Hasta La Gadget!

Forget trips to the psychic. Increasingly, Facebook has become our conduit for talking to the dearly departed.

I first noticed a preponderance of people talking to the dead on Facebook last year around Father’s Day, an occasion that brought an outpouring of people having conversations with their dead dads. I’m not talking remembrances here. I’m talking actual direct conversations, like the one Brad Saltzman, COO of L.A. Creamery LLC posted:

Happy Father’s Day Dad. I know that you can read this and want you to know that even though you are physically not here, I know that you are with us and know what’s going on down here. I wish you could see Dawn and Michael’s baby … She is beautiful … There is not a day that goes by [that] I do not think of you, miss you, wish I could email you or call you and ask myself why did you have to leave us so soon. We will be OK, but life would sure be better if we could see you and touch you and talk with you. Happy Fathers Day. I love you.”

“He was my best friend,” Saltzman told The Huffington Post. “It helps me to reach out to him in this way.”

Saltzman is hardly alone in using Facebook to communicate with a dead loved one.

Ed Padgett, 60, who worked as a newspaper pressman in Los Angeles, says he has more than 10 deceased friends and colleagues on Facebook. “I communicate with them only on their birthdays,” he qualifies, and has “considered removing them, but somehow felt that would be wrong.”

Crystal Blake of Malibu Calif. still posts not just to, but also from, the Facebook page of Jean Okazaki — her best friend for 33 years who died in 2010 when she was 52. “If it is posted in her name, it is me,” said Blake. “Sometimes I post things to Jean. I remember her birthday there, as do others. Jean … was brilliant, funny and compassionate.” She adds, “It was such a heart ache when she passed. I can still hear her voice sometimes. She can still make me laugh ( and cry).”

Joseph Batten noted that his wife has kept her mother’s Facebook page going for more than three years after her mom died. “All the family posts on it as a place to help grieve and share. She posts things to her Mom often, especially holidays when she is the most missed.”

None of this seems strange to Sherry Turkle, MIT professor and author of “Alone Together: Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other.”

But, she notes, it’s important to distinguish between online community memorials and the act of talking to the dead — and the latter might not be the healthiest of behaviors in her view. Sites like caringbridge.org help us connect with others who share our sadness when someone we care about has a serious health issue or is facing death. We draw comfort from reading stories and sharing with others who know our loved ones. Turkle actually calls this type of exchange “the finest and highest purpose of online sharing.”

And then there is the desire to still feel the deceased’s presence. In the past, when someone died, people would call their phone answering machine just to listen to the deceased’s voice in an outgoing message. That tradition has also moved online, said Turkle. People visit the deceased’s Facebook page to reread his last few posts, scroll through his photos and timeline. What was the last joke he posted? The last story he shared? It’s a grasp at remembering the person alive.

Doing this is calling the answering machine all over again, said Turkle. It often feels like the deceased still inhabits that virtual space and visiting there allows you to still feel their presence. Again, not a bad thing and again, just taking a tradition and moving it online.

But it’s also still not the same as talking directly to the dead. And let’s just say upfront that there is nothing wrong or bad about talking to the dead. In fact, most people talk to deceased friends and loved ones. We empower them to be our protectors, we credit them with providing us with guidance, we talk to them all the time in our heads.

But, says Turkle, there’s something else going on when we take that conversation out of our head and speak directly to the dead in front of a large and sometimes anonymous virtual audience.

In her research, Turkle says that people always insist that posting a direct comment on Facebook to a deceased loved one is the same as having that conversation in their head. She disagrees.

What’s the difference?

“It’s the old ‘I share therefore I am,'” said Turkle. “We have come to believe that our experiences are not validated unless we have shared them.”

The difference also comes in what you say. “People insist they are saying the same thing, but when you explore it more deeply with them, it’s not true. We lose the idiosyncratic. You don’t post things that would shame you in front of 1,500 people.”

“There’s a lot of denial — and insistence that we lose nothing,” she said, “but it’s not at all the same. What we do online tends to be what makes us look good. When we attempt to grieve or communicate with a lost loved one in a public forum, we censor what we want and need to say. “We lose certain ways of talking, experiencing things because we don’t practice them,” said Turkle.

