2003-11-18 | 12:29 a.m.
stop playing games, start naming names

Oh. The Joel Plaskett Emergency album, it is heavenly. The McGetts production is kind of bizarre and unexpected in parts, but it's fantastic. Oh. It is like getting in love when you get a wonderful new record. Except you are in love with songs, not a person. And you kind of just sit there and listen and swoon instead of talking and making out or whatever. But still, it is like getting in love. And I am. In love, that is.

Speaking of in love, I don't want to do this, but I am in love with being nosy. And some people out there are in love with reading my idiotic ramblings, every day almost. Now there are the lot of you who have me buddied out. You I know. And then there are people who check in once or twice ever. Fine. THEN there is the scary FTC person, who maybe is investigating me or something. I don't even know what I have done illegal that the FTC would be investigating. I am not trading federally. Or comissioning anything. I promise.

And then there is the engineer. Who I think is in Cambridge, MA. At least that's what your website says. Are you going to make me put the name of the company? I don't want to do that. I know some people in Cambridge. Do I know you? Tell me. Please. You don't scare me like the FTC, but you do drive me a little insane. I go crazy with the not knowing.

Anyway, either of you can tell me by leaving a comment or a guestbook note if you are too shy/private/freakish to write an email. Or if you want to tell ME who you are and no one else, send it to me.

Certainly the whole essence of the online experience is anonymity and being left alone and all that, blah blah. And poring over my stats is a very sad and strange pasttime (throw stones all you like, but if you were getting hits from government agencies and weird French-sounding famous architects you'd be nervous too), but if you tell me who you are, I get happy and less paranoid. And then Jesus smiles on you. And all good things forever. I know it. Also, maybe then I will be your friend and I can tell you all about how great Joel Plaskett is and play you songs. It's worth it. Believe me.

AH! Yes, and for the rest of ye, here's my new proposal. At first, "metrosexual" was a buzzword. Now it is in the lexicon. Die. (You can read more about that in the new Jane Says, more obnoxious than ever.) Anyway, I hate it and I realized why. It is because there is nothing sexual about it. If the entire point of "metrosexuality" is that one is heterosexual, there is no point in tying it to sexuality. "I am straight and care about my appearance a lot." Sure. That's great. We call that shallow. Nothing wrong with it and nothing sexual about it. Anyway, I am starting a movement for reclaiming the term metrosexual to refer to a much more interesting and sexuality-based phenomenon, the one wherein heterosexual women in large cities (inevitably filled with the fabulously gay, annoyingly "metro," robotically career-focused and/or and stiflingly macho), get so fed up with the sad man scene and fighting for one of the 34 men who don't fall into these categories that they make out with other women instead. It's everywhere you look. And that, my friends, is a real metrosexual. You hear it first.

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