meganhannay.com

In honor of Facebook’s rumored IPO, the HollywoodHipstr and I created a character to walk you through the initial public offering process.

He is the IPO Hippo. Ask him anything.

There are a bunch of folks who are trying to take Obama’s job. And they’re all hanging out in Iowa tonight.

I only know this because I bought a car over the weekend and have replaced my “Words With Friends” filled BART rides with NPR and the highway. And this “primary” was basically all they talked about on NPR today.

So there are a bunch of guys (and one woman) who have spent the last few weeks and a few million dollars to earn Iowans’ love and affection in. If you’re a registered Republican in one of the other 49 states, you might want to venture on over to Wikipedia or something a bit more legit than my blog. If you’re not a registered Republican, you don’t have any real decision making to do until November 6th anyways, so you might as well rely on my super awesome Dictionary of the Republican Primary for all your Republican Primary facts.

Ahem.

Megan’s Dictionary of the Republican Primary Season

Mitt Romney (currently unemployed, former Governor of MA) – Mitt is the front runner in this primary race. Republicans see him as moderate enough to actually beat Obama, mostly because of the fact that he’s flip flopped on every issue in the book. Since no one knows what Romney really thinks about, like, anything, no one really hates the guy. Basically, if you despise Obama so much that you’d rather have Raggedy Ann in office, this is the candidate you want to hope for.

MITT! Get it?

Rick Santorum (Senator from PA) – Rick is the champion among the conservative evangelical Christians (hey Dad!). If you’re pro-life and anti-welfare, you’re probably a fan of Rick. He seems to be doing well in the Iowa caucus, but he also made time to kiss babies in every county in the state (unlike most states, Iowa has a “caucus” [not to be confused with Caucas] instead of a primary even though it’s basically the same thing). Unless Rick can visit every county in the United States before November, most NPR analysts don’t see much in the future of his campaign.

Rick ALSO wears mittens!

Newt Gingrich (currently unemployed, former Representative from Georgia) – He used to be a pretty key player in the Republican party. I know this because I grew up in a Republican household (see paragraph above), and he’s the only candidate whose name rings a bell. He used to be the Speaker of the House or something, but he had to step down because everyone got mad at him about the whole “impeaching Clinton” thing. Newt was still a pretty big front runner in Iowa before some of Mitt’s Super PACS spent millions of dollars on commercials to bash him.

It came this way on the internet. I DID NOT draw these hearts. Creepy.

Super PACS – Candidates are always trying to restrict where other candidates are getting money from. Some huge debate along these lines occurred in July of 2010, and then there was a Supreme Court Ruling, and as a result, it’s now legal for groups of organizations, companies, rando people, whatever, to band together in a Super PAC and spend as much money as they want on ads for the candidate of their choosing. (Individuals can only donate up to 30K directly to a campaign, so this allows super rich folks to spend a lot more for the guy or gal they want.)

The crazy part is – Super PACS don’t have to coordinate or seek approval of the candidate to run their ads, and therefore, they can run crazy smear campaigns on opposing candidates without having their candidate look like an asshole. He can be all like “What? I have no idea who is making these crazy ads that are bashing my opponent! I don’t KNOW how they got the psd of my logo!”

Super Sneaky!

Ron Paul (Representative from Texas) – My libertarian friends love Ron Paul.  Like – they want to marry him and have his little outspoken babies. He’s the only primary candidate who’s got much clout with the “Gen-Y” audience, which is funny considering that he’s the oldest candidate and the fact that he’s not as socially liberal as many other libertarians. His supporters like that he speaks honestly and adamantly (and unlike Mitt, he seems not to have flip-flopped very much). If you’re not much of a fan of Democrats or Republicans, and aren’t afraid of supporting a polarizing candidate, Ron might be the guy for you.

Also, it’s a running joke with Ron Paul fans that he’s been a bit ignored by the media. Put last stories and such. I’m not so sure about that one.

The ONLY candidate with positive memes. I'm telling you - the Gen Y libertarians LOVE THIS GUY.

Rick Perry, Michele Bachmann, Jon Huntsman - That candidates who have about the same chance of winning as my cat.

Tampa, Florida – This is the hot-spot (literally and otherwise) every Republican who’s anyone in the Republican party will travel to this August for the “official”nomination of the 2012 Republican Presidential Candidate. There are supposed to be all these technical goings-on, kind of like the Electoral College where different representatives from different states nominate their candidate and this and that, but everybody really knows who the candidate is long before the primary. So it’s basically like the Republican Pep Rally. After more than a year of bashing, all the loser candidates will crowd around the winner and shake their fists in support and say nice things to the press with teethy smiles.

