I Kissed A…Great Opportunity Goodbye
I have to hand it to singer Katy Perry for her insanely infectious tune, “I Kissed a Girl,” which has rocketed to #1 on the singles charts. The title alone guaranteed it would be a hit and I’m disappointed that I wasn’t as clever as Katy. See, I’ve never kissed a girl, a fact that I regret because I believe that if I had done so in my prime, I’d be far richer and more successful today.
In my youth I was not aware that two girls kissing possessed more power than a nuclear explosion or that it was as effective at granting wishes as Paris Hilton’s Christmas list. It wasn’t until I was much older that I learned how apeshit guys get over that and how most would rather watch two girls together than be a participant with one of them. And the more anti-gay a man is, the more lesbian porn you’re likely to find on his computer.
If I could go back in time, I’d befriend a stripper named Tiffany- not one of those “I’m paying for college” types but a really skanky one with a serious crack addiction. Then I’d wave that little $10 bag of crack in her face anytime I needed some assistance, like at the mechanic.
“Three hundred bucks for a set of tires? Surely that’s not the best you can do.” Then I’d grab Tiffany and plant a wet one on her, making sure to expose a little tongue. If he only dropped the price by $100 I might have to include a grope of one of her obnoxiously large fake breasts. That should lower the price by at least another C-note. Subtract Tiffany’s crack and I would have saved $190.
I’d use it in my comedy career as well. “What do you mean chicks can’t close? What if I brought along Tiffany to open for me?” After which I’d rub Tiffany’s thigh- but only if she were wearing pants or if I had on a pair of STD-proof gloves. I’d have been headlining across the nation my second month in comedy. I wouldn’t even have to write any jokes, I’d just pull Tiffany onstage for a smooch anytime there was a lull.
Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes.
Let this be a lesson to all the young girls reading this: a boyfriend is nice, particularly when you need furniture moved but a girlfriend will get you all new furniture- and more guys than you need to move it for you.
Signs My Date Is Too Young For Me
The first time I ever heard of The Jonas Brothers was on Christmas, when my niece-in-law (is that a term? It’s my brother-in-law’s niece) was bopping around to their music on her mp3 player so I had a listen. They sing that freakishly catchy music that I’ll never seek out but if I ever hear it on the radio I’m sure I’ll find myself singing it for hours afterward. Since then, I’ve come across several pictures of the teenyboppers and I’m afraid to find out how old they are because the future hotness potential of the middle one makes me a little warm. Is it wrong to have impure thoughts about a youngun’ as long as I’ve mentally aged him by 5-10 years? I’ll admit it’s far from a perfect science, a lesson I learned with Prince William (who could have predicted the freckle-faced redhead would turn out to be the sexier one)?
With another birthday tomorrow (the big two five- please, don’t ruin it for me), I should probably be looking for more age-appropriate men but the fact is it’s slightly less depressing to date an immature 21-year-old than to date an immature 41-year-old. But given my intense fear of hearing the term “cougar” being used in reference to me, I decided it’s time for me to set some guidelines so I’ll know when young is too young.
Signs My Date Is Too Young For Me
… He’s proud of himself for identifying AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
At the chorus.
… He uses the phrase, “Today my professor said…”
… He mentions his three roommates, none of whom he’s obligated by law to support.
… He knows the first name of the Jonas brother I think is hot. (Correction: will be hot)
… He’s not embarrassed to say he can’t buy me a drink because he only has $16 in his bank account. And his ID was confiscated the last time he tried to get into Hyde.
… He says he grew up watching the “Real World,” having seen all the way back to the New York season. You know, the one with Coral and Mike.
… He can’t type to save his life but he can text 75 words per minute.
… He doesn’t think twice about asking me my age.
… We’re on a date and he points out a cast member from “The Hills.”
… He’s watched “The Hills.”
… I joke about someone’s simple chronic halitosis and he thinks I’m referring to weed.
… I mention “The Breakfast Club” and he asks if it’s an after-hours. And if he’ll be able to score X there.