Not everyone is bothered by the practice, and again, many engage in it.

Pamela D. Blair, co-author of I Wasn’t Ready to Say Goodbye: Surviving, Coping and Healing After the Sudden Death of a Loved One, sees the talking-to-the-dead as nothing more than an extension of the paid announcements people used to place in their daily newspaper on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. “Death may end someone’s life but it doesn’t end the relationship. That goes on in our hearts,” she said.

And she sees no harm in it. Nor does it creep her out. “On a psychological level, it can be very cathartic and helpful,” she said. Just last week, her ex-husband died. The son they had together was traveling and Blair said she had a little conversation with her deceased ex asking him to “watch out for our son.” Yes, but she didn’t have that conversation on Facebook.

Still, she says, those who talk to the dead on social media are fine unless it becomes an obsession. “If you can’t get through a day without checking in with your [dead] loved one, you may need some help.”

From Facebook’s perspective, it’s just another evolution of the social media site. Facebook’s official policy for handling user deaths is to create a memorial page. Since 2009, if a deceased user’s friends or family asks, the social network switches users’ profiles to memorial statuses. People can interact with the memorial page much the same as they would an active profile. They can post condolences and share memories on his or her timeline; they can view pictures and interact with past posts. Still, even Facebook puts limits on what we can do with dead users. The deceased’s name won’t appear under “suggestions” from the site for people you might know and want to friend. And all automated app activities, like getting a Daily Horoscope, stops. Other users can’t tag dead people in photos or posts once they enter the memorialized page status.

Personally, I prefer going the psychic route.

Earlier on Huff/Post50:

Commuting is rough. Your current options may include losing 90 hours of your life to road traffic every year, or dealing with less-than-reliable subways that cause enough stress to decrease anyone‘s lifespan by decades.

But it could be worse… and it could also be better. MUCH better. Here’s what your daily commute would look, feel and sound like (or not sound like, in Hong Kong’s case) on the impeccable subways of the world.

In Tokyo, men in little gloves would push you onto the train.

The Tokyo Metro is a major squish, so oshiya, or professional “pushers,” nudge everyone onto the train with little white gloves. If you’re a woman, get in a girls-only car on the Shinjuku Line during rush hour — it’s designed to protect you from creepy subway gropers. And if you’re pregnant but not showing yet, just wear this little maternity charm to let people know they should give you their seats. A Tokyo commute is also hugely high-tech: some entry gates use piezoelectric floors to power themselves by harnessing your foot energy.

In Paris, you’d commute with dead bodies.

If the fact that your station is named Voltaire didn’t give you a hint, the Paris Metro is 114 years old. As such, your daily commute happens above the bones of six million dead Parisians. Officials began filling catacombs with corpses in the late eighteenth century, when they realized cemeteries were posing a public health risk. About a century later, Le Métro was born right on top. At any point in your ride, you will never be more than 500 meters from the next stop — hence commuting is snappy on the densest subway system in the world.

You’d be 99.9 percent on time AND use your metro card at Starbucks in Hong Kong.

The MTR is so sleek, you might mistake its stations for airport interiors. But don’t worry: you’re in the right place, and a train is probably coming in less than two minutes. There’s free WiFi in every station and full cell service in almost all cars, so you’ll get plenty of work done while whooshing (quietly) to your destination. Did we mention the trains have a 99.9 percent on-time rate? After you disembark, use your Octopus Card — yes, the same one you scanned to get on the train — to pay for Starbucks, 7-Eleven, fast food and groceries. THIS is the future of commuting.

The Copenhagen Metro is basically a 3D roller coaster.

Copenhagen’s main metro system runs 24/7 with no human drivers whatsoever, and panoramic windows at the front of the cars make it feel like you’re on some surreal Disneyland roller coaster. You may have to pay a child’s fare for your dog if you want to bring him to work, but no matter. Just avoid the first and last six rows of the train — those are reserved for those with allergies. No wonder this was named “the world’s best metro” on two separate occasions.

