Apps I Would Like to See

IphoneYou can do just about anything on an iPhone these days. Just last Tuesday I was checking my email, while listening to a book on tape and translating last week’s column into 37 different languages. That thing is so amazing. Every time my son plays with my phone I find another screen full of new applications, some of which are even more useful than iFart.

I know it’s hard to believe.

But still, there are a few apps I’ve been searching for that haven’t been developed-yet. For example, I love Shazam, that nifty little program that identifies songs. You hold the phone to your speakers and “Shazam” it, instantly getting the name of the artist and the song, as well as the lyrics, biography and discography of the artist, and YouTube videos and links to buy it on iTunes.

Pretty cool, right?

What I really need these days is the people version of Shazam. Wouldn’t it be great if the next time you were walking down the street and someone looked familiar, you could “Shazam” them and instantly have all of the pertinent data you need? Have you met them before, and if so where? What’s their name is and what did you talk about in your last seven conversations? Then it could give you their biographic and geographic data, such as if they live down the street from you and you’ve never seen them out of a bathrobe before. Or if you usually only see them at the gym without makeup and they look completely different when they’re showered.

Think how much embarrassment that would save you?

You would never have to say, “Hey, you old son of a gun,” or “How are you doing, sweetie” to complete strangers again. Okay, I don’t really call anyone a “son of a gun,” but if I had this app, then I’d never be forced to.

You would also avoid embarrassing encounters like the one I once had with Helen Hunt at my gynecologist’s office, where I was sure she was someone I went to college with, a fact we stood chatting about for several, bare-bottomed, excruciating minutes (thanks to those lovely examination gowns) before she politely excused herself.

I would pay a lot for that Shazam people app. I’ve always been terrible with names, but the older I get the worse it gets. I can recite entire episodes of “The Brady Bunch” verbatim, and still remember every insult from 8th grade, but that leaves me little brain space left for remembering, say, whether or not I locked the front door, let alone the name of my mail carrier.

I could also use an iMute app, where the next time someone whose name I can’t remember corners me and chatters incessantly about how much money they lost in the stock market, and how they’re going to cut back on their personal trainers, trim their international travel down to only three European trips this year and reduce their housekeeper’s hours, I can just smile, nod and think about last night’s “Grey’s Anatomy” episode, rather than strangling them.

Or an iNstaWit app. How many times have you found yourself stuck at an event talking to someone and you have absolutely nothing interesting to say? The iNstaWit app would eliminate awkward silences by acting like a conversation starter in the palm of your hand. With a brush on the touch screen, you could become a scintillating conversationalist on every subject from sports and politics to history, local lore and pop culture.

When all else fails, there is always the Conversation Fast Forward App. Rather than suffering through yet another anecdote about the “adorable antics” of Chester the Cat or the gory details of Uncle Harry’s open heart surgery, the Conversation Fast Forward App can just breeze you through all that and onto a topic of mutual interest, which you’ll already have from Shazam.

Now let me just turn off my iColumnist… I mean, thank you for reading, as always.

Sent from my iPhone.

When Leslie’s not fantasizing about inventions that she lacks the technical skill to even begin to create, she can be reached at email . Read Leslie’s columns every Friday in the the Santa Barbara Daily Sound. For more columns visit LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on September 16, 2011.

What’s in a name?

Photo by sixninepixels, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by sixninepixels, freedigitalphotos.net

“Manroot” and “Roadkill” were my husband’s favorite baby names when I was pregnant. I could never quite tell if he was serious- especially when he would wax rhapsodic about all the umlauts we could crow “root” with. I just laughed, as I blew off those suggestions as best I could, and continued looking at naming books.

Then he pushed for “Anastasia,” which I thought was pretty, until Zak admitted that he liked the name because of its potential nickname- “Nasty.” Talk about asking for trouble. That’s even worse than “Roadkill.”

“Tumbleweed” had some traction during the second trimester. We also discussed the possibility of a combination of our fathers’ names-“Jim Bob.” I was joking, but again, I’m not so sure about my husband.

