Friday, May 2, 2008

What's so wrong with a little self-loathing?

Today on the treadmill next to me there was this wisp of a blonde running 8.0 for the entire 30 minutes I was there. She didn't dismount until after I had done my post-run stretching/crunches regiment. The amount of self-pity that succumbed me reached almost-suicide levels. But then I started thinking: what's so wrong with a little self-loathing?

I bitch a lot about ladymags and how they are always coming up with new deficiencies for women to fret about. But maybe having something to fret over isn't necessarily a bad thing. Pure arrogance is just as unattractive as pure insecurity. A grain of self-loathing can help you run an extra mile at the gym or study a little bit harder for your next final or make you write 10 blogs a day instead of 5. A grain of self-loathing can help you achieve all that shit you want to but didn't have the energy to when you were feeling all happy about yourself.

But I guess the problem is that, if you feel happy with yourself, you probably don't have goals that are as important as that anyway. So what if you get a well-paying job, all that matters is that you're happy, right?

Wrong. Happiness, positivity, fulfillment: TRANSIENT, BITCHEZ. And bound to come a lot faster if you set goals and then meet them-- which is where self-loathing comes in.

Of course self-loathing can reach toxic levels. I'm not advocating hating yourself. This isn't 9th grade gym class. But having the self-awareness to realize there are things about yourself that you should change, and can change, is much better than perpetually thinking you're The Shit.

I'm the Queen of A Little Bit of Self-Loathing. When it comes down to it, I totally love myself. But there are things that need tweaking, which is why I stared at said wispy blonde the entire time I was sprinting today. So, um, just don't let self-loathing turn into a restraining order, heh.



These are screencaps from this week's installment of Pot Psychology over at Jezebel, and I can't stop laughing at them:

Newspaper Blackout Poems: A great way to write poetry without actually writing poetry

Bored at work, I decided to take a page out of the book of Austin Kleon and attempt some newspaper blackout poems. Essentially all you have to do is cross out words and make phrases out of pieces of sentences in the article. It's really the Heidi Montag of poetry: easy, synthetic, and fast.

All joking aside, it does take a good eye to figure out what words you can pull from a drab article on business and string together to produce something profound.

Unfortunately, we didn't have any newspapers around the office, so for the first one I used the spring issue of the NYU alumni newsletter, and for the second, a piece of fiction on The New Yorker website. Below are the results:

In case they're too small to read, here's a translation:

2008 NYU Commencement in Yankee Stadium
Construction is underway
unable to hold traditional
New York City
and their families:
a historic occasion on many levels will hold
the last opportunity
before the new
Traditional day of
decision compromised, is
coustomary, awarding
The University
Washington Square,
the true meaning
one last time as
While we may not
be proper
meaningful, and wonderful
the morning
a full day.


He couldn't really remember life before something he'd once lived. It was buried, simple as the street-- he was always looking at a woman. There'd been four, more or less. They were still teen-agers, they weren't his. Except for the people coming toward them. Then he'd let go, he would stay empty, die on the ground. He felt after twenty years, himself-- he didn't want. You'll have your fuckin', the stress of it, red-eyed and vaguely aware I'm alive. Making none of them bleed or standing at the side, the pissing rain, watching one near him, the rhythm of every day, sleeping in an empty kitchen.



I'm stoned. I just got finished eating Special K and watching I Know My Kid's a Star. I come into my room and want to stumble. Instead I find this:
What the FUCK? What is this shit? STUMBLE IS BROKEN!??!

And thanks for the passive-aggressive reminder that I'm on my computer too much. Hey guess what? I can't go outside and play for awhile, because it is 1am and it's fucking raining! And try finding a lush green playground like that in lower Manhattan!

I guess I'll have to watch another episode of Law and Order: SVU. =/


Thursday, May 1, 2008

Top 5 Celebrity Headlines I Don't Give a Shit About

The Lauren Conrad Sex Tape
My personal feeling is that such a tape did exist only to be destroyed a few months later. I’m sure it showed Lauren looking unimpressed while Jason fucked her in the traditionally boring missionary position. She reserves her O Faces solely for reactions to gossip. The thing about this tape is that I really couldn’t care less. Heidi and Spencer keep announcing it’s true, but they can’t prove it. They’re just giving Lauren license to continue acting like a victim. Get over it. It’s not even a celebrity sex tape I could get off to, or would want to for that matter. Ew Jason Wahler!

Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon Getting Married
Oh look! A D list celebrity who I swear to god was only 16 and a music mogul who the public strangely and generously forgave for going crazy on TRL got hitched! And she’s wearing a hand-me-down ring! They will be divorced in two weeks. Moving on.

Disney is Hypocritical
Okay is this really anything new? Disney has always been embroiled in controversy. The Mickey Mouse Club gave us some of the most sultry sluts of our time. And does the name Vanessa Hudgens ring a bell? Miley Cyrus may only be 15, but the idea that Disney’s subtle compliance in marketing teens as sex objects is nothing original.

Barbara Walters Had an Affair with a Congressman During the 70s
First of all, I don’t want to think about Babs in a sexual context EVER. Hopefully this was before her face became so inflated with botox that she’d never successfully pull off a good blowjob. Second of all, this shit was 30 YEARS AGO. Why bring it up now? Does it really count as news if it it couldn’t have been blogged about at the time it happened?

The Rachel Zoe/Anna Wintour Fight
Actually, I like this one. It’s arguably the most awesome fight ever, except for the one where Lindsay Lohan screamed “Get your 15 year old ‘Full House’ ass away from my girlfriend!” at Ashley Olsen when she acknowledged Sam Ronson. Zoe and Wintour should have an anorexia off, where they see who can go the longest without eating. First one to the finish line dies of malnourishment and heart failure!


Josh Figured Out How To Make Graphs Online

Yeah, I kind of like "4 Minutes" now. Whatever, it's practically in my DNA.


Return of the Graphs!

By request:


Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Hey You Guys

It's not that I've abandoned the blog. It's just that I've had a shit-ton of papers lately, and once I've finished writing an 8-page examination of the influence of AIDS upon mid-80s art or an 8-page paper on Oscar Wilde or an overview of a major museum's biennial exhibition or a discussion about the role of the media in the plight of the Native American or WHATEVER, you know, I'm really not in the mood to write something else, even if it's something I care about.

I'll be done soon though, so, yeah. In the meantime, watch this.


Maybe There Is One Good Thing About Hillary Clinton

New York Magazine writer Amanda Fortini released an interesting article last week entitled “The Feminist Reawakening: Hillary Clinton and the Fourth Wave.” As a staunch Obama supporter, I find Clinton unappealing both politically and personally. But the article brings up some pressing issues nonetheless.

The fourth wave feminist movement that Fortini speaks of has been harshly divided between sects of feminists. These divisions are most obviously felt among different age groups.

I consider myself a neo-feminist. I want equality for women, sure, but I differ from traditional feminists in that I believe sex can give women power, not solely take it away from them. Young women in their 20s, like myself, almost overwhelmingly support Obama in the upcoming election. This fosters a lot of resentment from old-time feminists, the women who fought to win us the rights we enjoy today, who believe that we should vote for Clinton because we are women. In their opinion, we should appreciate Clinton as the first woman presidential contender - something they made possible by decrying gender inequality - and show solidarity in voting for her because of our gender.

But I disagree. The true feminist would consider Clinton as sharply as the other male candidates. If we are truly fighting for equality in all realms of public and private life, then Clinton should be held to the same standards as her male opponents.

The trouble is that she’s not. A distasteful sexism that had long laid dormant beneath the surface of society erupted the day Clinton announced her candidacy, and sexists have been taking vicious swipes at her ever since. The most potent and obvious example hailed from New Hampshire, a typically liberal place, where two assholes shouted, “Iron my shirt!” during one of Clinton’s campaign speeches. This is an egregious example, yes, but there are others that signal that feminism has failed to accomplish its goals as well as we may have hoped. A more subtle example is the fact that newscasters call Clinton by her first name, and all the other (male) candidates by their last.

Even though I hate Hillary Clinton, I have to admit she’s forced to mount hurdles that the other contenders don’t. She must publicly attempt to reconcile the female stereotypes of the Madonna and the Whore. And not only that, she’s up against another battle simply because she wants a place of power in our society: Clinton has to reconcile between femininity and masculinity. If she is too masculine, she runs the risk of becoming a target for hateful slurs that condemn her lack of womanliness. But if she is too feminine, voters won’t consider her qualified enough to sustain the tough and harrowing job of President.

