Houston News Blog

​It happens to the best of us. One minute, you're singing its praises, zealously licking some of its naughty bits not otherwise visible to the sun, offering up your most personal information like free fellatio, and spreading your virtual legs, letting it have its way with you. And sickeningly, to both your horror and your fascination, you liked it. Every. Last. Oozing. Dripping. Sticky. Ounce of it.

And then? You came. To your senses, that is. And you terrifyingly realized that the Internet may not be getting you off any longer. So to speak.

But you're not entirely certain. Could it be? Something that once gave you hours of quivering, shivering pleasure suddenly fell limp between your thighs? Maybe all you need is one more animalistic romp to figure out whether it's only the rain making you wet.

So how do you feel out a case of Internet overstimulation? Well, if any of the following apply to you, consider yourself dry, dry, dry as a bone:

​In a press release clearly launched from the Stone Age, the Bayou City's Metropolitan Transit Authority (that's Metro, if you're nasty) puffed up its chest and triumphantly declared today that it is "expanding the conversation by adding social media tools Facebook and Twitter to its communication portfolio."

Oh goody gumdrops! Yes, folks, that's a bona fide quote, straight from the horse's mouth. We know you're trying to decide whether to yawn or vomit. Just remove your finger from your throat before you injure yourself, will you? Besides, everyone knows that you add tools to a toolbox, not to a portfolio. Except the tools themselves, perhaps. But hey, we digress.

All joshin' aside, thank both goodness and the guy in the sky that Metro is on Facebook and Twitter now. Seriously. What would you do without Metro's tweets and status updates? You'd shrivel up and perish, that's what. We're also counting our lucky stars that said momentous occasion is aptly commemorated by a Flash banner on their website. Metro's really gone big time now, eh? It's like, 2002 all up in this place!

​It's raining, it's pouring, it's really Monday morning. Wait, did you blink? Then you certainly missed the brief appearance of the sun, radiating invisible rainbows over our fair city. Is that a pleasant breeze whipping your tailfeathers 'round? Well, it's about to turn arctic; give it a second. Oh, say, giant glowing orb, you're back? Probably not for long. It is November, after all. While you won't hear any true complaints about this mild Texas fall, you probably will hear audible groans of another sort today.

Sigh. Get your head outta the gutter, pervert. It's just that it's, well, Monday, you know? It's most definitely a dreary Monday, and a moody one at that. And even though The Bangles were semi-successful in making Mondays sexy, there's a reason the '80s are dead and buried (unless you shop at American Apparel, that is). Coming off the heels of the loveliest weekend - weather-wise, mind you - in recent memory, a dragging start to the work week is certainly fitting. And try as you might, you can't possibly stay in bed with the blankets pulled up to your chin. Your boss is already keen to your inclement weather hijinks.

We know you weren't wasting your precious free days plopped in front of your computer monitor. At least, we really hope you weren't. 'Cause then we'd have to berate you, World of Warcraft whore that you are. And we're too exhausted (read: insanely hungover) to poke fun at you so soon in the day. If our vision is blurry, then yo, it's still early.

​For those of you still in the Facebook Is Utterly Useless camp, we're gonna attempt to pooh-pooh you now. That's right. Pooh-pooh with a capital P. 'Cause there ain't no arguing that Facebook is apparently good enough these days to bust you outta the slammer and clear your good name.

When police threw 19-year-old Rodney Bradford in the big house for mugging two men at gunpoint in Brooklyn on Saturday, October 17, 2009 - a crime carrying a 25-year sentence, mind you - his daddy-o turned to Facebook. He hoped to show that Bradford was actually chillin' at Dad's pad in Harlem, making fun of his pregnant, non-pancake wielding girlfriend, via his Facebook status.

Daddy-o hired the heavy hitters, who then presented the Facebook goods to the District Attorney. District Attorney Dude rang the Zuckerbergeoisie at Facebook for the documented proof that Bradford updated his account from his pop's in Harlem. Somehow that happened, and presto change-o, freedom in five steps or less!

"It all corroborated our alibis," explained attorney Robert Reuland. "The Facebook thing was really the icing on the cake. I think, ultimately, it's what prompted the DA to dismiss." Hmmm. Icing certainly is sweet, isn't it? But it's not always good for you.

​The hefty bovine heartily clearing the moon had nothin' on you when you located your closest chum from elementary school on Facebook. The only glee rivaling yours was that of the dish skippin' town with the spoon when your hometown sports hero followed you back on Twitter.

