I’ll Tumble For Ya. Or Not.

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So, Tumblr‘s been around for a while now and while I am an “early adopter” and “social media geek” and a professional web designer, I still do not understand the thrill of Tumblr. Perhaps you can convince me why I should like it. I do know of friends who use it — and I have my own (unused) account as well, just to see.  There are sites I like that use it (Clients from Hell, specifically), so I don’t hate it, I just don’t “get it”. Why not just use a regular blog?

My issues with Tumblr:

You can’t like it or share it unless you’re on Tumblr.

I find this totally frustrating. I see something interesting on Tumblr and there is no “Share to Facebook” or “Tweet this” or any other built-in feature like this. If I want to share it with someone else, I seem to be only able to share it with other Tumblr users via my own Tumblr account. I can’t even “like” it.  The only default way to share it is to copy the link and share it that way, which I’ve done, but it seems silly to not have that built-in.

I have seen a few Tumblrs customized to include these features, but few… very few.

Micro-Blogging vagueness

Microblogging makes me crazy. I realize that Twitter is technically microblogging, but at least there’s usually context and the links go to the original source. When I go to someone’s primary website and all I see are vague images with unspecific or no titles, an occasional quote or some out-of-context screenshot, I go away. I click off. I find a happy place somewhere else where people use their words.

Link It, Bitches

No one seems to know how to link to anything on Tumblr. When I go to Pinterest, I see a zillion cool posts, but when I click the photo and can’t find what I’m looking for 99.9% of the time it’s because they found it on Tumblr. Now, I realize some onus is on the Pinterest pinner to link appropriately, but if it’s not obvious how to get a permalink or permalinks aren’t a regular part of the user interface, I can’t blame the pinner entirely.

Hey, That’s My Post!

I know a few quality posters on Tumblr. My friend Will posts really thoughtful full-text posts on Tumblr in A Year of Billy Joel, which is awesome if you’re not reading it.  This I can abide.

However, if it were me, I wouldn’t want someone to be able to simply click “tumble it” or whatever and have my entire, well-thought-out, well-written post suddenly appearing on someone else’s Tumblr account. People don’t always link to the original source, so it’s too easy to claim the work as your own. AND, if anyone is looking for your post or do any Google searches, it’s possible that they’ll end up at Joe Schmo’s Tumblr where once upon a time they tumbled one of your blog posts and now they’re there instead of at your post, where they should be. It just seems to dilute your content and spread it a little thin, in my opinion.

I’ve heard arguments that you can do the same thing with Facebook, with Twitter and you can, to an extent. But when I share a post on Twitter, it goes to the original link. When I share a post on Facebook, the links go to the original article. They don’t go to Joe Bob’s Tumblr where I see that he shared it from Tim Bob who shared it from Bob Bob and maybe someday, I’ll find the original article.

Spreading Yourself Too Thin

If you use Tumblr as your primary blog, your domain, your one-stop shop to find all things you, fine. Go to town. But most people don’t. They have a website which may or may not have a blog (but usually does), they’ll have Twitter and Facebook and then also a Tumblr.  I have good friends who do this, so I’m not bashing them, I just don’t get it.   Why do I want to read your Tumblr when I could just read your blog? Why not just pull your Tumblr into your blog? Or just skip the Tumblr entirely and post it on your blog. Isn’t that what it’s for?

But hey, maybe I’m just an old school blogger fart who doesn’t get it. Maybe I’m unaware of Tumblr features that allow/prevent the things I’m bitching about. I’ll be happy to claim ignorance and am totally open to being educated otherwise. But for now, I just don’t get it.

Hit me with your best shot. Convert me, Tumblrites.

Yo, Mama.

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Lulu and JoelleI read a post shared on Facebook this morning that was in reply to another post on HuffPo that now has me writing this post in a fit of “what the fuck?!”. I have already been ranting on my Facebook profile about it, but I need to expound and can’t full express my indignation in that tiny font.

First, the original article: Pet Parents are NOT Moms by (apparent soulless twat) Susan Maushart. The title alone is enough to give you an indication of why I’m incensed.

In late April, Ms. Maushart posted this article on HuffPo filled with blanket statements on pet stupidity and how “real parents” don’t live in a fantasy world. She claims pets “eat their own vomit” and “run into traffic” and in no way equate to human children and the work involved in raising them.

I’m not suggesting that raising pets is the same as raising children. I’m sure raising children is very hard work and I admire the women, like my best friend Kathy, who do it every day and do it well, even when it’s hard.

But has Maushart ever been to Wal-mart?  There are plenty of human children that run into the street, eat gum off the sidewalk and shove things in their nose/ass/ears. Kids grab their own junk, pee on the floor and tell strangers about how daddy likes to read magazines in the bathroom (let’s see a dog do that!)  They’ll eat their own vomit and crap, too, if we — as parents — don’t tell them not to. Lulu would eat the carpet/run out into the street/dig at the wall if I didn’t I tell her not to. It’s called parenting.