The really suck part is, Burning Man 2012 happens at about the same time. How do you decide??

If you are currently with child, or plan to be with child, or have caused someone else to be with child, or if there is even a smidgen of a chance that you will have an opportunity to name a brand new female human being, please, I beg of you, don’t name her “Megan.”

You may think it’s a nice new twist on the old, Irish “Margaret.” Maybe you like the letter “M,” or the fact that is has a solid “G” in the middle, for some extra force. Those things don’t matter. Speaking as a Megan who has met more than her fair share of girls with the same name…it’s just not worth it.

There are about 12,987 reasons you should not name your daughter “Megan.” Here are 3.

1) First of all, we spell “Nagem” backwards. And without the G, we become “Mean.” Would you name your child Fugck? Or Nagsty? Or Smeglly? This does not bode well for the personality of a growing girl.

2) And then there’s just the fact that there are too damn many of us.

If you don’t think Megan’s get territorial about our names, travel back in time to Northridge Middle School, circa 1999.

There were two other Megan’s in the 6th grade. One was more popular than me, and she was loud with freckles. The other was quiet and even taller than I was. She also played some sort of musical instrument. Between the two of them, the popular crowd and all of the band and orchestra kids already had their own Megan’s. I couldn’t even be known as the tall Megan.

I’ve been on more than one date with around 8 guys in my life. (Don’t judge – boys used to scare me). Three of them, including two that became long-term boyfriends, had already seriously dated a “Megan.” The third actually refused to seriously date me because a “Megan” had just broken his heart. This is the stuff of complexes, people!

3) We’re not known for our smarts.

Other Megan’s, don’t get mad – I’m not talking about all of us. This is generally speaking.

Example – who’s the most famous Megan in America?

Just for kicks, Google “author Megan.” The top result wrote this book:

rly?

Did you know that there are no senators named Megan? No members of Congress named Megan? There are not even any governors named Megan. I found one Mayor Megan. She reigns over a village of 3500. (See? I did say not all).

I even did a LinkedIn search for the keyword “megan” and the title of “CEO.” This was my results page:

Apparently when LinkedIn runs out of Megan's, Peter's and Stacey's fill in just fine.

If you really must name your daughter Megan, please make sure she does something amazing with her life. The name needs some legit cred.

There is San Francisco.

And there is Los Angeles.

I live in SF, but I’ve taken a few trips to LA in the past months. I’ve met the locals. Flirted with the natives. I’ve consumed their wine. I feel almost qualified to talk about it. So here goes.

San Francisco is energy. It’s liberating. It’s fresh air, and crisp air and foggy air and air that’s never warm enough, which is perfect if you run. I wore my winter coat all through August and pulled it back out in November. San Francisco demanded it. San Francisco is hills surrounded by water, covered with seven mile stretches of overpriced homes. She’s a proud city. She will strain your legs and your heart walking up a hill, in the cold and dark and mist just to go to the Whole Foods, but then you’ll turn around at the crest, and her beauty will make you forget all else.

Los Angeles is energy too. He’s internal energy. He’s go. He’s motivation. He’s telling you that you will be crushed if you don’t devote your life to him, and even if you do, you’ll probably be crushed anyway. Los Angeles wants all of you. He’ll encompass you and suck you in and you’ll no longer understand “normal.” Los Angeles is smog and cars, and he’s wedged between hills that he’ll never let you climb. He’s an aspiring city. He’s this today, but he’ll be that tomorrow. Bending and shifting and essaying to mirror an existence that isn’t real.

San Francisco doesn’t care who’s behind her in line and whether or not she’s wearing pajama pants out and about on a Tuesday.

Los Angeles cares. And he will look at you. And he will spend a few seconds wondering if you’re important. And then he will see your pajama pants.

San Francisco says hi I work for this startup you’ve never heard of doing something you thought another startup already did, but it’s okay because I got investors because I’m kinda different because of this tiny insignificant detail and the fact that the UI is much more user friendly. You can read all about it on TechCrunch.

Los Angeles says hi I work for Starbucks making shit money, and I am using all of my creative energy to write this script that you’ve never heard of and you never will hear of because no one will make it, and no one will make my next creation either, or the next one, or the next one, but that’s the biz for you and have you seen the trailer for …?

San Francisco smokes.

Los Angeles snorts.

San Francisco says relax – the world is a beautiful place.