… I feel compelled to calculate how many years it’s been since my first menstrual period.
Cash For Trash
I thought I was done with Paris Hilton for awhile then along comes a story like this:
LOS ANGELES (AP) — An empty can of gourmet dog food taken from Paris Hilton’s trash fetched $305 in an eBay auction. The sellers were from the Web site HollywoodStarTrash.com, which also listed several other Hilton items for sale on eBay.
A used toothbrush sold for $305; two envelopes sent to her while she was in jail sold for $510; and a Coke can pulled from her trash went for $51.
It kind of scares me that there are people in this world with free access to the Internet who can spare $300 on an empty can of dog food.
WHY???? What’s the plan? Will they display it in their curio cabinet alongside their Fabergé egg collection? Turn it into a candy dish on their coffee table? Did they actually think that Paris Hilton herself allowed her delicate hands to touch a stinking can of dog food? And even if she did, WHO FUCKING CARES?
Obviously, plenty of morons do. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a map of the stars’ homes and some rubber gloves. I need a piece of this action.
American Idol Finale
Since I wrote about the Heroes finale I should probably discuss the American Idol finale as well (and maybe some others in the next couple days). I mentioned I dropped a few shows so it may come as a surprise that this wasn’t one of them. I’m telling you, it’s some sort of mind control they have. I can’t even explain why I watch it. I just do.
The fact is, it’s been a rather boring season. Boring enough that I never watched any of the results shows and honestly considered dropping the show altogether (as if it was even in my power to do so). However, with 30 million people watching it each week I’m forced to stick with it so I won’t be the fool in a discussion who thinks a Sanjaya is the newest burrito wrap from Taco Bell.
There was some great singing this season but very few memorable performances. And America actually got the elimination order right for the first time so there was no drama from an upset. The only elimination that differed from my list was of the aforementioned Sanjaya, whom I wanted to finish third. If you gasped at that statement, that’s part of the reason why. The sadist in me got a real kick out of the way his continued survival in the competition infuriated the people who take this show way too seriously (perhaps different people get different doses of the mind control). He was awful but it was in a “What will he do next?” kind of way. We used to get that from Paula but it appears she finally decided to stop hitting happy hour on her way to the broadcast. I’m sure a lot of male viewers got their kicks trying to catch glimpses of Haley’s underwear as her skirts got smaller and smaller but that just didn’t do it for me so Sanjaya was my little treat each week.
I was particularly surprised that the voters got the elimination of judge-favorite Melinda correct. I expected her to go to the finale with Jordin but I’m glad she didn’t. She’s probably the best singer ever on the show but, like 4th place finisher Lakisha, she looks and sounds about 40 years too old. I can’t imagine being interested in any album that either of them puts out. Plus I didn’t like her from the onset. She always had this shocked expression every time the judges complimented her (which was always). I find it hard to believe that someone that talented doesn’t know it. So she’s either a phony or she’s completely clueless, two qualities I just can’t support.
Now we’re down to Blake and Jordin, my two early favorites. Simon summed them up pretty well: she’s a better singer, he’s a better performer. I want Blake to win. His rendition of “You Give Love A Bad Name” was awesome, which was particularly satisfying after Jon Bon Jovi arrogantly speculated people loved the original so much they probably wouldn’t accept a new version. We did. I also love Blake’s little dance moves, though I’m not sure if it would be a good or bad thing if the guys in America attempted to emulate them. The judges have praised Blake for being current, which I have to disagree with. He’s soooo 80′s. But I love 80′s music, which is why I’m rooting for him. He’s like, totally gnarly.
Even though I want Blake to win, I know Jordin will. She’s just fits the image of an American Idol better. Unfortunately, it’s the same image and sound as every other female pop star right now so I doubt I’d recognize her on the radio. Then again, the only American Idol contestant ever that I recognize on the radio and actually like is Chris Daughtry (whose album is great, by the way). So I suppose it really doesn’t matter who wins. I’ll just be glad when it’s all over so I can begin my American Idol resistance therapy and be done with this crappy show for good.
Or at least until next January.
