Lindsayism.com

The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Heard

(In comments) "Satire should be obvious."

keep it like a secret

On NPR's Morning Edition this morning, they interviewed college kids who were mad that Facebook is now open to everyone, and all I could think was "Sweetie, shhhhhhhhh. The grownups don't care. The grownups are trying to work."

3.5 years, actually

This weekend's Times article about people finding out they were dumped from their ex's myspace/friendster/facebook profile or whatever is almost too self-parodying to even begin to make fun of, but I'm going to try.

For one, who did not, in the spring of 2003 when Friendster first came out, at some point think to themselves "Someone should do a story about how people in relationships use their Friendster profile to signify to their ex that they've moved on. Maybe I should do it because I really need money right now. Naw, it's too laaame. Give it three whole years and it'll be in Sunday Styles. Hahaha! Get it, me? Because the Times is so behind? Especially, particularly, the Styles section? I'm so funny."

Also, look at all the other parts of the profile. Where's the story on people who found out from a social networking site their friend was a fat Libra with only some college who makes less than 15k per year? Where are they?THEIR STORIES MUST BE TOLD.

Also, just this quote, no comment necessary:

“Seeing that was like a kick in the stomach,” said Micaela Coady, 30, a health researcher from Brooklyn who was so affected by an ex’s status shift that she abandoned her Friendster account (she now blogs instead)."

That is all.

a new dimension in which to suck

Q: Why is Modern Love now available as a podcast?

A: So blind people can hate it too.

Current Obsession: Indigo Children

I was listening to the podcast of NPR's To the Best of Our Knowledge yesterday during my commute, and they did a segment on Indigo Children (click the link above to listen). I've been obsessed with the hilarious concept of Indigo Children ever since I first read about them in the fashion and style section of the New York Times in January (a must-read.) Basically, the idea behind Indigo Children is this:

"My child isn't obnoxious, self-absorbed, unmannerly and unlikeable because I've raised him or her with zero discipline, given him or her a trophy for just showing up and allowed him or her to run ramshod over his parents and everyone else s/he encounters rather than damage his or her precious self esteem...no...s/he's obnoxious, self-absorbed, unmannerly and unlikeable because s/he's here to save the world!"

If anything you've ever read, seen or heard about parenting in this day and age is like a big huge Post-it note the size of a Times Square billboard reminding you to refill your Nuvaring prescription, I think you'll find the concept of Indigo children to be the most "of course, now, here, at this precise time and place in the entire history of the world...of course" thing ever. We who are either child-free or in the minority of people who are raising children rationally no longer lack for a one-stop-shop shorthand for the anxiety and ennui we face when we think about what the world will be like when these little tyrants come of age and start being in charge of shit. It's now all wrapped up in one iconic, easy-to-remember-because-it-has-a-color-in-it brand: The Indigo Child.

Anyways, that was my little rant.

I thought it would be funny to make tee shirts ridiculing the Indigo Child "phenomenon" but apparently they're already out there.

Suggestions:
"Indigo means Annoying"
"My honor student beat up your Indigo Child."
"Please Curb Your Indigo Child"
"Indigo F**k Yourself" (okay that's just mean. and absurd.)

I found this interview with an Indigo Child expert who is helping the people of Europe understand their little messengers from the Universe. This part was funny:

SB: How do you explain the truth to the German mothers of Indigos?

CH: This is a problem. In America you can talk of a ''new race'' of children, but you can't do that in Germany. If I'm working with groups in other countries I can speak about this, but in a group of average mothers in Germany you can't talk about that.

SB: Is that because of Hitler?

CH: Yes, that's why.

the village of the damned bloggers

* You already can't swing a laptop bag around Lolita without hitting someone who thinks that blogging is going to make them rich. (And please, someone do that.) Now it's going to be even worse. These kids today with the scary dollar signs behind their eyes...

* Speaking of, my friend had a genius idea: I should have done that blogger-fashion photo shoot, but worn a fat suit and blacked out my teeth. Because that's what Amy Sedaris would do! (WWASD) Brilliant...

* Right now I'm wearing a new fragrance: Curious by Britney Spears. The main reason is I think it smells good, but the secondary reason is it's my attempt to bring irony into the realm of scent. I do think it smells good, though. Very delicate. Anyway, I can't wait for someone to ask me what my perfume is! (I also think it's funny that it's called "curious." Like "What's that curious smell?")

The Blogosphere's Most Bizarre Publicity Stunt: An Op Ed

(Nobody's going to talk about this outside of email? Fuck it, I'll talk about this!)

Yesterday, blogger and self-described famous public figure Stephanie Klein announced that she was pregnant. Her commenters went crazy with joy, posting 100 comments of congratulations in the comment section. Then, much later that day, Stephanie posted that in actuality, long before her announcement, the fetus was found to be deformed and that she was no longer pregnant.

Everything above appeared on Stephanie's blog, where she seems to be basking in the attention of her Oprah's-audience-like followers.

So what are we, Stephanie's public, to make of all this?

If I might share what appears outside of Stephanie's moderated comments section to be the unanimous opinion: we are no longer dealing with the world's worst, yet most self-congratulatory blogger. We are now dealing with a person who wasn't going to let a little thing like a nonexistent baby get in the way of her pregnancy attention.

What kind of person would use something as tragic as the loss of their pregnancy as fodder for a BLOG that deals primarily with what she's eating (and who she's fucking) for dinner? That includes more than 12,000 individual words about her hair?

You can say that I'm mean, you can say that this kind of thing is off-limits, but I say that what's off limits the degree of manipulation that went into what at best was a publicity stunt and what at worst was a cry for help by a very sick person.

Actually, at worst it was a publicity stunt. I'm not a psychiatrist, but if I were I would spend the rest of my life swimming in a large pool filled with the grant money I'd get using Stephanie as a research subject. Sweetie, I know you're reading this: go get help. You're going to make some Amsterdam Avenue shrink very happy.

Paging the MacArthur Foundation

Some dark genius had a dark night of the soul and somehow found a way to make Sex and the City EVEN MORE STUPID.

(Note that it's not even the real, shitty actors saying the shitty lines, it's some shitty voiceover actors saying the vapid, bad-pun-laden, written by a 13-year-old, lines instead! "I wanted a man who could commit...not a man who was committed!")

licking hollywood taint / blog culture wars / let's get over ourselves for the love of god

Dear Bloggers,

Just in case you didn't get the memo, it is 100% not okay to hang out with Lizzie Grubman.

Deep down, you already know this. Bottom line: blogger starf*cker photos are embarassing to our Country, our Era, our Fad-Based-Hobby and our God.

Related: The Straw That Broke The Grambo's Back.

(Is there some sort of syndrome (along the lines of Jerusalem or Stockholm) where someone thinks they're famous when really they're just a blogger? If not, let's call it "Manhattan Syndrome")

I love you, but this is getting really embarassing. Pick a side: outsider or insider. There is no in between. This is to all bloggers. Remember where you came from, keep it real, stop frontin', be more punk rock, I'm watching you, etc. etc. etc.

Love,
Lindsay