Blogs are so 1993

Unleash the Beast here.

I remember many days in 1993 when I was supposed to be in some stupid class that would never amount to anything (computer science – HAH!) or at my work study job (I had some Ramen noodles, a 6 pack of Milwaukee’s Best and something to smoke – who needed to work?) my friends and I would get together and have really special heartwarming moments that would shape our hyper-critical, compulsive and self-destructive attitudes for a lifetime!

Learn about Commodore 64s, too.

We were ever-so-clever back then and we’d trade mix-tapes and bitch about that awful girl with the big boobs in our drawing class. We’d also obsess over how cute-boy-of-the-moment did not realize that his girlfriend was a skank. In my case, he did not yet know that he, himself, was gay and that he would totally fall in love with me – if he could get past the whole forbidden love that had not yet been compellingly dramatized by Showtime. Computers back then were jazzed up TRS80’s and if worse came to worse, you knew someone who had a Royal typewriter with 50 word spell check/correct memory.

The bloggers I read daily do very much the same thing today as my pals and I did in the early 1990s, except they use iBooks and post from their cell phones. They still diss each other, illegally share music, talk about tits, and needlessly mock the stupid, slutty, vain, and down-right-hideous. It’s so, totally, like 1993, except that the people that would have probably hated each other in college (coz they had big boobs or dated our not-gay-but-he-would-be-for-me-boyfriend) now share links (but sometimes steal content) from each other.

Did you miss my birthday?

There seems to be some competitive feistiness: there’s still some snarky one-upmanship of each other now from time to time. But after reading a number of blogs to research this post, I believe that the general disdain for the current administration and the state of the media world has created a real “Donna Martin Graduates” mentality within the blogger community. That same mentality got our boy Bill elected and half of you stinking drunk before 3PM most afternoons way back then in 1993.

Classes are filling fast!

Instead of skipping class, millions of us today have learned how to clear our cache on our work computers after we’ve spent hours surfing each other’s blogs chuckling over the latest Marlena possessed by the devil analogy. Yeah, I know that was 1994-95, but it’s close enough. Remember the days when Sami was a girl and nobody cared about Paris fucking Hilton? Back then, I imagine she was dry humping her Care Bears (Paris – not Sami, that is).

Forever.

Style had some substance – or it was on some substances, at least. It was Linda, Christy, Naomi all the time and lets not forget Kristen. Now, she was hot. Bare-backing wasn’t a trend and heroin and meth weren’t only bad news – but also, kinda tacky, even if Prada would try to sell the look when we got out first real jobs and our first bill from Sallie Mae.

You might have also been the first person you knew to get a tattoo.

And the pace of your life wasn’t something you thought about too much. You just lived your life and went to bed tired, drunk or with some guy/gay who really loved Lion and the Cobra in high school, too.

At least that’s what blogging does for me each and every day, hour after hour. It reignites my belief that smart, talented people who give a shit are still out there after time, rehab, witness relocation and restraining orders have separated me from so many of them. When I read blogs, I don’t feel quite so cynical and hopeless. I get strangely energized by the words and pictures that appear on this little TV screen – almost by magic!

If that doesn’t happen to you -- well too fucking bad. That’s my rub and I’m sticking to it, at least ‘til Camille Paglia says otherwise. And Drudge says she will…..updates at 9, noon, 2 and 6.

He believes in you, too!

Now back to work, missy – you getting fired at this age is not so wise. Too many carbs in Ramen, the Beast is one helluva hangover and that Canadian shit is just too hard to find anymore. Just remember to believe in that place called Hope. Because I still believe in you – even if you use your Sidekick to post from your Jetta as you head to Bikram. I still believe in you even if you upload some clever image of some suburban sellout in the Target parking lot before you, yourself, dash in for your much more legitimate purchase. My hypocritical, talking outta both sides of my split-personality mouth still believes in what those 1993, 1997 and 2001 worlds were supposed to be.

We just got a little off track that’s all.

Posted March 8, 2005 12:42 AM