Needless to say, I was overjoyed when we both agreed on “Koss” for our son’s name. It’s my grandmother’s maiden name, so it had sentimental significance; it’s unusual, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the whole “Koss K.” and “Koss A.” in school; and it’s easy to pronounce-or so I thought.

In the 12 years and two weeks and two days that my son has been around, I have never once said his name to another adult and then continued on with our conversation.

Kids are fine with “Koss” as a name. I think it’s because all words are relatively new to them, so Koss/Kylie/Klamato, it makes no difference. However, to the Mike/ Jeff/John/Linda/Lisa/Karen generation (i.e. adults), “Koss” inspires all kinds of confusion, and that’s even before he starts telling you about mythical creatures or giving you multiple- choice questions about all the books he read this summer.

An introduction to my son is frequently greeted with: “How do you spell that?” “What language is that?” “Oh, like the headphones?” or most often, “Huh?”

I had no idea that picking an unusual-yet-easy-to-spell-and- pronounce moniker for my son would produce so much additional conversation. I had to feed 75 extra cents into my parking meter the other day, just to explain Koss’s name to a particularly dim receptionist.

I can only imagine the kind of namer’s remorse that “Superman 4Real’s” parents must be feeling right now. Did you hear about those zany New Zealanders? They wanted to name their son simply “4Real,” which is perfectly understandable, but ran into an obscure Kiwi law prohibiting names beginning with numbers. That’s right, there’s actually a law in New Zealand against naming your child “100Proof” and apparently some discretionary power in that country, unlike ours, where they recently took stands against “Satan” and “Adolf Hitler” (the names, not the actual entities).

This whole naming business can be awfully stressful. The Wall Street Journal reports an unprecedented level of angst among parents trying to choose names for their children.

While you can expect to see a lot of Jacob’s and Isabella’s running around playgrounds in the next few years (those were the most popular names in 2010), original names-or at least more original names-are now in. The 1980 Social Security Administration data show that the 10 most popular baby names were given to 41% of boys and 23% of girls. But last year, just 8.4% of boys and 8% of girls were given one of the year’s 10 most popular names.

Not only are popular names getting less popular, apparently the ten zillion baby naming books and websites are no longer adequate tools to select a baby name. The name game is so stressful that people are starting to turn to strangers for help. Mommies- and daddies-to-be can now hire baby-naming consultants, to the tune of $250 an hour.

I could do that job. Flynn Stone, bad idea. Richard Tester, oh please. Harold Butts, are you kidding me?

So, I’ve finally found the answer to Juliet’s oft-quoted question, “What’s in a name?” If I play my cards right, about $250 an hour.

For a special reader’s rate on baby naming consultation, email Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more of Leslie’s columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on August 12, 2011.

Film Fest Screen Shots

Santa Barbara International Film FestivalA Little Teenage Charm Goes a Long Way

One of the best perks of being a reporter in Santa Barbara is access to the film festival. No matter what you’re in the mood for–movie star mania, industry panels, blockbuster film screenings, documentaries, surf films or obscure foreign films that would never otherwise make it to the Metro 4-our film festival has a little bit of everything.

But despite my primo access to the festival I always feel a little jealous of the Santa Barbara Middle School Teen Press. Those guys really have it made–and they’re way, way too young to appreciate it.

This year Shuba, a 7th grader, got James Franco to recite Lord Byon’s “She Walks in Beauty” poem to her. Oh lord indeed. He looked right at her with those big brown eyes. James Franco and Byron … it just doesn’t get much dreamier than that.

My heart was thumping just watching the video, and Shuba’s not even old enough to appreciate it. She probably wishes it were Justin Beiber or Will Smith’s kid.

Youth is wasted on the young, especially when it comes to reporting.

A few years ago those Teen Press kids were the only ones that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie even stopped for on the red carpet. Sorry, we’re too busy adopting children and saving the world and looking gorgeous to talk to any professional reporters. “Oh you’re in middle school. How’s it going, dude? We’d love to talk to you!”