Even though Hillary and Obama remain locked in a fight that has the potential to further ravage the Democratic party and allow old, white war veteran McCain to swoop in and win another presidency for the Republicans, you have to admit that Hillary’s persistence bodes well for feminism. If anything, it is finally once again bringing women’s issues to the forefront and allowing them to be examined, discussed, and hopefully some day, adequately resolved.


Speaking Up Pays Off. Literally.

I'm sure by now you all have read a myriad of my scathing exposés about John Sexton and his seeming intent to deplete NYU's resources in shocking and unfair ways.

Well, my persistence paid off. Literally.

I just got an e-mail from the Senior VP of Alumni Relations, who was present at the meeting where I spoke up to J. Sex, that I have been approved for a $2,000 grant for Study Abroad. Not a loan! I don't have to pay it back! Just $2,000 that my parents don't have to pay, and that I'm not expected to make this summer. Maybe I won't have to work 60 hours/week afterall.

If anything this is a lesson in dissent. Even corporations like NYU have to listen to the little guy sometimes. Please keep dissenting. It's the only way we're going to get anything done around here.

- Jess

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

An Update On That Beloved Tart Miley

This is probably the most articulate and apt piece written about the Miley Cyrus debacle to date.

Its main thesis: teenagers fuck, and the world loves that they do. Miley is a sexual person, even if her job is to pretend that's not true. I maintain she's lost her virginity, but if she hasn't yet, she will very soon. She's hot, she's young, she has hormones raging around; not to mention all these people telling her NOT to fuck, which, of course, in the teenage mind means slip your panties off and mount the first guy in sight.

I think the most crucial evidence Defamer presents is that NY Mag recently put out an issue with 14 year old Taylor Momsen, of Gossip Girl fame, in her underwear. How is that not sexually inappropriate? It's the same issue. But perhaps because Cyrus is famous for a kids' show, and Momsen is famous for a show about rich people fucking and getting fucked up, it's not the same. In my opinion, it should be. That's not to say I advocate the seduction of minors, even though at 15 I was totally lusting after the 30-somethings. But teens fucking teens, the public eating it up and Hollywood making money off of it is nothing new. Get over it.


An Open Letter to Amanda Lorber

Dear Amanda,

Watching you on last night's episode of The Paper was excruciating. I can't believe those assholes didn't invite you to Dan's surprise party! I really liked your voice when you sat at home and sang Pink Floyd's "House of the Rising Sun" with your yet-to-be-named best friend who has obviously been sleeping with members of the marching band since grade 8. But mostly watching you was excruciating because ohmygod I totally was you in many, many small ways in high school.

First of all, the popular boys generally hated me. They hated me because I wouldn't let them put their hands between my legs when I was drunk at a kegger in a field, and I was opinionated, and I was smarter than them. Just like you. They were intimidated by my desire to be different. And it wasn't all good different. A lot of it was poseur different, just like you in your Urban Outfitters attire when you should only probably be allowed to wear Lilly Pulitzer. I liked books and boho chic and let's not even get into my premature obsession with the Dave Matthews Band. They also hated me because I hated them for hating me. Does that make sense? I'm sorry if I'm confusing you. But they wanted me to dumb myself down. To watch their soccer games. To not manipulate my friends into hating them, too. They developed superiority complexes because it was important they were superior to me, even though in a lot of ways they were. I still can't add for shit, let alone do division. I had close to no self-confidence but I acted like I did. And that's what they hated about me.

And isn't that exactly like you? You know that you are a good person, you know that you are doing the right thing and that you are smart and capable and will be successful, but little things like not getting invited to parties still hurt. And the newspaper room gossip! And that fucking slut Giana who hates you for no good reason except that you are confident and she has to use her body to get Trevor to like her. She is bitter about that, Amanda. All the girls are. Giana will be pregnant by the time she is 20 and she will be divorced from Trevor by the time she is 24. We don't want that, you and I. So we're subjected to the wrath of excessively cruel teenagers intent on knocking us down to their level.

Don't let them. That's my point. I was knocked down too many times to count in high school, but don't think for a second that those parties mean anything beyond the miniscule high school social structure. I know you got a nose job and I know you are trying to reconcile perfecting the paper with attempting to get people to like you, but my point is, you are a hero to all those girls who don't let dumb high school boys control them. You are smart and savvy and capable. Boys like Dan and Alex will end up in unhappy relationships and unsteady jobs because that's what they deserve.

