[Matchup #27 in Tournament of Bookshit]
I don’t know.
I’ve never had a blog.
I haven’t been on Facebook in almost a year.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this, what the fuck “Trolling for spelling errors in your blog vs. changing your Facebook profile pic daily” means.
This would be so much easier if I’d been given something easy, like:
Jimmy Chen vs. every woman on HTMLGIANT.
Or HTMLGIANT 2009 vs. HTMLGIANT 2011.
Or being Matt Bell vs. not being Matt Bell.
Or telling Blake no vs. telling him yes.
(Is it possible for the gender with the vagina to tell Blake Butler no?)
Fuck Blake Butler. Fuck HTMLGIANT. Fuck “mean week.”
That’s what I should have said.
But being the hungry-for-attention person/writer/gender with a vagina I am, I said yes. I thought spitting out a couple hundred words would be easy.
(I was thinking something along the lines of the former (trolling for spelling errors in your blog) being a solitary act, the neuroses of which can only be known by the perpetrator (boring!) vs. the latter (changing your Facebook pic daily) being something we can all witness and make fun of and enjoy (interesting!).)
Instead I spent a week avoiding any sort of “real work” on the collection I was supposed to have finished December 1st, choosing to fixate instead on the 200-500 words I would write for mean week. So typical.
At one point during this week I was out having drinks with other writers (because I don’t know any real people), one of whom was Sean Kilpatrick (big name drop! This is like a blog post mentioning Tao Lin and Megan Boyle except for the fact that no one gives a fuck or two shits about either Sean or me so it’s not like that at all. Also, Sean and I aren’t married, or even separated, and as far as I can remember, have never done drugs together or gone to Target together or made smoothies.).
Anyway, someone (probably me) mentioned HTMLGIANT and Sean said something about being asked to write something for mean week and I said me too and for a few seconds we were both really excited, hoping one of us could help the other understand what it is we were supposed to write but then neither of us knew so it didn’t help at all.
I’ve since asked Sean to send me what he wrote, but he’s been avoiding my emails. Maybe he’s worried I’ll copy his fucked up, babies-aborting-other-babies’-babies style of writing? I wish I could.
I considered emailing Jereme Dean for help.
Mostly I wanted to know where the fuck this guy has been.
Why he no longer comments on HTMLGIANT.
(I barely know any of the commenters anymore. Who the fuck, for instance, is DeadGod? It’s so much less fun when people don’t use their real names. Or their real fake names, at least. Or whatever.)
I miss Jereme.
Wait. Where was I?
Maybe this should be about giving a shit what people think about you vs. not giving a shit. (Jereme seems like he doesn’t give a shit. I should try to be more like Jereme.)
Or whether the Internet makes people neurotic or merely caters to neurotic people. (Probably I should find a way to make this all about me:)
Admission: any time I make a comment on HTMLGIANT, I do so and then quickly get offline. I never look back to see if anyone said something in response to me or “liked” my comment or whatever. (I will not look at HTMLGIANT during mean week.) (Which seems to make no sense. Why the compulsion to say anything? I have no idea.)
I think mostly what this is about, is whether you’re the type of person who writes something on the Internet and feels secure/smug/confident or the type who is immediately racked with regret and self-doubt and self-loathing. Such as I am now. (Well, maybe not self-loathing. That’s probably going too far/being overly dramatic. But self-doubt and regret definitely.)
But there is that compulsion to say something. (Dare I say?) to say anything.
So let’s say this is about compulsion and name compulsion the winner so we (read: I) can be done thinking about this and think about something else. (Like Sean Kilpatrick and why he’s such a dickhead and won’t show me his writing and do drugs with me. Fuck you, Sean. )
I miss Jereme.
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[Ed. note: Since this judge didn’t explicitly make a selection, I briefly considered entering Elizabeth Ellen as the winner and having her represent there forward, but then realized she would automatically dominate any pair up on principle alone, therefore, EE is the unofficial winner of ToBS. After that, I flipped a coin.]
WINNER: trolling for spelling errors in blog posts