But months later, a Captain Planet episode -- featuring the lusty Planeteer Linka the Russian that you and Closest Chum salivated over after school -- jarred your brain back to that friend request. A friend request that Closest Chum seemingly never accepted, verified by the fact that his profile remains inaccessible to you. And then, following a victorious play that crowned your team league champions, you attempted to direct message your congratulations to Hometown Hero on Twitter...only to find that he had unfollowed you at a date and time unbeknownst to you.

Say what? Who the fug...? How could they effing...? Why, you oughta...!

Yup, brah. Color you cyberdismissed.

A recent CNN article explored the idea of defriending and unfollowing, concluding that "our 'digital egos' can bruise as easily as we do in person. In fact, rejection online may have the potential to sting even more." What? Why? 'Cause "people tend to think that these relationships are trivial and not very deep, but this is what we're moving towards, having a lot of our communications play out over the Internet," Purdue University social psychologist Kip Williams said. "That's the way it's becoming; this is how we interpret our worth. People care how many [online] friends they have."

Obsessives of Twitter follower numbers, fear thee not - you are not alone (although yes, we will still use you as fodder for jokes about pathetic Internet behaviors, oh yes, we will). So what happens if you've been wearing your digiheart on your digisleeve, and all of the sudden, someone comes along and cyberslices and cyberdices it to cybershreds? How do you pick up the virtual pieces and move on?

​Look. We couldn't miss the collective whoop of joyous philanderers worldwide when Al Gore sat down and decided to invent the Internet. Clandestine, illicit communication via password-protected inboxes on web platforms? On what dotted line can you sign your penis away, and how fast? Salacious messages sent straight to your cellular device under everyone's noses? Phone conversations be damned! Break out the condoms so you don't give your significant others venereal diseases, and go horizontally mambo already!

The wide world of the web has plenty of advice for checkin' up on your cheatin' cholo or chola. Hell, we even gave you some pointers on bustin' your fuckin'-'round fool a few moons ago. But what about "trust"? Is it possible to actually - gasp! - not worry your swollen lil' head off 'bout the twatcopters of your lover's loins in a land dominated by the isolation of text messaging, email, Facebook, and the like?

We think so. And don't worry; we've never been wrong before. We don't think. Besides, we'd never ever lead you astray. We side with Alanis; this is something you oughta know.

So whaddya need in order to award complete and utter trust to your mate?

​You groan as you hit snooze on your iPhone or BlackBerry's alarm, then you resume the ritual of checking your text messages, Gmail, and Twitter with bleary orbs. You drag yourself outta bed, hastily shower, pull anything that's unwrinkled and clean onto your limbs, and scurry to your car to arrive at work before the witching hour.

But the freeways are slammed, as per usual, so you post a tweet lamenting the fact that your car can't fly. To brighten your mood, you tool around on your Facebook application and giggle at your friends' Monday morning status updates while keeping one eye (or perhaps half an eye?) on the road.

In the nick of time, you roll into your place of employment, and sit down in front of your computer, where you are barraged with instant messages inquiring about your weekend activities, scads of email from co-workers and clients, and research assignments that necessitate substantial hours of internet perusal. Not to mention you've got to read the Houston Press and the Chron with that piping hot cuppa joe you've procured before any real work begins, natch.

You receive texts as the hours drag on about your plans for that evening ("Do you have plans tonight?" "What sounds good?" "Does dinner sound like a plan?" "Maybe a run 'round Memorial then Berryhill?"). And, no doubt, you surreptitiously check Gmail, Twitter, and Facebook almost as much as Outlook throughout the course of your eight-ish-hour workday.

It's all too much, isn't it?

Yes, actually, it is. Or it can be. Or it's becoming to be.

Famed cartoonist and creativity poster child Hugh MacLeod recently took it upon himself to turn his own cyber volume down by chucking his BlackBerry and leaving his laptop at the office. He said, "The 'Always-On Cul­ture' had been fee­ling oppres­sive for a while now," and deci­ded to do something about it. "Basta," Hugh says. "Badass," we say.

Does the siren song of the interwebs sing a bit too loudly for you? Well, here are a few ways you can take a shredder to its vocal chords and silence the noise for awhile:

Friday, October 30th. The day before Halloween. Not that we think this fact has escaped you, dear, dear reader. But we know exactly what predicament you're in. It's clear by the panic on your face. You don't have a Halloween costume, do you? Shame shame. But we figured.

Although it's usually par for the course that women acceptably transform themselves into raging sluts and men throw on their fathers' old suits and deem themselves golfers, Rod Stewart, or '70s pimps, you can't pull off any of that nonsense this year. We feel you. So what on earth are your options?

