New Slang

I’m sorry, look, I know it makes me immature, but I can’t get over the nudist resort, I simply CANNOT. I can’t believe that such a place exists where this photo is supposed to entice me to do something. It’s just…well, it’s just too much, and while this is likely too much information, I’ve never been one for lounging about in the nude. I don’t even like to sleep naked, because the pragmatist in me can’t get over the idea that there could be a fire, or a dog pooping emergency or something. I just don’t want to be standing outside naked, explaining to my neighbors that yes, I might have left the oven on, and it might all be my fault, but first, do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow?

For starters, I often get cold, and secondly, I just don’t like my precious girly bits out there exposed to the elements, because don’t they seem delicate to you? Doesn’t it seem…wrong, somehow that one’s petite little flower should be hanging out there, where it could be cut or snagged or something? Not that a fishing hook finds its way between my legs that often in my daily life, but it could totally happen. And while it’s not like clothes protect your bits and pieces that much, I don’t like the idea of them bouncing around unfettered on the back of a horse, and I really don’t like the idea of getting into a canoe where there could be spiders, and imagine the urban legends that could come from that, I dare you. GO AHEAD.

Also, um, this photo might be the most unappealing thing I’ve ever seen. Again, I know that a bathing suit prevents nothing from…leaking out, but it seems that the no-swimsuit thing is horribly unhygienic. And also, there is HAIR. Lots more hair exposed than should be, and I really dislike hair, especially that kind of hair.

No. No, I am not a nudist at heart, clearly.

Moving on. I’ve got to come clean about something, and this is going to sound harsh. I don’t like Twitter, and nope, I’m never going to Twitter. Or Tweet. Or Twat, which doesn’t sound good, and that’s not what I meant (but rest assured, we can now rule out fishing while twatting). I don’t care what you’re doing right now, frankly, though I still like you, I promise. Do you care that I just farted and considered briefly blaming it on the dog? And that right now, I’m thinking, gee, a glass of fresh-brewed iced tea would be good, what a shame I don’t have any? No, of course you don’t. How fascinated with ourselves can we be, that we actually think that twittering our random, completely inane thoughts of the day to each other is something that’s worth broadcasting to the world? (Shut up. I know what they say about blogging, and they’re right, they’re totally right, but this is a whole other level, dear God, is it not?)

(Also, I just got a cup of tea.)

(I moved my foot. It itches!)

(Sniffled! I sniffled! Allergies?)

Riveting, isn’t it? And it feels, sometimes, in this insular freakish little world, like we’re supposed to kowtow to all things Twitter, because of who’s Twittering, and who founded Twitter, and who’s friends with the founders of Twitter, when really, who cares? Just because something is labeled Web 2.0, and fits into this whole fascinating social interaction phenomenon that’s boring the pants off of Web conference attendees throughout America, I will resist. I WILL NOT TWITTER.

(Worth noting that I don’t know anyone personally who Twitters, so it’s not likely that this was directed at you, if you love to Twitter.)

(Totally just scratched the dog’s head. Mmmm….cute pug.)

(Also may have eyelash in eye.)

(Am considering clipping toenails later.)

(It’s also possible that I made my point.)

(Down with Twitter.)

*The Shins

36 comments May 14th, 2007