The "Truthiness" of Social Media

We have evolved into a society that doesn’t care about facts. And it's easier than ever not to care. All you have to do is post or tweet or forward some rumor about dogs and ice water or dialing *112, and it becomes instant truth.

Gone are the days of research and cross-referencing. My Facebook news feed runs rampant with conspiracy theories, breaking fake news stories (I'm not talking about ironic, satirical news either), and supposed scam or crime prevention tactics. And I don't think I have that many crazy friends. People just don't care whether or not anything is true anymore. Because if they did, they would have looked it up on Snopes first.

If I believed everything I read on the web, I would be suffering from pancreatitis (a side ache), heart attacks (gas pains), and Lyme disease (an ingrown hair).

Let's just say my Internet weakness is self-diagnosis. WebMD is now blocked at my house.

"It's not that people necessarily believe if stuff is true or false," I said to my husband, Dan. "They just don't care if it's true or false. And social media is the cause. It's easy to click share or retweet and not take responsibility for the content you're clicking on."

"Are you sure it's not Fox News that started the 'I don't care about facts' thing?" Dan replied.

"Ha ha! Burn! Good one, Dan! Or . . . actually, there's a lot of truth to that . . . Sad."

Besides social media, we have this twenty-four-hour news cycle that is expected to generate breaking news all day, everyday. The danger is that it leaves little room for things like . . . well . . . fact-checking. Case in point: CNN's disastrous reporting during the Boston bombings.

Twitter and other microblogging sites make it simple for Joe Schmoe without any expertise or credibility to comment on everything. People can be tried and sentenced in the court of the blog-o-sphere before they are even arrested. (Yes, I know I am a contributor to the blog-o-sphere. I'd like to think that I am one of the smart ones. That's probably what Joe Schmoe down the street is telling himself too.)

Anyone can say anything they want and someone will believe them. Dinosaurs and humans walked together on this earth a few thousand years ago. Global warming is a hoax. Obama is going to come to your house and steal your guns. We have turned into a misinformed, paranoid society.

Not that there weren't paranoid, anti-government crazies out there before. We have a magical land called Northern Idaho in our state. But social media gives these used-to-be fringe characters a mainstream outlet.

After getting fed up with the number of alarmist forwarded e-mails and Facebook posts I had seen in the past few months, I mentioned in passing one day, "I don't believe anything I read on the Internet."

Slight exaggeration. I still believe some things on the Internet. Like the fact that I have pancreatitis.

The person with whom I was conversing gave me an incredulous look, "How do you get your information then?"

Oh dear. This world is doomed to devolve into a mass of stupidity.

I get my information the way I always did pre-Internet. I read. I think. I look up multiple perspectives on topics. I listen to experts. I keep my mouth shut about stuff I'm not sure about. And I don't blindly pass false information along.

Just because it's on the Interwebs doesn't make it true.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Smartphones: Not the Smartest Way to Prove You Care

A few years ago, my husband, Dan, and I visited New York. I came home with this story about these three young women who were sitting together at a deli. But instead of actually sharing a meal and conversation like friends normally would, they spent the entire time in silence, on their phones.

At the time, I thought this illustrated the cold, driven nature of New Yorkers. But in reality, it was a trend, like so many other things East Coast, that hadn't reached Idaho quite yet.

One of my teacher friends observed a similar phenomenon at a local restaurant a few months ago.

"I watched this family, and every member sat on their phones throughout the entire meal. I thought the mother or father would tell the kids to put the phone down once the food arrived."

Congratulations, Idaho. You have caught up with New York. Your time is now consumed with all things mobile device. Don't stop now! I want you to at least finish my blog.

One morning, I had my backpack and badge on, my lunch bag slung over my shoulder, and I told Dan that I was leaving for work.

He was on his phone.

"I've got to go."

Silence.

"I'm leaving now."

Silence.

"I'm walking out the door."

Silence.

"Dan, I'm leaving!" I finally yelled.

That got his attention, and he looked at me like, "Why didn't you tell me in the first place? Do you really need to yell about it?"

Dan and I have been known to spend hours in a room, visiting with people who never once look up from their devices while they "talk" to us. We have been in discussions with people who give us the impression that we have their undivided attention, only to realize that these people have balanced a phone on the arm of a couch or a chair so that they can look down and check for texts or something else of dire importance mid-conversation.