Well, what we geeks lack in brawn, beauty, or, ahem, body benefits, we make up for in brains, right? When all else fails, let your inner geek burn bright on Halloween night for all the world to see. After all, Belle did turn Gaston down for the Beast, didn't she? Then you've got a shot in hell, too.

The Huffington Post has been challenging its readers all week to flaunt their costumed inner techie nerds. You want to be on the cutting edge of technogeekery even on Halloween, don't you? Well, we picked out our favorite get-ups for your imitation pleasure. 'Cause we know you're flatter-tastic like that.

​By now, you gotta be pretty burned out on hearing, "There's an app for that." But sugar plum, get used to it already. 'Cause it's usually the answer to every inquiry to which your little heart desires a response these days, whether you embrace it or shun it. The latest question to be answered by said cliche? "Do you, dear sir or madam, really, truly know how to do the nasty?"

Yup. No fooling.

Obviously we're all stallions in bed, and any of us are ridin'-dirty-worthy. Of course. So there is clearly no need for such juvenility, right? Well, after you've pound-pound-pounded away at your lover (or were pounded away at, whatever you prefer) and sent shards of headboard clear into the Jetsons generation, you wonder. We've all, at one point or another, whether it was real or fake, wondered whether or not those titillating shrieks of ecstasy or those uncontrollable quakes of limbs cut the mustard. Admit it. You wanna know whether that O-face was legit.

In a move to either boost or shatter your boom-boom room confidence, there's an, uh, app for that. The Love Vibes iPhone app claims to "listen to vibrations, using three separate movement receptors to analyze your lovemaking in real-time." So, while you're bumpin' uglies, the app "analyzes pattern changes, range of movement, duration, stamina, and peak progression." And following the conclusion, you're awarded a score based on duration, passion, and variety, on a scale of 1 to 10.

​If you don't have eyes, ears, or a television set with that nonsensical converter box, you may not be aware that today kicks off early voting for stuff that's pretty crucial to the Houston political agenda. Not only can you stick your ballot in the box for City Council, City Controller, community college and public school boards and the like, but you can also plant your seed for change in the fertile soils of the Bayou City's mayoral race. So to speak.

If you believe the Chron, Houston's vote to cement our city's next mayor is not one to be missed. "At the forefront of the Houston election is the choice of a new mayor to replace term-limited Bill White in one of the nation's most powerful municipal offices." City Controller Annise Parker, Councilman Peter Brown, Former City Attorney Gene Locke, Harris County Department of Education trustee Roy Morales, and three candidates that didn't quite score front row seats on the Homecoming court's 50-yard line bleachers -- Dan Cupp, Amanda Ulman and Ralph Ullrich -- will battle it out for the title of Houston Head Cheese.

But if you're anyone who's anyone on Facebook or Twitter (read: if your network is listed as "Houston, Texas") you've probably been bombarded with friend requests from the persistent and stubborn campaign teams of the candidates. Even after you've done everything short of donating your entire paycheck to the supporter-collecting candidate's main competitor. And even after you've rejected these requests once, twice, three times more than Lionel Richie ever thought you needed to prove your worth. In short, the Houston mayoral candidates and their bumbling teams are online. With a vengeance. Everywhere. We got it.

Evidently, however, this social media usage is a groundbreaking development to KUHF.

​One day, someone ridiculously wise (or someone that was obviously getting ripped a new asshole by the media) once said, "No press is bad press." Unfortunately, that old adage probably isn't applicable to Pepsi, and won't be in this lifetime.

We suppose we shouldn't be too surprised that Pepsi developed an iPhone app to market its new AMP energy drink. Big corporate conglomerates always whip out their appendages in order to piss all over the fun technology left and right, don't they? Granted, this is nothing new for AMP, which obviously throws most of its advertising dollars at the penis-bearing segment of the population anyway. Nah, we aren't too miffed that AMP blowhards chose to bypass women altogether yet again. What does ruffle our feathers is the way they've done it.

We're biting our tongue. See the commercial for yourself below.

​

"Looks like there's gonna be an engagement party for you after all!"

"There is? Not that Nate or I know of."

"Was it supposed to be a surprise?"

"I have no idea. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, I got a Facebook invite from Cynthia, your co-worker."

"I honestly don't know anything about that."

"I figure if there's a Facebook invite, you'd figure it out soon enough."

"I haven't seen a Facebook invite."

"Hang on, let me check."

::pause::

"Uh. Um. Yeah. It actually says it's a surprise. And you're blocked from seeing it."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Cool. Well, so...yeah. We'll be there then."

"Oh, wow. Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry. Do you think you can act surprised anyway?"