In North Korea, you could commute to “Paradise.”

Stops on the Pyongyang Metro double as nuclear attack shelters. Station names reference the country’s “victorious” rebound from war. Your commute might start at “Signal Fire” station, with stops at “Renovation” or “Paradise.” Though tickets are rumored to cost less than five U.S. cents, this is not the scary-stark operation you might expect. Stations (at least the ones foreigners are allowed to visit) have technicolor chandeliers and airy, arched hallways that make the whole system feel — dare we say it? — Western.

In London, you’d pass through “the Jerry Springer tunnel.”

Tunnels on “the Tube” doubled as bomb shelters during wars — Jerry Springer was born in the Highgate station during World War II. Today, on Europe’s most extensive rail system, your rump will revel in cushioned seats (or perhaps a fancy armrest divider). You’ll pay for it, though, when you take the Tube’s shortest journey — just 20 seconds, from Leicester Square to Covent Garden — for MORE THAN SEVEN DOLLARS. The Tube is 150 years old, and Mark Twain rode on the Central line’s first trip. Today, the Tube stars in movies, raps and a map that assigns a flavor to each station.

In New York City, you’d get a ride and a break-dancing musical.

We’re all in this commute together, and train-car break dancers are out to keep us boppin’ while we travel. In New York, you’ll ride one of the world’s biggest subway systems, with a mind-jarring 660 miles of revenue track. You can commute any time, as it operates 24 hours a day with myriad express routes. The signage (updated in the 1970s to include color-coded circles) is easy to read, considering there are 24 lines between 468 stations. You can even blast to the past on a nostalgia ride in an old train car. The subway has been serving New Yorkers since 1904, and it won’t let you forget it.

In Moscow, you would commute above a massive conspiracy.

On the Moscow train, rumors run rampant about Metro-2, Stalin’s separate, secret subway that’s said to link his estate with crucial government buildings. There is also talk of a hidden underground city capable of sustaining 30,000 citizens for 30 years. Whatever the case, Moscow’s regular commuter metro has HUGE, palatial stations with golden chandeliers so prepare to be dazzled. Your commuting buddies are of the canine variety: starving stray dogs have trained themselves to get on and off at the right stops in search of food.

In Athens, your commute would be guarded by ancient cisterns.

Workers unearthed about 40,000 ancient artifacts when they dug the Athens Metro system. If you commute through Syntagma station (the stop for Greek Parliament), the walk to your train could include: an ancient grave, cisterns, parts of a wall, a road, clay drainage pipes and columns. The relics next to your ticket machine date back THOUSANDS of years. The trains are super fast, making your trip to work a dizzying mashup of past and present.

In Stockholm, your commute would go somewhere under the rainbow.

The Tunnelbana is considered the longest art gallery in the world. You won’t need a book while whooshing to work — the underground bedrock is painted in blazingly bright colors, and about 90 percent of the subway stations have art on display, including paintings, ancient columns and re-purposed shards of old buildings. At Stadion station, an open, glossy hallway lures you beneath a dazzling rainbow to the train. Is this a commute, or a museum tour?

We Americans love our slang. Winky terms like terrific and awesome are now so ubiquitous that they barely even qualify as slang anymore. We wear bling to parties and have a blast; we goof off and then catch some z’s.

Despite the pervasiveness of slang, however, there are deep reserves of regional slang that we haven’t yet taken mainstream. Texas isn’t the only English-speaking region with some killer phrases begging for nation-wide popularization. What about the quirky terms used only in NorCal, the U.P., or Boston — just for starters?

Here are 9 useful — and fun — regional slang terms we should all start using as soon as possible:

hella
Used in: Northern California and the Pacific Northwest
Translation: “really”
Example: “These kimchi tacos are hella good.”

Why should Northern Californians — and Gwen Stefani — have all the fun? Using hella instead of very evokes a laid-back surfer vibe that can make any conversation seem more chill.

wicked
Used in: New England
Translation: “really”
Example: “These tacos are wicked good.”

In today’s hyperbolic culture, the words very and really have become really, very overused. We need all the colorful alternatives we can lay our hands on.

y’all
Used in: The South
Translation: “you all”
Example: “When are y’all going to get tacos?”

