Don't Give Out Those Passwords

Because you know that’s what you’re doing, right?

People on Facebook are doing this goofy—no, it’s worse than goofy, really!—activity where they each publish personal information next to the title “Lord” or “Lady” as the name that they might use to attend the royal wedding.

(As a side note, I’m pretty sick of hearing about this royal wedding, and as much as I love the concept of fantasy and dragons and King Arthur, I think that kings and queens are best left in the history books and don’t have a place in modern society at all. In fact, their very existence only contradicts the democracy that we hold dear, doesn’t it?)

This little trend—similar to the whole bra color, cartoon character, and other Facebook status activities that people have been engaging in for the past few years—calls for posting your grandparent’s name, your first pet’s name, and the name of the road where you grew up all after the whole silly “Lord” or “Lady” thing. In other words, it calls for you to post many of the personal terms used to set your password and privacy settings when you first join websites, making them available for everyone to see—and use.

And don’t get complacent thinking that because you’ve never been hacked that you never will, either. I had a very simple password for five years and it was recently hacked. A few months ago Google showed me where someone in another country (I oddly don’t remember where) logged into my account. Of course, I’ve since changed my passwords, but I know it happened because I figured that it would never happen to me since I’m careful. That said, it was a very simple password with no capitals, numbers, or any other characters, so of course it was easy to hack.

So firstly, don’t play this stupid game. Or, if you want to play it, make up new grandparent’s names, pet names, and street names. Come up with something super funny or creative. The more ironic the better, of course. Just don’t give out those personal details.

Next, why not change your passwords while you’re thinking about it? Refreshing them every so often can only be a good thing, I would think, and the more obscure, the better. Combine favorite childhood games with the food you hate most and a number you see when you open a book to a random page, or something. Just make it unique as possible—and don’t let yourself be an easy target like I did.

Quinceañera parties are much bigger than Sweet Sixteens

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          Some of my freshmen students were flipping through a thick dress-filled magazine this morning.  The dresses are huge and gaudy—hot pink, bedazzled and lacy with huge, crinoline-lined hoop skirts.  The girls said that the dresses were for their Quinceañera parties, huge celebrations of a girl’s fifteenth year, welcoming her into adulthood in this Mexican tradition.

            The tradition comes from the Aztecs. A female child became a part of adult tribal society when she turned fifteen. The Mexican Catholic church adopted the tradition—the Quinceañera is also a religious ceremony. The fifteen-year-old-to-be is required to take a yearlong class that will integrate her into adult life as part of the Church.

            The planning of the party is seriously extensive. Before the day of the party, the girl chooses a dress, as well as a court of fourteen girls, called damas, representing each year of her life before she turned fifteen. She also chooses the damas’ escorts, called chambelanes and her own escort, the chambelán. The couples are matched by height and begin practicing the traditional waltz that is performed at the party.

            The Quinceañera and her escorts soon go about picking their dresses.  The Quinceañera dress is like a traditional wedding dress with the bodice and the bell-shaped skirt, but it is not customary for the dress to have a train.  Her dress cannot be white, a color which is reserved for her wedding day (which, I can’t help myself from saying, she is presumed to want to have/will have).

            After this, the more mundane parts of the party planning come, like hiring the caterers, renting the space, getting a DJ, finding a Master of Ceremonies—more minutiae that is boring to list. The part of the party that really feels like a wedding is the wad of dough that families slap down—Quinceañera parties can bring costs of $8,000 or more.

            On the day of the party, the Quinceañera and her attendants ride cars colored with streamers matching the colors of their dresses.  The streamers on the Quinceañera car are white, also, mixed with the theme colors of her party.

  The first stop of the decorated cars is the church. The religious ceremony begins with a procession that includes the damas and their escorts followed by the Quinceañera on her father’s arm.  Once at the alter, the birthday girl lays down a bouquet of flowers, her rosary, and her prayer books, symbols of a childhood which she is now leaving.  She is given a medal of her saint and a birthstone ring, her first adult jewelry, a crown and a new bouquet.  She then leaves the church on the arm of her escort.