"Sure, yeah, definitely. Thanks for, um, telling me. See you then."

No. That's right. Just no. No, this scenario will not happen to you. No, no, no.

Why? Because Social Distortion understands that social media isn't just for online weirdos to meet offline and share an awkward cup of coffee at an out-of-the-way java house in a remote area of the city, where they will then journey to one or the other's car in the adjacent parking lot and attempt to consummate their forced reality-based relationship by initiating uncomfortable physical contact in some way, shape, or form, following which neither will ever mention it to friends, family, or even in his or her online diary.

Ahem, that never happened.

​Whether you helped rip Zilker Park to shreds or you simply groaned inwardly (and rolled your eyes outwardly) every time someone gushed about Them Crooked Vultures, everyone's got their own brand of ACL war story to propagate. But since we know that you suckers actually ruined your Ferragamos just to get a glimpse of Eddie Vedder without a cell tower to tweet of, it's about time you return to the 21st century and find out what you missed on the internets. 'Cause no amount of Torchy's or Hut's can make up for the fact that rollin' back into work today is hurtin' real bad.

• Are you blogging for tricks? 'Fess up or pay up. The Federal Trade Commission, in yet another unprecedented move to stir the pot amongst bloggers, decreed that writing blogposts or reviews for money or free shit will getcha slapped with an $11,000 fine if you don't say so. Although seemingly targeting celebrities that abuse their endorsements, mommybloggers feelin' the sting top the ranks. Wait, wait - could that lead to less mommyblogging?! That would be a damn shame. A damn shame indeed.
• Surf's up, and if you're lucky, you've caught the Wave. The first round of Google Wave invites went out with the tide, and man, you don't have one, do you? Too bad. But never you fear. The Chosen Ones are willing and able to throw in your face that you're missing the most awesome technological advancement since ribbed condoms.

​Cyber stalkers, prolific e-haters, overzealous blog followers, Facebook poll developers and authors. Fine, fine company indeed, wouldn't you agree? But more notably, what do they all have in common? They're all enough to put a seriously debilitating quiver in your nether regions, and no, not the kind following a night with an irresistible Jake Gyllenhaal doppelganger, debaucherous flirtation, heavy-handed pours, and steamy stranger boom-boom.

This week, Big Brother was in your interwebs, snuffin' out the bad guys with your tax dolla dolla bills, y'all. And what'd they find? A Facebook poll about their boss. Yup. Joe Secret Service Agent logged into his Facebook account, a caffe misto con leche in his left hand, plonking on the keys of his government-issued Dell laptop with the other. He wrote a few messages on his friends' walls about "Where da party at?" this weekend, clicked "Maybe" to a few events to which he was invited, and stumbled upon a few Facebook polls that he hadn't already hidden in his news feed.

Okay, not entirely true. So, a blogger tipped the Secret Service off to this particular haterade poll. But we liked pretending that Secret Service agents spend all day on Facebook, just like you and me. For what it's worth, the agents were super-stoked at the information, though, thanking the blogger "over and over, saying that there would be no way for the Secret Service to catch something like this without assistance. The Internets are too vast for that." Looks
like the feds need to keep up on their Google Alerts and Google Reader.

But hold up, yo. This wasn't a garden-variety Facebook poll about El Presidente, mind you. Unless you find similarities between "Should President Obama be killed?", "What color is your past life's aura?" and "What ancient Greek musical instrument are you?" Sure, you don't get asked any of those questions, um, ever, but, ahem, one of these polls is not like the other. You may need to put your thinking cap on to figure out which.

So then what? Well, that caffe misto hit the trash fast. Over 750 people had already responded to the poll before it was yanked into oblivion, although a reported 90 percent of respondents had voted "No." Even after being provided with choices such as "Yes," "Maybe," "If He Cuts My Healthcare," and "No." Phew. What a relief! Maybe Obama can quit carrying
that pepper spray in his pocket now.

But that wasn't enough for the Director of Policy Communications for Facebook, Barry Schmitt, from "following up [with] the developer to ensure the offending content has been removed and that they have better procedures in place going forward to monitor their user-generated content."  And follow up with the developer he did, who promptly cried, "Nuance!"  After all, he wasn't the author of the poll, and besides, he has "deleted polls in the past about killing gays."

Is there some sort of award for being an upstanding citizen of the world? Judges, we think we have a candidate for you. In the meantime, the kiddo who actually authored it? Polls show 83% of voters leaning toward Facebook blackballing. We pity his high school days without it.