Los Angeles says the world is fucked and you’d better change it.

Where do you want to live?

‘Tis the season to be reminding everyone else in the world that ’tis the season to buy your shit.

Starbucks had its “12 Days of Sharing”

Modcloth had its “12 Days in Giftland”

Yelp did “12 Days of Yelpmas” in my last email newsletter

And this kitten-themed site not only enjoyed the obvious pun (“CATmas!”) but also delights us with “snow-falling” javascript and background music. You were warned about the background music.

Marketers love to talk about Christmas. Just like we love to bring up Valentine’s Day and Presidents’ Day and Memorial Day and the 4th of July and the Summer Olympics and Back-to-School and Spring Break!! and any other reason we can use to remind you how our product fits into your daily life.

Marketers also hate January, especially now that “The Big Game” is in Feb (we’re not allowed to say “Superbowl“). I don’t really mind it during all those other times of year. Writing a blog post about Mother’s Day sales is the perfect way to remember to buy something for my own mom.

But like…I’m not going to forget about Christmas.

And now that I’m on the other end of the sales coin (that’s an expression, right?), I spend my holidays thinking up Christmas tweets and blog posts and campaigns and then it dawns on me that I’m actually using Christmas for personal and job-related gain.

(DID YOU HEAR ME? I’M USING CHRISTMAS!!).

And it’s not just me – it’s all of us marketers. Those Coolwhip commercials I used to adore (remember? the dog had reindeer antlers!), the chimney flavored latte at my local coffee chain, seasonal discounts, candy-cane-covered socks they sell at Target, ABC holiday specials, even the funky Google easter eggs – they no longer glow with the magic of selfless holiday cheer.  Those companies all have Megans too, planning and developing events and products to coincide with the emotional high of the holidays.

Sneaky, sneaky marketers. It’s a shocker no one is on to us yet.

A few weeks ago, I was strollin’ on down the internet, minding my own business, when I ran across a Facebook post from friend saying something along the lines of “If you think the government actually cares about its citizens, you need to look up SOPA.”

So this friend is known for being a bit on the sensationalistic side. But new acronyms (as well as alliteration) always attract my attention.

I didn’t look into SOPA that moment. Probably because it was morning, and I was drinking coffee and waiting for the BART and I really didn’t want to be confronted with another “it’s-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it” story even before my morning banana.

Since then, I’ve managed to learn a little bit more about this Stop Online Piracy Act. I’m sure you have too. I’m not going insult your internet intelligence by succumbing my English major nature who just has to give an exposition. She would probably explain that SOPA is a congressional bill that would turn the streaming of copyrighted content into a felony.

Nor will I add that the Department of Justice could prevent advertisers from working with these crime-committing sites. It could order search engines not to link to them, and it could even ask internet service providers (like Comcast) to block access to these sites.

But if I were going to explain the basic tenets of SOPA (which I just found on Wikipedia), that’s probably what I would say.

Damn. It’s probably a good thing I used the Google. I didn’t even know that much about SOPA. After all the hype, I was actually really hoping for some redeeming factor. I actually sort of wanted to like SOPA, mostly because I feel weird about jumping on bandwagons. But also because I feel like there is a lot of sensationalism out there, and things can’t really be so bad actual basic freedoms are at risk of being taken away. I mean, dude, this is America.

To be fair, based on my research it doesn’t seem as if the bare bones act of SOPA itself would hurt the average Joe the plumber. Al the hipster might be hurting, because he’ll suddenly have a much harder time downloading It’s Always Sunny illegally, but hey, Danny Devito works hard for his job, as do  Glenn Howerton and Fred Savage, and there really is no logical compelling argument to justify illegal downloading. Sorry.

But the scary part of SOPA lays more in the implications.

I can think of two main ones:

1) The creative spirit brought on by the internet (and especially “Web 2.0″) could be threatened.

That sounds all fluffy and junk, but it’s really not. Like that giant picture I posted about 2 sentences up – technically that is copyrighted material. I guess it belongs to George Lucas or something. But it’s been altered and adopted into popular culture (mostly thanks to Reddit), and the act of posting that material doesn’t actually cause Lucas or Harrison Ford or Carrie Fisher to lose any revenue. It’s just for fun – it’s part of the community of the internet. It’s not streaming, so I guess it’s not going to be a felony under SOPA? But what about this Christmas song I just can’t get out of my head?

SOPA (as far as I can read), doesn’t differentiate between the two types of copyright violation. Sites like Reddit or YouTube could actually be shut down, and similar sites may not receive investment money in the first place, because their content might include copyright violations, and that would now be a felony.