Yeesh. Those kids get all the breaks.

Then last year, while I rubbernecked on the red carpet, a couple of other teen pressers, Kendall and Lia, got within smoldering distance of Colin Firth. Seriously, I’m getting flushed just thinking about it. Be still my heart, it was Colin Firth, Mr. Darcy in “Pride and Prejudice,” Colin Firth, Mr. Darcy in “Bridget Jones’ Diary,” Colin Firth, Mr. Darcy in the other Bridget Jones’ Diary, and Colin Firth, Mr. Darcy in the other “Pride and Prejudice.” Did I mention my favorite character in all of literature is Mr. Darcy?

I wonder who James Franco’s favorite character is? I could have asked him if I was part of the Teen Press and got to interview him alone in the green room after his award. Alone in the green room! Geez, those kids don’t know how lucky they are.

Like I said, I’m a little teensy bit jealous. Mostly I wish the film festival had existed when I was in high school. I only missed it by a few years. Just think, I could have been interviewing Mary Tyler Moore and Ted Danson instead of watching wrestling matches and exposing the evils of cafeteria food.

For more information (and to see the video of James Franco reciting Byron) on the Santa Barbara Middle School Teen Press visit www.sbmsteenpress.org/TP-v14/5-sbiff-00.html. For more of Leslie’s columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on February 4, 2011.

Dancing with Horses

Image courtesy http://www.sylvia-zerbini.com/

Image courtesy http://www.sylvia-zerbini.com/

Aside from a ginormous collection of plastic Breyer horses–thanks to a grandpa and an uncle in the toy business–I’ve never been much of a horse girl. Not that I don’t find them beautiful, but I was never one of those girls who begged their daddies for a pony. The horse phase that many of my friends went through pretty much clip clopped right by me.

But after seeing Sylvia Zerbini in action last week, I think I finally get it!

I watched in amazement as Sylvia–a lithe blonde who could easily rock a mermaid costume–single-handedly controlled nine Arabian horses, her whispers and gestures conducting them in an amazingly synchronized dance. They would gallop in circles, then divide into smaller groups, then come together once again like the a drill team. They did incredibly complex routines of trotting, cantering, turns and pivots that would be difficult on two legs, let alone four. At one point they actually did a marching line formation that could rival the Rockettes. It was truly one of the most astounding things I’ve ever seen.

I have no idea how she does it, but this one act alone, called “Grande Liberte,” is more than enough for me to recommend that all of those horse-crazed girls (and their moms and their dads and their brothers) make it a point to go down and catch “Cavalia” if they can.

The show, developed by Cirque du Soleil creator Normand Latourelle, is under a big top in Burbank till mid-February. And when I say big top I mean big: it’s reputed to be the largest in North America at 110 feet tall, with more than 71,000 square feet of canvas and seating for 2,300.

But even more impressive are the 49 horses in the show, representing 13 different breeds. Like I said, I’m not a horse girl, but these beautiful animals are artists, and Latourelle has said he built the show around their personalities, so each show is different.

Of course, the human performers are impressive as well, 37 of them, mostly acrobats and equestrians, leaping and dancing and strutting around in the same kind of dazzling, dreamlike and just plain weird display of showmanship that I’ve come to expect from a Cirque show.

“Cavalia” begins simply with two foals (rescue horses) frolicking across the 160 foot long stage, but it quickly becomes big and eventually becomes huge, with epic themes ranging from ancient Rome to the Arab souk to the American wild west. All the while, the rider-acrobats make it look like it’s easy to do a flip on horseback or a sideways handstand on an animal running at full speed.

I don’t quite know how they do it, but this unbridled display of horseplay is definitely a whole lot of fun.

Cavalia runs through February 15 in Burbank. For tickets and information visit www.cavalia.net.

When Leslie’s not out horsing around she’s usually at work on her computer and can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on January 28, 2011.