From Film To Television
With Oscar madness over, my site not functioning and winter finally making an appearance in So Cal, I spent the last few days catching up on a couple weeks’ worth of tv. Yes, I watch some bad reality shows but I’ve got my remote skills honed to the point I can plow through most of them without ever having to hear the host’s voice. Some thoughts and questions about what’s happening on the small screen:
American Idol- Is Kelamari Pickler for real?? Seriously. I strongly suspect she’s a character from a new FOX sitcom and American Idol is merely a platform to promote it. Nobody is that much of a caricature of the stereotypical backwards hick. The only detail they skipped is the missing teeth. I have to agree with Simon that she is very likeable… in 30 second clips. But if I had to spend any more than a few minutes with her, I’d be shoving scones, falafel and other food items she’s never heard of down her throat just to shut her up. My early predictions: Bucky, Kevin and the scratchy-voiced girl will be the next three to go. The sexy bald guy is my favorite performer but the wife and stepkids will make him seem like too much of an adult to the teenyboppers who actually call and vote so he’ll probably only make it halfway. Ace, Lisa and Kelli will make final four. In the end, I think the fans will pick Kelly Clarkson Version 2: Katharine. But what do I know? And for the love of God, why do I care???
24- I’m still about three hours behind on 24 but if the show is staying true to past years’ form, I’m sure I can guess what’s happening: Tony Almeida has probably already recovered from the morning’s blast and is back at CTU with just a Snoopy bandage as proof of the explosion that killed his wife and nearly killed him. Jack’s daughter Kim has returned only to fall prey to some creepy guy while wearing a tank top with no bra. Jack has uttered the phrase, “I’m the only person who can do this!” for the hundredth time and Chloe has scrunched her face for the millionth time. To celebrate the occasion, all CTU phones rang in unison: dee dee…duh nah. Am I right? Shhh. Don’t tell me. There’s been a burning question in my head for the last five seasons that I must ask: What is “division” and if it’s so important that it has to send people in and handle the big decisions, why doesn’t it run the whole show?
The Bachelor- I’m particularly embarrassed to admit I watch this garbage but what can I say? I’m a sucker for fake romance. Plus it only lasts about 6 episodes so the dirty feeling passes quickly. Naturally the hunky doctor chose the prissy kindergarten teacher. Did he really think he would ever find passion with a woman who pulls out that stupid thumb dance every chance she gets? Then again, his alternative seemed like a cool chick early on but got a little too Fatal Attractionish toward the end. I believe a whole hour passed between the disclosure of the winner and the announcement of the breakup so he’s back on the market. He needs to find a woman like, well, me. If anybody knows him, please send him my way.
CSI- Nick Stokes is having serious hair issues this year. First there was the bushy moustache, now there’s the long feathered combover. I’m beginning to wonder if he supplements his CSI income by acting in retro-style pornos. Perhaps Catherine does too, thus the need for the plumped-up lips. As much as I like her character, nobody whose job involves crawling around gathering minute pieces of evidence wears pants that tight. But I suppose if I looked that good in tight pants at her age (or even my own age, for that matter) I’d forgo comfort as well.
The Apprentice- The team rewards started going downhill last season when one involved spending the day with original Apprentice winner Bill Rancic on one of Trump’s construction sites. I’m sure some of the candidates were wondering if they’d lost the task and if that was a punishment. This season, the first reward was lunch with Trump then last week they won the opportunity to outfit men entering the workplace with suits. Hey, I think it’s great when the reward involves charity work but when introduction of said service includes the phrase, “The Trump signature suit collection,” it loses a bit of the altruistic factor. If philanthropy was really as important to Trump as he professes, perhaps instead of starting the season by pointing to his private jet and saying, “Someday, you could own one of these,” he could point to a free clinic he’s building and say, “Someday, you could give away one of these.”