2) In a very extreme distopian future, SOPA could be used to justify infringement upon free speech.

This is the part that strikes me as a bit more sensationalistic. But if we’ve learned anything these past few years, it seems that we can’t quite trust the government.

This argument basically says that giving the government power of any sort over an area that is supposed to house freedom of expression can open a Pandora’s box to censorship of all sorts. Maybe not tomorrow, but in ten years, fifteen years, other bills could be introduced on top of SOPA that continue to restrict the rights of Americans on the internet.

In addition, the use of proxy servers (basically ways to hide where your website content is actually coming from) could be restricted because many of them are used to distribute copyrighted material. However, revolutionaries during the Arab Spring also used proxy servers to send messages, circumventing oppressive governments. Is restricting free speech worth protecting copyrights?

Maybe it’s because I don’t own a record company, and I haven’t written that movie yet, but to me the answer is clearly “no.”

In conclusion, stealing copyrighted material is wrong. Tons of my friends do it. I’ve done it (though I mostly use Spotify and iTunes these days), but there really is no excuse for preventing artists from receiving compensation for their work. But SOPA… ugh. It just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Sometimes a girl gets writer’s block. Okay, you’re all judging me now. Like dude it’s your second blog post – how do you have writer’s block already?

Well in this case it’s not actually writer’s block, because I have a list of 4 – 6 things that I could write about if I felt so inclined, but the thing is – I don’t feel at all inclined to write about any of them. And the thing about writing is, you have to feel it to write it. You just do. That’s why they tell us to “write what you know.”

So here’s the new rule: when Megan doesn’t feel like writing about anything else, she’s going to write about one of her crushes. Yes, crushes. Boys she’s “liked.” There have been quite a plethora of them, so I don’t believe I’ll run out anytime soon. And most of these boys have seen me completely embarrass myself, so I’m sure there’s a good anecdote associated with each one.

[Funny sidenote - I have had so many crushes, and I have such a good memory, that I actually used to use them as my computer passwords. This was back in college when they made us change our passwords once every 3 months. I can admit this now because I don't use boy names as my passwords anymore. But there was once upon a time when you could totally hack into my computer with a simple "Bryan" or "Garrett."]

Let’s travel back in time for a moment. It was a quieter time; a simpler time; “F.R.I.E.N.D.S” was still a new show and Clinton was in his first term. It was 1995. And I was eight.

And his name was Patrick.

Oh Patrick. With your bowl cut of blond hair and Irish-sounding last name. Even in the third grade, you had such a “boy-ness” about you, a masculinity. Something about your inattention to detail, and the way you colored outside the lines. It was beautiful.

I went to church with Patrick. I was homeschooled from the 2nd through the 5th grade, so I didn’t have countless boys to gush over at the elementary school playground. Instead I had the kids in my neighborhood (they were all girls) and the kids at church. It was a smaller church, so the only boys in my class (it was also mostly girls…wtf?) were Patrick and Milo. And Milo was a bit … slow.

So perhaps one could say that my first crush was chosen out of desperation? It’s as if some pre-pre-pre-hormone kicked in after 2920 days of life, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that boys were nice to be around for a reason I couldn’t quite explain. Or maybe it was those Babysitter’s Club books.

Maybe.

For a few weeks at least, Patrick was the highlight of my holy days.

One day, on the ride home from church, I told my parents about Patrick. It was that serious between him and me. My mom’s immediate reaction was something like “You’re too young to be liking boys.”

For my mother, simple declarative statements such as this were sure to cure me of all my wayward feelings. My dad, I think, thought it was “cute.”

If I’d known then what I know now, I might advise young Megan that boys don’t like being stared at and daydreamed about while the teacher is piling Noah and his animals onto the felt board. That boys of the eight-year-old variety are not yet all that into girls, and they probably won’t understand the deeper meaning of a young lady purposely sitting beside them.

Did we share crayons? It’s likely. Did I interpret it as meaning something greater than sharing crayons? It’s definite.

The end of my enamoredness with Patrick came one Sunday during a puppet show. Our entire 3rd grade Sunday School glass (ie – seven children) were crouched behind a black cloth curtain, holding up Bible characters we’d just crafted out of paper bags. We may have been small and few in number, but there wasn’t much room in the backstage. It was a 3′ x 6′ space … maybe.

