because they pay attention.

You see, Internet startups consider themselves a breed apart from greedy corporate behemoths, and there is an honor code. Google was the first to put it into words when they included in their philosophy the statement “You can make money without doing evil.”

The founder of Facebook was cutting school that day.

Which is why we are turning against Facebook. We’ve indulged them long enough, given them ample opportunity to learn from their mistakes and mend their ways, but it ain’t happening. Facebook is a recidivist delinquent exhibiting sociopathic behavior. Ordinary methods for bringing about behavioral change won’t work. It’s a shame when there is nothing more you can do, but at a certain point you have to accept and move forward.

“Yes We Can” live without Facebook!

Think about it. You were in touch with all the people you wanted to be in touch with before Facebook came along. OK, maybe you’ve found a few new ones. So exchange e-mails. You had ways to find out what people had been up to if you really wanted to know. You knew how to contact them in an emergency. And I promise you something better will be along soon. Something created by entrepreneurs who were in school on Honor Code day. Something created by entrepreneurs who wouldn’t have the conversation Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg had right after launching Facebook:

Zuck: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard
Zuck: Just ask.
Zuck: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses, SNS
[Redacted Friend's Name]: What? How’d you manage that one?
Zuck: People just submitted it.
Zuck: I don’t know why.
Zuck: They “trust me”
Zuck: Dumb fucks.

May 31st is Quit Facebook Day….

Your reading list

This list is not comprehensive! Google around a bit if this isn’t enough for you.

I have been craving pumpkin pie for a while now and, several weeks ago, I realized I was actually craving everything about Thanksgiving dinner, which I haven’t had since my first November here, in 2006. Vincent hates that food, so I decided to find a restaurant serving Thanksgiving dinner and to drag a French girlfriend along with me.

There are thousands of Americans living in France. Some say 30,000, some say 75,000. You gotta figure many of them are doing their own Thanksgiving meals, doing potlucks like some of my friends, or, like me, not doing it at all because their froggy spouses can’t stand the stuff or because they can just live without it most of the time.

I googled around and found that the Bistrot St. Martin was doing a Thanksgiving meal, with one service at 7:00 and another at 9:00, but you had to make a reservation. So I made a reservation for two a couple weeks ago, for the 7:00 dinner. Unfortunately, when we got there, we discovered that Mary, the American owner had apparently accepted reservations from about 17,230 Americans, even though her bistro looked like it could seat a total of 44 people.

And the adventure began…

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So there we were, about a dozen of us, all with reservations (in both senses of the word), vertical anchovies crammed into the entryway of a completely packed restaurant, all wondering where the hell we were going to sit. Mary showed up, asked everybody how many were in their party, asked for our names, and looked at her two sheets of paper, which had squares with numbers on them but no names. That did not appear to help her any, so she said we should follow Natalie.

OK. So about nine of us dutifully followed Natalie out of the restaurant, down the street, and around the corner to somebody else’s restaurant entirely, a place with bright orange walls that had obviously added as many white plastic chairs and aluminum folding tables to the regular seating arrangement as they could squeeze in.

My friend and I were directed to a small, low-ceilinged room that was full of a couple large parties of loud 20-somethings. The noise was unbearable for my friend, so we were moved to the worst possible (flimsy aluminum) table on the edge of the highest traffic area. And I was on the outside. For the duration of my meal, there were more people for whom there was no room walking behind me, and many walking right back out because it was ridiculous. Up, down. Then there was the poor waitress, carrying five bowls or plates at a time back and forth. Up, down. And Mary coming in to have a peek at the chaos and her two sheets of paper every now and then. Up, down. I had to stand up at least a dozen times because there was a six-inch space between me and the guy behind me (who never offered to relieve me on up/down duty, the asshole) and also because I didn’t want Thanksgiving dinner on the back of my neck.

Upon being seated my friend instantly ordered wine, which we pretty much slammed as prophylaxis against imminent massive panic attacks and claustrophobia. (I must say she was a real trooper to endure this whole thing just because I wanted pumpkin pie. That’s a friend.)

