Sprung

So! I hope you are all having a fabulous new year. I am not a fan of resolutions, but I HAVE been trying to eat a little better and exercise more for several weeks now. The 'Osan 15' is a common phenomena here, so I am right in the thick of things. Well, let me rephrase that: I have heard rumors that perhaps I am not the only one carrying around a few extra margaritas, but I have seen no such evidence on any of my slim and statuesque friends, acquaintances or assorted Osan beauties. In any case, soon I will be in the land of Target and Goodwill and I will be ever so sad if I can't fit into the ratty cargo pants of my choice fifty-three times a week when I need to go shopping.

Tonight, Lloyd and I went to the BX and Chili's, which is the standard big night out on the town here at Osan. I sucked down my fair share of wings and a couple of margaritas, varying the position of the straw so as to cleverly avoid the tequila abrasion. When we got home, I virtuously pounded out some sit-ups, dips, push-ups, leg lifts and stretches. Don't I sound ATHLETIC? Hahahahaha, I totally have you fooled. You should see me, for real. Oh, how you would laugh. After that strenuosity, I didn't want to 'run' the stairs, so I jumped on the mini-trampoline for a while. And by 'a while', I mean about 2.5 minutes. But at least I wasn't smoking deep-fried twinkies, right? Hmmm, I wonder if anyone has tried that?

While I was jumping, Weston weighed in:

Weston: Mama, are you sure that trampoline is strong enough for you?

Me: Yes, I'm sure (pant, gasp)

Weston: Well, those springs have to work awfully hard. You're so HEAVY.

Me: It's fine.

Weston: But look how much they're moving! They go almost to the ground!

Me: Grrrrrrrrrr (pant, gasp)

Bring on the twinkies! I might as well load up; I'm going to die soon anyway. I didn't used to be so fatalistic but I recently had a VERY interesting conversation with Shane. He likes to rub my scars, scabs and rough skin with his grubby little paws. Yesterday he was trying to pick at a spot on my chin, and when I told him to stop, he replied, 'I'll pick your owies WHEN YOU'RE DEAD'. I'm not sure what he has planned but I might as well give up the jumping for the good of trampolinekind everywhere, since my days are numbered. I can see the headlines now: 'Police Baffled by Mysterious Scab Free Corpse; Trampolines Rejoice in Streets'. I just hope they don't try to pin it on the poor twinkies.

Facebitch

I am a reluctant Facebook user. If you've been around for a while you might remember when I became assimilated, virtually against my will. At first, it was great. I felt oh-so-cool and in the know. Then, I started knowing just a little too much, if you get my drift. I've read tons of 'What not to post on Facebook' posts, and probably all of them are way better than mine. Products from Asian sweatshops are always inferior, but it's my blog and I have to post SOMETHING, now don't I? Oh, the humanity!

I don't mind the cute kid stories, and I'm a big fan of pictures. I am not even going to complain about the 'I had pancakes for breakfast and now I'm going to the movies' posts. On my DO NOT LIKE list are all the usual:

The I won another cooking contest/my kid got another A++++/my husband got another promotion and all the other 'WE'RE SO SWELL; AREN'T YOU JEALOUS' updates that used to be saved up for the Christmas letter that could be crumpled up ONCE and recycled immediately instead of spent tormenting people throughout the entire year;

The TMI posts. I don't want to know many, many things. In fact, I don't even want to list the things I don't want to know, because it might give someone an idea;

Imaginary presents. If I can't even give them to the thrift store, they are totally useless; and

Cryptic crap. If you have something to say, come out and say it, dammit!

But I have a bigger problem; one I'm loathe to admit, but once again, I have to post SOMETHING, now don't I? Sometimes, the things my friends post make me like them a little bit less. Which I DO NOT LIKE. All my friends are 'real' friends, too, not 'friends' like the girl that sat next to me in sophomore English. Because she was a real bitch. And even worse are the friends of friends; some of them are real wackos and it makes me wonder what the hell my friends are thinking, being friends with such freaks.

I have a solution, though. I'll tell you what it is but it will have to be our little secret, okay? Okay, here it is: I hide my friends when they annoy me. Like a little time-out that only I know about. After I deem them sufficiently punished, I unhide them. It's very satisfying, you should try it. Only not to me, because that would be rude, after I told you my secret and all. And I have another strategy: friend rotation. Facebook has done me the favor of listing them alphabetically, so I'm going to hide them in groups of ten or so and rotate them to keep them fresh and interesting, like I do for my kids' toys. That way, it takes the edge off the NOT LIKING, and we can stay friends. And that, I LIKE.