But Amanda, you and I deserve so much more. Every night after screaming at the television because Lauren Conrad is the definition of a dimwit (but God love her for it), I stay tuned to MTV so I can root for you. Because I see myself in you. And I promise you that when you come to college everything will change. The boys will still want to fuck you, but they'll find your mind attractive, as opposed to something annoying and repulsive. They'll be more easily swayed by your penchant for prose and foolish British accents. Your tics will cease to be fodder for inside jokes in the cafeteria, and instead will become cute, loveable idiosyncrasies that attract instead of repel. You have my word on this.
So keep singing "House of the Rising Sun" and fuck those stupid assholes. You'll get yours one day. We both will.



The Hills: Reprising a Laguna Beach Reprisal

Last night's episode of The Hills was like watching the sad, anorexic skeletons of Laguna Beach characters reinact desperate scenes from high school, also known as Laguna Beach Season 2.

Stephen came back! Or wait, is it Stephin? I kind of remember his name being oddly fucked up and Orange Countyish. Anyway. He came back, and you know, we could just gloss over it but I guess I'll say it: he got kind of fat. Especially compared to Lauren who has lost approximately 894032849032 pounds since the heydays of Laguna Beach. Lo attempted to circumvent that obtrusive thing called her "little black heart" in an effort to coax Lauren into reigniting feelings for the beer-bellied Stephen, whose lechery was wisely masked by his obvious disinterest in pursuing anything romantical with Lauren. When confronted on the status of their relationship as "just friends," he responded, "It seems to work that way." Lauren's face falls, she tries to reel him back in with the classic "My parents love you" line. Then, as always, she ends up at home with Lo eating ice cream and pretending her heart wasn't just shattered into a million defunct pieces. She does all this while wearing a hideous one shoulder silk sheet, draped awkwardly over her perpetually shrinking body.

That Lauren is fucking tough.

The Stephanie/Spencer/Heidi dynamic is getting superfluous and played-out. We get it. Heidi and Spencer don't want Stephanie to be friends with Lauren. Stephanie just wants to maximize her screentime. We don't need staged fights in a cleared out coffeehouse or sighs of resignation when Heidi guilt trips Stephanie into a movie night in lieu of Lauren's housewarming party to figure that out.

Speaking of the housewarming party: WHAT. THE. FUCK. That house is so nice. We've known since her parents constructed a gorgeous hillside mansion on Laguna Beach that Lauren is rich, and I'm sure she makes loads off of The Hills and its various merchandising tactics (hellooo shitty fashion line). But that house was RIDICULOUS. And the party was like a Hills wetdream. I would have sacrificed my first born to the reality TV gods to be able to attend that party. Tiki torches! Rose bushes! Brody Jenner and his tactless move of bringing his plastic girlfriend! Sigh.


Monday, April 28, 2008

Miley Cyrus is a Genius

I don’t get the Miley Cyrus phenomenon, and it makes me sad. It makes me sad because this is how my parents felt when I became obsessed with Britney Spears. They didn’t understand how someone so tart, so paradoxical, could become so iconic. Especially because she was a notorious lip syncher.

Miley has built her empire on being someone else, the tween-worshipped Hannah Montana, an extension of Cyrus’ real personality that sings and dances and has her own Disney TV show. Her tickets sold better than the Spice Girls reunion tour. They’re the most sought-after tickets in the country. She was just granted a multi-million dollar contract to write an autobiography. The girl’s 15. She can probably only consciously remember 8-10 years of her young life. What on earth is there to write about?

Well, there’s a lot actually. She’s a phenomenon. She’s a phenomenon because she manipulates the media to her advantage in a way stars before her have not. Miley Cyrus uses the internet to further propagate her fame. She releases silly Youtube videos with her best friend (and 22 year old!) Mandy which chronicle everything from her day-to-day life, to potential satirical attacks on legends like Madonna. She has websites and merchandise and CDs and concert tickets and DVDs; she is what the Olsen twins would be had they grown up in the digital era. Surely Mary-kate and Ashley would have released half their videos to streaming websites, much like Miley does.