The soup came (lukewarm, carrot) and was less than mediocre. We could not converse because the noise level had gone up where we were, and it was made worse by all those grating, whiny, nasal accents that seem to be the universal vocal mutation or affectation of most American women under 30. Although I did manage to explain the meaning and origin of the expression “cattle call.”

Up, down, up, down, up, down, until the next plate of food appeared. All cold. Mashed potatoes with no salt or butter and a small portion. Overly boiled green beans with no flavor. Stuffing that tasted right (yeah!), but was too gluey and there wasn’t enough of it. Turkey that was GOOD! Moist and tender and flavorful white meat that was not gamey (like the turkey I made my first year here). And a nice big chunk of it. Halle-fucking-lujah! But the mushroom gravy on it tasted much more like a French sauce than gravy, and like it had been made from a powder to boot. No cranberry sauce. Thanksgiving is not Thanksgiving without cranberry sauce. But there was a splash of the carrot soup in the middle of the plate. Yum.

People, Thursday turkey day at the Hometown Buffet (one of Mom’s faves), is a million times better.

I screwed the top off the salt and doused away so I could stand the potatoes and green beans, and I ate it all, dammit. But when that was over, I told my friend “We’re taking our dessert to go and getting the hell out of here.” She was with me on that.

So I grabbed the poor owner of orange-wall restaurant (who was clearly regretting his decision to be an enabler of what was either a mathematical problem or greed or total insanity on Mary’s part) when he was running by with five turkey plates and told him our plan. We stood there amid the chaos for 15 minutes before anyone could wrap up our pie and pumpkin bread and take my money. It was Natalie of “follow Natalie” fame who finally wrapped the stuff up, and she made sure that we knew she was annoyed. Some serious nerve, if you ask me. I finally cornered orange-wall restaurant owner man back by the kitchen when he wasn’t holding any plates and was informed they didn’t take cards. News to me. Not on the website as far as I had seen. Fortunately we had the cash between the two of us, but I was supposed to be treating my friend to this fabulous and unique American dinner and cultural experience…

The dinner cost 30€ a person, the wine 5€ a glass, but by the time I left I felt like they should have paid me. That has never happened to me before. I’ve left restaurants feeling like I shouldn’t have had to pay, but never like I should have been compensated for pain and suffering.

Next Thanksgiving we’re having spaghetti.

It’s likely that all Mary was trying to do was give a nice Thanksgiving dinner to as many homesick Americans as she could. It’s an honorable motive. But she bit off more than she could chew.

******************

I must say that orange-wall restaurant owner man managed to keep his cool and stay charming in spite of it all. And his wife (I’m assuming), Rashida, with whom I had plenty of time to chat in the back of the restaurant while waiting to get my fucking pie and fucking pay, was lovely too. So for that, and their enormous sacrifice, if you live in the 10th, near the Louis Blanc métro station, their restaurant is called SoupiFrutti. It’s a soup and juice bar under normal circumstances. They’re having a prix fixe Réveillon (New Year’s Eve) dinner for 77€ if you’re interested.

It’s November again, and that means it’s time for me to indulge in the tradition that has apparently replaced Thanksgiving: my annual November photo, to celebrate the most beautiful month of the year (in Paris, at least).

I took this year’s pic with the iPhone I inherited from Vincent when he got the fancy new one. This explains the mellow look of the picture compared to those of previous years. It was a tiny bit hazy that morning. Kinda dreamy, don’t you think? I didn’t add any effects; that would be cheating.

My son was supposed to be in Paris for 10 days this month, but he cancelled on me. That’s what you do when you’re 24. It’s really too bad. This is my fourth November here, and it’s the warmest yet. It’s been in the 50s for most of the month so far, with plenty of those bright, crisp November days I love so much.

Click the pic for a larger version.

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Previous years’ November photos:

2008 | 2007 | 2006

Audible sigh.

When Vincent and I were discussing* getting a dog, we hit a major culture bump. Evidently dog owners here in France are overwhelmingly members of the conservative and well-to-do bourgeoisie, something that an ascetic bohemian political lefty like Vincent finds abhorrent. As I understand it, if you have a dog here, you’re basically perceived as flipping off everybody who’s not rich.

normanrockwelldog.jpgI had to explain to him that dog ownership didn’t have that kind of baggage where I come from, that it’s as American as apple pie, Norman Rockwell, and so on. I can’t help it, I’m the product of my culture. I never cried harder than when I finished Where the Red Fern Grows. I found out at one point (completely by accident) that 44% of Americans own dogs. See Vincent? It’s normal!