I have received strange and/or horrified looks when I mention that I keep my phone on vibrate most of the time and that I don't get my messages right away. I am just as likely to check my land line for messages. Surprise, surprise! I don't want to be on call 24-7, and my smartphone is not a vehicle for that. (Yes, Dan and I still have a land line. I don't like to give my cell number to every person/corporation in the world.)

That's not to say that Dan and I don't pull out our own phones when we are being ignored or are bored. I use my phone a lot to pass the time. We even pull them out when we want to look up something quickly that might contribute to a conversation.

It is a fine line though. Have you ever been mid-discussion and had a question about something? Someone looks up said info and starts to read to him/herself silently and mutter comments. Pretty soon, they have clicked on a few extra links, and they are in the middle of a Wikipedia trap . . . without you.

News flash! You are no longer involved in that conversation. That person has chosen his/her phone over you.

Even Dan, who we've already established loves playing on his phone and hates talking to people, finds it refreshing to visit with friends and family members sans phones.

A couple of weekends ago, we hung out with a fellow Gen-X couple. It was refreshing to make eye contact and have an actual conversation while our phones were on the other side of the room. It reminded me of the good old pre-smartphone days. In fact, it was probably the most pleasant and attentive conversation Dan and I have been a part of since the smartphone craze hit.

If Dan and I, who are both slightly antisocial, miss this kind of human contact, I can't imagine what it might be doing to the more extroverted, people-loving segments of our society. In any case, Dan and I have found that the following phone etiquette works well for us.

• If someone is speaking directly to us or we are speaking to him/her, we put down our phones and give him/her our full attention.
• We do not use phones in restaurants especially when the server is at our table. That's just rude.
• We do not use phones in any place of business when someone in a service position is talking to us.
• We do not keep our phones on the nightstand. The bedroom is for sleeping only and . . . one other thing. (I'll let you use your imagination.)
• We do not check our phones when we are talking to each other.

You have reached the end of the article. Now you can turn off your phone or mobile device any time you would like.

In case you didn't catch my drift, put the damn phones down once in a while, people!

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

The Day the Fridge Went Bad

On Monday, we returned from a nice, relaxing trip to Seattle. As I opened the fridge to unpack the food items, I realized it was hot and smelly and a little humid inside.

"This is bad. This is really bad," I said.

I found my husband, Dan, who was in the garage, still emptying the car.

"Our refrigerator isn't cold. And it smells."

"Uh oh," he replied.

Every time we go out of town, our appliances break down. Once, our furnace went out during a winter weekend getaway. Another time, the AC thermostat quit working upon our return from summer vacation. Now our refrigerator. Being a grown-up sucks.

We tried to go through Sears first, and they were booked until Saturday. Apparently, "Not Able to Store Perishable Foods" does not qualify as a "Requires Immediate Response" emergency.

We started cleaning the freezer. The truth is, Dan started cleaning the freezer that evening because I had a rehearsal. I left explicit instructions to use only vinegar spray and lemon oil wipes, but I think he sneaked some 409 while I was gone. ("It just works better.") I came home from rehearsal, and our fridge and freezer were bare. No more food.

The next morning, we called a local service and got an appointment for sometime between eleven and two. (You know how that goes. Translation: 1:45.)

"I like their website," Dan said when choosing which repair service to call.

Then we cleaned the fridge. It desperately needed it anyway. In fact, a few weeks ago, I had announced, "Once school is out, I am going to clean the fridge."

That was a careful-what-you-wish-for moment.

Notice who is doing most of the cleaning

The repairman with the good-looking website showed up that afternoon. He mentioned that he had graduated from the University of Idaho. Dan decided he had made the best choice humanly possible in the Refrigerator Repair Universe.

(U of I is also Dan's alma mater. U of I grads are very proud of their "I graduated from the Ivy League of the West" status. In reality, they are just jealous of Boise State's football team.)

The repairman removed a part from the fridge and said, "This isn't supposed to rattle like this."

He replaced the rattling thingy with a new thingy and waited. Pretty soon, the fridge started working. The whole process took about thirty minutes. And Sears couldn't fit us in until Saturday?

I went grocery shopping the next day, still mourning the loss of all of our wasted food. I told the cashier about our refrigerator woes.

"Good luck with your issues," he said as I rolled my cart out the door.

