Weird Facebook Ads, Part Three

I haven't done a Weird Facebook Ad round-up in a while (here's Part 1 and Part 2). Maybe it's because Facebook has gotten wise to my aggressive hiding and labeling ads as offensive, but I haven't had as many weird FB ads to post lately. I get the usual Mom Ads, which is just par for the sexist course at FB, but even those are coming up less and less as I click to remove them from my sidebar. Tellingly, my husband still does not receive any ads for newly marrieds, Dads, cleaning, or baby supplies, but political campaigns and movies. I like politics and movies more than I like cleaning, FB, thanks. As I stated in Weird Facebook Ads, Part 1, there must be an algorithm that sees my married, 30-something profile and assumes that I should be having babies by the truckload and cleaning all their little baby ends, while my husband does the voting. Misogyny! Subtle as always. Given all the other info FB knows about me, you'd think it would be able to read deeper while crawling a profile. For example?

1.) Where do you think I live, Facebook?

Hoboken is in New Jersey,  642 Miles / 1033 Km from me.

My recent photos are tagged North Carolina, my check-ins are in North Carolina, and my current employment status is in North Carolina. Facebook reads this as Jersey Shore baby! Yeah! I mean, 2010 was good year, but that doesn't mean you have to live in its pop culture forever. I guess now I have to go Gym, Tan, Laundry.

Speaking of employment ...

2.) FU Cat

Really?

Oh really, Facebook? That kitten can get a job at his tiny kitten desk, collating his teeny kitten memos with his bitty kitten powers of adorableness and shedding? Kittens are taking all our biped jobs! So why can't I find a job? Fucking kittens, Facebook. Maybe I could be working where mini-kitty is working but nooooo the job goes to Fluffy McTunabreath over there. No one wants to work with people when they could work with kittens. This is a fact. The Internet is proof of this. There is no place for me in a job market that hires student-loan-free baby snuggle-face kittens. 

The Internet. (Via WeKnowGifs)

But to cheer me up, finally, Facebook does something right ...

3.) You Finally Get Me

Finally. Yes. Ads that are relevant to my interests. Yes. I DO like Futurama! Yes. I DO love Sailor Moon! Please install all your cookies and malware as I like all the cartoon things. Agreement reached!

Friday QuoteDay

"I’ve been told by producers, 'Well, you know we need to get on this because you’re not getting any younger ...' Women are reminded of their age all the time and it’s usually by a fricking fat, big-bellied old man with a comb-over and you look at him and you’re like, 'Really? Give me a break. You just have more money and more power in this situation than I do, but not in my life.'"

— Zoë Saldaña, American actress in InStyle UK, June 2013

Image property of InStyle UK. Click to enlarge.

Weekly Flâneur: Time Warp

Diner delight. Click to enlarge.

East coasters dream of retiring in the South. Mattie's Diner was built in 1948, and came from New Jersey to live in Charlotte in 2010. Sometimes I work within walking distance to the little trailer diner, and when I do it's nothing but nifty fifties milkshakes, french fries, and tuna melts for me. 

 Mattie's Diner, Charlotte, N.C., May 2013

The Integral Bowie Swag Post

In case you haven't noticed, my kittens, I have a wee, teeny-tiny, slight thing for DAVID BOWIE. Pause for gasps. Yes, it's true. And I have amassed a few items with Bowie's lovely face on them over the years that I would like to brag flaunt fuck yeah lookit all my sweet Bowie shit share with you.

The first Bowie Swag Posting comes to us courtesy of the irreplaceable Ashley (I See). Sent straight from London and from the heart, these were purchased at the current exhibit, David Bowie Is, at the Victoria and Albert Museum. You have until August to sell your kidney and visit London to attend. (Sell both and buy me a ticket too?)

As seen in this sadly blurry photo (like holy relics and alien encounters, the mysterious rarely allows itself to be photographed clearly), Ashley sent me a Ziggy Stardust mask/card, a lovely postcard, and a Bowie paper doll book, Bowie Paper Doll The Best Dress-Up Fun You'll Have With A Pair Of Scissors! (And a sweet heart drawn on the envelope, just because.) Let's look inside, shall we?

That's not a glare, that's DAVID BOWIE'S penis shining. Even when made of paper, ethereal BOWIE peen cannot be contained.

David Bowie doesn't NEED two pants legs, mugglefuckers. Two legs are for plebes, humans, and mortals. David Bowie wears what he wants.

Lest we forget that this is a published book available for purchase in retail stores (and does not contain a magical doll that will come to life if placed in a cupboard overnight), this disingenuous figure features Bowie in briefs. I will never be convinced that guitar-playing Ziggy from Mars went anything but commando.

Tuesday QuoteDay

"I really don't care about being the first.

So long as it inspires someone else to be second."

