Some days I wish I were you.

Anyone else but me.

Well…  Not Anne Coulter.  I really don’t want to be her.

Isn’t all this kind of poetic and angst-y?

maybe       i      should makeitmore so.   by being exper  i   mental with my WoRDinG and                                                                                     s    p   a        c  i    n     g

sigh.

I think I have discovered the secret to Facebook.  Why we are so obsessed.  Facebook indulges the fantasy of being someone else.  It is like a photojournalism essay of another person’s life.  Pouring through the vacation pictures of that girl you sat behind in Junior year history class is almost as good as going their yourself.  Scrolling through status updates is like picking a porthole to enter into a totally new existence.

I think that is also why celebrity culture is so seductive to our psyches. The more we know about Brad and Angelina’s life, the more we can romanticize what it would be like to be living it.  But in reality I kind of already know.  Besides the maids, nannies, chefs, private planes, mansions, fancy parties, award ceremonies, they are still slaves to a bunch a kids who rule their world. Same / same right?  (I heard that in Indonesia if you ask for a coke and the waiter brings you milk and you say “hey I ordered a coke,” they will just say “Same, same.”  Coke, milk, whatever… just drink it, stay hydrated, and shut the fuck up).

As much as other people’s lives can look so glamorous on a screen, aren’t we all just glasses of coke-flavored milk?