​It's no secret that the National Basketball Association (the NBA, if you're nasty) has had its share of notorious digital ups and downs - well, mostly downs, actually - when it comes to social media. Whether NBA players are psycho about their technology or just psycho is a judgment call best left to the discretion of the juror. But rest assured, the NBA thinks its players, coaches, and team officials are completely whack when it comes to Twitter, Facebook, and the like. And they must be stopped, damnit!

So, like any good little societal entity, the NBA is releasing a complete set of social media guidelines this week to whip these unruly villain hoopsters into cyber shape. Although a secret source told ESPN the new policy will be "very minimal" and "less stringent" than the rules announced earlier this month by the NFL, we kinda call bullshit on that. Seeing that ESPN's elusive source said that "the NBA's new policy, furthermore, will treat social-networking commentary in the same manner as comments made in the traditional media [and] anyone in the league can be fined or otherwise sanctioned for posts via Twitter, Facebook, etc., that are deemed over the line," uh, we think we might be on to something. Logic 1, NBA Thinly Veiled Rhetoric 0.

Since we figured NBA ballers are damned if they do and damned if they don't, we promulgated a few of our own expert stipulations to be incorporated into the NBA's new social media handbook. We truly hope they'll take them into consideration when drafting their set of mandates, but we promise to be only mildly miffed if they give us the finger instead.

​Although Houston rules and Dallas drools when it comes to the Battle for the Greatest Texas City, Like, Ever, even a red-blooded Houstonian would never wish an ill fate on that forgettable city to the north of us in a million years.  Well, not anything anyone else would see as harm, that is. But wouldn't it be highly entertaining if the Dallas drugstores were magically bereft of platinum hair dye, and spray tanning machines suddenly and irreparably ran dry?  It would undoubtedly cause a pandemic of dark-rooted ponytails and pasty skin, rendering Dallas the long-lost twin sister of Cleveland, Ohio.  Tsk tsk, cluck cluck.  Tragedy!  A real shame indeed.

Ahem.  But Houstonians can unanimously agree that obliterating the Fountain Place Tower in downtown Dallas would be universally abhorrent, even if it did occur in that abominable Mary Kay paradise.  So it's a damn good thing that authorities were chillin' in extremist chat rooms and caught 19-year old Hosam Maher Husein Smadi before he went and blew it up.

Yup.  You read that right. The FBI caught a terrorist while chatting online.

​Who says Facebook Groups have gone the way of the dodo? Naysayers, you're gonna hafta shut it for one red hot minute. 'Cause three weeks ago, when 17-year old Vincent Giovanazzi went missing, it was social networking that came to the rescue. Instead of organizing tearful press conferences on national television or even starting a blog, Giovanazzi's family whipped together a Facebook Group to organize a squadron of seekers. And the group grew. And grew. And grew some more. To over 1,600 strong in support of searching for and locating the lil' dude.

FACEBOOK FAN PAGES, COULD YOU HAVE DONE THAT? HUH? HUH?!

Regretfully, the manhunt did not end happily, but we don't want to dwell on that right now, 'cause it's not Facebook's fault. Fact of the matter? Facebook is obviously the modern day Harvey Milk. Activism and Facebook. Peas and carrots. Bonnie and Clyde. College and unprotected sex. Airport bathrooms and conservative politicians. Yes, you get the point. A match made in heaven indeed.

To celebrate this remarkable development in societal sea change, we wanted to highlight a few groups that make us wanna run to Walgreens, buy posterboard and permanent markers, flex our most shoutworthy vocal chords, and take some real-time action to heal the world and make it a better place.

At this point, we can all tentatively agree that Big Bad Kanye West did something kinda yucky to some doe-eyed teenage country bumpkin on stage at the MTV Video Music Awards, right? And since the incident, it's been well chronicled how he's begged for forgiveness on his website (in all caps, no less), and bashfully painted himself as a lapsed humanitarian (to overwhelming cheers) at Jay Leno's spot.  The man has done what he can to make his amends, and we should all follow his lead in moving on.  Case closed.  Door shut.  Chapter turned.  Under someone new.

And yet, Kanye's likeness remains omnipotent in the internets, making starring appearances in email forwards from your brother, father, and sister, blanketing reputable news sources like "lunch hour" executives on a golf course, and even causing Presidents (past and present) to refer to him not-so-nicely.  If you didn't know who the hell Kanye West was before the hullabaloo, you sure as shit know who he is now.

But the tomfoolery has only just begun.  That's 'cause the Kanye thing has morphed into something much larger than he is.  No, no, not into Jesus this time. Into an Internet meme.

Back up.  We know you've heard the phrase "Internet meme" before, and we know you've been too chicken shit to ask anyone what it means.  That's what Social Distortion is for - to only poke fun at you in printed form about your severe lack of tech savvy without making you feel too inadequate.  We'll leave that one to your lover.

