A few years back, at the height of fashion, when trucker hats and Diesel shoes were the new Z-Cavarichies, I began popping my collar. Within a week, that style had begun to fade and I ended up looking like a huge douche in every one of my MySpace pictures.
I’m convinced that that fad didn’t just die; I put the gun to its head, pulled the trigger and kept firing until the clip was spent.
People like me are always the last ones to pick up on trends, and by the time we do, it’s too late. The cool kids look at us funny, realize they need to find something else and leave us losers with hundreds of dollars of out-of-date merchandise that not even a homeless person would be caught dead wearing.
That fad didn’t just die. I murdered it.
Fast forward to present day, where I sit, looking at my Twitter page, wondering where it all went wrong.
When I signed up for Twitter, not all that long ago, it was still considered uncharted territory. Sure, it had been around a while, but it never really caught on with the masses. There were a handful of users I came across whose only tweet had been, “Just testing this thing out,” with a time stamp from a year earlier. To be fair, nobody had any idea what to do with it at that point. Wasn’t Twitter exactly what a Facebook status was for?
I tried it out anyway, picking up followers pretty quickly through an online circle I was active in, and before I knew it, Twitter was becoming a truly interactive community. People answering other’s questions, making sarcastic remarks and doing all of the things a group of friends tend to do. Maybe there were a few people pimping their own blogs, but not enough to bother anyone. There just seemed to be a certain decorum that the majority of the Twitterverse (Did I just say that?) clearly understood, and ultimately respected.
Now, after 8 months of Twittering Twatting Twitting telling a hundred or so people I don’t know particularly well, all the juicy details of my totally uninspiring life, it seems Twitter’s charm and appeal have all but disappeared.
Somewhere along the way, people stopped being chummy. They started to see opportunity. Suddenly, my entire Twitter feed is littered with bland, humorless links to the personal blogs of people who were once witty. I swear that at one point, these folks were entertaining. Now, most of them are just looking for page views. Sell outs.
Unbelievably, the worst of the bunch are celebrities, whose sole agenda is to compile the most extensive list of imbecilic followers, like a shallow 13-year-old girl on MySpace. The constant tweets of “Lets get to 1,000,000 followers”or some other nonsense has made the average Twitter feed painful to follow.
And of course, lurking in the shadows, late to the party, as always, were the middle-aged executives in charge of advertising and promotions, just waiting to rape Twitter of whatever purity it had left. Every company from FOXNews to Quarterdeck Restaurant to the guy who drives the local ice cream truck has a Twitter page these days, and they all use it for one purpose… the most blatant self promotion man has ever seen. Don’t be afraid to be even the slightest bit subtle, will ya’, guys?
Back in 2005, MySpace was the most dominant social networking site in the world. And then, just as quickly as it rose to prominence, Facebook squashed it like a bug. Like I said earlier, fads come and go, and that’s sort of what the social networking sites are. In this case, it was the athletes and corporations who walked into the party with their collars popped, drinking Smirnoff Ice and awkwardly hitting on girls. It’s safe to say this fad is on it’s way out.
I’m just glad I wasn’t the one who killed it this time.
Filed under: Uncategorized
If you’ve ever needed a clear reminder that you’re getting old, feel free to attend your high school’s 10-year reunion.
Originally, I wasn’t going to go to mine because Facebook and MySpace have made the idea of a reunion obsolete. Why would I pay $60 to find out what people are up to nowadays when I can easily check their Facebook and see that they’re clearly not up to anything? Instead, I did what any good Jew would do… I went to the free Meet & Greet.
The first thing you learn when you get to your class reunion is that most of the people haven’t changed. They worked at Foot Locker in high school and they still work there now. The ones who were lucky have moved on to bigger and better things–Best Buy, for instance. The most successful of the bunch work office jobs. You can tell who they are because they look like they haven’t seen the sun since graduation. If you’re looking for anyone who has done something truly meaningful with their life, then you’re probably going to be disappointed, because they’re not going to be there. You don’t become important by clinging to your past. Since I blog, I think we can figure out which category I fall into. Plus, I was there, wasn’t I?
