Alizah Salario

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.”

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Only a few weeks after I’d denounced my religion, I found myself celebrating Purim. (Long story, and not one I’m going to tell here. )  I started out with a simple costume (hot pink tights and a sequenced headband) at a small singles gathering. I drank one Red Bull and vodka on an empty stomach. By the time I ended up at temple, my headband was off and I was slightly tipsy. Initially I felt a little ashamed, until I saw the state of affairs that awaited.

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“If you’re at the cutting edge, then you’re going to bleed.”  Nancy Andreasen in yesterday’s NYT article about the upside of depression.

He wears jeans, sneakers, and a tan checkered button-down shirt.

He’s probably boring.  I think I should say hi. Probably, he’s boring. Law school. Maybe engineering. Today should be the day I say hello. But I bet he’s boring.

I’m writing/listening to Michael Jackson at the small cafe near my apartment, catching quick glances at my ‘cafe crush’  (the guy who comes in as frequently as I do, orders a latte, as I do, and stares intently at his laptop, as I do.)

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“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt. “

There are those who hate Valentine’s Day so much they use it as an excuse to drink their ego out of the driver’s seat so they can hand the keys to their id. Then when the inevitable I’m-so-miserable-and-alone drunken meltdown occurs, it seems organic, and friends feel obliged to give the woe-is-me gal what she wanted all along: a pity party.

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These days, according to Alfieri, we settle for half.

This weekend I had the privilege of seeing two fine theatrical productions, The Lonely Soldier Monologues and A View From the Bridge. Though one was a compilation of monologues performed on a sparse stage and the other a full-scale Broadway production, they both reminded me of the many ways we settle for less than being whole.

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My Sunday morning ritual goes something like this: roll out of bed, make coffee or tea, run downstairs in my sweats to grab my Sunday copy of the New York Times, curl up on the couch with mug in hand, and read.  I read the front page headlines and halfheartedly breeze through something about real estate and business. Then I devour the style pages, the arts section, the editorials, and the Modern Love column, saving the most controversial part of the paper for last: the wedding announcements.  Read the rest of this entry »

Hat, gloves, scarf, sweater, tug, zip, wrap, pull. Getting ready to go out is like suiting up for battle. Everything seems harder, everywhere seems farther. Even going downstairs to get the newspaper is painful. You have that extra slice of bread because you need that extra layer, and before you know it even your loose jeans are tight.  Flip flops and spaghetti straps are ancient history. The thought of wearing a bikini frightens you. On top of it, you have a cold. You haven’t seen the sun for 12 consecutive days. Read the rest of this entry »

In just a few weeks, Jersey Shore has become the new Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Snooki is a household name and fist pumps are the new dance floor craze. Perhaps this inconsequential scrap of pop culture doesn’t deserve my attention, but to be quite honest, the show has sucked me in – twice. I think I’ve got a ’situation.’ (See Mike and his 6-pack – now I know you want to watch the show to get the inside joke)

We all know that Shore, just like The Hills, Laguna Beach and all sleazy reality television, is edited and remixed until the truth is unrecognizable. Each character is whittled down to a vapid, stereotypical version of his or her true self.  Perhaps I’m giving ‘The Situation’ and J-wow too much credit, but I refuse to believe anyone is as simple as GTL (gym, tanning and laundry).

I’ll let the show speak for itself. A few choice quotes from yesterday’s episode:

“These girls aren’t hoes. It may take, like, a couple of times of hanging out before they’ll get naked and get  in the hot tub.”

“Its all about your numbers. If you call enough girls, you’re bound to hit it.”

“If I’m feeling the beat, I just may feel moved to move my fist up and down in a pumping motion.”

I’m not worried about our culture becoming vapid and superficial. It already is. Truth be told, I see nothing wrong with a little brain candy now and then. (One can enjoy both the New Yorker and The New York Post). I’m worried about ‘everyday’ people who opt to become their media-created persona – fantasy becomes their reality, the character more potent than the individual. The JS crew is perhaps the most ‘real’ of reality t.v.’s hit shows, and that is exactly why it will have an insidious effect on viewers. But what happens to those of us who aren’t reality stars, but think they should be? Every single one of us now has the ability to create our own ‘celeb’ persona via Twitter, Facebook, etc. I’m concerned because I see a narrow, reductive version of myself emerging through social media – and I’m told this is a good thing.

Its not that I think value lies in my superficial traits, but I most certainly feel the pressure to capitalize on them. Truth be told, I’ve heard time and time again that I must ‘brand’ myself in order to find some kind of niche as a writer. So folks, what should it be? Cute cub reporter looking for the next scoop a la Lois Lane? Intellectual yet fashionable single girl in the city a la Carie Bradshaw? Arts afficionado? Lonely introverted writer? Should I put a flower or a glamorous photo on my website as a defining trait? The list of potential identities is endless, yet none stand alone. By definition, branding is reductive. Out of context, my ‘characters’ are unfit and untrue. I know this, yet I feel the need to create a public persona before I’ve even rubbed shoulders with success and fame.

I do not think this is crisis of morality or character. It is a loss imagination and the ability to believe in bigger things. Hook ups and bling itit is. There is no mystery left and perhaps no room for fantasy.  I’m still searching for a brand – one that is authentic and undeniably me. In this media climate, I’m not sure how marketable ‘authentic’ is. Sigh. Maybe I should just change my name to Skooki.

Update #1:

Just as I was regretting this seemingly vapid and unimportant post, The New Yorker comes out with their Jersey Shore critique. A must-read.

Oh, and Gawker has some fancy-looking Jersey Shore graph too.