Facing Up to Facebook: The Ups and Downs of Big Social Media

In more ways than one, I have to say thank you to Facebook.

Through Facebook, I’ve reconnected with people from elementary school, high school and college, whom I otherwise would not have had any contact with after all these years. I've also maintained contact with family members in different states, former coworkers and my current circle of friends.

I like observing how friends have changed or remained the same over the years by their photos, and the photos they share of themselves and their families. Birthday parties, excursions and private moments get their spotlight, the small details of our inner lives shown outward for all to see. I can find out if a friend’s daughter baked cookies with mom, or had a root canal at the dentist’s. I can discover the causes friends are taking on, their interests and their biases.

In that sense it’s also a quick way to scan the trends, to find out what people find interesting or valuable in their daily lives, what music, books, quotations or political causes they find relevant, amid all the chatter on and off the Internet.

On the other hand, there is a bit of a disconnect just reading about people second hand. I feel sometimes like a voyeur, especially when I have little regular contact with the people who I friended by phone, email or in person.

I learn of the passing of some friend’s fathers, the birth of their children, in other words life changing events, because of what they write on their Facebook pages, not because I heard of those events directly from the friends themselves. Sometimes there is no substitute for a private phone call or email.

That is one of the downsides of the technological age – to be at once connected yet totally disconnected with people.

Then there are the temptations to join all the cute sites that people send you – being their BFF, getting freebies and signing petitions. They are entertaining things to do but in most cases are marketing devices and mean more junk email!

There issues of personal privacy too, and you have to make sure you adjust your settings accordingly so that certain information about yourself is not being accessed by anyone in the world who knows how to Google your name. You may not want certain personal information about you available to the public. Social networking can quickly become a disaster if in the hands of the wrong people.

Without a doubt, Facebook has enormous power, mostly beneficial. Today I read about how the mayor of East Haven Connecticut donated a kidney to a constituent after reading his plea on his Facebook page. People are finding ways to network and connect with friends new and old.

But Facebook is not everything nor should it should be. Some Facebook junkies keep adding hundreds upon hundreds of friends (even random acquaintances) to their roster, and are addicted to updating their profiles, uploading photos and commenting on the status of friends one or more times a day.

Facebook does not mean the same thing to everyone, nor should it. As long as it’s taken in context, it can do as much or as little for your life and your social network as you want it to.

But here’s my two cents worth: If you want to friend me, at least know a few more facts about me than my neighbor and say hello once in a while, not only publicly but privately. We may have something interesting to say to each other -- just to each other.

Everybody Have Fun: Remembering '80s Pop

If you were born from the late 1960s through the mid-1970s, you probably spent your formative pre-teen, teenage and/or early college years with 80s pop. It reflected the feeling of boundless optimism that characterized the decade. American consumerism was at its peak, Ronald Reagan said it was morning in America, and pop music was bright, cheerful, colorful, and yes, fun! As the generation of ‘80s fans now approaches or reaches the 40-year-old mark, there are revivals of ‘80s music everywhere – on Internet radio, regular radio and in clubs.

It was the music most dear and near to my heart. It was the music I listened to on LPs and cassettes (no, not 8-tracks, I am not that old(!), although they weren’t far behind me). I wanted my MTV, and I heard my favorite hits on my Walkman as I traveled around NYC and London. Silver pants, big hair, keyboard and synthesizers were all the rage. Computers, cellphones, VCRs, CDs, and cable were our ‘big’ technologies.

Everybody Have Fun Tonight” by the British band Wang Chung." should be the anthem of the 80s:

So if you're feeling low
Turn up your radio
The words we use are strong
They make reality
But now the music's on
Oh baby dance with me yeah.


It’s hard to find people these days having pure unadulterated fun, bouncing, bopping and cheering. I used to attend concerts at classic NYC venues like Danceteria, Pyramid Club, CBGBs and the Ritz. Everybody jumped so hard that the floor around the stage would shake and I would have a sensation that it might cave in at any moment. I stepped to the perimeter, happier to be at the edge of the chaos than in the center of it. My ears would ring well into the night from the music blaring from the speakers, but it was all worth it.

I remember when the first record store opened in our sleepy Queens neighborhood. It was when the can of worms known as 80s music was unleashed! I was 13 or 14, and I was lured in by my friend, whose parents owned a dollhouse store down the street. When I first walked in the store, I was wowed by the neon lights, the faint smell of pot lingering from the back room, the stacks and stacks of newly cut records, the pungent vinyl wrappers wafting off the album covers.

