Tag

Myspace

I also miss the bizarre world of Myspace celebrity. Back in the day, you could get a Myspace profile and garner such a strong following that it would result in a record deal or reality TV show, a la Jeffree Star and Tila Tequila.

Eventually, though, you realize that all of his talk of being a “community builder at a web-based start up” means absolutely zero in terms of actual gainful employment, and become pretty convinced that he must be stealing TVs or something to pay rent.

Take the time to just linger in the tub and really rub your body in the ways that it needs to be rubbed or play in the bubbles of the bubble bath. Make yourself a Santa beard or try to build cone boobs on yourself and see how far you get before they cave in like a poorly built sandcastle or Madonna’s career.

The ‘60s are similar, in that living through them apparently gave people the right to do things that are now considered morally and legally objectionable. However, the people who lived through this era of decadent drug use and sexuality are now in positions of authority requiring them to condemn today’s youth for the very same activities.

Tonight I’ll go back to all my likes, like a sick dating site only I’m taking part in. It’s easy to obsess about strangers. You just pour nothingness outward, as if, through some accident in the universe, that very act could somehow fill you.

Presumably, when we place our ephemera into a time capsule, whether it’s a ziploc baggie in a shoebox in the backyard, or a municipal vault sealed on the occasion of some locally-relevant anniversary, we hope to impart an accurate snapshot to the future — a selective recreation of life as we know it.