April 23, 2000

God, I love the Beastie Boys.

MTV is playing "She's On It," as part of their "MTV Unleashes Hip Hop's Sexiest Videos" campaign. Before this was L.L. Cool J's "Goin' Back to Cali." The videos are incredibly dated -- shameless in their bikini-clad propaganda, innocent in their tackiness -- but the songs absolutely rock. I miss songs that absolutely rock. I miss knowing what the kids are listening to. Or, rather, I miss actually liking what the kids are listening to. Brittany. Christina. 'N Sync. I miss being a kid that listens to things.

This afternoon, as I walked in the rain -- always, always in the rain -- to my office, because, and this is how pathetic I am, I wanted to use the computers there because they're faster than my rinky-dink 1400cs Powerbook -- I heard that "What is Love?" song. You know the song. The one from that skit on SNL, where the two skanky club guys are attempting a very sad bump n' grind with every woman who crosses their path. The song that is always playing, and that they always twitch their heads to. You know. That song. Anyway, that song was blasting out of some very red generic sports car, and it just cracked me right up. How can anyone take that song seriously, with that skit just out there, all the time? I giggle every time I hear it, and, let me make this perfectly clear, I am not someone who is wont to giggle. Snicker, yes. Smirk, definitely. Deride mockingly, in a heartbeat. But, giggle -- not so much.

The other reason I went into work was to check my email. Again, stunningly pathetic. There is this person who I have, how do you say…struck up an acquaintance with via the death and glory that is the Internet. He liked my writing, so he wrote to me. I liked his writing, so I went to his site and saw more writing that I liked. Needless to say, I wrote back. The witty banter flew fast and furious, as did the double entendres, snappy comebacks, and general oneupmanship. Welcome to the crazy, hazy, wonderful world of the Web crush.

I have had Web crushes before, and they are just not one damn lick of a good idea. They just aren't. You get hypnotized by the words, and, if you're lucky, so do they, but…if you ever meet, there is just inevitable disappointment. Absolutely inevitable. In person, no one lives up to the brilliance they possess with the written word -- assuming they do, indeed, possess brilliance. And, if someone does, no two people ever do. So, with a Web crush, your choices are to never meet, and go on flirting until one or both of you get so burnt out and frustrated and cranky that you just stop, or you meet, after, of course, freaking out about how you are too fat or too ugly or not cool enough or just plain not cool, and it is incredibly awkward and you have nothing to say and you go home and exchange one or two more emails with distinctly different tones than any previous emails you have sent, and the thrill is gone, and you figure what's the point, and you just stop writing, because you are too busy crying and watching Sex in the City and going "Oh, that is so true. It's funny, cuz it's true."

I have been told there is a happy medium somewhere in there. That real-life friendships can be borne out of voiceless, faceless words on a screen. That if I can just accept that there is a vast emotional spectrum between love and hate that encompasses more than just indifference, I am not necessarily doomed to heartbreak. I have been told these things by smart, personable people whose opinions I hold in high esteem. And yet…and yet.

I think I just need to calm the hell down.

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