Now how did I miss that red flag? I should have listened to myself! Since when do I point to America as a model of proper behavior? I was not being logical. I was carried away by my save-the-little-doggy crusade. One of these days, like many other American habits, the pet habit is going to have to go…

But the deed is done. Wiley is alive and eating 150 grams of kibble a day (I have no idea what that is in dollars). I throw several plastic bags of poo in the trash every day. Wiley is destroying the planet and he doesn’t even know it, poor thing.

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In this New Scientist article, you can read all about Fido’s carbon footprint and weep. It’s a good article; eye opening. I question some of the stats, however. My assumption has always been that pet food is mostly made of by-products of the meat produced for humans, which means there’s overlap. So if 50% of a cow goes to you and 50% goes to Fido, you can’t count that cow’s carbon footprint twice… At least not till it branches off into pet food production. Anyway, when humans get a clue, or – much more likely – are forced by global food shortages to stop eating meat and grow soybeans, I imagine the pet problem will take care of itself, like all the rest. (Added November 22: The article linked to above is bullshit. Thanks David Horton!! Wiley loves you! Me too. I immediately gave him a treat and told him it was from Uncle David.)

pinupgirl.jpgBut since I don’t own a car, clothes dryer, dishwasher, or even a garbage disposal… Since I haven’t eaten red meat in nearly 28 years, I’ll let Wiley walk in my footprint for the short time he’s here. And at least he’s a shelter mutt and I didn’t contribute to the purebred dog racket.

But Wiley will be my last dog.

Then I’ll have to feed my fix by adding to my collection of vintage ceramic poodle tchotchkes (Wouldn’t that be a great name for a poodle?). I already have a planter, a pepper shaker, a knife rest, and an egg cup, all from the 40s and 50s. I bought the first one 23 years ago and the last one two weeks ago (I’m picky). And maybe I’ll put up vintage posters to remind me of the good old days, when I was a girl and girls could be girls and they could have dogs.

Wiley has a Twitter account. If your dogs (or cats; Wiley’s open minded) are the Internet types, send them over to join the conversation: ducks, peacocks, spaghetti, duels… He has two dog friends at this point, Lily (a Westie) and Dooley (a Corgi mutt). He also follows a famous cat who has not deigned to follow him back.

Yes, I know it’s absurd. But so is everything.

*P: I want a dog.
V: I don’t want a dog.
P: I want a dog.
V: I don’t want a dog.
P: I want a dog.
V: I don’t want a dog.
P: I want a dog.
V: I don’t want a dog.

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While you all back in the States are there relaxing in your post-O glow, having a smoke and a cuddle, I’m still in the midst of some serious political drama here in France. The Socialist Sideshow is like a really intense cable sit-dram slash vaudeville act. At least that’s what it looks like to me.

Step right up, folks, and witness an epic clusterfuck…

The setting:

The socialists have to elect a new party leader (First Secretary). They do it whenever they feel like it and the terms vary in duration. (Nothing like stability.) Day before yesterday, 137,000 members of the socialist party voted for either Ségolène Royal or Martine Aubry. The difference announced yesterday morning was 42 votes in favor of Aubry. But the next day there were some miscounts, some mis-reporting, votes not yet counted, some questions… Ségo’s objecting, asking for a revote, and Aubry is refusing. As I write this, the difference is only about eight votes.

Ségolène Royal is fed up with the party paralysis and wants to shake things up. New ideas, new methods. She is a thorn in the side of the old-school socialists who are still calling the shots.

The players:

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Ségolene Royal: Ran for president of France last year. Ran for First Secretary this year. Ex-longtime companion (to the tune of 4 adult kids) of the current First Secretary, François Hollande. She connects with the masses and can do things like rouse the rabble to frenzied chanting of the word “brotherhood.” (Can’t have that now, can we?) Ségo haters can’t stand that about her. It’s not the French way, appealing to the emotions rather than the intellect (although she also does the latter)… It’s undignified. They also think it’s cheating and that it’s disrespectful to those being thus hypnotized. And they’re jealous.