Anyway, an "Internet meme" (which rhymes with "cream," ahem) is anything -- a concept, a video, a picture, a story, an idea - that is spread from person to person via the internets -- email, blogs, Twitter, Facebook, what have you.  You could call it an "online phenomenon," if the Stone Age suits you better.  Suffice it to say that if you've touched a computer, you've most likely spread an Internet meme whether you know it or not.  A lot like Paris Hilton and herpes, if you will.

So who else in Tinseltown (and surrounding environs) has suffered Kanye's unintended place in the Internet spotlight?

We presume (and hope and pray and are biting our toenails off from the nervous energy) that your weekends find you enjoying the sights, sounds, and scents of the grand metropolis in which we live. We also assume (even at the risk of making an ass out of you and me) that your weekends normally find you far, far away from the internets. Either that, or you have a piece-of-shit mobile phone, so you have no choice.

But it's Monday now. You're about to place your reupped beer rear into ye olde grooves in your office chair for the next eightish hours (okay, sevenish - we know you're taking that long lunch today, bravo!). But what are you going to do once your asscrack has aligned itself with the familiar ridge of the seat's padding?

You're not actually going to work are you?

Sheesh, we'd never dream of asking you to work! Not on a Monday, anyway. That's why there are four other days in the work week. You can work on those days, silly. For now, take our advice. Think of us as the big sister you never had. Thank us later.

Back to the point. While you're not working this fine Monday, what should you be doing? Voyeuristically watching other people live their lives, of course. It's called YouTube (have you heard of it?), and while you were endrunkening yourself, other people did stuff, too.

So what are people doing with their free time out there in the cyberverse?

​Oh, Facebook.  Facebook, Facebook, Facebook.  Sit down.  We needsta chat for a spell.

Looky here, Facebook.  So, yes, it's no secret that you're getting a bit pudgy, what with all the apps and the games and the quizzes and the incredibly confusing filters lining both sides of any given user's home page.  And frankly, your user interface menus over the past year or so have been, oh, how you say, reminiscent of another very popular social networking diet out there.  In plain English?  Nobody's the bigger fool than you when it comes to how grotesquely jealous you are of Twitter, and how desperately you want to capitalize on the popularity it steals from you.  Without paying for it, of course.  Oh, heavens no!  Copycatting works just as well, without any of the financial sacrifices.

But yo, you gots to level with someone, right here, right now.  Facebook Lite?!  No way, dude.  No. Muthaeffin'. Way.  You might as well have developed Twitter Plus.  Sure, the stripped down Facebook thing is nice -- you'll never see the results of any "What Flavor Condom Are You?" quizzes and the like (opportunistically, however, the ad bar remains plainly visible throughout!).  It's just, you see, what you've created and called "lite," Facebook?  IT'S ALREADY BEEN DONE.  By Twitter.  Remember Twitter?  Those folks practically invented microblogging.  And now you're trying to pull a Milli Vanilli and pass it off as your greatest performance yet.

​If there's one thing as certain as the smoldering humidity deep in the heart of Texas, it's this: Houstonians are bona fide geeks.  In a good way.

How can you tell?  'Cause revolutionary geekery reigns supreme amongst the themes of SXSW panels submitted by tech-ambitious hopefuls in the local area.

If this is all gibberish to you, here's a primer: South by Southwest (SXSW or South By, if you're nasty) is a giant conglomeration of ideas, good times, and people, held in that other kinda cool city in Texas.  There are three main components, if you will - Interactive (read: Geek Fest), Music (read: Hipster Fest), and Film (read: Artsy Fartsy Fest).  Every year, 'round this time, the geeks, the freaks, and the chics put their heads together to submit panels for next year's festival.  And the panels are up for anyone's vote.

Since it's a somewhat well-kept secret that Houston is the hands-down best city in Texas, it may come as a surprise to some that the panels submitted by Houstonians are stellar to the Nth degree.  But stellar they are.  Now you've gotta do 'em one better, and actually give 'em the click that counts.  In plain English, GO VOTE.  And remember: Voting ends TODAY, so hurry up!

There are tons and tons, so here are a few for which you might wanna consider clicking that thumbs-up button:

​Dear Steve Jobs,

Ugh.  You really think you're so damn cute, don't you?  Panther, Tiger, Leopard, Snow Leopard?  Seriously, what's the deal with naming your operating system releases after big pussies?  Like society has some sort of obsession with cats or something.  Pffft.  Yeah, Steve, that's the sound that society makes when society is deeply offended by your assumptions.  Society is not amused.