            Following the church, the group has dinner, often including a wedding-like cake with as many as seven layers decorated with frosting in her colors.  The court lines the floor and the Master of Ceremonies says the girl’s name—this announcement is the Quinceañera's official moment of entry into adulthood. The youngest person in the family gives the Quinceañera a doll that is wearing the girl’s party dress, a symbol that she is no longer a child. Next, the girl’s mother brings her a pair of heels.  Her mother removes the girl’s slippers and puts the new shoes on her feet.  Then, the whole group dances the waltz they have been perfecting.

Sources and further reading:

 http://www.therosedress.com/Quinceanera/Quinceanera_Dresses_Tradition.asp

Mini-Fridge Beer Cannon

Here is an invention that Homer Simpson would love. Just what the dedicated couch potato needs, a mini-fridge that catapults a can of beer right into your hand so you don’t have to get off your butt. And, it is controlled with an iPhone app. They really do have an app for anything!

 

Shadows of Obsession


Shadows of Obsession, An erotic novel that cautions us that sometimes one touch, one taste of undulated ecstasy, or one chance encounter, is all it takes to become the object of someone's affection, or the desire to become someone's obsessional affliction

  An erotic psychological thriller that sets the heart racing, and the pulse pounding

  An intimate romance that indulges your wildest and illicit fantasies

  

My Pop Music Cycle

I normally don’t take well to popular music—at least when it’s current. The pop music of my grandparent’s and parent’s time is always awesome to me, but I can seldom tolerate the stuff that’s hot “right now.” It could be because everyone else likes it and plays it all. Of. The. Time. It’s like Christmas songs in November; you just can’t take it anymore and if you have to endure another minute you’ll start ripping out people’s insides.

Or maybe it’s just because it’s so trendy. Normally I can’t stand trends; I stopped wearing black makeup and clothing in school when everyone else did because I didn’t want to be a part of that. I just wanted to be me. Now and then there might be a pop song I like, but normally there aren’t many, if any at all.

But it seems like every few years I go through a pop cycle—kind of like how the phoenix dies and comes back—and this seems to be one of those years. The last one I can remember was when my daughter was born and I was into everything Rent; I also remember being into Beyonce and the Pussycat Dolls and Justin Timberlake (“Sexyback” was my doing the dishes music) and—oh, hell, you get the idea, and it’s embarrassing enough without having to remember it all.

Now it seems to be coming back yet again. I find myself avoiding my mp3 player, opting instead for the pop station on TV or the radio, hoping to hear Pink’s “Raise Your Glass” or Cee Lo’s “Forget You.” I am completely in love with Florence and the Machine’s “Dog Days Are Over,” and after both seeing and hearing Adele perform “Rolling in the Deep,” I think I may have a new favorite female songstress. (Holy cheetahs, is that song gorgeous—as is her voice!)

The thing is, I don’t want to feel “guilty” or embarrassed about this. I can acknowledge that it’s popular music, that other people like it, and that some of it may not even be very good while still liking it, right? The worst thing that could happen is that one of my friends, who is a bit of a music snob, could make fun of me, and I can take it. The next time she needs me to babysit, I could always just say something along the lines of, “You have to say Bruno Mars is awesome first!”

The Tiger takes the big show, Schwartzel takes the win.

At the Masters --The King of Golf remains the King of Golf

Yesterday, Sunday, South African golfer, Charl Schwartzel, won the Master by two
shot. Second mentioned in the golfing news, after the name of the winner, was Tiger Woods. The Associated Press noted, " Tiger Woods finished in a group four off the lead." The 2011 Tiger is not the old Tiger, roaring in with the wins, But as long as he is near the front of the pack and not trailing in the dismal downs, fans can hear him roaring, no matter how faint, and all is right in the world of golf. Fans know the Tiger is there.

