Yesterday morning I was reminded just how much I loathe Starbucks bathrooms. Nay: the toilet paper holder in Starbucks bathrooms. I don't know if it's a corporation-wide conspiracy or what. But the shear volume at which toilet paper is dispensed in a Starbucks bathroom is so LOUD, so RATTLY, so PERVASIVE, it simply must be a ploy to dissuade customers from using more than their fair share. Certainly, I would rather the entire store not know that I am currently dropping the kids off in their midst. Let's save that information for the select few necessitating a bladder tap after me. And hope that I am far, far away by then.
|This is how the Reaper sounds when he's breathing on your neck.|
In other news on Things I'd Rather Not Share, I recently spent an entire evening obsessing on the personal life of one fellow blogger; albeit a far more influential -- and thus, equally as abhorred -- one. If only I had the techno-savvy to screen shot my history for that day. It would read, in varying search terms, somewhat like this:
- "dooce divorce"
- "dooce reasons for divorce"
- "dooce cheating?"
- "dooce monetize the hate"
- "dooce Today show interview"
Yes, I am aware that Kimye recently named their child North. I'd like to ask Sir Kanye if he considered his hometown in this decision. You guys, we have a tiny baby with a future giant ass and probable droopy eyes named after our relative geography. SUCCESS.
|Maybe not. No fair, Portland gets all the cool shit.|
But while the rest of the world sinks its claws in either baby Middleton or baby West, I am still trying to remove the couch-wedgie sustained by vested research into Heather B. Hamilton's sordid affairs. No, I do not care that someone renowned for parental guidance via her "mommyblog" is getting divorced. Of course I'd like to know who is getting lazy in bed. Or maybe who spent the night in another. Because I'm a nosy motherfucker.
What really cracked the door to Crazytown was search column #4. Props to doocey for banking on the horrid things people say -- of which they are many and variously crazy. Basically she's created a separate blog chronolicling the most awful of the awful comments that people have made on her blog, in her email, and various forums. It is plastered with ads. Thus, big bucks for every nasty word. A personal favorite:
um….the hair. really? you look like a white lesbian version of rhianna-but she is actually attractive and you look like a banana head with a chin. some people can pull it off (michelle williams) but honey you are not one of them. yikes. you were cute for a while, but what the hell are you thinking? that heather can look good no matter what?
why would you do that to yourself. why don’t you just shave it next?
And it goes on. For pages and pages and pages. Some of it I can get behind -- the comments on narcissistic tendencies and a predisposition to whininess. But most of it is just concentrated cruelty. And grammatically poor, I might add.
But when, WHEN did we decide that by the simple guise of a computer screen, we're allowed to let hate reign? When did having an anonymous IP address give us the juevos to criticize some far-away person's lady locks? Why does anyone care that Kim Kardashian has an ordinal direction for an offspring? Why did I tell you that I sometimes poop where I get my coffee (sorry again, barista friends)?
Because look, here's the thing:
We can't deny that we live in a culture saturated in information -- most of it with as intellectually stimulating as squashing celebrities names together. We must be getting bored, if criticizing the entertainment has become the entertainment.
There are several variables to the whole TMI or Overshare way of life or; How We Live. For starters, those that choose to share do so at their own discretion. And you read/watch/listen at your own. This is a mutually participatory act. You may remove yourself from the share/care cycle at any time. And for those whose argument might follow a "they put themselves out there and they know the consequences" trajectory, I would direct you to my rather large collection of SVU episodes in which NO MEANS NO.
Regarding the matter of necessary criticism: we have people for that. They're called critics.
It's simple, really. We share to connect, to find our similar beating hearts. And if you don't like it? Stop reading. Stop watching. Stop listening. Yelling at the dragon is never going to make him go away. So just shut up, already. I am.