Holiday Letters for the Cheerless

Christmas Memo Sheet by nirots, freedigitalphotos.net

Christmas Memo Sheet by nirots, freedigitalphotos.net

As much as I love getting mail during the holiday season–what’s not to like about the season where chocolate catalogs finally outweigh that depressing stack of bills and you get daily reminders that good old so-and-so you shared a cubicle with in 1991 is still alive and kicking?–I have to admit that sometimes I get a little tired of reading about other people’s perfect kids and their numerous dazzling vacations from their already oh-so glamorous lives.

Obviously not everyone has genius children, ran a marathon, expanded their 4,000 square foot home another 2,000 square feet, or finally finished that screenplay this year. So what if you’re not in the mood to gush with sincere emotions about how much you love your family and how meaningful your work life is this year, let alone use the word “blessings” multiple times in your annual holiday missive?

What kind of letter can you write if your year basically sucked and your main request to Santa is that 2011 will be a little bit better?

Here are a few ideas to get you started. For full versions of the letters send a check or money order for zillions of dollars to me, care of the Santa Barbara Daily Sound. (And yes, I realize that if you had zillions of dollars to pay me to write your holiday letter, you’d probably be having way too much fun to bother. It doesn’t hurt to ask!)

Still Single After All These Years

Dear Loved Ones. The 13 kitties (Tiger, Mr. Tibs, Nibbles, Simba, Cutie-Pie, Whiskers, Sheba, Cleopatra, Fluffy, Scratcher, Precious, Zyrtec and Claratin) and I are just dandy. We’re all very excited that we got brand new carpeting and furniture again this year. Our new couch is a beautiful cabbage rose print. So pretty! The kitties and I are doing our best to learn to use the litter box since couches are pretty doggone expensive. (Insert paw prints here.)

We’re Broke, Please Send Cash

Dear Friends and Family. Yes, I am writing this on the back of an old shopping list/receipt/kids’ report card. I hope you don’t mind the coffee and grease stains. Sometimes I think caffeine, sugar and alcohol are the only things that make life worth living once you’ve been evicted from your apartment and your car has been repossessed. If you can’t send cash, please send wine. Donuts are good too, so are Cheetos, really anything from the sweet and salty snack aisle will do in a pinch. We’ll also take prepaid phone cards and gift cards in any denomination.

Better Than Therapy

Seasons Greetings. 2010 was not the greatest year for our family. I was let go by the bank in March and though the larceny charges were eventually dropped, the legal fees sent us into bankruptcy. During the course of the pre-trial motions my computer was seized and they found a few questionable websites in my browser history. My wife just doesn’t understand me anymore and got so depressed that she took off on a six-month retreat with her yoga instructor so she could “get centered.” I guess her chakras were finally in order because by October she was back in the country and we were back together. In November we sold our house (finally, for about 75% less than we paid for it) and all of our remaining family heirlooms, then purchased a used Winnebago, which we are now driving around the country. We’ll be coming your way soon. Hope the fridge is full, the water is hot and the towels are clean.

Other titles available:

Three Square Meals in 10 Square Feet

My Juvenile Delinquent Can Beat Up Your Honor Student

Days of Our (Extremely Boring) Lives (in the Carpool Lane)

And my personal favorite:

Compared to These People, My Year Was Actually Pretty Good.

Happy Holidays!

Share your favorite holiday letters with email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.  Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 17, 2010.

From Yiddish to Yinglish

YiddishDictionaryOnline.com

YiddishDictionaryOnline.com

When it comes to traditional religion, I’ll readily admit that I’m more Jew-ish than Jewish. You won’t find me in temple unless there’s a Bar mitzvah or a book signing, and I’m certainly not one to pass up an offering of bacon-wrapped shrimp. They’re delish!

But there’s one part of Jewish cultural tradition–besides the latkes–that I have embraced with gusto: the language.

No, I’m not talking Hebrew, which is way too complicated and confusing for the short attention span theater of my brain these days. I get a case of Hanukkah guilt before the gelt every year when need a refresher course on the dreidel symbols.

