Do you suffer from Facebook anxiety disorder?
Do you often log in, glance at your newsfeed and think, “Where did I go wrong?”
Do you obsessively check the info pages of people you couldn’t care less about only to make sure their successes are meager compared to your own? Do you find yourself looking at attractive photos of others and snarking, “Has she had work done? I don’t think she had that nose in high school.”
I’ve wanted to see Hair for ages, long before I donned long skirts and dabbled in hippiedom for a few years in college. I knew I’d love the music, the costumes, the astral-projection- groovy- can you dig it style of the entire thing, but I didn’t know I’d be slammed with one of the most powerful and moving pieces of theater and social commentary I’ve ever seen.
“Phone sex is not so unlike being a reporter .A central challenge of success at both is keeping random strangers – horny guys, hostile hedge-fund managers – on the phone, talking to you, confessing to you, growing fond of you, resolving to talk to you again. And at all times, phone-sex operators, like reporters, are expected to remain detached, wise to “The Game,” objective-but in a way, that’s crap. It’s not easy to become beloved by strangers if not a single part of you truly yearns for that love.”
From Marueen Tkacik’s “Look at Me! A writers search for journalism in the age of branding” in this month’s print version of the Columbia Journalism Review
Well. I have always been told I’ve got the voice for it….
Last August, I finally caved. I bought a Macbook Pro.
To be clear, I don’t identify as a Mac person. I opted for the Pro because I got a student discount (though other brands were still cheaper, I can’t pass up a bargain) and Macs were recommended by my esteemed grad program. Essentially, I bought into the market tactics that would make me just like everyone else.
When a pigeon almost flew in my window, I remained nonplussed. The rat with wings sat in my windowsill and stared at me. I stared back. So what if I contract avian flew? What’s the worst it can do, poke my eyes out? It flew away, and I considered myself victorious.
aid always a critic bitterness Central Park cold Despair earthquake fist pumps Guidos Haiti Harlem Ivy Leauge jazz Jersey Shore Manhattan marriage New Museum New Years New York Times Oprah reality television Romance snow Soho Speed Dating Sunday tableau vivant The Shrine winter
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There is something about me..