François Hollande: Elephant.* Current First Secretary, and he has been for something like the last 10 or 15 years. Has a non-threatening face that makes you want to think he’s a nice guy. But…

Martine Aubry: Elephant. Ran against Ségo for the First Secretary job. She has the charisma of a black hole, the dynamism of an escargot. She was the architect of the famous 35-hour workweek, which was a nice idea but which was implemented in such a slash-and-burn way that it ended up doing more harm than good and became the biggest socialist party controversy in a long time.

Benoit Hamon: Came out of nowhere to run for First Secretary. Younger, positioned himself to the left of the others for purposes of this election. Seems to be quite impressed with himself.

Bertrand Delanoë: Almost ran for First Secretary. Dashing, urbane and gay mayor of Paris. May be thinking of running for president in 2012. Everybody loves his Vélib program, but hates what happened with the traffic in Paris when he made bus lanes. Nobody seems to feel strongly one way or the other about him.

Lionel Jospin: Elephant. Total old-school socialist, been around since forever. The party patriarch. Was Prime Minister under Chirac and later ran for president against him, but failed miserably because he believed he was so awesome he didn’t think he had to campaign. He was beaten in the first round by the ultra-right-wing candidate Le Pen! He was so disgusted that people couldn’t see his inherent awesomeness that he stormed off and retired for a while. But he got over it and today still thinks he’s The Shit. He now skulks around behind the scenes undermining Ségo. Heads one political clique. Mortal enemy of Fabius.

Laurent Fabius: Elephant. Ran against Ségo for the socialist party presidential nomination in 2007. A pompous blowhard. Was prime minister under Mitterand and his heir apparent, groomed for greatness (which never came) by Mitterand, the 20th-century socialist golden boy himself. Heads a different political clique. Mortal enemy of Jospin.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn (DSK): Elephant. Ran against Ségo for the socialist party presidential nomination in 2007. Current director of the IMF. (The Wall Street Journal recently outed him for having an affair with an underling. Never would have made the news in France.) Smart guy, generally respected by left and right, doesn’t engender strong emotional responses from people. Heads yet another political clique.

Jack Lang: Elephant. A smiley, likeable guy (very un-Elephantish in that respect). Was Minister of Culture under Mitterand and is widely respected, left and right, for what he accomplished for the arts during that period. A huge Ségo supporter during the presidential election, but then he supported Ségo’s arch-rival, Aubry, in the First Secretary election.

*The Elephants, also called the heavyweights, are the dour, jowly old-schoolers who haven’t made the leap to the 21st century and aren’t ready to pass the baton. In fact, they’re holding onto it the way Joey held onto his firetruck when you’d try to take it away from him in kindergarten.

What transpired:

2007: Ségo runs against two Elephants (Fabius and DSK) for the socialist presidential nomination and is elected by over 60% of the party members, to the shock and dismay of the other two. They sulk for the duration of her campaign, making sure to scowl and look disgusted or bored whenever they’re seen in public with her. They also back-stab her at every opportunity. (So much for solidarity.) She loses the presidency to Sarkozy, 53 to 47. (Not half bad if you ask me.) Before she ran for the nomination, there had also been noise of her longtime partner François Holland running…

After the presidential election, Ségo and François break up almost immediately. (Sour grapes?)

At which point François, then First Secretary of the party, arbitrarily (citing some “we’re not ready yet” bullshit) moves the next election for First Secretary to more than a year after the French presidential election (to ensure that Ségo won’t be able to ride her presidential momentum into the First Secretary spot) and even schedules it for the week after the US presidential election (hoping that will distract people from their party politics?).

After the French presidential election, the Elephants all band together (several bands, actually, because a lot of them hate each other) to bash Ségo. Their only unifying element and single common goal is stopping her from going any further. They become known as the “tout sauf Ségolène” front (anyone but Ségo). They all have their reasons, but publicly they accuse her of planning to make political alliances with the centrist party (which they all did during their local and regional elections, the bunch of hypocrites) and having ideas that aren’t consistent with the socialist party line. (Thinking outside the box = bad.)