No, I’m talking Yiddish. And whether you realize it or not, so are you.

You may not be one to just say nu to your kids. (A general word that calls for a reply. It can mean, “So?” “Huh?” “Well?” “What’s up?” or “Hello?” It’s like a verbal grunt, useful in a variety of situations.) And you may not kvetch about your boss. (Which literally means “to press or squeeze,” like a shoe that’s too small, but many people now also use it to mean, “complain, whine or fret.”)

You may not even schmear your bagel. (Which originally referred to a spread of cream cheese on a bagel but has extended to anything that can be spread, and in some cases refers to “an entire set or group of related things”, or the expression “the whole schmear.”) But from schmear to eternity, I’d bet my last bit of gelt (a Yiddish word for money, and for the chocolate coins eaten on Hanukkah by some and year-round by those of us that frequent See’s Candy) that words like glitch?(literally “slip,” “skate,” or “nosedive,” which many people now use to mean “a minor problem or error”) or zaftig (plump, but pleasantly so) have crossed your lips from time to time.

You’re speaking Yiddish and you don’t even know it.

Not to belabor my spiel?  (a long, involved sales pitch), or act like a maven ?(which comes from the Hebrew “mevin,” or “one who understands,” but has evolved to mean a know-it-all, and is often used sarcastically) of Yiddish vocabulary, but I’d bet you also use the words klutz?(which literally means “a block of wood,” but is often used for a dense, clumsy or awkward person) and nebbish (an insignificant, pitiful person; a nonentity) without giving them a second thought.

You’re a Yinglish speaker too.

I really don’t mean to be a noodge (to pester, nag, whine or be a pest or a whiner) about this, but chances are good that even somewhat vulgar Yiddish words like dreck (which means worthless material, especially merchandise) and tush (buttocks, bottom, rear end) have crossed your lips from time to time.

So here’s my Hanukkah gift to you: the next time someone asks you if you speak a second language you can tell them you are fluent in Yinglish and you do know more than bupkis (zero, or nothing) about Yiddish.

Share your Yiddish or Yinglish vocabulary words with Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 3, 2010.

Adult BoyCare

Teenagers Playing Computer Game by Ambro, freedigitalphotos.net

Teenagers Playing Computer Game by Ambro, freedigitalphotos.net

Does the prospect of going to a mall this time of year make the men in your life resemble cranky, whiney, exhausted kindergarteners who are clearly in need of a snack and a nap?

Me too.

I don’t know what it is about the holiday season. The rest of the year my husband hardly puts up a fuss when we need to “go grab a few things at the mall,” but come the end of November he develops a severe case of Shopophobia. He stomps his feet like a wild man and shakes his head like a whirly bird at the mere mention of the words “Nordstrom,” “free gift wrap” or, heaven forbid the dreaded “parking lot.”

To tell you the truth this behavior reminds me a lot of my son-when he was five.

Which is why I was so very amused to read in the Los Angeles Times this week about a shopping center in Germany with a play area for men. BoyCare for men. Brilliant. It’s called “Maennergarten,” as in kindergarten for men. Truly brilliant.

While savvy shopping areas have bars where men get blitzed and women browse boutiques, this program is modeled after kindergarten. According to the travel website www.travel.spotcoolstuff.com, when couples arrive at the mall, the woman drops off her presumably-potty-trained male significant other at the ” Maennergarten.” She pays about $14 to leave him there and goes off to shop till she drops.

And, just like the first day of summer camp, visitors to the “Maennergarten” are given nametags and the women are issued receipts for the men they drop off. “Nurses” serve the men hot meals and cold beers and offer them televised football, power tools and remote control cars to play with.

“Maennergarten” manager Alexander Stein told BBC News “the idea came from a female customer who thought it would be a good way of getting rid of her husband so she could shop in peace. She found it all too stressful and thought this might be the solution. Both were very happy with the way it turned out.”

When I quizzed my husband and some male friends about the idea of a man cave in the mall they were predictably-and scarily stereotypically-enthusiastic.