Hallowhat?

Sometimes I really don't know what to write on here. Some days my thoughts are super boring, even to me, and it's exhausting to even imagine the drudgery involved in typing them out. But today, you lucky bastards, I woke up and thought, 'Hey! Everyone really needs to know what I think about Halloween!'

I don't really get Halloween. When I was little we didn't dress up or go trick-or-treating, so I don't have any 'Oooh, Halloween is super fun and my kids will shrivel up and die if they don't have the perfect costume and get a huge bag of candy!' angst that I project on them. One year when I was almost too old for trick or treating, I went out with my cousins, just because I had never done it. It really wasn't that fun. An old lady answered the door at one house with a notebook and took down everyone's name; maybe she thought she was Santa's henchwoman. Or maybe she actually was. In any event, that was my first experience with developing a false identity on the fly, although, sadly, not the last.

It sure seems like a lot of effort just to end up with a bag of candy. If you really want the candy, you could just buy the candy you want, sparing yourself the disappointment of having to paw through those crappy Laffy Taffies and Tootsie Rolls so you can get to the small handful of Hershey's Dark mini-bars and Smarties. Then what do you do with the lousy candy? Throw it away? There's starving children in Africa, man! Your leftover Tootsie Rolls could feed a family of seventeen for a week; if only they could have your cast-off sugar high and tooth decay. So, see? Wasteful.

We live in an apartment building with somewhere around a hundred apartments and at least twelve thousand kids, so trick or treating is a huge deal. The BX shovels the big bags of fun-size candy onto the sales floor with a dump truck, for real. Okay, fine, not really, but they totally should because it would save them a ton of work. This year, we are having a 'neighborhood' party with some of our hall-mates. Shane will be either Spiderman or Buzz Lightyear, and Weston is going to be a Deinonychus in a costume fashioned from a 12-24 month dragon Old Navy dragon costume and a thrift store Juicy Couture sweat suit. I had hoped to incorporate my growing supply of dryer lint, but Weston isn't as easy to fool as he once was. Fortunately, I have found a great use for the lint, you can check it out here. Don't worry, though, if you are coming to our Halloween party, you won't HAVE to donate your candy to starving children or play with lint from my dryer. But you totally can.

Cheap Labor

In honor of Labor Day, I read a new book called 'Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture' by Ellen Ruppel Shell. It's a good read, a little dry in places, but very interesting. The main point is that our obsession with cheap goods reaps all sorts of ill effects on culture, the world economy and the environment. Cheap initial costs hide the multitude of true costs. When consumers care about the lowest price to the exclusion of all other factors, retailers are forced to cut costs as much as possible in order to compete with one another. They cut wages for clerks, stockpersons and other employees. They force manufacturers to lower their wholesale costs, which forces manufacturers to seek cheaper and cheaper labor and supplies. This, of course, is what causes human rights violations in sweatshops and factories and environmental catastrophes. Manufacturers believe they can't afford to pay decent wages and comply with environmental regulations and still produce goods cheap enough to appeal to our insatiable desire for piles of inferior goods and therefore enrich themselves. Smaller producers are driven out of business, resulting in most of the world's goods being made by a handful of behemoth conglomerates. Let's face it: the unassailable fact is that it costs a lot more to make a table out of legally and sustainably harvested timber and fair wage labor than from an illegal clear cut in a third world country. A dress made out of clean harvest cotton by a reasonably-paid and a reasonably-treated labor force has to be more expensive than one made out of pesticide-contaminated fabric by abused and exploited sweatshop workers.

These giant corporations have the deep pockets necessary to spend lots of cash lobbying governments in order to keep environmental, consumer protection and workplace laws suppressed in their favor so their production costs are even lower, so the small number of executives at the top of the food chain can make even more money at the expense of the consumer and the workforce. Every day, companies fight efforts to require fair wages and benefits, fair labeling laws and regulations that require them to clean up their own hazardous waste and control dangerous emissions. And a lot of times, they win. Why? Because they have the money to pay the lawyers and lobbyists; money they get from you and me. There's no money in consumer and environmental protection, and therefore no one to fight them except for us.