Tiger Woods made a late charge at Masters, like he was on a comeback mission, then his progress stalled and he wasn't able to reach the goal of another green jacket and his fifteen major victory. He shot a very good 31 on the front nine at Augusta National on Sunday, and everybody was ready. The TV network executives were especially happy and hopeful. The show, a real reality show, had excitement and drama. But then, the Tiger who has won the Masters four times wouldn't on Sunday. He missed a birdie putt at 16, from there the roller-coaster ride was downhill. But his ability to make a surge reminded the world of golf that when the Tiger is on his game, there is no better golfer on the field.

With relatively new names like Charl Schwartzel, winning his first majors title, and the two runners up, Adam Scott and Jason Day, and the rise of no new dominate player, Tiger Woods, because of his past performances, and his never says die efforts on the greens, remains the King of Golf.

Horror At A School In Brazil

Yesterday, Thursday, a crazy man entered a school in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and opened fire on children. He killed ten girls and two boys, injured eighteen other children, then he killed himself.

The killer was twenty three years old and a former pupil. He walked into the school. He was wearing a suit. He said had come to give a lecture, then went into a classroom and started shooting. Some of the wounded children escaped. To get a sense of this horror, see the CCTV video of terrified children escaping. According to press reports, the children contacted the police. The man shot himself in the head when confronted by police officers.

From the BBC -- "The shooting was still going on when I arrived at the school," military police Sgt Marcio Alves told O Globo. "I found him on the second floor coming out of a classroom. He pointed his gun in my direction, he got shot and fell, and immediately committed suicide."

The man left a note saying that he wanted to kill himself. So he was on a suicide mission?

What can I say about this? These things happen? We have nuts among us? This could happen anywhere? Anytime? May Heaven forgive us all?

What I have to say about this is blunt. The killer wanted to commit suicide? In cases like this, and there have been many, why can't the shooter just shoot himself first?

Innocent kids lost their lives. Among the survivors, according to press reports, some kids were covered in blood. Those kids who weren't bloodied will have nightmares.

The murderer? Damn him.

Item from One TV1 Channel-- "School massacre in Brazil shooting caught on tape 2011, This is the security camera from the hall, moment of the school shooting footage." See the video.

Elizabeth Taylor, R.I.P

She was a beauty in her time. She defined beauty. She was the beautiful woman. She defined glamor. She was the role model for celebrity. She was a great actress. Check out "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?", "Butterfield 8," "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" and "Suddenly, Last Summer." She was Elizabeth Taylor, super star, one of those bigger than life persons who was a dominate force in popular culture of the 1950s and mid-1960s. She made good films, but became more famous than her films. She became who she was Elizabeth Taylor, personality, celebrity, rich, and interesting for being Elizabeth Taylor.

She was an American icon. News? Gossip about her life, and her romances, and her marriages sucked up more than her share of the space of the fan magazines of her era. She and the man whom she called the love of her life, Richard Burton, may be forever listed among the most romantic couples of history and of literature. She began making films at age nine, made more than fifty movies, had a public career of over seventy years. She died this morning,Wednesday in a Los Angeles hospital . She was seventy nine years old..

Elizabeth Taylor lived a good life. She had a successful career. She made money and she gave back in humanitarian work .In 1993, for her advocacy for AIDS research and for other humanitarian work, she received a special Oscar, the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award, in her acceptance speech she said, "I call upon you to draw from the depths of your being - to prove that we are a human race, to prove that our love outweighs our need to hate, that our compassion is more compelling than our need to blame."

I remember her work well. I saw many of her movies. Followed her life on televisions. Watched her on TV handing out the best picture Oscar at the Academy awards. For years she defined what a movie star is supposed to be. Elizabeth Taylor, R.I.P.

Sandra Bullock: An Oscar Win Didn't Make 2010 a Great Year For Her

Sandra Bullock. Need I say more? OK, I probably do need to say a bit more. Last year was supposed to be Sandra Bullock’s year. After all, the 45-year-old actress won her first Oscar for her role in The Blind Side in 2010. (Surprisingly, none of the critics or other Oscar participants criticized the bold move to award Sandra with the Oscar.) Sandra Bullock seemed to have it all until the details of her marriage to Jesse James hit the tabloids.