While several suggested they should have bikini clad dancing girls, some guys had very specific visions for their versions of what would make a “Maennergarten” nirvana.

J thought “topless massages would be a big hit.” K said “it should have a ‘champagne room,” like they have in strip clubs. But the wives pay their husbands’ entry fee.” I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I suspect that laps and dancing are involved.

“Bacon,” said M.

“It should basically be a BEST BUY with wall-to-wall 3-D televisions (one per patron), buttery soft Barcaloungers, video games, every movie ever made on-demand, bikini clad dancers/masseuses/bartenders/therapists serving unlimited all-you-can-eat sushi, tacos, pizza and beer,” said A, who is shockingly still single. “Oh, and it should be sacred ground: No wives, girlfriends or significant others allowed. The only way they can collect their man is to call ahead on their cell phone when they’re done shopping.”

Clearly he’s given this some thought.

But my favorite response of all came from B, who said, “I believe that Habitat for Humanity should set up near every mall, so we could spend several hours helping out our fellow man by building homes for the disadvantaged, while our significant others join in the commercial feeding frenzy: give a little yin to their yang, to insure cosmic balance in the universe, or… bikini clad dancing girls and big screens.”

Mall man cave investors can contact Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 26, 2010.

Sifting Through Silly Bandz and Squishys

Image http://www.sillybandz.com/photoweek.php

Image http://www.sillybandz.com/photoweek.php

Fart jokes, cooties and “one, two, three Jinx you owe me a Coke” are perennial rites of childhood that never fail to make me smile, but some of these new trends leave me feeling a little old and out of it.

First it was that array of extra-long shoelaces. Sure the colors were fun-who wouldn’t want to add tropical pink soccer balls and neon green tie dye to their wardrobe-but there was also so much more shoelace to figure out how to tie and then trip over. Seems like a lot more danger than they were worth – which is proof positive that I am old and cranky.

Then came the digital pets-Tamagotchi, Furby, Giga. Seriously? There are plenty of real animals waiting to be adopted. Or if you want something low maintenance, get a goldfish.

Then came the key chains. You couldn’t walk down an elementary school hallway without hearing the clang of Sponge Bob SquarePants, Strawberry Shortcake, Hannah Montana and Justin Beiber dangling dangerously from backpacks. Surely these were an accident waiting to happen.

Squishy mania was next on the scene. An infestation of blob-like sea monsters, jungle creatures and zoo animals began to appear in schoolyards, and fast food restaurants and liquor stores equipped with vending machine capsules were suddenly de rigueur. I was with my niece when she spotted a particularly rare glow-in-the-dark octopus Squishy and I thought I was going to have to call the paramedics to extract her hand from the vending machine.

Now silly bandz are the latest, out-of-control kid craze.

To a childless person these colorful bracelets stacked like Slinkys up the arms of kids might look like simple rubber bands. Yes, they are rubber bands, but simple, not so much.

These silly bands (or bandz depending on which brand you buy) are shaped like everything from Bugs to Barbies and musical instruments to Marilyn Monroe. Even skinny Elvis has his own silly band, which momentarily becomes fat Elvis if you put it around a grownup’s wrist.

But the beauty of these silicone-molded bracelets is that they return to their original shapes when you take them off your arm. It’s a magical shape-shifting rubber band.

Kids say half the fun of collecting the bracelets, which typically come in sets of 12 or 24, is trading them with friends. Parents like the price point (usually $3 for a pack of 12; $5 for 32). As one toy retailer said, “If you can do a shut-me-up product for $4.99, you won that day.”

Teachers, at least in some states, are less than thrilled. Complaints have come in that silly bands are distracting in class or even downright dangerous. The ban on bands has stretched from schools in Brazil and England to Boston, Wisconsin and Indiana. Can California be far behind?

Probably not.

Either way, nobody in our household will be too upset; since this is one trend my son has resisted the lure of. When I asked him why, he shrugged and said, “It’s just one more thing to remember in the morning. Besides, if you have rubber bands on your arm you’ll want to play with them and getting snapped by a rubber band hurts.”