Ruppel Shell uses a great example with milk: If a marketplace has two kinds of clearly labeled milk for sale, say pure milk for a dollar and watered down milk for fifty cents, consumers can purchase whichever they choose and both buyer and seller are happy. If the milk producers start watering down the milk and not labeling it, the sellers of pure milk will be screwed, because consumers will buy the watered down milk thinking it's pure and won't pay the additional cost for the real stuff. Sellers of real milk will sell less and less because consumers will think they're being cheated by the higher price. Pretty soon the sellers of real milk will either be forced to go along with the program and water down their milk, too, so they can compete or be driven out of business, The end result is that consumers will no longer have a choice; they can only buy crappy milk because that's all that's available. This is what has happened in every single industry on earth. Each and every television is made by one of three companies. Dozens of automobile manufacturers have been reduced to a handful, and all new cars look alike. Consumers have no real choice and goods are limitless but of low quality.

So, pretty depressing, huh? But there are things we can do. We're like the ants in The Bug's Life and we need to stand up to those dirty rat-finking grasshoppers. There's a lot more of us than them and if we band together we can mow them right over. Know the real cost of your consumer goods and be willing to pay the true price in cash up front, instead of in pain and suffering for people all over the world for years to come. Look for locally made goods and locally grown foods. Patronize your neighborhood stores instead of the big boxes. Pay attention to where things come from and ask the hard questions about how goods in America can have such a low initial cost, and where the true cost is being hidden. Shop at your local thrift store. Keep track of how your representatives vote on the important consumer and environmental issues, and let them know what you think. Go hiking on Labor Day instead of shopping the sale at the mall. Ants unite! Power to the people!

Happy Labor Day weekend!

Milestone

Know what's weird? Blogging about blogging is weird. There are actually blogs about blogging. Hell, for all I know there are blogs about blogging about blogging. Personally, I think blog posts about blogging are usually boooooring: blog or do not blog; take the goodie bags or don't; have ads or don't have ads; blah, blah, blah- it's all the same to me. Or maybe it's mildly interesting sometimes, but definitely not worth all the angst and drama.

But today, I had a blogging milestone, so I had to blog about it: someone recognized me from my blog! I felt like Dooce! As an aside, I am not a huge Dooce fan. Going to Dooce is kind of like going to Macy's instead of the thrift store, or to WalMart instead of that cute little handcrafted toy store down the street. You know how I love bargains and things that are a little off the beaten path, so I go to Cecily for my crazy, even though Heather cornered the market on PPD long ago. But she is totally getting a bad rap in the press these days for no reason that I can discern. Although I see from her post today that she is going on Dr. Phil, so maybe she DOES deserve it. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

What's important here is my Q rating. I'm not too savvy about this popularity thing; I thought it was a Q factor, which turned out to be WAY more complicated. Phew, good thing I'm a out of work geologist mom domestic engineer hopped up lushblog writer, instead of a physicist!

I know you're dying to hear how it happened, so here it is: I was at church, chatting with my friend MeLissa and killing time when a new family came in. They were a little late, so they were the only game in town, and the church ladies pounced on them. After the parents got all greeted up and delivered their kids to vacation bible school, they came back by me with the deer in the headlights looks wiped off their faces, and the mom said, 'Do you have a blog?' She recognized me from here before she even got to Osan! Probably from this post, because that's my most common look. And,she actually likes it!

Of course, I acted all cool, like that happens to me all the time, but I thought I had died and gone to heaven, right there in the foyer of the Mission Baptist Church. Thanks, J!

Now, let's get down to the nitty gritty; the really important part of this post: which is my best side? I really need to know; I have an image to uphold, you know.

Unfriends

Well, it happened. I got unfriended. I suppose it was inevitable; the circle of life and all that. It's true; I say a lot of ridiculous things. I swear, just a smidge. But still, I was a little surprised. It was a friendly acquaintance, not just someone I knew a long time ago. I mean, what did I do wrong? Was it my goofy status updates or my smart-ass comments?

Surely, she didn't really mean to unfriend me. It must be a Facebook mistake. Maybe some sort of computer glitch; I'll just refriend her. She just has to confirm me. Any time now; I'm sure it will be fine.

Who the hell does she think she is? This really pisses me off. What did I ever do to her? So my posts are kind of ridiculous; screw her if she can't take a joke! Whatever, I don't need her anyway; I wouldn't friend her if she was the last person on earth!

Well, maybe we could be friends. If she would just be friends with me again, I would write nicer things. I would even make those little hearts and smiley faces, if only she would come back and confirm me.

Oh, I can't stand it! I don't deserve this; it's such a burden on my soul. I know, I can have other friends, but it's just not the same; will I ever feel whole?