2008: Stay with me now. So you have Ségo, Aubry, Delanoë and Hamon submitting proposals containing their ideas and plans for the party’s agenda for the next term. This is a first step towards running for the First Secretary position. Party members vote on the proposals, and so you get an idea of what your chances would be for the First Secretary job. Ségo’s proposal won (29%), despite a year of rabid bashing by the tout sauf Ségo crowd. Aubry’s came next (25%), Delanoë’s (24%), and Hamon’s (19%). The party establishment was shocked. Their disinformation and defamation campaign had not worked. (It might have even backfired.)

So what happens now is they have a two-day congress during which those who submitted proposals are supposed to work together and come up with some compromise proposals and select a candidate or two for First Secretary. Ségo was raring to go, more than willing to negotiate. After all, the proposals were not very different from each other. Should have been a cakewalk.

But no. Nobody would let Sego play their reindeer games. They flatly refused to deal with her, even though she had the most support of the party members. They tried to make deals with each other, but Delanoë was backed by Jospin and Hollande, and Aubry was backed by Fabius, Lang, and pals of DSK. And because the Elephants behind the candidates’ curtains didn’t like each other, they wouldn’t make an official deal, even to band against Ségo.

During the congress, Delanoë backed out of the race, saying he was not endorsing a particular candidate. The other three forged ahead. A day later, Delanoë officially threw his support and, presumably, his supporters to Aubry.

First Secretary election – first round: Ségo vs. Aubry and Hamon: Ségo wins again (43% to Aubry’s 35% and Hamon’s 25%). Obviously Delanoë’s supporters didn’t all do what they were told. Hamon is eliminated and tells his supporters to vote for Aubry in the second round.

First Secretary election – second round (November 21): Everybody thinks Aubry will win by a huge margin since she supposedly has all the other candidates’ votes and all the haters assume they are a majority (but it’s like the haters in America; they’re just louder.)

Yet here we are, down to a single-digit vote difference.

What this tells me is that half the socialist party members are ready to reinvent their party and half aren’t. It’s not a pretty sight, seeing a revered and honorable institution like the French socialist party going through a transformation that looks like something in one of those sci-fi movies where the guy is writhing and bulging and screaming as he turns into whatever it is he’s turning into.

My take on it all is that if ever there was a need for a strong worldwide socialist movement it is now, with the dire economic and environmental state of the world, with America on the downward slope and other, volatile powers rising, and with the likelihood of large-scale humanitarian and social crises in the near future. This is their chance—in fact, it’s their moral obligation—to take the wheel.

But the French socialist leaders can’t stop their infighting.

Vincent assures me that what appears to me to be essentially kindergarten playground biting and sand-throwing is really the result of decades of deep intellectual, philosophical, ideological, etc., differences.

Yeah, whatever. They look ridiculous. They need to get over themselves and act like grownups.

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This is my third November living in Paris and, as you may know by now, it’s my favorite month of the year here. So, as I have every year since I arrived, I’m posting a picture of the great beauty in her autumn attire. I seem to have started a little tradition for myself.

I took the other pictures on bright, crisp days because there are often quite a few of those in November, but there haven’t been so many this year. So I took this year’s picture on one of those days that make Parisians hate the month because it says “Next stop: winter.”

But not me. I love these November days just as much as the others. Fall becomes her so.

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And no rational person can deny that there is ample cause.

Yesterday, Dennis Kucinich asked the House of Representatives to consider a resolution to impeach Bush.

This is not about petty, left-wing revenge.

Impeachment with removal from office won’t happen. Democrats are too spineless. However, impeachment of Bush for his reckless abuse of presidential power may be just what is needed to keep McCain in check if he should win in November.

Otherwise there will be no holding him back.

If you think there’s even a slight possibility McCain could win (and you’re naïve if you don’t), you should contact your representative and tell him or her that you support Kucinich’s proposal.

Tick tock.

P.S. Information is only meaningful if you do something with it. However when your major media DON’T EVEN MENTION news like this, how are you supposed to know, much less act? As Vincent points out, it was front-page news in France…