So I can’t really tell you if it was on accident or on purpose that my arm accidentally grazed against Patrick’s. Maybe our puppets just wanted to say hello. Maybe I tripped. I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember, in Dolby surround sound full technicolor with extra HD thrown in, is Patrick turning towards me, looking up (oh yes, I was about 6 inches taller than him – was that an important detail?) and saying in a voice that I can only assume he acquired from a villain in Power Rangers:

“Don’t Touch Me!”

I may be forgiving to bad color-ers or bowl cuts, but eight-year-old Megan be damned if she let her man use that tone. My feelings for Patrick had faded by coffee hour, and I sipped my red Kool-aid and ate my store brand Oreos with satisfaction of a woman who’s conquered her first love.

An hour later, we gathered in the sanctuary, and I noticed another young man. Of course I’d seen him, but had I ever really seen him? Same bowl cut as Patrick. Similar stride and demeanor. Similar face. Similar … well, just about everything. Shawn was Patrick’s older brother. He was taller than me, and he was a sixth grader. A mature man, that was what I needed. Sixth graders knew their way around! Shawn and I had a future, I could see it. And I would daydream about it during the sermon.

And I’m so glad I have a blog on which to address it.

Our tale begins last Saturday. For most of the rest of the world it was December 10. For those of us lucky enough to live in San Francisco, it was SantaCon.

Oh yeah.

I did not take this photo.

It is what it sounds like.

SantaCon is the one day a year, when grown ups (ie – 20-something hipsters) get to dress up in funky outfits, get drunk during the day, get to run around the city feeling like they’re really part of something and participate in countless other shenanigans. Besides Halloween, of course. And Bay to Breakers. And the Pride Parade. And the Day of the Dead. And unusually warm days at Dolores Park. And Tuesdays.

SantaCon is special.

I started off at a my friend Jenni’s house (she blogs here!). She made this Uh-MAZing hot cocoa which also included a tad of marshmallow-flavored vodka. Oh, it was scrumptious.

Her roommates piled in; her other friends came over; it was even someone’s birthday! We were hittin’ it for SantaCon! We took the J (it’s a public transit thing) down to the Castro, and were delighted to find that we were among the very first Santa’s at the bar. (Okay, it turns out that all the other Santa’s were still at the official SantaCon event down at Civic Center, which my group apparently missed, but I’d like to think of us as the holiday heralds of the SantaCon afterparty.)

A Blue Moon and a half later, the bar was filled (FILLED!) with Santa’s and Mrs. Claus’s and elves and more Santa’s and the occasional lame person who thought they could get away with just wearing a red t-shirt. We were so glad we’d gotten there early enough to grab our own table. Because some people just had to stand and drink, and that would especially suck.

like these people

And I was definitely into the whole “community Santa spirit” too, until I was trying to get up and take a pee (1.5 Blue Moons will do that to a girl), but I had to pause and wait because the gaggle of Christmas elves in front of our table had to pose for a pic.

I go to the bathroom and come back – have to wait again because pictures are still being taken.

My interest is piqued. What are these girls doing besides taking pictures of themselves in their adorable SantaCon outfits? And then it hits me like a falling chimney – nothing. They are doing nothing besides taking pictures of themselves. I can vouch for this. I was there. I watched.

Facing the bar – take a group pic.

Facing the door – take a group pic.

Hey another Santa just walked in! He’s cute! – take a group pic.

The elf with the mismatched stockings is going to lift her leg in the air!! – take a group pic.

It may have been the beers, or it may have been the fact that I couldn’t get around them to pee, or it may have been the fact that I wish I had thought of mismatched red-and-green stockings, but suddenly Megan was in rant mode.

What the eff is wrong with these people? It’s a holiday in San Francisco – I get it. These only happen about once every two weeks. But don’t you realize that you’re not actually enjoying yourself if all you’re doing is taking pictures? In fact, you’re the opposite of enjoying yourself. You’re creating a picture of yourself enjoying yourself that you will later load onto the internet for the rest of your friends to see!

And you know they’ll feel jealous, because their city doesn’t have a SantaCon. Or even if they were in this city, they probably weren’t with people as fun as the people you were with.

It just irks me sometimes. In some ways we’ve gone from a culture of consumerism to a culture of exhibitionism. Capturing every moment, not just for some book we’ll look at when we’re wrinkly and gray, but more for the kids we were jealous of in high school.

Look where I am now! All having fun and you’re not. I’m in a cute outfit and everything. Doing crazy things with my crazy friends.

Ugh. We’re so generic it makes me nauseous. Or maybe that’s the wine.