Hey, you got any wine? Yeah, I'd love some. What? Oh, her? Yeah, we used to be friends, but it's over now. It's all good.

Normal or not? Guest post and poll!

As military spouses, we do all kinds of crazy things for so long that they seem normal. Then, when we re-enter the real world, it's sometimes hard to tell if everyone else is crazy or if we are. So, let's try to help out my anonymous guest poster who is befuddled by a recent situation she faced. Read her account, and then vote in the poll located in the upper right corner.

Anna

A young girl is having her tonsils/adenoids out on a Friday and her grandparents are not only taking off work on Friday but driving to the granddaughter's house to spend the night through Sunday night. (note: granddaughters's house is in a different state. A neighboring one, but a different one.) Also, the said granddaughter's two other siblings are staying at another relative's house through the weekend as well. Then on Monday, the grandparents are taking the two siblings (the ones staying with the relative) back to the state THEY live in so the parents of said granddaughter can tend to her some more.

So there will be 4 adults (two who live out of state) to tend to this one child who is having very minor surgery for 3 days. And then two adults tending to the one child for even a few more days.

So, is this what most families do? Or am I too jaded as a military wife to know how much 'normal' family gather? Or am I jaded as my family is integrated with many healthcare professionals and I realize that a tonsillectomy is very routine?

Realize I got several e-mails leading up to this procedure to remind me and several e-mails on the day of, to let me know how everything progressed. (The procedure is only about 10 minutes long).

And it just drove me crazy! I'm thinking, oh my goodness - she's just having her tonsils out! Is it that big of a deal? Under normal circumstances if I had just been told about the surgery I would have called that day and told her to "get well soon" but this made me not even want to call..which is wrong I know. But I was afraid to feed the mania!

-anonymous-

Desperate Groundhogs

So, have I mentioned that we're back at Osan? I think I might have. Osan's a nice little place, if possibly a bit strange; the people are friendly and the sky is always blue, except when it's yellow or black. I've written plenty about it, you can click here and here for some brief descriptions of life here if you like.

On of the many odd things about it is that every day is the same. My friend Lauren describes the Osan standard day perfectly in a recent post titled 'Nothing': BX, Post Office, wine store*, commissary, wine store. Well, that's my version. She probably makes a few more trips to the library for educational tomes and a few less stops at the wine store, but she's sort of snobby that way.

The whole routine is a vicious mobius strip; sort of like a loop or a vicious circle, only you can't get off, and it's not round, especially after your wine ration. All you can do is shuffle off to the side once in a while for another bottle to check the mail again. It's sort of like 'Groundhog Day' meets 'Desperate Housewives': Desperate Groundhogs! I totally smell a reality show in the making, and I look smashing in brown fur!

* On my recent trip, my sister one of my many loyal readers informed me that SFK makes it sound like I drink a LOT of wine. This is not actually true. While I like my wine, I am not a complete lush; I simply don't have the time to drink as much as I'd like. Just so you know, once in a while there might possibly be a slight exaggeration or teeny tiny obfuscation. Hardly any lies, though.

Cold

One of the perks of being at Osan is the Chili's on base. It's the only one in South Korea, and it's a regular full-on Chili's. It has the pepper on the building and everything. Every time we walk by it, which is approximately 18 times per day, Shane points at the pepper and yells, 'Apple!' He gets very angry when I say approximately 18 times per day, 'That's a chili. It looks like an apple, though, doesn't it?'

'NOOOOOOOO!!!!! APPLE! APPLE! APPLE!' Okay, fine. It's an apple. Never argue with a two-year old.

Chili's has always left me cold. It always SEEMS like a good idea to go there, but there is never anything I really want. Everything is just a little bit wrong, from the deep-fried corn appetizers to the bleu cheese burger that inexplicably has chipotle sauce on it. Really, who would do that, and why? And, you cannot sit in there for more than ten minutes before some birthday boy thinks it's a good idea to inform the staff that it's his special day so he can get his 'BIRTHDAY! BIRTHDAY! BIRTHDAY!' chant. The chanting wouldn't be so bad; it's the tambourines that kill you.

Unfortunately there are few options around here for knocking back a few margaritas. The downtown scene doesn't appeal to me, and I'm not really an O'Club kind of girl. I might give the O'Club a chance, but the few times I've had a drink there I have had the most horrible headache the next day and all I trust is the beer tap. And I'm definitely not one to sit in the O'Club swilling beer (shut up, Lisajoy). So, off I go to Chili's every time I want to hang out with a friend.