That’s my boy.

When Leslie’s not pondering the latest kid crazes (Zhu Zhu hamsters, Lady Gaga, My Pillow Pets) she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 12, 2010.

Defending Facebook Friends

Screen shot 2014-07-11 at 7.17.28 PMWeak Ties Still Equal Strong Links

Marlene Dietrich once said, “It’s the friends you call at 4 a.m. that really matter.” Agreed. But the friends whose walls you post on at 4 a.m. matter too.

“Weak ties are your windows to the world,” wrote Stanford University sociologist Mark Granovetter back in 1973 in “The Strength of Weak Ties,” one of the earliest academic theories about the spread of information in social networks. Of course, he had no way of knowing back then how apropos his words would become in these days of social networking. “When you’re looking for new ideas and new connections, you don’t get them from family or close friends. It’s the weak ties that connect you to different circles and opportunities,” he wrote.

It’s also the weak ties that connect you to community.

Which is why I get so irked at all of the high falutin’ Luddites who diss communication technologies like Facebook on the grounds that they value “quality and not quantity in their friendships.”

Excuse me, but just because I enjoy connecting with people online doesn’t mean I’m holed up alone in some hovel wearing a dirty gray hoodie and mainlining Red Bull all night.

My pajamas are perfectly clean and I much prefer red wine to Red Bull, which you would know if you read my Facebook page.

Besides, people like that completely miss the point of Facebook and other social networking sites. Of course Facebook isn’t a substitute for close friends and I would have serious concerns for the psyche of anyone who chose to use it that way. For me social networking serves an entirely different function-it’s a community.

Much like going to my neighborhood coffee shop or hanging out with other parents as I wait for my son to finish soccer practice, I have a nodding “hey, how’s it going” kind of acquaintanceship with most of my Facebook friends. We share little bits and pieces of our lives-sometimes a bit too much, girl who posts endless cat pictures-but for the most part we save the nitty-gritty details for our real friends, who aren’t necessarily the ones we chat with on Facebook.

Still, I love getting these little glimpses of the day-to-day fabric of people’s lives. I like to know what’s going on in other people’s heads, even the mundane stuff. But these kind of peripheral friendships are very, very different from the deeper friendships I have.

Which isn’t to say that peripheral friendships aren’t important.

According to a 30-year long longitudinal study at Harvard, the state of our entire network (“our community”) impacts our well being. The study, of 12,000 people, found that your odds of being happy increase by 25 percent if a direct connection in your network is happy.

Got that. Happiness is contagious.

The study also found a similar effect for secondhand associations; if your friend’s friend is happy, the odds of your friend being happy increase by 15 percent-and the odds of you being happy increase by 10 percent.

So c’mon, let’s get happy.

That reminds me of a favorite Partridge Family song. I think I’ll look it up on YouTube and post it on my Facebook page.

When Leslie’s not wiling away hours on Facebook she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 5, 2010.

My Kind of Playground

Viva ELVIS - Courtesy Julie Aucoin, Aria Resort

Viva ELVIS – Courtesy Julie Aucoin, Aria Resort

Once you have children, those moments when you feel completely relaxed are few and far between. I think I had one once in the early 90s and then another time in 2002 when I was zonked out on cold medicine, but until recently, that’s about it. And it occurs to me that I didn’t even have a kid in the 90s, so that must have just been anticipation. It’s not that being a mom isn’t absolutely wonderful, precious and fulfilling at least 77 percent of the time, but it’s almost never relaxing.

But once in a harvest moon the stars align just right and someone offers you and your husband a free trip to Las Vegas on the exact same weekend that someone else offers to take your son camping and, miracle of miracles, your kid’s soccer team has a bye that weekend.

Talk about timing.