Lost- Always awesome but where does everybody keep disappearing to? There was the guy in the hatch who said he was getting out of there and took off running- and nobody asked where he was going. The French woman and the Others come and go and Michael hasn’t been heard from in ages. Maybe they’ve all taken refuge on the other side of the island with the crew filming the next Survivor. They can take the boring characters but they better leave my favorites, Locke and Sawyer, alone. If I could have Sawyer call me “freckles” just once in that charming way of his, it would make my tormented, freckle-faced youth all worthwhile.
Survivor- There’s a reason the show’s ratings have dropped drastically this season: awful, awful casting. We’re already five episodes in and I don’t know a single person’s name. And I don’t care. So far I’ve seen nobody to really like and nobody to really hate. Not only do they have bland personalities they seem stupider than usual. First there was the girl who returned from Exile Island and gave everybody the impression she’d found the immunity idol. She was practically begging the others to call her bluff. They did- first chance they got- and she was history. Next there were the two guys who drank the wine the tribe had won. Have they never watched previous Survivor installments? Selfish consumption= immediate boot. And so it was for one of the winos. Now there’s the guy in the majority alliance asking to be set free of his obligation. That strategy is even dumber than being in the minority alliance and actually sticking to his obligation. Where are the liars and sneaks? Those are the one I love to see on Survivor.
The Amazing Race- Where Survivor failed in casting, TAR outdid itself. I usually like TAR as much or more for the locations than the competitors but they brought in some fun personalities this season. My early favorites are the hippies and the nerds but I enjoy almost everybody. I like the guy from team MoJo only because he said to his misty-eyed girlfriend, “You’re not gonna cry are you?” when they missed out on some plane tickets. His comment was totally insensitive but her tears were hypersensitive. Good for him for calling her on it. I even like the dumb jocks because they cop to some of their lame attributes; I appreciate that sort of self-awareness. Plus it’s going to be fun watching their inevitable demise as they trip all over themselves trying to hook up with the pink girls. The pink girls, by the way, are an embarrassment to their Girls Gone Wild sisters everywhere. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have been able to find 20 guys to put their motorcycle together for them on the first episode. Every season needs a villain and the obvious early contender for that role is the overaggressive doctor. When you see guys like him, you kind of understand why some kids shoot their parents. He’s the “I’m right” guy and the “I told you so” guy and the “Blame everybody but myself” guy all rolled into one. He’s going to aggravate the hell out of me but characters like that make reality shows fun so I hope he sticks around awhile.
Mid-Season replacements- I watched the first episodes of the heavily-hyped, Sons and Daughters and Free Ride. Given the poor ratings of Arrested Development, I’m curious why two networks chose to make vastly inferior reproductions. Free Ride showed slight potential but Sons and Daughters was awkward and unfunny. It’s just bad enough to end up as a top 10 hit. Meanwhile, I have yet to watch what could be the last two episodes ever of Arrested Development. The sadomasochist in me is holding off until I hear the show’s fate.
Now that I’ve finally caught up on the crap, I have the long-awaited Sopranos to look forward to, though, it really won’t be the same without Drea de Matteo’s character. Maybe they can play her death off as a bad dream, which is surely how she views her stint on Joey.
I Admit, I Watched “It”
Like 38 million other Americans, I tuned in to the premiere of American Idol. No, I wasn’t forced to watch the program by the Bad Taste Society- I actually did so of my own free will. I realize this admission hurts my credibility when it comes to discussions of quality television, but I do have a good excuse. One of my poker buddies co-hosted the show the first season and I used to watch it just to give him some support. I didn’t even like it enough to tune in every week but somewhere around the time Justin Guarini asked the crowd to tell him how much they loved him (consequently landing him in the bottom three the next night), American Idol had seeped into my blood stream. Today the world’s wealthiest nations pledged two billion dollars to combat the spread of the bird flu, which has only afflicted 150 people worldwide, while nothing is being done to ward off American Idolitis, which has infected millions in our own country. While my situation isn’t as severe as most people’s (I can only identify two songs released by any of the contestants, both by Kelly Clarkson), a cure must be found.
…But until it is, I must chat about the show.
