Ever since we crawled out of the mud and started hitting each other over the head with rocks, attraction has worked this way: I see you across the room. You see me. Something clicks. We approach. We talk. If there’s some kind of connection between our inner selves — even if it’s just a mutual desire to rub chocolate pudding over each other’s naughty bits — we get on with the business at hand. But the Internet has turned things upside down. Now, things work the other way around. Our inner selves meet and connect, and then we get to the raw, physical-attraction thing. And while it’s painful to learn that someone you find physically attractive doesn’t go for you, how much more painful to find that someone whose soul speaks to you across the series of tubes that make up the World Wide Web doesn’t go for your fat ass and spotty face.
The Life and Death of Jesse James
So here’s the thing. I started reading that story expecting to have my eyebrows raised, my ire roused, my sense of the twisted and the absurd impressed.
And it wasn’t.
I’ve heard variants of that story before. A few times. And it all seems to be kinda the same ol’, same ol’.
Which, when you think about it, it really fucking sad.