Last night, after attending an absolutely shocking birthday party, my friend Helen and I scurried down there to bathe our wounds in tequila. No salt, please! We made a solemn, margarita-driven vow that after we leave this place, we will never, ever set foot in another Chili's as long as we live. We're going to meet there later to hammer out the details.

Kirk Out

Dude. I just watched Star Trek. Let me start here by saying I am NOT a trekkie, more of a general purpose geek. So, I can live with all the revisionist history. Of course, I KNOW that Kirk's father didn't die the day he was born, and Spock's mother was not killed when the planet Vulcan was destroyed by rogue Romulans, because THAT DID NOT HAPPEN. Or, maybe it did.

I don't love time travel used as a literary device to dismiss an entire body of knowledge. But do you know what's funny? Before the plot was entirely revealed, I wasn't asking myself, 'Hmmm, have I seen this in a movie or show before?' No, I was thinking, 'Is this REAL, or did they just MAKE IT UP for this movie?'

Hello? Star Trek=ALL IMAGINARY! There is no Enterprise cruising the universe, ensuring our safety from all enemies, foreign and domestic. No pointy-eared, logical geniuses protecting us from evil. So it doesn't really matter if the new Star Trek movie conflicts in some way with a television show from 1963, now does it?

But there are some things I can't get past. SPOILER ALERT HERE: Spock and Uhura have a 'thing' in this movie. This, I cannot tolerate. Spock.does.not.have.girlfriends. I do not care how beautiful she is, how fluent she is in all three Romulan dialects, or how short her Starfleet uniform skirt is. Spock goes into the pon farr every seven years and is driven to dereliction of duty, even violence, in his efforts to mate. He does NOT get involved in casual relationships with his co-workers. EVERYONE knows that. Well, except for I had to look it up, because I'm totally not a trekkie. Really. I swear.

Old Spock and young Spock cannot have a friendly chat. That is just wrong and creepy. I was thinking it was actually impossible but I can't seem to find anything to back me up. Wrong and creepy will have to suffice.

And finally, just a fashion tip for James T: No eyeliner is required to command a starship. Anna out.

Shopping for friends

Am I the only one who thinks that adding friends on Facebook is kind of like online shopping? Say I'm looking for my cousin. Her name is Jill X. I type in what I'm shopping for, 'Jill X', and up comes a list of Jill X's. I look at each picture, choose the one I want, and click 'Add Friend' to put her in my basket. It's a little creepy, like a mail order bride catalog, don't you think?

Friend shopping makes me feel a little inadequate, too. Who's to say I'm getting the right friends? Before Facebook (BF), I had no idea there were so many options. I mean, my friends are great and I like them and all, but maybe the other Jill X's are cooler, funnier, more interesting. And they can be mine, as long as they accept my currency. Sure, they might be a little more expensive. I would have to expend my limited capital explaining to them how great I am and why they want to be MY friend. But I deserve the best, right?

BF it never occurred to me that my friends weren't totally top of the line. But now I might want to upgrade. Why, the Jill X right under my cousin is a model! My Jill is pretty cool, but she's just a regular teacher. More of an economy model, say, and maybe I want a luxury one. It's the American way and I have an image to uphold, you know.

Of course, I've always been an avid bargain hunter, so I might need to wait for a sale. Jill, you're safe. For now.

Witness

It's not everyday that you read a book that changes your life, but I just did. Could it change your life, too? Well, maybe. If you're one of the few, the proud, the former Jehovah's Witnesses children, you will definitely want to read 'I'm Perfect, You're Doomed' by Kyria Abrahams.

This book jumped into my hand at the library before I even knew what it was about. The title and cover art were a beacon for me, because I'm a sucker for those crazy-people memoirs. The wife that ran away from a polygamist sect, the drunken gay schizophrenic writer, the professional athlete with multiple personalities, the transsexual dwarf that does pet psychotherapy; I've read them all. Imagine my delight when I saw that this nutball memoir was one I could actually relate to!

You are probably familiar with the Jehovah's Witnesses- they're the very earnest folks trying constantly to save you with the Truth that only they know. Interestingly, there is a very active group right here in Songtan. Not too long ago, I had a very fascinating conversation with a lovely young Korean girl named Monica. She had a perma-smile and was utterly unconvinced that I could possibly have heard about the upcoming Armageddon before I so fortuitously met her on the main drag downtown. I wonder if she's met Songtan Sally yet? Now, there's a girl who could benefit from some good old-fashioned Jehovah talk. Me, not so much.