My favorite aspect of the auditions was watching Paula, fresh off the Corey Clark scandal, try to contain herself every time a hottie took the stage. While she did her best not to show much interest, I couldn’t help but notice the little wad of drool bunched up in the corners of her mouth. And who could blame her? I might have been tempted to go a little Mary Kay LeTourneau on 17-year-old Ace myself.
During the hiatus, Randy seems to have lost his fist-pumping “dawg” act, though I suspect it will be back. Simon, on the other hand, still insists on saying, “If I’m being honest with you…” to every other act. Nobody’s ever accused him of being less than honest. With the dough they’re throwing at him, they need to hire him some new writers so he can drop his redundant, “dreadful,” “horrendous,” “the worst…” Simon’s insults make the show but he needs to come up with some fresh ones instead of recycling them from past seasons.
The auditions brought out the usual assortment of freaks: There was the Paris Hilton wannabe with the fake tan and the speech patterns reminiscent of Terri Schiavo. There was the guy dressed as Goldilocks (or quite possibly, Cindy Brady). There was the guy who brought in his bouncing coaster invention, oblivious to the fact that a coaster is meant to keep fluids off your furniture, not to catapult them across the room. The most curious auditioner had to be the last one, the guy Randy had to ask, “Are you a dude?” Had the boy admitted to being transgender, I wouldn’t have thought he was weird. It was the fact that he looked, sounded and deliberately dressed like a girl then said he found it surprising that people often confused him for one that was weird. I guess it’s not just singing these people are clueless about (I was amused that they played “The Crying Game” for his whole segment).
The American Idol producers inject their reality show heroin through a bunch of sob stories. First we met the girl from Kansas who had just been evicted from her home and had nowhere to go. Interestingly, she was joined at the Denver auditions by about 12 people wearing shirts that spelled out her name. She had a great voice but it’s hard to sympathize with a chick who blew her rent money on a lame American Idol marketing ploy. Then we met the young cowboy from a small town who’s never been on a plane. In fact, his audition for the three judges amounted to the largest collection of teeth he’d ever sung in front of. His home videos featured him playing with a bunch of birds on his farm. I suspect we’ll see this footage again on a special 60 Minutes episode titled, “How American Idol Sent A Cowboy and Bird Flu To Hollywood.”
It’s obvious that there are just as many people anxious to be the next William Hung as there are wanting to be the next Fantasia. They don’t seem to realize it’s just as hard to fake Hung’s innocence as it is to fake Fantasia’s talent. Whereas past years’ premieres had me roaring with laughter at some of the auditioners, most of this year’s acts seemed too contrived to be funny.
While many are there clearly hoping to get 20 seconds of airtime in the “Worst of” segments, what’s even sadder is how many ghastly singers sincerely believe they have what it takes to be the next American Idol when they don’t even have what it takes to finish third at their local dive bar’s karaoke night contest on an evening when a tornado’s breezing through town. I’ll even cut the teenagers some slack for their cluelessness but their parents should be ashamed. It’s one thing to support your child’s dream, but it’s a complete disservice to encourage a dream that will never ever EVER come to fruition. Don’t boost 5’1″ Timmy’s hopes of being a pro hoopster- boost him up in his chair instead. Don’t take your Danny Devito-resembling daughter to modeling auditions- encourage her to take up astronomy or film development or any activity done in dark locations. And whatever you do, don’t tell your child with the voice like nails on chalkboard that’s she’s a talented singer. She might actually believe you only to learn the embarrassing truth in front of 38 million viewers.
Eat Junk, Lose Weight!
I read a news article yesterday that makes me think I missed my bestseller opportunity. A science professor has introduced a no-diet diet he calls “intuitive eating.” Basically, he says that if you only eat when you’re hungry and don’t eat to the point of fullness, you can eat whatever you want. He used this approach to lose 50 pounds and keep it off for five years.
I’m telling you…It’s true!
I struggled with my weight most of my life. I was never fat or even chubby, just heavy enough to get the “You have a pretty face” compliments while my friends were off winning bikini contests. I tried all the diets and constantly fretted about my size. I spent way too much time thinking about food- when I’d have it and what I’d have.