 

The story of Sandra Bullock’s marriage (and divorce) to Jesse James wouldn’t be out of place in one of the movies Sandra Bullock stars in. As romantic as monster trucks can be—and believe me I know—it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when the famed actress sparked a love connection with Jesse James on the set of Monster Garage in 2003.  The couple was married two years later—the ceremony was so cute—Sandra Bullock arrived in a monster truck; it seemed like the couple would live happily ever after.

 

Sandra’s fairy tale marriage ended on an ugly note.  After her Oscar win, her rocky marriage was exposed to the public. Jesse James apologized publicly for screwing a tattoo model, and soon after went to treatment for “personal issues.” Sandra Bullock filed for divorce soon after, but for the spring of 2010, her failed marriage was on the lips of more than just Paris Hilton and everyone knew about Jesse’s women. 

 

Fortunately for Sandra Bullock, the world was on her side. Jesse James’ publicity wasn’t helped much by the pics of him in Nazi regalia that circulated around the net and his later lovers did not rate him all that high on a scale of one to ten in the bedroom department. 

 

Jesse James did have at least one person on his side.  One of Jesse James’ “friends”—who refused to be named—told US magazine that the Nazi pictures were all fun and games and that they were just part of “biker culture” and that Jesse James “wasn’t a skinhead.” His comments did not sway the world’s opinion about the actress’ former philandering husband.  Jesse James is now engaged to Kat Von D. and has a book deal to write his memoirs.

How’s Sandra doing? She seems to be ok.  Sandra Bullock is focusing on her son who she adopted early last year and is denying rumors that she is having a romantic liason with Ryan Reynolds.

Four Things that Annoy Me about ABC's "Greek"

First off, a confession.

I have used my Netflix account to watch television shows that I would never have watched ordinarily. Over the course of three days, I watched twelve back-to-back episodes of Greek for the first and (hopefully) last time. 

Please understand me; I was sick with a cold and couldn’t concentrate on Battlestar Galactica—I’m currently on season four—because I accidentally skipped half a season. I know that a cold may seem like a lame excuse for watching a TV show about the Greek system, but my head was swimmy and I thought it would be fun to make fun of the show. (Of course, since I was watching the show by myself, making fun of it lost some of its thrill.)

I was annoyed by Greek right away. I won’t keep you waiting—here’s my incredibly complicated list about the things that annoyed me about Greek.

Things That Annoy Me about Greek

1.  The bar in Greek: It’s too fancy to be a college-type bar, all ages can drink there—even the dorky freshman Rusty never gets carded--and it seems to be the only bar in the entire town. (Granted, I didn’t attend the same college, but most college towns have more than one bar since getting drunk, having sex, and puking is what college is all about.)

2.  The black, gay fraternity brother Calvin in Greek: Calvin has too many strikes against him from the get-go. I know that it probably represents a certain segment of the population, but how many smoking hot, black, openly gay guys (with preacher dads) actually pledge fraternities? Not too many. His character reminds me of the gay, deaf character in the stupid Sarah Jessica Parker Christmas movie. I understand the need to be PC, but this is OTT. The character himself isn’t that annoying, but the fact that he exists at all is.

3. The incredible power of the sorority presidents in Greek: The presidents of the main sorority in Greek wield enormous influence and power over the lives of their hapless (and lesser) sorority sisters in Greek. A sorority president’s power includes more than just room selection and control over pledges; the president of a sorority can force her sorority sisters to date (or break up) frat guys based solely on their ability to help the image of the sorority. While I was never a member of the Greek system, I haven’t come across too many sorority sisters who are that power-hungry.

4.  Greek’s  main character, Rusty:  Rusty is just a wimp—he is nothing like his beer-swilling namesake from the National Lampoon’s Vacation movies; there is nothing all that likable about him at all and the whole idea that smart guys don’t pledge frats just isn’t true.

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