Okay, okay, look.  Feigned miffed-ness aside, the big kitty motif was kinda rad.  Cats are worthy nocturnal companions, and they make great keyboardists, too.  But truthfully, you dropped the ball with "Snow Leopard" this time.  Um, "Snow Leopard'?  Oh man.  Adding a weather condition to an existing version does not make it new or improved, Steve!  Wasn't there any other feline you could think of besides "Snow Leopard"?  Hello, what's wrong with "Cougar"?  Do you really believe everything Urban Dictionary says?  You're such a bandwagon rider, Steve.  Maybe you should've Binged instead of Googled.

Anyway, Stevie, in an effort to assist you in regaining your naming convention credibility, you'll find a few suggestions for alternate operating system nicknames below.  Since your choice of "Snow Leopard" has already been a crowd disappointment, an executive decision has been made to drop the overplayed meower theme and choose something a little more descriptive:

​You know, this week in current events really was a doozy, wouldn't you say?  Senator Ted Kennedy passed on to the crystal Kennedy camp in the afterlife, Dominick Dunne followed in his footsteps (ALERT: Old white dudes with cancer, don't walk under any ladders this week, okay?  The odds are clearly stacked against you), dogfighting sicko Michael Vick returned to the only team that'd have him in the NFL (definitely not the Texans, thanggod), and Michael Jackson's death was elevated to homicide status. And then he was deemed a pot hoarder.  Yikes.  

Oh, and Facebook 3.0 was released for the iPhone.

Wait, what?!  STOP THE SERVERS!  Shut up!  Can you believe it?!

Yes, Facebook stalkers and stalkees with iPhones alike, Facebook's app is new! Improved! New and improved!  And they're calling it the best thing since sliced bread.  Well, that's not a direct quote.  But Joe Hewitt really does deserve a series of blowjobs for the one-man show he pulled off.  An app once rendered almost useless has now been given a shave, a haircut, a tummy tuck, and a facelift, all in one fell swoop.

Are you unconvinced that this is a life-changing development?  Fear thee not, Doubting Toms and Tanias.  Words and phrases such as "snappy," "the perfect app," and "brings you closer to a full desktop experience" have been used to describe this puppy (hey, Michael Vick, does that word tempt you?).

Facebook ceremoniously laid it all out in a blogpost (okay, okay, it was in "Facebook Notes," to keep the branding straight, sheesh) last week.  The laundry list of highlights include:

​Twitter is faced with a looming problem these days. As it grows in popularity (and in users), Twitter backlash has grown alongside it. Non-Twitter users don't understand the social opportunities associated with using Twitter and how Twitterers can quickly become part of networks that were never previously available to them (or that they simply never knew of before). They don't fully understand the technology behind Twitter -- that is, that you don't just view a public timeline, but only the Tweets of those whom you follow. And -- perhaps -- most importantly, they don't seem to understand why people would feel the need to publicly broadcast their every move, feeling, meal, emotion, bowel movement, etc.

And the fault for that last issue lies squarely with Twitter users themselves, specifically the annoying Twitterers that make Twitter look bad for the rest of us. You know the ones. These people are ruining Twitter and deserve to be called on it. Unfollow them. Block them if need be. But send them a message: Get a goddamned diary or get off Twitter.

The following are the seven most annoying Twitter users you'll come across online. The Tweets are real; the names have been left off to protect the users (but you know how to find them, don't you?).

1. The Morrissey: "Just woke up feeling totally depressed! I hate that I had to wake up to this terrible world, yet again! Ugh this sucks  :("  Yes. Poor, poor, pitiful you. That's what we all want to see first thing in the morning when we log into Twitter; how incapable you are of functioning without medication. It's one thing if you're a normally upbeat person who's having a tough day, or even a tough week. But when your entire Twitter stream is nothing but hourly updates on how miserably depressed you are, do us all a favor: Visit a fucking shrink. Even better? Get that lithium prescription refilled.

​Take a stroll down any aisle in Target.  Pirouette through the airy walkways at the Houston Zoo.  Squint your eyes in disbelief at a nearly abandoned Discovery Green.  Go ahead; try it.  There's something markedly different in the world today, isn't there?

Oh, helloooooo, Big Yellow School Bus!  Does this mean...?  Is it that time...?  YES!  School's back in session!

