The Death of Privacy

On this dreary day in Brooklyn, while California burns and the South counts the days until the reservoir dries up, I mourn the death of privacy. Privacy - freedom from intusion or public attention. Crap! Everyone who is everyone knows if your not getting public attention you don't exist.

Why do you think I'm starting this blog. Because I have wisdom that will save the world, because I want to help others, because I care about (insert proper concern) and want to bring an end to the (insert proper affliction). No. Because everyone else does it. I hate to be left out ever since I was the only girl not chased into the alley and given a hickey by a member of the football team. Hickey...when was the last time anyone talked about getting a hickey.

I want to exist and in order to exist I need public attention. Remember? No privacy. It's dead. You have to expose your every move to the web while simultaneously begging for privacy. That's how the movie stars do it and we all want to be a movie star. Unless you want to be a rock star. They're the only people who exist. I know this because you see pictures of them everywhere and they have no privacy. The stars learned of privacy's quiet death long before the rest of us who stand in line waiting to use our double coupons to buy paper towels while airbrushed beauties smile at us. They never worry about double coupons. Hags!

So I'm killing off privacy once and for all and sharing myself with all my new best friends on the web. My floors are clean. I need to pick up my wash. I drank too much wine last night and keep telling myself I won't drink tonight. I have a lot of dishes to wash. My Day of the Dead altar looks spectacular. I haven't made the bed in a year (but I have changed the sheets since then).

Exciting isn't it....