I’ve heard rumors that younger, childless people stay out late and drink cocktails with fancy names on a regular basis, and I have a vague foggy memory of doing something like that myself once upon another lifetime. I’ve also heard alien mumblings about sleeping in, massages, long baths and spa treatments, but again, it had been a long, long while since I had indulged in anything that luscious.

I shooed away any guilty thoughts about lazy Saturdays as I lay soaking in a vanilla-scented spa tub at the ARIA Resort & Casino in Las Vegas, which is surely one of the least Vegas-like hotels on the strip. For some reason everything in this hotel smells like vanilla – although I’m guessing the reason is that they pump in the scent of vanilla. And, dare I say it; the opulent decor is tasteful by Vegas standards. From the curved 250-feet-long by 24-feet-high water wall that greets you along with the valet, to the stunning-but understated-for-Vegas-anyway, Maya Lin silver sculpture of the Colorado River that flows above the registration desk-this is hardly a typical hotel.

The Aria is the largest hotel in the world to earn a Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) Gold Certification from the U.S. Green Building Council, but it also features the most technologically advanced guest rooms in the country, as my husband discovered when he put new grey hairs onto my head by accidentally pushing the “sleep” button, where one click closes the curtains, shuts down all of the electronics and turns off all the lights.

Luckily I was out of the tub at that point.

Even the casino has eco-friendly features like slot machine bases that serve as floor air-conditioning and specialized air curtains that help minimize the impact of tobacco smoke and perhaps pump the vanilla scent in. Of course neither of those things stopped us from losing what could have been a very nice pair of shoes at the Craps tables, but it was fun anyway.

We were wined and dined through a global variety of cuisines at the Town Square Center, with yummy nibbles and cocktails from Cana Latin Kitchen & Bar (South American), Texas de Brazil (Brazilian by way of Texas), Tommy Bahama’s Restaurant & Bar (Island-inspired), BRIO Tuscan Grille (Northern Italian) and Blue Martini (all-American alcohol). Then in a lovely coincidence, we were able to meet up with some of our best friends from Santa Barbara who happened to be spending their anniversary in Vegas.

Meeting for late night drinks (yes, more drinks) at the Aria’s View Bar, where my husband and our male friend were more drawn to the view of our sexy waitress’ accoutrements than the (also excellent) view of the strip, we couldn’t help but giggle at how much fun it was to be out late and not worrying about babysitters’ curfews.

The next morning it was spa time. Spa just happens to be one of my favorite words in the English language. My Vita Boost Facial was wonderfully relaxing and my skin looked great afterward, unlike some of the facials I’ve had where “bringing all of the impurities to the surface” actually makes your skin look worse. Not only that, the lovely Gina gave me paraffin treatments as well, leaving my hands and feet ever so soft and happy.

Then it was on to more gourmet cuisine (don’t miss the stuffed piquillo peppers, pintxo de chorizos and the churros with chili chocolate sauce at Julian Serrano), and my discovery of what a pleasant daytime beverage white sangria can be.

After a tour of Crystals, an impressive 500,000-square-foot retail/dining area at CityCenter featuring gorgeous galleries and stores like Prada, Christian Dior, Bulgari, Carolina Herrera, Hermes, Cartier, and Van Cleef & Arpels, it was time to tour the shopping areas of Town Square Center, where the more along the lines of my budget retailers like Old Navy, Victoria’s Secret, Borders, Lucky Brand Jeans and Bebe reside.

Spa treatments, gourmet food and shopping all in the same day! This is my kind of playtime. But it got even better. After returning to BRIO for yummy crab cakes and Mezza Chicken Limone, they treated us to Cirque Du Soleil’s newest offering, Viva ELVIS, an energetic fusion of dance, acrobatics and live music that had us bopping our heads and singing along with the King. Watching the show was actually one of the few times in this decidedly adult weekend that I wished my son had been with us, as it was definitely an entertaining event that kids of all ages would appreciate.

As for the rest, well, sometimes it’s good to get away from it all and play like a grownup.

When Leslie’s not fantasizing about her return to the Aria spa, she can be reached at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com. Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on October 15, 2010.