10 Items Or Less...

Notes on the single life:

It seems rather sad to me that, in the course of two generations, we've gone from dance cards to MySpace.

MySpace.
Yeah, I got one. I won't front. But the thing is that the hipster crowd today doesn't do cell numbers, or pagers, or even email addresses. Nope, we go straight for the least committal form of communication possible... MySpace.

And the worst part is that it leaves the ball, generally speaking, completely in the chick's court. So, where once we had the option of giving a fake phone number, or just not answering the phone, now WE are given someone's MySpace and WE have to do the friending.
And worse? All they have to do is check off that little "private" box, and then it's impossible to even check them out without them knowing.

So there you go. The devolution and degeneration of romance in a 21st century generation.

I mean, I don't know, maybe it's not even a scene thing, maybe it just is a Southern California thing (likely. I mean, the culture here is as different from the rest of the US as... like, London). But either way, it's kind of disconcerting.
~The single B