“One little video about Robert Cray. I’m like, huh. I need to find that in high-def. Click, click, click. I need to find out what pickups he’s using. Your video will start in 5… 4… 3… What tuners is he using? I can’t tell. I’m watching whole sets. Then I’m on some forum. Does he use a pick. Does he use his fingers. No one knows. I had to post something. I NEVER post in those things. I saw him TWICE on the same tour when I was sixteen. I went alone, both times, because I had no friends, wearing a Misfits shirt. I loved him, I loved the blues, and I didn’t know why because I didn’t know I HAD the blues. Four hours later, my laptop battery is running low, I have to pee, and my life is over.” (my Other Half on a recent rant.)
I’m just happy that men lose entire chunks of time in cyberspace too. Just when you think you have your shit together in life, you look at your last open window and get bitch-slapped by your ADHD reality. One tab about your Meyers-Briggs personality type (ITSP, in case you were wondering), two tabs with blog drafts, a semi-abandoned genealogy chart (who would ever think Germans would be shitty record keepers?), one tab with the cropped J. Crew trousers that are backordered until July, one tab with the local taxidermy/curiosity shop’s latest items, one tab for Sephora and another for googling swatches and/or reviews of interesting products being considered from Sephora. It’s just fucking stupid.
But, true love is getting lost in YouTube hell together. This morning, we sat, unshowered and hung over, watching Japanese game shows and prank shows. There is one show where contestants must successfully sing karaoke while getting jerked off by beautiful girls. I mean, they have a little curtain thing covering the lower half of the guy’s body, BUT STILL. I laughed so hard I cried. Jason laughed so hard he cried AND farted. True love.
Okay, please tell me the stupid shit you waste hours on so I don’t feel quite so weird.