As I put away the groceries, I thought, "It feels so good to start over. I almost hate to fill it back up. Our fridge is going to stay this clean forever."

We all have the best intentions, don't we?

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A Day (Or Two) in the Life of Turning Thirty-Five (RE-POST from 2012)

I am celebrating my birthday this weekend, and you can probably do the math and figure out that I am not turning thirty-five again this year. However, like Charlotte on Sex and the City, I am stopping at thirty-five. So here is a recap of my real thirty-fifth birthday. Enjoy!

My "Turning Thirty-Five" journal:

Monday, June 4 (One day to thirty-five)

10:10 a.m.
I go to an ENT to get my ears cleaned out because I haven't been able to hear properly for about three months. The doctor says it is almost like I've been walking around wearing ear plugs everyday. He is right. I feel like a super hero with extra-sensory powers now. Is a surplus in ear wax a byproduct of old age? Actually, I have been dealing with excessive ear wax since my early twenties, so I will say no. It's not a byproduct of old age, just something weird that happens to me.

11:00 a.m.
I drive over to Best Buy to pick up a present for Dan. Wait, isn't it my birthday tomorrow?

"I think I'll order myself the Game of Thrones DVD set for your birthday."

"You're buying yourself a present on my birthday?"

"Yes," he hesitates. "I hope you like the other present I got you."

"Yeah, me too," I grumble.

Secretly excited about the new Game of Thrones DVD though, I offer to pick it up for him after my ENT appointment.

"It's my birthday after all. Maybe I'll even watch an episode with you tonight."

3:00 p.m.
I can't find my flash drive, the same flash drive that backs up my school computer. My school computer is getting re-imaged this summer, so this flash drive is somewhat necessary. I call Dan and freak out a little. He helps me retrace my steps to no avail. I am pretty sure I dropped it on my way out to the car on the last day of school. I reluctantly decide to go into my classroom the next day, on my birthday.

I thought I was done with school.

6:00 p.m.
By the time you reach thirty-five, restaurants are the only things that make a big deal about your birthday. I've been receiving postcards offering free meals and desserts for a month now. It's like the promise of diabetes and obesity tied up in a pretty bow and delivered right to your mailbox.

"You got some birthday cards," Dan said as he sorted through our mail.

"Yeah, people are finally starting to remember."

"Your birthday's not until tomorrow. You can't get mad at people for forgetting your birthday before your birthday."

Of course nowadays, 340 Facebook friends are also guaranteed to remember your birthday. That's kind of awesome.

10:30 p.m.
Dan and I are almost asleep after having finished the first episode of Game of Thrones about a half-hour ago. We hear a loud bang and a bright light shines through our window.

"Becky," Dan calls to me from what we have coined the office-spying-window, "someone knocked over our mailbox!"

Indeed someone had. Now I wouldn't know who remembered my birthday after all. The post office will definitely not deliver our mail tomorrow with the mailbox in that state.

There is a car parked in front of our driveway, shining its headlights into our window. It looks as though a couple of men with a bicycle are hanging out on the sidewalk, next to our fallen mailbox, but it is hard to completely see what is going on.

"Should I go out there?" Dan whispers.

"No. Didn't that crime dog ever teach you? Never talk to strangers."

Tuesday, June 5 (Thirty-five arrives)

7:30 a.m.
One of our neighbors calls to tell us how to get our mailbox fixed. Dan and I go outside to assess the situation. We are surrounded by neighbors. We don't really know our neighbors because we are slightly antisocial. But they are really nice. One neighbor even offers to weld the box for us. So Dan dismantles the box and newspaper tube and leaves the base.

"Did you do this in a drunken stupor?" another neighbor (the one neighbor I actually know) teases me.

"I think someone must have been in a drunken stupor," I say.

The man with the bright headlights the night before drops by and talks to Dan. Apparently, some kid on a bicycle had run into our mailbox. The man with the bright headlights had stopped his car to help the kid and was afraid the kid might have had a concussion. We didn't ask if the kid was in a drunken stupor.

9:00 a.m.
I go to my school to look for my flash drive, hoping I just left it on my desk. I didn't. But my computer has not been re-imaged yet, so I back up everything onto another flash drive. Also, I remembered earlier that our P.E. teacher is holding Zumba classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the school this summer. I stay for Zumba. I also see several of my students who are attending summer school. And I realize I already miss my kids . . . a little bit.