Now, I know what you're thinking: This is all very interesting (or not), but how, exactly, did this oh-so-fascinating book change your life, hmmmm?

Well, I'll tell you, you lucky dog! First, the book is a pretty funny look back at my childhood. Did you know the Smurfs were nothing but cute little blue tools of the devil? I did. Reading a book about your own experience makes you realize you're not quite as crazy and alone as you might have thought.

More importantly, in Kyria's experience, I saw reasonable explanations for some things I have long disliked about myself, things I just assumed were character flaws: my bizarre fascination with centipedes and popsicle sticks, my previously inexplicable phobic aversion to dusty cardboard. Right, right. I'm kidding. Sort of. It's for your own good, though- you definitely don't want to read about what a freak I REALLY am. But as it turns out, I'm not the only freak. Besides the book, there is a whole movement for former JW's. Check out this and this, for example. Why, Kyria even has a Facebook group!

Seriously, I had no idea.

Funklet

*****WARNING: GRUMPINESS AHEAD (and maybe some swearing)******


I am in a funklet. Not a full-blown dreary funk, but about a half-funk, or a funklet. I like the word 'funklet' but it doesn't mean at all what it sounds like. It should be a little fun junket, like a trip to a cupcake store, fabulous junk store or museum, instead of a long crappy mood.

I don't even know why. Well, I sort of know why: part of it is this place. This is a crazy place. At first, it seems very foreign and weird. Some of it just the same as any stateside Air Force base- the sound of freedom blasting in your ears all the time, the brown and tan decorating scheme. Here are some stories from when we first got here about all the strange things I noticed.

But after a while, all the bizarre things both on and off base just seem normal: Fake casualties strewn on the streets, sniper battles in the parking garage, grocery store devoid of molasses and toddler toothpaste for months on end, counterfeit designer purses on every arm and all the latest movies for five bucks a pop. Check, check, check, check, check!

Now, many of my pals are leaving for better different places: Germany, Hawaii, Texas. Yes, even Texas is better different than here. Louisiana, now, that's a different story, and one for another day.

So many people leaving, along with our upcoming trip to Seattle (Target! Goodwill! Cupcakes!) makes me realize how freakishly abnormal this place truly is. Missiles, razor wire and faux bodies on a walk? Not normal. Crowds in the street pawing at your kids? Not normal. Breathing contaminated dust from China all spring? Not normal. Not knowing where you'll be come New Year's? Not normal. Never mind that one. Being crammed in a sardine can with hundreds of your closest friends all the damn time? NOT NORMAL.

Okay, I'm done now. All of a sudden I have a hankering to go out on the deck and beat some crawfish to a pulp. Please send your best funklet cure to storiesfromkorea@gmail.com, or share in the comments. I'm pretty sure some of my closest friends could use them too. After all, they have to live in the can with me.

Assimilated

It's true what they say: resistance is futile. I've always been a late adapter. Sometimes even a non-adapter. My cell phone only makes phone calls. No pictures, no texting, no video, no gps, no internet, no voicemail, no precisely calibrated death ray. Hell, we don't even have a microwave. This usually works out really well for me, because I get to act all smug and superior. Plus I save a lot of money that can then be blown at the thrift store. Or the liquor store.

But sometimes, refusing to adapt to what's become standard in society just makes you a giant pain in the ass. Like when answering machines and call waiting came out and some people wouldn't get either one and you just got an annoying busy signal when you tried to call. Or when plumbing was invented and some stubborn clowns just kept insisting that their outhouses were just as good. That's fine for a while, but eventually people will stop calling because your phone is irritating and stop coming to visit because your backyard stinks.

Until today, I have been resisting Facebook. I have lots of great reasons: privacy issues, their outrageous terms of service, the ridiculousness of 'friending' people you haven't seen since third grade and don't really care about at all and the bizarro pseudo-world that is online social networking.

Like the Dukes of Hazzard and all other good things, my resistance has come to an end. It's a fact of life as a military accessory that friends depart at dizzying speed. PCS season is here and every day there is another friend being packed out by a kimchi-swilling, sidewalk-hogging moving crew. And snail mail, telephones, even email are part of a lost world; a civilization gone with the wind. But they are all on Facebook, and now I am too.

Somewhere, the Queen is pleased.