Try as we might, we can’t come up with a more succinct, gender-neutral term to address a group. You guys? All of you? You all? None has quite the effectiveness and simplicity of y’all. This needs to catch on outside of the South already.

bubbler
Used in: Eastern Wisconsin and eastern Massachusetts
Translation: “drinking fountain”
Example: “Eating that taco made me so thirsty. I really need to find a bubbler.”

Not only is this one of the original patented terms for the device, it’s cute, descriptive, and much easier to say than the cumbersome drinking fountain.

garburator
Used in: Canada
Translation: “garbage disposal”
Example: “If you’re not going to finish that taco, just put the rest down the garburator.”

Okay, so this clever word only saves you one syllable — but that isn’t nothing. And aside from being faster to say, garburator just sounds neater and more gadgety than garbage disposal.

loo
Used in: Britain
Translation: “bathroom”
Example: “Does this taco place have a loo I could use? Too many margaritas!”

We’ve had toilets for decades, but Americans don’t yet seem to have a good euphemism for them. Bathroom? Powder room? Restroom? Little boys’ room? Crapper? None possesses the ideal combination of brevity and delicacy. We need a loo.

pank
Used in: Michigan’s Upper Peninsula
Translation: “compress or tamp down”
Example: “I’m gonna pank more kimchi down into this taco so each bite is spicier.”

Who wouldn’t get a lot of use out of this word? Every day we’re panking down the garbage so we can fit another night’s leftovers in there, or we’re panking down the laundry into the hamper. Okay, maybe people who do their chores in a timely manner won’t use it as much, but it’s still a solid addition to the language.

bufflehead
Used in: Pennsylvania
Translation: “idiot”
Example: “What kind of bufflehead doesn’t like kimchi on his tacos?”

Don’t get confused: Bufflehead can also refer to a “buoyant, large-headed duck,” which is more of a scientific term. But if someone snippily calls you a bufflehead, they probably mean that you’re a fool — it just sounds way funnier.

whoopensocker
Used in: Wisconsin
Translation: “a superlative instance of something; something wonderful of its kind”
Example: “This taco is a real whoopensocker! I’m going to eat at this taco truck every Friday.”

This delightful term, which really sounds like what it means, got a fair amount of press when it was included in The Dictionary of American Regional English several years ago. And yet we’re not yet hearing it all over the country. Try to catch up, people.

It seems like there’s just no way to win the social media game. After all, that super-hot selfie you posted online may make you feel good and help you show off a little — but it may have some negative consequences too.

A provocative new study suggests that young women who post sexy or revealing photos of themselves on social media are viewed as less attractive and competent by their female peers. Ouch.

“Numerous studies have shown that when women are depicted in sexualized ways (revealing clothing, provocative poses), they are perceived as less intelligent, competent and capable,” study co-author Dr. Eileen Zurbriggen, a psychology professor at the University of California, Santa Cruz, told the Los Angeles Times. “But this is one of the first studies to show that not only do other women and girls perceive the women in non-sexualized photographs as more competent, they’re also seen as prettier and more desirable as a friend.”

In the study, Zurbriggen and Dr. Elizabeth Daniels, an assistant professor of psychology at the University of Colorado in Colorado Springs, created two fake Facebook profiles for a fictitious 20-year-old woman named Amanda Johnson. The profiles were practically identical except for the main profile photo.

One profile photo showed “Amanda” wearing a low-cut red dress with a slit up one leg to mid-thigh and a visible garter belt; the other profile photo showed “Amanda” wearing jeans, a short-sleeved shirt and a scarf draped around her neck, covering her chest.

The researchers then randomly asked 118 teen girls and young women (ages 13-25) to look at one of the profiles and rate “Amanda” on her competence, friendliness, and attractiveness.

What did the researchers find? In all three areas, the non-sexy profile scored higher, indicating that those who viewed that photo found “Amanda” in that profile to be prettier, more likely to be a good friend, and more competent.