— Raha Moharrak

From the BBC:

A Saudi woman has made history by reaching the summit of the world's highest mountain.

Raha Moharrak, 25, not only became the first Saudi woman to attempt the climb but also the youngest Arab to make it to the top of Everest.

She is part of a four-person expedition that also includes the first Qatari man and the first Palestinian man attempting to reach the summit.

They are trying to raise $1m (£660,000) for education projects in Nepal.

Weekly Flâneur: Faded

Faded street art of men in uniform. Click to enlarge.

The ghostly bobbies on the mural outside of Sir Ed's disapprove of me forgetting to take a picture of them while the sun was still high in the sky. Silly mural ghosts. Beer is much more important. 

Sir Edmond Halley's Restaurant & Freehouse, Charlotte, N.C., May 2013 

To Walk After Midnight

I want things I cannot articulate, laid out before me like a garden of red peppers, now barely seeds.

Walking in suburbia after midnight is walking in the land of cats and small beetles, open windows and blue lights of TV screens. The smell of honeysuckle by the creek. Darting insects under sandaled foot, the sidewalk white and winding under streetlights. I think of cities. I think of Paris in Autumn, the taste of apple pastries. I think of rain in a city I have never seen, the long fogs of Seattle. I think of London, I think of home. I walk through writer's block, I walk through excessive adjectives, I walk through damp grass from the day's thunderstorm and try to make it into a metaphor. I walk slowly, the lights of passing cars my only human contact. A cat eyes me warily from under a mini-van. The houses share walls, share street space, share small squares of grass before long lines of cars. We are jammed up on one another in the middle of nowhere, anchored by a suite of big box stores and a bus stop. I think of Oakland Avenue, of late night walks down 7th street. I think of Roehampton Lane and the stretch of darkness between the council houses and the sole shop open later than 8 pm. I think of other Natalies, other women to walk alone on late night streets and never make it home again.

I tell myself that it is OK to be tired, to crawl into bed with damp hair curling from the moist air, to write tomorrow. Tomorrow may be kinder, brighter. Tomorrow there may be bright red peppers to wash in the sunlight streaming in from the kitchen window.

"Dummy," I tell myself. It is tomorrow. It will be what I make it.

Tonight's Jam

Patsy Cline, "Walking After Midnight"

Friday QuoteDay

“There is only one corner of the universe you can be certain of improving, and that is your own self. So you have to begin there, not outside, not on other people. That comes afterwards, when you have worked on your own corner.” 

 — Aldous Huxley, English writer, author of Brave New World

 

Weekly Flâneur: A Thousand Eyes

Image of a cherry tree covered in blossoms. Click to enlarge.

"The Night Has A Thousand Eyes" 

by Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Cherry tree at midnight, downtown Charlotte, N.C., Spring 2013

Saturday QuoteDay

“The model for tomorrow, and this is the model I’ve been using with enormous enthusiasm since I started blogging back in 2001, is to try everything. Make mistakes. Surprise ourselves. Try anything else. Fail. Fail better. And succeed in ways we never would have imagined a year or a week ago.” 

— Neil Gaiman, on blogging. 

(Previous Mr. Gaiman quotes here, here and here!) 

Why Don't You ...

This past week, I had my very first food story as the section lead in the local alt weekly paper. It's a personal stepping stone for me, because I never really write about food or music for pay. I've written about restaurants and interviewed chefs, but I've never had a lead story or written about the actual food itself. I never really wanted to. I still never want to have to write about music. Musicians, sure. And occasionally, here on this space, I've waxed poetic about pop stars. Once, I managed to become inspired enough to even break down a song and write a post on it. (Hello, Lady Gaga!) I unabashedly love pop music and musicals and never-heard-of-thems, but I don't want to write about them.

If it's not in your blood to enjoy every aspect of working with something, it quickly sours. That's why some hobbies can't translate into paying work. Writing is something I am good at and love to do, so I sweat it out and still enjoy it. But when it comes to music, it is the one area, the one subject, in my life that I can turn off my brain and just enjoy.  I like it, because I don't have to think about it. No analyzing beats, no dissecting lyrics, no questioning motives. No digging out the Five Ws. No reviewing. Listen, enjoy, repeat. This isn't to say I do not recognize problematic lyrics or artists, or will listen to just anything. But since I do not have any ambition to write about music, or to be a music reviewer, or a singer, a songwriter, or to learn a new instrument or critique musical arrangements, I am free to be dumb and listen to things that make me happy or invoke nostalgia or make me cry. It's freeing. I loathe to give it up. A good, tasty meal has the same effect. It's why I steer clear of penning Yelp reviews and why I do not share recipes on my blog. But after this past week, I think it's time. So food, sure. I'm taking the step and adding it to my list of things I can write about. Music is still a no. It's still mine.

So, why don't I write about David Bowie's new album? That's between me and him.