And you get the feeling that she is entirely conscious of everything that she’s doing. Her parents must have a hand in it all, since she is only 15, but she seems much smarter than your typical little Britney. She understands how she has to act to maintain her image and she’s very purposeful in perpetuating that image. She is much more conscious of the paradox tossed upon her by record companies and media outlets than Britney was. Take the current Vanity Fair debacle; she knew what she was doing. No one manipulated her. Her parents were on set, the pictures were taken by respected photog Annie Leibovitz, and there’s not even a hint of inappropriate skin displayed beyond something an evening gown might show. And yet, she releases the apology statement, that she was “duped” by notions of artistry and professionalism, she was just trying to be artistic. She knows we won’t buy that load of crap, and we don’t. We fully recognize that it’s bullshit. But it’s still necessary for Cyrus to release that statement, and we all know it. If she didn’t, we’d label her a slut and chalk her up to another Hollywood victim. So we read the statement, and we mock its ridiculousness, but we take for granted the fact that it is still this necessary device wedged between star and audience that needs to be released despite its ludicrousness. Miley Cyrus knows that people find her attractive, even though she’s 15 and they probably shouldn't. She is a Lolita, and by painting her as half-victim half-whore on internationally acclaimed urban newspapers, we are playing right into her trap.

Miley Cyrus may look dumb, but she knows exactly what she’s doing. She manipulates new technology and the press to help tailor her image, bolstering her approval in the minds of parents and children everywhere. Everybody makes mistakes, but that Vanity Fair cover was no mistake. Miley Cyrus is smarter than all of us.


Oh Nothing

No, really. I don't have anything to say. It's 3:50 am and I should be in bed by now because I have to wake up early tomorrow, but here I am. I could blame the midnight coffee, but frankly, the caffeine rush has died down and I only had three-quarters of a cup.

I think I have insomnia. I'm tired, but the idea of going to bed is repulsive. I don't want the night to end. This xkcd comic (by the way, I'm not a computer nerd but why is this the best comic ever? Like it's legitimately art. I don't know how he manages to be funny and poignant, sometimes in a single frame, and it's sites like this that make me so glad to have Stumble) sums it up, sort of. Sleeping is scary. It's losing control; it's hours spent in a confined space; it's the end of a day, but I kind of don't want this day to end, like something amazing will maybe happen in just five more minutes if I stay up, and most often that something ends up being me watching that episode of South Park where Stan's dog is gay, but whatever it's funny and I love Big Gay Al and that show has changed so much since the early seasons, and I remember once my babysitter let me watch an episode and I thought I was such a badass and so cool but I was disappointed by the lack of nudity or profanity in the episode, because I was too young to realize that mature themes don't always mean "he said the f-word!" and I casually referenced the episode to all my friends the next day even when it didn't make sense in conversation.

Also, my Old Navy clearance-sale Christmas pajama pants have a huge hole in the crotch (surprise, surprise), and I didn't realize that when I went down to get my sushi delivery order this afternoon, so a few lucky residents of the Second Street dorm got to see what color boxers I was wearing today.

There is nothing more depressing than an empty bowl of ramen on a dirty wooden desk.


Sunday, April 27, 2008

Raise your hand if you don't give a shit Miley Cyrus is kind of a slut

*raises hand*
Perez and Dlisted and I'm sure all the other news sources who quit blogging over the weekend and pick up their slack on Monday mornings are up in arms about these new Miley Cyrus pictures shot by Vanity Fair by famed photog Annie Liebovitz.

She's 15. She's topless. They're "racy."

I mean, come on. They show about as much skin as a backless evening gown. Does no one remember Britney, the Original Underage Whore? Who CARES? They're acting like the sexualization of young girls is this new phenomenon. Jamie-Lynn Spears is pregnant for fuck's sake. Let Miley pose swaddled in a 500 thread count silk sheet!

She's underage, so it's her parents who are responsible for keeping their famed Christian daughter covered, not the media's. And it's certainly not Leibovitz's job. If her parents are okay with it, the girl should be allowed to romp around half naked! Flaunt it while you got it, sister.


Spring has sprung, and so has our new template

I suck at HTML, and websites, and the internet in general. So our new template is just an old Blogger fav. If any of you know how HTML works and want to help us make our site look spiffy, we'd be very grateful, and if you live in New York, we'd totally smoke you out.


My So-Called Problem With TV Today

As I was walking home from the gym today I had my second run-in in a month with Claire Danes, most notably (in my book) of My So-Called Life fame. She had deep bags beneath her eyes and wasn't wearing makeup. I was reminded why I'm so in love with her, and with that show.

