How do you write about internet friendships, social networking, and viral marketing without being incredibly boring, or, as mentioned in the title, coming off like a douchebag? For me, the death of witty social commentary about how the internet changed our lives came during the preview for “He’s Just Not That Into You,” during which Drew Barrymore’s completely unbelievable character laments, “I had this guy leave me a voicemail at work, so I called him at home, and then he emailed me to my BlackBerry, and so I texted to his cell, and now you just have to go around checking all these different portals just to get rejected by seven different technologies.” (Note: “30 Rock”—I think—did something similar, as do theorists when they want to discuss the breakdown of traditional values and the atomization of the self. Me, I just spent 15 minutes reading “He’s Just Not That Into You” quotes.)
So, left without desire to rage against online self-promoting content, I joined the ranks of the blogosphere, much like I joined the ranks of the don’t-make-eye-contact-just-stick-out-your-elbows-and-jostle-for-space-people every morning when I take the tram. I mean, I do write a column where I have a picture of me looking wistfully into the distance, so an online me should be similarly satisfying and arrogant.
So my friend Dennis came over and showed me how to make a blog, how to create a Twitter account, and how to pick up girls in Dragon-i (answer: be rich). I put up a picture of a green field, wrote down some thoughts, and was off to the races (in Happy Valley). When I got back home, I had one comment on my blog. Embarrassingly, I was really happy, like just-split-aces-and-hit-two-queen’s happy at the blackjack tables. I sat around in my underwear and clicked “refresh” about 20 times in five minutes. Still one comment. Not an efficient use of time.
It’s a little more measured now, I guess. I’ll tweet something a decent amount but at least I won’t be sitting around hoping someone reads my tweets. They’re mostly links anyway, and I’m scared to click on anyone else’s links after someone sent me two girls one cup, an old post to goatse.cx, and tubgirl in one day. That was a while ago and I’m still so scarred that when Jillian showed me “The Worlds Biggest Zit” on YouTube I was like, OK, let’s get dinner. Going forward, I’m resigned to write more content so that we have, well, something to talk about.
Borges, in his inimitable style, said “the certainty that everything has already been written annuls us, or renders us phantasmal,” which is apt given the apparition-like presence of our online self. And maybe the line between our real self and online self will continue to blur until we’re just ghosts with no bodies floating through the phantom zone, linking to failblog and downloading illegal MP3s because iTunes sucks if you have an HK credit card. Whoops, no social commentary. I forgot. Sorry.