Finally, about eight years ago I lost 30 pounds through calorie-counting and exercise. Soon after, I was on the road for an extended period and had little choice but to eat a lot of fast food and other processed crap-in-a-can. When I returned, I was scared to death of how much weight I’d gained and was completely surprised I hadn’t gained any. I thought about all those skinny friends who ate whatever they wanted and never put on a pound and decided to maintain a similar diet and see what happens. My weight has barely fluctuated since.
While I don’t chow on junk food every day, if I crave something, I eat it- but not nearly as much as I used to. I’ve rid myself of the “eat everything on your plate” mentality my parents pummeled into my head as a child. Take my Thanksgiving Jack-in-the-Box feast: ten years ago, I could have and would have finished the whole meal in one sitting. Now, I can only finish the sandwich and have to eat the side later. That’s all I ate for the day- and not for any caloric reasons, I just wasn’t hungry for more. I don’t eat at pre-determined times, just when I’m hungry, so there’s no snacking between meals. I completely agree with the scientist’s explanation that, “Having an overabundance of what’s taboo helps me lose my desire to gorge.”
Last year, I finally gave up the Diet Cokes bartenders around town had become accustomed to pouring for me and switched to the hard stuff. You know what? It’s almost completely curbed my sweet tooth (well, with a little help from french vanilla cappuccinos). I rarely indulge in any other goodies- I didn’t even try the cake at my brother’s recent wedding. Say what you want about drinking Coke, it’s certainly better than scarfing down cookies.
I’m sure skeptics will want to argue that eating this and not eating that is unhealthy. Maybe it is. All I know is that in the last eight years, the only illness I’ve suffered was a quick bout of tonsillitis. When I’ve caught colds, they’ve been minor and only lasted about a day. The flu? I don’t even remember what that’s like.
There’s still a part of me that worries if I don’t switch back to broiled chicken breasts and steamed veggies every night, I’m going to suddenly wake up looking like Violet Beauregard after she chewed the tainted gum in Willy Wonka. But I’m sure I’ll notice if I start gaining weight and will adjust my diet accordingly. At the very least, I think I’ve moved past the psychological dependence on food and will be more successful at losing the weight than I was years ago.
I don’t know if this particular diet method is effective for everybody, but it’s certainly worth checking out: intuitive eating
Reality Check
The MySpace situation I wrote about yesterday reminded me of a site that used to be popular called “Am I Hot or Not?” (I just checked and it’s still around). People submit their photos and visitors rate them on a scale of 1 to 10. Most people seem to send in their best pictures as if their decision on whether or not to move to the Big Apple to pursue a career in modelling all hinges on the votes of a bunch of Internet dweebs.
The majority of posted scores do not accurately reflect their real world rating but rather seem to indicate their beer goggle rating (which is about 2-3 points higher). This leads me to believe that either a lot of people vote drunk or these people submit their photos then repeatedly give themselves 10′s in a pathetic attempt to convince other visitors, “I am beautiful!” The fact that the occasional photo remains online with a 4.5 rating means there are plenty of masochists who enjoy public humiliation- or just a lot of people who like to submit bad pictures of their friends without telling them.
When Hot or Not hit its popularity peak a few years back, I was co-hosting an Internet comedy program with comic Courtney Cronin. For a show segment, we decided to submit truly awful photos of ourselves to see who could get the worst rating. My submission was clearly not to be taken seriously- my hair was a rat’s nest and my mouth was agape with an expression of complete stupor. Needless to say, my 3.8 rating completely surprised me until I realized that the handful of visitors who got the joke probably rated me a 10 while those who considered this site to be some sort of sacred barometer of beauty gave me a 0.