2:00 p.m.
I spend my afternoon writing at Starbucks, drinking a free latte for my birthday.

6:00 p.m.
Dan takes me out for fondue. I want to wear a pretty, summery outfit so badly, but it is a windy and rainy fifty-degree day. I even had to turn on the heater in the house. I wear a summer outfit anyway and take a sweater and an umbrella with me.

"You're refusing to notice the cold, aren't you?" Dan asks as we drive to the restaurant.

 I turn the car thermostat up to seventy-five and put my feet, bare and in sandals, under the vent.

"It's my birthday! I can wear spaghetti straps if I want."

I have to wear my cardigan throughout our entire dinner.

8:00 p.m.
Our neighbor is in the rain, welding the base of our mailbox when we get home. Dan goes outside to help. He comes back in a while later, drenched.

"No one got electrocuted, right?" I ask.

That would have been a tragic end to my birthday.


 

Additional thoughts on turning thirty-five:

• In May, I realized I was feeling pretty sore after my King and I performances, a soreness I hadn't really encountered in my ten-plus years of doing theater. "I'm getting too old for this," I told the conductor, an almost-retired university professor. "You and me both," he said with a chuckle. 
• Of course, I was told by a local journalist that I looked too young to play Anna in The King and I. I assured her I wasn't, but I didn't tell her my actual age. 
• Dan and I have discovered that we can't remember our ages. We know we're in our thirties, but sometimes we forget which thirty. My father says, "It's easy for me to remember your age. I just add 30 to the age I will be in September." The trouble is I can't remember my father's age either. 
• Dan and I were downtown the other night. We lost our parking garage ticket and had to pay the daily rate, $12. Later that night, Dan lost his reading glasses. We were tired by 9 p.m.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Favorite Memories From This School Year

I used to cry every year on the last day of elementary school. I felt like my teacher, my classmates, and I were one big family, and even though I would more than likely see my teacher and the other kids around the school the following year, it wasn't the same.

When I became an elementary school teacher thirteen years ago, my mother asked me, "Do you still cry on the last day of school when you have to leave your kids?"

To which I replied, "Pssshh! No."

But I do go home with very fond memories most years. Here are some of my favorite memories from the 2013-2014 school year.

1. "Can we listen to Chopin?" (as opposed to Eminem or Pitbull)
One of my sixth graders asked this question on the day we were going to study the Romantic Era. Not only did he want to listen to Chopin, but he also knew that Chopin was a Romantic composer.

2. Aflac!
My choir sang "Bought Me a Cat" this year. When they got to the duck verse during rehearsal, they decided (without informing me) to sing "Aflac" instead of "quack quack." There was no stopping it after that.

3. It's Not Just the Performance
One of my Wizard of Oz actors was bitten by THE BUG this year. Theater People, you know what I'm talking about.

"It's not just the performing that's fun. It's getting to make mistakes and try again and be at rehearsals with all of your friends!" he said right before our final dress rehearsal.

4. Hootenanny Days
Sometimes it's fun to pull out the old guitar and have an old-fashioned hootenanny. My favorite music moments often come on the days my classes and I sing old two-part folk songs. Nothing much is better than seeing kids respond to their first experiences with harmony.

5. This "Bus" is Bound for Glory
I ran in a 5K with my school's running group this spring. Several of my choir students are also a part of this group. As we were being shuttled to the start line, the choir kids serenaded the bus driver (and everyone else) with their repertoire. "This train is bound for glory, this train. Whoo, whoo!" Even some of the non-choir kids joined in.

6. Sharks and Minnows
I helped run the parachute station during Field Day this year. We played a game called Sharks and Minnows in which sharks tried to pull everyone else under the parachute by grabbing onto people's legs. We could yell out for lifeguards to save us, and sometimes they would. But when those little kid sharks ganged up on me, there was no saving the music teacher. I was dragged under three times!

7. Can I Still Come Here for Music?
When I was encouraging my third graders about joining choir next year, one of the little boys asked, "What if I'm going to a new school? Can I still come here for music next year?"

I said I could hide him under the risers all summer and bring him food and video games, and then he wouldn't have to go to his new school. Several other students chimed in, saying they were also going to new schools next year.

"Wait a minute! I'm running out of room under my risers!"

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