But posting a non-sexy profile may make women miss out on “social rewards,” like attention from potential romantic partners, Daniels said in a written statement.

The takeway? It seems to be a “no-win” situation for young women who want to post “selfies,” leaving Daniels with more questions than answers.

“Why is it we focus so heavily on girls’ appearances?” Daniels, who was on faculty at Oregon State University while conducting this research, said in the statement. “What does this tell us about gender? Those conversations should be part of everyday life.”

The study published online in the journal Psychology of Popular Media Culture on July 14, 2014.

We were married 20 years ago today — but we’re not celebrating.

The problem isn’t the state of the union — but the date of the union.

Flashback to 1994. It’s my second marriage — a small wedding on short notice — and it involves complicated logistics — work, two sets of kids, and me relocating from Los Angeles to Carmel. To settle my kids before starting a new school, we settle on July 17 — telling family and a few friends who make plans to come.

Focused on the kids and the move, I leave wedding details for the last minute. Such as someone to marry us.

Back then, few rabbis would perform mixed marriages. This includes the rabbi at the one temple in my new community, who isn’t willing to marry me to V, who is not Jewish. I manage to locate a freelance rabbi, who agrees.

And then I tell her the date. There’s a long pause over the phone. And she tells me that according to that year’s Jewish calendar, I picked a particularly ill-omened date — a disastrous day in history for Jews. She won’t marry us that day, she says no other rabbi will marry us that day — and she warns me: do not get married on July 17.

What can I say? Love is blind? It’s also deaf.

The rabbi’s warning washes out of my brain like the waves washing against the rocks in Pebble Beach, where we get married by a local judge on July 17.

The traditional first year anniversary gift is paper. And appropriately, I get paper on our first anniversary — only it doesn’t come from my husband. The paper comes from a surgeon who hands me the pathology report from my mastectomy a few days ago, and it’s bad news. Cancer has spread all through my breast to my chest wall and four of my lymph nodes.

We drag ourselves out of his office wondering what there is to celebrate on this day, our first anniversary.

That night is spent as we planned, without kids in a fancy hotel. Only we didn’t plan on the bad prognosis, my missing breast, drains coming out of my body and the upcoming year of treatment — more surgery, chemo and radiation.

That’s when I remember the rabbi and her warning about the date.

Most importantly, I did survive cancer. And I could chalk up the wedding date to coincidence if the bad karma ended there. But the first few years of our union bring a string of other problems.

Bad things keep coming — like a broken record from the universe. I replay the rabbi’s warning over and over, in my head, and out loud — to the consternation of my no- longer new husband. “I should have listened. God is punishing us.”

I’m not religious; but I’m reeling — and I can’t shake the feeling that a curse is hanging over our marriage.

V isn’t superstitious; but he’s supportive. And he’s willing to do anything I suggest that will stop me from driving him crazy.

I feel helpless; powerless; a victim of the universe. But if there is anything I learned from fighting cancer, it’s the importance of NOT feeling helpless, NOT feeling like a victim. My cancer journey taught me to appreciate — and to seize my own power.

I figure I can somehow apply that lesson to our marriage. It seems simple enough — all I need is the power to change the course of history.

Ok; it is within my power to change my perspective and attitude toward history. We just moved to a new house; it felt like the right time for a fresh start. This time I officially check out the Hebrew calendar first.

We settle on a date (July 25), and then settle on the couch in our new home to say our own short simple vows, all by ourselves. No guests, no rabbi, no fuss, no party.

We can’t wipe out the past 10 years, but we wipe out the date. I even stop wearing my wedding band with the old date inscribed. And that’s it. Only this time the universe is on our side.

Honestly, from that moment, our karma shifted into a positive direction. I’m still not religious; so I’m not sure what to believe. That the universe likes playing jokes?

Personally I believe it proves the power of the mind and our power to adapt.

We chose our “new” wedding date 10 years ago. And though we don’t consider July 17 our anniversary, even on that day I have something to celebrate — I picked the wrong day, but at least I picked the right person.

This is an excerpt from Darryle’s upcoming book, I never signed up for this….. Click here to visit her website and to watch her TEDx talk.