Maushart (I want to make immature “shart” jokes, but I fear it would weaken my argument) also turned her nose up at things like veterinary insurance. So, if her pet was hit by a car… what? She’d just let it die because oh well, it’s just a stupid animal? Veterinary insurance, while I don’t have it, seems like a reasonable investment, considering the high cost of medical bills, both human and animal. My rabbit Lulu is a valued member of my family. If she got sick or injured, I’d want to do whatever I  could to save her. But I don’t have the scratch for cancer treatments or surgery bills, so that’s where insurance comes in. Maushart’s implication is that you just let the animal go, because hey, it’s just a pet.

Dorian Wagner on Catster.com wrote an eloquent response to this in her rebuttal, “Hey, Susan Maushart: Pet Moms ARE Real Moms!” so I won’t rehash it — I’ll just encourage you to read her post.

But, what in Maushart’s original article really lights a fire in me is the high and mighty-ness, the condescension, the outright judgement… as I said on Facebook, the internet has us up to our collective ass in mom superiority and I am SO OVER IT.

Look, I had a mom, I have good, dear friends who are moms, many of you reading this are moms. I probably like you and have no issue with your life. I also don’t tell you how to raise your kids. I don’t tell you how you aren’t a REAL mom because your kid stuck crayons up his nose or carried dog shit around the yard. Why? Becuse you’re the mom and that’s your deal. I might stop your rogue child from running into the street — because as roadkill goes, I’m more accustomed to things like squirrels and armadillos, not people, but ultimately, the parenting is on you. You’re the mama.

So where the hell does this Maushart broad get off dictating and judging how I build my family? There are many women in this world who cannot have children — should they be denied the right to love and nurture another living creature, raising it as a part of her family, simply because she can’t have her own? Or can’t adopt? Or otherwise chooses not to have children?

I’m not carrying Lulu around in a baby bjorn or dressing her up like Little House on the Prairie and putting her in a crib. There are definitely folks who take the “baby” aspect of pet ownership a little far, in my opinion, but that’s between the pet owner and their therapist. It’s none of my business and as long as they are providing a stable and healthy home for their pet, it’s not my place to judge them.

But, I’ve had enough. ENOUGH of this “moms are better than other women” bullshit. I love women, I respect women. And I respect the right of all women to be mothers however they choose. Being a “real mom” doesn’t give you a perfect, magic fruit-producing vagina that lets you judge everyone else.  Chances are your kid just ate dog shit anyway. Go check.

Of Nonsense and Mexican Bikers

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Sometime in the late 90′s, Allison, our friend Stef and I went to Phoenix to spend Thanksgiving with her family.  We love having holidays there, not only because her folks are awesome, warm, wonderful people, but Ali’s mom makes a point to remember our favorite liquor and keeps a stocked bar. She’s a class act.

Anyway, that particular Thanksgiving, we did the turkey thing and Leslie, Ali’s sister, made her usual dramatic commentary about the cranberries and then after some hanging out and pie, Stef, Allison and I decided to try to find a place that had karaoke.

Since it was Thanksgiving, not every bar was open, but we found one called The Purple Turtle that featured karaoke that night. Ali grew up in Phoenix, but wasn’t familiar with the place. We decided to give it a go anyway and ventured off into the crisp Arizona night.

The Purple Turtle turned out to be a Latino biker bar, or so we discovered after being frisked upon entrance, by a guy in leather pants, a mammoth belt buckle and a very, very long mustache. We must’ve looked like the three gringoest gringos from gringotown.

One very tall, very bikery, very intimidating guy stood up and gave Stef, who has hair we fondly call The Cluckle (think Corey Feldman with a short spiky gelled ‘do), the classic cross-armed stance and super stink-eye. We all looked at each other like, “Act natural.”

Then, moments later, Giant Bikery Dude broke into a huge smile and warmly invited us to sit down. The place was totally hopping, packed, with a couple of little chubby middle-aged women shaking their booties and singing Selena on the karaoke stage like it was their last night on earth.

We ordered beers, everyone was having a great time and then Stef got up to sing. In classic Stef fashion, he did Wham!’s “Careless Whisper”.  It got really awkward in there during that. Everyone looked uncomfortable, not because Stef is a bad singer — he’s quite good, but it wasn’t the right venue for that particular song, I guess.  I think Ali sang… I don’t know, something offensive, probably… and that was a big hit, as usual.  I think I did Donna Summer and c’mon, who doesn’t like a party song? But something about Wham! set the bar on edge.

When Stef finished, you could hear a pin drop. Ok, it wasn’t that quiet, but there was definitely… tension. So we paid for our drinks and hustled our happy asses out of there before he could put up Matchbox 20.

Upon arriving home, Leslie was up, so we all sat around, drinking beer and writing what we dubbed ‘nonsense poetry’.  We all just spouted words, whatever came into our head at that moment, rhyming or not, and Leslie would jot them down in a notebook in a freestyle poem.

This morning, I got an email from Allison that contained all our poems from that night — she’d found them somewhere. So, for posterity, I close with the fruits of our warped, turkey and Wham-laden minds from a night in the nineties.

It’s poetry. Dig it, man. *snaps* Continue reading →