Recently I started a MySpace page. It began strictly as a whim. I wanted to message Diablo Cody after seeing the movie from her screenplay, Juno. I wasn’t exactly ga ga over the film, though I liked it. It was cute, but a little too clever by half, until about maybe twenty minutes in when it seemed to turn, became more human and affecting (or is it effecting? I can never keep those straight). Anyhoo… I simply wanted to tell her that I really dug her reference to The Runaways, the all-chick, 70s metal band that features Joan Jett and Lita Ford — Oh baby, what I wouldn’t give to have those two tag-team abuse me for a couple of hours! Well, if you know anything about MySpace, you know you have to have an account to send message etc. So I did that. Sent my fawning message to Ms. Cody as well as adding her to my friends. But after some time had passed and she did not respond or add me as a friend to her page, well, my poor, star-struck little heart just broke into 3.76 pieces. But I figured as along as I had the MySpace page I might as well fuck around with it. I mean, it was either that or actually do my job. And who wants to do their job. Pa-leeeze. That is so 80’s yuppie it makes me want to gag myself with a Ginsu. Aacck!
So I’ve been keeping a blog on my MySpace page (myspace.com/junkdrawer67), which is cool, but the problem is that people can’t comment on it unless they have a MySpace account. And for some reason my Gen X constiuency seem to have an aversion to joining MySpace. I don’t know why. Unless they’re afraid of having their feeling hurt by a former Minneapolis stripper come hot shot screenplay writer hurting their feelings by refusing to respond to their messages or add them to her friends list, because I can totally relate to that, dude. Totally. Or, maybe it it is simply a generational (X, that is) aversion to joining, except, I was under the impression, for online social networking thingies which allow one to join a little group while maintaining a distanced autonomy/anonymity, but then there is that whole irrational/rational loyalty/prejudice for one’s own thingy and against another thingy. My point being that here on wordpress one need not join to comment. And really what’s the point of blogging of people cannot (or will not) comment. I mean, otherwise you’re just blathering into the cyber-ether.
It’s sort of like standing behind the library on Eastern Michigan Universities campus late at night with your pants down around your knees, jerking off into the darkness. (Not that I’ve ever done that. I’m just sayinng, you know, posing a scenario or whatever). Sure, it feels good but what’s the fucking point? Not that I want my blog to have a point really, because that is the last fucking thing that I want. Having a point smacks too much of having a purpose, which sounds suspiciously like a mission statement, which is something that Boomer’s invented when they realized that the revolution they were staging wasn’t going to happen and they sold out and became yuppie sell-out, bleeding ponytail, corporate shills. And fuck if I want to be that. I mean, the reason I work in the basement of a library for less than 30k a year (although the benefits are pretty descent and there is a okay pension plan, I mean, if you stick around for 30 years or so, so I got that going for me) is so that I can rail against such vermin.
Anyhoo… here I am. And here I hope to stay for awhile. I mean, at least until society collapses and daily life in America become like living in a George Romero zombie movie, which I’m pretty much expecting to happen any day, but that’s cool, I dig George Romero’s movies.