We had learned about all these bands from the newly-created MTV. From a TV hanging in a corner of the shop, we watched the Bangles’ new video, and we were hooked. At each others’ houses my friends and I would watch all the great new bands: The Police. Squeeze. Nina Hagen. Madness crooned about “Our House.” Culture Club asked “Do You Really Want Me?” Nina and her 99 Luft balloons flew in our imaginations, Bananarama promised a cool, cool summer, and David Bowie taught us about “Modern Love.” Duran Duran were hungry like the wolf, Toni Basil sported her peppy cheerleading clothes and sang “Mickey!” If it was American it was cool, but if it was British or European it was cooler than cool..it was even hip!

The 80s were all about reinvention. A working class guy from England could grab a guitar and become a pop star. Someone like Boy George could give himself a stage name and transform himself from a regular guy into a colorful, extraordinary queen. Michael Jackson and Madonna were iconic presences who reinvented themselves multiple times over. They proved that just by changing your clothes, your makeup and your outward persona, you could recreate reality into a highly charged, colorful fantasy world. There was the Michael Jackson of the sparkly silver glove doing Billy Jean, then the Thriller video Michael Jackson, the momentously charged zombies choreographed in perfect funky sync. There was the Madonna of Lucky Star, the icon of East Village trendiness, followed by the Material Girl and the Virgin. There were so many personas up her sleeve, you could never figure out what was next.

I too could reinvent myself. My brother, who suffered from a chronic, life-threatening illness, was worsening, his muscles deteriorating and forcing him to become wheelchair- bound. My parents filled their time with hours of TV to hide the despair and the helplessness they must have felt. But I could sport a pink Cleopatra wig, wear a tight green fluorescent mini skirt, black eye makeup and black nail polish, and I could imagine myself to be anything I wanted to be. I slinked through the clubs after dark, trying to pass for 18. One time after school I got a buzz cut at the Astor Place Barber shop near Cooper Union, and a few months later when my hair grew in, my best friend and I got our hair dyed purple at a little incense and jewelry shop on St. Marks Place staffed by two aging Goths.

The ‘80s are over, and '80s music can even be heard these days on oldies stations, but to me the music always sounds fresh, vibrant and innovative. The music of the '80s will always be special to me, and even today, as I listen to '80s music on the radio or on YouTube, I draw on its boppy, perky outlook as I try to adapt a positive frame of mind in all areas of my life.

According to a Pepsi Optimism Project survey conducted in 2008, “Children of the ‘80s and ‘90s inherently feel a strong sense of optimism in the future and their ability to shape it,” said Lisa Orrell, generation relations expert and author of Millienials Incorporated: “This age group feels refreshingly unencumbered by history or tradition, a feeling that they can accomplish anything they resolve to achieve.”

I’m an '80s music child and I know it, so why not turn up the volume? Join in on the fun. Set a course for achievement and fun right here, right now. As former Go-Gos lead singer Belinda Carsisle sang it, "Ooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooh, heaven is a place on earth."

The Rise and Fall of the Tides of Motherhood

As we drove my son home from school in Brooklyn today, I felt inspired to stop at the beach rest stop off the Belt Parkway on Jamaica Bay. I chose to stop at this stretch of beach because today was the perfect weather day. A balmy 70 degrees with a gentle breeze and warm sun, it made me want to get out of the office a bit to exercise my mind and body.

Beach debris was scattered throughout the sand and nearby dunes, as well as on the mud-covered shore, jutting out some 50 feet due to low tide.

Two school-aged brothers were out on the shelf of rippled sand left behind by the tide. They bent down with shovels and pails collecting snails while their parents watched nearby.

I was determined to walk to the end of the stretch of land unless I could go no farther. It looked close to a mile away. I picked up my pace, alternating between brisk walking, moderate walking and a slow jog.

“Mommy!” my daughter shouted at the top of her lungs from about 30 feet behind me. I stopped briefly but wanted to pick up the pace. She and her brother were gathering shells and rocks and touching old plastic bags.

“What? I’ll be right back!” I shouted, turning my head just enough to see them. I just wanted to make it to the end of the shore then turn around.

“Wait up!” screamed my son, intermittently stopping to smash shells with a giant sparkly black rock.

I pointed out the broken shell of a horseshoe crab, and stopped to examine several clam shells.

Then it came, roaring like an incoming wave, “You want to go away from us!”

The guilt, the accusation, just because I was walking ahead of them.