I know, I know, some regular readers might wonder why I always have to screw with other people’s ideas of fun. Why do I lie on my MySpace profile then invite strangers to be my friends? Why do I submit a gag photo for Hot or Not? Why do I scream in a silent room full of people reading? (Ok, I haven’t mentioned that one here yet). I’m not trying to ruin the fun for others, just making my own fun. And at the same time, I’m giving others a nudge to remember what’s real and what’s not. Just because you earned a beer goggle 8.7 on Hot or Not, doesn’t mean you should drop your sweet, loyal boyfriend for the hot soap opera actor who lives in your building but never gives you a passing glance. And just because 200 people have accepted you as a “friend” on MySpace, doesn’t mean any of them will give you a lift to the airport. Well, they might if you’re a real world 10.
Just “1 Friends” On MySpace
A couple weeks ago, my friend Doug invited me to join MySpace.com. Normally I’d disregard such an invitation because I got my fill of instant messages from creepy strangers in the early days of AOL. But for some reason, Doug sent my invite to an old email address I’d all but forgotten about and I happened to check it and find Doug’s invite the same day Green Day was premiering their “Jesus of Suburbia” video only on MySpace. I figured it must be some sort of sign I was supposed to be a part of the MySpace community and joined.
I thought MySpace was a place to meet and interact with new people. I quickly learned it’s some sort of sick competition to see how many friends you can accumulate on the site. Either people send you an invitation or you send invites out to others and as they accept, they are added to your list of friends. Doug has over 2700 friends. I have one. And it’s out there for the whole world to see: “Jenée has 1 friends.” Yes, it says, “1 friends,” plural, as if the creators of MySpace never considered the possibility a person would only have “1 friend” so they didn’t adapt their HTML accordingly. Under the declaration is Doug’s stupid mug looking like he’s mocking me for accepting his pointless invite in the first place.
I expected my entire MySpace experience to last until the end of the Green Day video at which time I’d never return again, then I noticed Green Day had 42,000 “friends.” I decided as a goof to ask them to be on my friends list. The idea that a grown woman would bother to invite Green Day to be her friends seemed so incredibly geeky, I had to do it. So I sent them the invite and forgot about it.
A week later, I remembered the site and decided to check in again, excited about the prospect it might have the grammatically-correct “Jenée has 2 friends” with a picture of Green Day next to Doug’s. Nope. I still had just “1 friends.” In an even geekier move, I returned to Green Day’s MySpace page and saw that the lackey in charge of maintaining the site had indeed logged on since I sent my invite. What the hell? I checked out the “preferred friends” pictures on their front page. One features a guy bent over a car getting cuffed by a cop. Another picture shows a girl sticking out her tongue with the caption “Blow me you fucks.” They made page one of the friends cut and I couldn’t even make page 400? I considered the possibility the shmuck checked out my page and decided I wasn’t worthy. Maybe it was the fact I hadn’t added a photo or that I listed my age as 100, my sexual orientation as “unsure” and my marital status as “swinger” but since options like those aren’t readily available on most questionnaires, I had to take them.
I browsed some of Green Day’s “friends’” sites to see what they’ve got that I haven’t. Apparently I’m the only one who decided to add ONE famous person/band as a joke. I noticed everybody had scores, if not hundreds, of friends- some famous, some not famous. As far as I can tell, the object of the game seems to be to try and get as many hotties as possible, or at least eight for the preferred friends list. Who are they trying to fool? After browsing the photos and reading some of their comments, it was obvious to me that many of them probably don’t have 20 people who can tolerate them in their real lives yet they’re trying to create the illusion they’re friends with a bunch of Playboy Playmates. Are that many adults really so desperate to convince others they have lots and lots of friends? In Doug’s defense, he is a comic and he was on a tv show so I’m sure most of his “friends” are fans who sent invitations to him. For people in the entertainment industry, it can be another marketing tool, but for almost everybody else, it just seems weird to call someone a friend when their only awareness of your existence is a quick click to accept your invitation.
I decided to send out a few invites to random strangers, same profile intact, to see what would happen. They all accepted. I thought about the possibilities: I could acquire thousands of friends then shove it in Doug’s face, “HA! HA! SUCKER. I WIN!!” But in the end, I decided to delete all my new “friends” from my profile, which I’ll also do if Green Day ever accepts my invite. I’d rather the world know I have one real friend than 500 make-believe ones.
