I Love My Parents, I Don't Like Being on Fire, and Other Truisms

Who doesn't love Facebook? It's a masterful procrastination tool, a great way of keeping in touch with friends you otherwise wouldn't have wasted your breath on, and by and large is the reason most people my age spend way too much time on the Internet. And while I have grown to like Twitter, the fact that you actually (presumably) know everyone that's Facebook friends with you makes the announcements far more urgent. It's instant content at its craptacularly finest.

But this whole fandom thing? Either I'm getting old or my cynicism is creeping up on my recent bout of optimism, but I just don't follow it anymore.

At first, it was marvelous. It gave me an opportunity to become fans with some of my favorite artistic personalities -- the Dave Matthews Band, Jimmy Eat World, The Decemberists, Kevin Smith -- and, because of the personal nature of Facebook, you could hold on to the illusion that maybe, just maybe, these people were actually listening to you. Amazing!

Then the tide turned. I have to say it was probably a few weeks ago, when the recommendations box suggested I become a fan of Sleeping. Okay, that's fine. I do love sleeping. Fair enough. I won't add it -- I've always been a bit more selective about my Facebook associations than others -- but I get it.

Next came "I Love My MOM." (Yup, emphasis on the MOM. That's just asking for trouble.) This time, I was confounded. Because really, unless your mother did something awful to you as a child -- the kind of awful that gets said mom on the news, and the same kind of awful that few people ever find themselves capable of -- you're going to love your mom. Ditto to "I Love My DAD." Once again, it's pretty self-evident.

I think the straw for me was "Not Being on Fire." Seriously, what the fuck? Are there really enough people who have been on fire before that we passionately need to embrace not being engulfed in flames? And sure, in my Facebook comment stream, Tina made a case that was equal parts preposterous and legitimate (PREPOSTIMATE!), but I still don't buy it.

Just don't burn me at the stake for hating. I'm not a fan.

When Epigraphs Attack

It's no secret that my motivation has been plummeting ever since the light at the end of the Master's tunnel became bright enough for me to see. And even though I've only got a few more days left to pull together (what I hope to God will be) the last seminar paper I'll ever write, I still sit here and procrastinate because I'm unwilling to get the job done.

This has led me to two of my favorite pastimes: baseball (which is back...huzzah!) and reading for pleasure. Both of these things have caused me a little bit of grief as of late.

Considering the latter first, I realized yesterday during a spate of Web surfing that Chuck Palahniuk's most recent book, Snuff, was finally released in paperback. I immediately decided (as I'm wont to do) that a trip to the Barnes and Noble was necessary. I went. I saw. I purchased. Not a problem, right?

Not until I brought it home and decided to start reading it right away. (I really hope my professor doesn't read this...) So I open it up, look over the title page, and flip it to the epigraph.

And what is that epigraph? An excerpt from Act I of John Webster's play The Duchess of Malfi.

The same play I'm writing that aforementioned seminar paper on.

Apparently, the universe was trying to tell me something. Something I didn't listen to, since I proceeded to read the whole book in one sitting. (LibraryThing review forthcoming, for those interested.) And for the record, I regret nothing.

As for my other obsession, let's just say I'm in the midst of an operation -- yes, for those of you curious, Operation 9 -- that should fix a glaring problem with my fandom. In the interest of not sabotaging the success of this mission, I'll not divulge too many details at this time. But suffice to say that details will be forthcoming (likely on Friday morning), along with a backstory and a complete explanation as to why I've been so surreptitious.

Until then, the consider the alert level at orange. Just don't ask me what that means.

Quality Quote Clearinghouse #1

The postmodern world is occasionally not a horrible thing. When one lacks easy access to pen and paper, for instance, one can whip out their cell phone and type out the ridiculous line they just heard, so as to remember it for posterity.

The problem is, when I reach a certain number of "drafts" in my Message menu, I get a little weirded out. They're just sitting there, waiting to be shared, but mostly going untouched. And their number, like bunnies, is multiplying. This must end.

I've thrown a few quotes up on my Twitter lately, but I need to clear out my phone and my brain and put a few beauties up here. Credit given where I can, though some may hate me for attributing it to them. (That's the risk you take saying silly things around me. Deal.)

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"There's no mistaking for the lush feel of a vagina."
-Karen, regarding drunken gentlemen who fuck couches when they're trying to fuck women
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"It's not that bad. I had pants on!"
-Alicia (like that attribution really shocks anyone)
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"Prepare to suck the cock of karma!"
-Kung Fu dude from Pineapple Express (included for being the only line in the movie that actually made me laugh out loud)
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"I literally just LOLed. And then I ROFLcoptered a little. It was awkward."
-Darrell, in response to what I thought was a rather clever text message of mine
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"Loose slots? We've got 'em!"
-a billboard for an Indiana casino
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"I don't know how to write phonetically. I didn't take that class."
-an anonymous Penn State senior, lamenting her inexperience at writing her name down so that the people at graduation would pronounce it correctly
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Can't make this shit up, folks. And if my life is any indication, this won't be the last time I do something like this. Hope you LOLed a little. Just watch out for those low-flying ROFLcopters.