But it was symbolic of where I am in life now, too. My son just turned 6 and my daughter will be 5 in June. As my kids become more independent, I am in the process of finding out who I really am, and what I really want to do with my life from this point forward, not only as a mom and wife but as a woman and a person. I forge ahead, stopping sometimes to glance back, but I must keep on going, keep marching to my own beat lest I drown in the chaotic waves around me.

I slowed down a bit, but not much. When I reached the end, I could see the elevated Belt Parkway wind across the bay and the white boats bob on the dock by the houses on the other side.
I invited my children to join me in this small triumph.

“Come on, we made it!” I shouted.

As we stood together on a rectangular piece of wood, we all raised our arms like the Rocky statue we saw recently on our trip to Philadelphia.

Once we made it, I was done, and a bit tired. I wanted to start heading back to the place where we started, where the car was parked with my sleeping husband inside.
I began walking faster, but now my kids didn’t want to catch up to me, they wanted to drag out the visit. We passed by a rusty old tub with a bronze Styrofoam-like substance inside it. It glittered in the sun.

“Mommy, look!” shouted Juliana. “We found gold dust, like in Thomas and the Magic Railroad!”

I was now calling them, as they lingered behind, putting sticks in dunes, smashing shells with black rocks and filtering sand through the soles of their shoes, now worn from two seasons of running, biking, playing and just being kids.

“Come on kids, we’re leaving. Bye! We’re going to the car,” I admonished. I wanted them to walk faster now, and it wasn’t an easy feat.

It was then that I realized that the waxing and waning feeling of closeness and attachment you have with your children is much like the ebb and flow of the waves.

When the children were babies, I wanted to hold them forever. Attachment status: solid. But by the beginning of the school age years, the kids and I are torn. They are excited about their newfound independence, and they can get on quite well without me. But they also miss and adore me, sending me little love notes and giving me hugs and kisses. You certainly cherish the position of adored mom, but you need your space too, and sometimes think back (more often than you'd like some days) to the time when your decisions and passions were entirely your own.

As we approached the car, streams of light flowed out of the clouds. I picked up a white seashell, smooth and fragile but perfect, undamaged. I could hold it gently or I could crush it with my bare hand. I could hold It tightly or let it go. I decided to keep it. I put it in my pocket and felt its smooth ridges.

Just Like Starting Over: Turning 6

April 9th was the big day. My son turned 6.

My husband and I woke him up by singing the Mexican happy birthday song “Las Mananitas” and he grinned from ear to ear as we kissed him.

As a mom, I remembered the moment I first set eyes on him, how I pushed for 2 hours to get him out and cried unconsolably when I saw him. He was our first born, our son, and a miracle child in a way - -born healthy even though our family had a strain of genetic disorder running around in it, the same genetic disorder that took the life of my brother.

At 6, your child is still clearly your baby. He may whimper when you forget to read him a story or cling to your skirt when it’s mommy’s night out. He cries for you when he skins his elbow on the cement after falling off his dirt bike.

But six to a child is a BIG step. A child-sized step. Not toddler-sized or preschooler-sized advance. And that in itself is a big deal.
But some things change. Or should change.

Like being more responsible, for one. I don’t want him to grow up to be the type of teenager or 20-something male I see sometimes, leaving a trail of underwear and candy wrappers in their path, lying around waiting for mommy or the girlifriend to do everything for him.

So the growing up starts here.

After we woke him up that birthday morning, I passed by Benji's room, and I took a double take. I noticed that the bed was made.

“I made my bed. I’m 6 now,” he announced.

That night, when he was getting ready for bed he beamed, “I don’t need to wear overnights anymore. I’m 6!”

Ten minutes later he put on his bed wetting barrier, too close for his or our comfort. I’m sure he will still wet himself overnight for a few months longer. The doctors say kids can bed wet till around 6 or 7. We will have to look into alternatives to help him.

And sure enough, the next day he got frustrated because he couldn’t get the corners of the Batman covers on his bed to lay right and shouted “I can’t do it!!!” with all his might.

But at least he has the intention to try, and the recognition that he is growing older.

Certain things have already been shaped and are not going to change dramatically -- his silliness, bouts of anger, back talk (I hope that is a passing phase!), frustration tolerance, or lack thereof. The fact that he can only sit still for 30 to 60 seconds while eating at a table before being distracted by something around him (hopefully this too shall pass).

But as with any birthday, there is the hope, however, remote, of starting over. And that is what makes all the difference -- to him and to us, his parents.