Whether you're finally attempting to buy that High School Musical 2 lunchbox you couldn't wrestle from the iron grip of a nine-year-old diva-in-training at Wal-Mart, or you're artfully dodging ankle-biters and orange-clad crossing guards in the pedestrian crosswalks, make no bones about it -- school's b-b-b-back in, baby.  Daycare be damned, Mead's ridin' high again, educators have cleared the shelves of startling-colored pens, and local kid-centric businesses throughout the Bayou City are scrambling to determine whether summer staycations were enough to lift their heads outta the reds.

Continue reading " While You Weren't Tweeting: It's"...

​He's the cutest thing since a sweet-cheeked tabby soulfully cozied up to the ivories on a piano.  He makes you laugh harder than that time an errant seagull dropped a big ol' load in your sister's ice cream at the Pasadena Strawberry Festival in 1984.  He looks good on paper...and from behind, too.  And you're already hoping your kids will have his lips and your eyes.  And his ears and your nose.  But definitely not his hair.

So you exchanged numbers under the thinly-veiled guise of "if you ever need anything."  Pretty soon, he's become a permanent fixture in your bedroom and in your vocabulary, and his can of Barbasol has left a rusty ring on the rim of your bathroom sink.

Sigh.  It's love!  Or is it?

Something's amiss, but you're not sure what.  He's been nothing but faithful, loyal, and most importantly, obedient.  No one's ever witnessed him carousing with your slutty equivalent, and even the most far-fetched of his stories can always be corroborated.  But you still have the nagging feeling that you've given him the benefit of the doubt one too many times, and now, you need some answers.

Girl, is he cyber playing your ass?  Ask yourself:

When you're an iPhone owner, not only are you better than everyone else (obvs), but the lifeblood of your technological slice of gadget heaven is your applications, or "apps," if you're nasty.  An integral part of your holy iPhone identity really shines through the apps you choose to rely on when you hit that home button.  And since iPhoneness is next to godliness, your home apps screen really is a window into your soul.  So let's ride with your iPhone's home app screen open so you can be closer to God, shall we?

​The Control Freak:  Who needs to have a grip on reality at all times?  You do, you do!  And like Shakira's hips, your iPhone don't lie.  Listen, home screen app space is prime real estate, right?  So when some of your key apps include Settings, the App Store, Evernote, and Mint.com, dude, you might wanna lay off the uppers for a few hours.  But you've probably got an app to manage that on a secondary screen, ahem.  And check out that entire blank row without a lowly icon in sight!  Now you've gone and made Baby Jesus cry.  How about some social networking up in this grill?  Ever hear of a dandy little website called "Facebook," perhaps?  People make just as acceptable friends as computers do, you know.  Yes, it's mildly thrilling that Tweetie was thrown in as a desperate dig at a shard of street cred, but it's not enough to pass muster on your inability to crack a smile and let your hair down.  Your iPhone might as well be a virtual remote control for your life. Now where's your "Play" button?

​In a sprawling metropolis like Houston, how the hell do you decide what to do on the weekends?  Sure, you could subscribe to the latest newsletter for every single entertainment venue that mildly interests you in the region.  'Cause that totally worked in 2002.  So what if it's a big city, right?  Gmail's got a bazillion megabytes of storage, right?

Wrong.  Well, not technically wrong, but morally wrong.  You do realize you don't need all that noise.  You're killing kittens by subscribing and then promptly sending those e-blasts to the Trash folder as soon as they arrive, you know.  And all you really need is Twitter to get your weekend rolling at a pretty pace.

Look.  Get over your hatred of Twitter already.  It's practically one-stop shopping.  For example, when the heat index hits oh-mah-gah-I-can't-take-this-anymore degrees, think about plunking your ass down in the air conditioning at a place that isn't your house or the local watering hole. Mildred's Umbrella Theater Company's production of "Last Easter" hits the stage for the, um, last time this weekend, and the Houston Theater District's got you covered on more fronts than one if you need more options.  For less soliloquy and more soul, you've got Bob Schneider gigging at McGonigel's Mucky Duck and salsa and merengue at the House of Blues.  Girl, you can totally handle that.

Oh, wusses, never fear!

Continue reading " Social Distortion: Twitter Is Your"...

Actual swami not pictured.

​Dear Social Media Swami,

I think my girlfriend's social media obsession is out of control.  At any given time, she's either on the computer or checking her iPhone for the latest stuff happening on Twitter, Facebook, or whatever.  She hates being bothered while she's doing it, and she's so into it.  It's really hurt our relationship.  I feel like we barely do stuff anymore without her totally tuning me out for the Internet.  The other day, she even updated her Facebook status while I was going down on her.  What can I do to get my girlfriend back?

Signed,
Social Media Widower

***

Dear Social Media Widower,

Listen, guy, you've got two options here: Beat 'em, or join 'em.