Another thing you’ll learn at your class reunion is that time does nobody well. For the most part, we’re all terribly overweight and more awkward than ever. What’s worse, is that those who have put on some weight, haven’t exactly put it on evenly. All of the excess tonnage has gone to one area or another, causing that person to look much less like a human being, and much more like a Hershey Kiss. A very bald, very saggy Hershey Kiss. It’s unbelievably depressing.
The last thing you’ll realize is that you don’t care much about what any of the people you meet actually do, nowadays. Sure, you were interested before you got there, but once you realized that they’re basically living the same life you’re living, you begin to get bored of their stories pretty quickly. I can depress myself with my own shortcomings, thank you very much.
Don’t think the entire night is one miserable event, though. Odds are, you’ll run into an old friend and have a decent conversation or two. You’ll probably spend a good hour or so talking to some other people about the past, and since your best days are now behind you, you’ll be more than happy to discuss those times of yore. That conversation will most likely prevent you from killing yourself when you wake up the next morning and have to face reality again. You might even meet some people you didn’t even know existed in high school. Maybe they were antisocial. Maybe you were antisocial. Either way, there’s alcohol now, so you can all mingle and pretend the avoidance was all some big misunderstanding and not your inability to form a sentence when in the direct vicinity of the opposite sex.
Whether you choose to go or not, I hope this guide has been helpful. Perhaps, when your own reunion comes up in the future, you’ll remember the words you read here today and make a more informed decision about your attendance.
And remember, the big dude with the dreads? It doesn’t matter if you’re more successful now. He can still kick your ass.
Filed under: Being Sick
One of the great things about being sick is the ability to not give a shit.
Since Michelle and I moved into our new apartment, one month ago, we’ve made sure to keep the place spotless. If there was a plate in the sink in the afternoon, it was cleaned and put away by the time we fell asleep. The kitchen table was always cleared and never looked like someone actually ate there. Even our most used room, the office, had that just-moved-in look to it.
Being clean and neat are charachteristics we take great pride in. My last apartment looked like a chaotic mess because my roommate and I just kinda left things sitting around wherever we felt like leaving them. Two guys living in one apartment never equals a tidy home.
Michelle’s old room in her parents house was even more of a mess. Sure, she’ll tell you it was organized, but it was mostly organized into “this pile of stuff over here” and “that pile of stuff over there.”
So, when we finally moved in together, we decided to change things. And change things, we have. For five whole weeks, our anal-retentive ways had kept this place spotless.
And then, we got sick…
It takes a brave soul to walk into our apartment now. Pillows are strewn about the floor, while half-filled glasses of water and tea occupy every table, desk and countertop. There are two sweaters on the living room couch, a pair of sweatpants laying across the bedroom floor and a t-shirt adorns one of our dining room chairs. I’m not sure how it got there or to whom it even belongs.
If you’re looking for medication, we’ve got you covered. Our kitchen table has transformed from a place to eat into a science lab. The guest bathroom is no longer a bathroom, but a first aid station. The night stand next to the bed? Meds. The kitchen counter? Meds. Both desks in the office? Meds.
And the best part is, we haven’t once worried that the place was a disaster. Fuck it. We’re sick.
Eventually, when we both get better, we’ll begin the task of cleaning up; putting things away, sterilizing everything we’ve touched, etc., etc.. For now, though, we’re a mess.
And we could give a shit.
(Haven’t done one of these in a while, but man is this gonna feel good…)
Dear Fuck Face,
How the fuck do you hit a parked car?
You were driving in reverse(?!?) down a one way street with cars parked on both sides of you. There was no way you could have missed the large vehicles surrounding you. All you had to do was hold the fucking wheel steady and you would’ve been fine. But, of course you couldn’t do that. You had to drive backwards and diagonally, right into my bumper… and then proceed to keep going like you had no idea. If I hadn’t looked you in the face and gave you the “Are-you-THAT-stupid?” look, you’d still be obliviously backing up.
That was my new car. Not a single fucking scratch on it.
I hate you.