MSCL came out too early for me to appreciate it in its prime. I was too young to comprehend the darling drama of it all. It premiered in 1994, when I was 6, in a time when MTV was far headier than it is now. They still played music back then. They knew their audience. And their audience was drawn to shows whose messages were deeper than those portrayed on network favorites like Saved by the Bell.

Admittedly I'm new to the MSCL phenomenon, having watched my first episode last year. But the intensity and grace with which the writers navigated teenage life was not lost on me, despite having already graduated high school. There is a self-consciousness in teen shows today like Gossip Girl and in reality shows like The Hills that causes writers and actors to steer away from honesty. I'm not sure whether it's television that has changed, or the audience. Gossip Girl avoids the anxieties that MSCL confronts head on. Theirs is an unrealistic world where problems stem from money; very few teenagers can personally relate to that, but they are drawn in by the desire to have Serena and Blair's problems instead of their own. Reality shows don't even come close to portraying reality; Lauren Conrad hasn't shown an honest scrap of emotion in her entire TV-broadcasted life. What MSCL did, which, I argue, other recent shows have yet to do again, was show life exactly how it is. Fuck glamor. Give me honesty.

Because there was no one in the world more honest than Angela Chase. She captures perfectly the suburban existential crisis, the perils of being unjustly nestled between adulthood and childhood. She spoke so articulately about adult emotions, while still acting brazenly as a child. It was the perfect synthesis of plot driven drama and real life debacle. Because Angela Chase was just so damn sincere. You got the feeling that everything she did and felt on the show, Claire Danes did and felt in real life. I honestly thought the series was lifted directly from my high school diaries. It was that natural.

But do audiences these days even want natural? It seems the shows that are popular in the teenage and young adult demographics are those that captivate us by their whimsy, not their honesty. We want to see the rich kids getting drunk and getting into fights. We want to see the beautiful people dicking each other over and using money as a band-aid. Not to go all Marx on you, but it's kind of a comment on consumer culture today. We like watching the lives of people with money: There's Gossip Girl and The Hills, but there's also The Real Housewives of New York/Orange County, Cribs, My Super Sweet Sixteen, even Arrested Development.

Has our obsession with celebrity culture and capitalism completely erased honesty from television? Do we even want to remember, or recognize, that those things we felt in high school are supremely universal? It seems today instead of desiring a relatable honesty from our television programs, we want instead to entertain grass is greener fantasies in an attempt to live the lives of others, not understand our own.

I leave you with the collected wisdoms of Angela Chase:


The Virtual Virtual Relationship

I think a lot about how Facebook simultaneously fucks up and enhances our lives. Beyond the general knowledge that Facebook has completely changed the way we create and view friendships, I'd argue that it also transforms how we enter into and entertain relationships.

There are two levels to this:

The Poke, The Fuck
People who poke you want to fuck you. End of story. If you want to fuck them, you poke them back. It may never amount to anything except some drunken cyber sex, but there's always that chance you'll run into them at your mutual friend's pretentious loft party, recognize each other, somehow still think that your hotness translates from pixels to the Real World, and act on it a la a one night stand. But once you fuck, you can't poke. They're mutually exclusive. Poking is a lot like the frat guy who loses interest once he puts it inside you; it happens and then it ends once it leads to something real, leaving you to wonder if it ever really happened at all...

The Person You Meet Once, Hit it Off With, And then Subject Yourself to Nothing Beyond Online Contact for the Rest of Your Meager Lives
Maybe you met through another friend, or randomly at a club. You really liked each other, and once you friend each other you send flirty private messages and wall posts back and forth. You get excited when your profile shows Inbox(1). You graduate to talking on AIM, and soon to on the phone. It's getting serious. But it can never be because he was only visiting the city and he actually lives in Croatia and the time difference makes things hard and the distance makes things hard and without Facebook, you would have simply accepted the fact that meeting him was a one time thing. But Facebook makes one time things impossible. Facebook makes everything eternal. Now you two are trapped in this in-between, this never never land of messages and jealousy over relationship statuses and falling into e-love, but never being able to act on it. It is torturous, but you move on. You poke other people. Soon you rarely talk, let alone show your intimate poetry to each other. He becomes a ghost of a person, flickering sadly on your buddy list every time he signs on and off. You change your screen name and forget to tell him. He stays in Croatia and you move on to someone else you meet, a cyber crush, a Facebook boyfriend, a love, a lust that will never be, except for on teh internetz.