identity

So. I joined myspace. Not exactly something to be proud of, I know, but now that I’ve done it, it doesn’t seem so bad. And lord knows I need another way to waste my time. Yep yep.
I mainly did it thanks to Chelsea, but I also did it because a number of my South African friends are on it and if all else fails and contact breaks down I can stalk them via internet.
And for some reason it got me thinking a lot about identity. (Yes, I know I'm a pretentious fuck. But we knew that already.) And how thanks to this new digital age you have a lot of control over the identity you project.
You can fake a lot of things over the internet. You can make lists of music you never listen to. Doctor photos. Etc.
And public figures even have myspace profiles, giving yet another weird twist. Because public figures are already cloaking their real identiy behind a mask of publicity. But myspace seems to claim to show... not truth... but something similar.
But then there are people like me that have multiple personalities on the internet. And only a select few people have access to all of them. I have this blog, my Africa blog, facebook, myspace, my old live journal. Not to mention the personalities that appear from a google search. Old newspaper articles and race results (yeah, I ran races.)
And I consider this blog to be pretty truthful to who I am. I veil a lot of things, naturally, but I am telling the truth. While I have never lied on my Africa blog, I have… glossed.
And I wonder what would happen if my South Africa myspace friends discovered this? Because, quite honestly, I'm a different person here than in New York. Not drastically and I think the changes are mostly due to environment and peers than actual core changes. But I'm still different. How much of that is reflected in a silly string of 1s and 0s?
What would my parents think of this blog? I don’t think I have ever talked about them. But I talk about my boozing and whoring. If I knew they were reading… (I would like to note that my parents are tech savy enough to find this, as well as my brothers blog. And they have made no effort to do so. They KNOW that my brother has a blog but they don’t read it. I have, however.)
And in this age of global movement, and technological innovation, I feel like we know people less and less. Oh don’t worry, I am not decrying the decadences of this age or worrying about the children. But when peoples movements are constricted to a 50 miles for their entire lives they get to know their neighbours really well. Imagine knowing someone for eternity? Aside from my brother and ledah it doesn’t seem like I will follow anyone forever.
And I get so jelious of people here, who went to high school together, to went to elementary school, who know brothers and sisters. I have to do serious detective work on my friends. And sometimes I only find out really important things 4 months in. A month before I leave.
I miss knowing people. And I miss being sure of people. I am not sure of anything anymore. Least of all is I will still be friends with these people in a year. Or even 6 months.
And wow. I really thought that this was going to be a post about the politics of identity. And yet again it has become emo and personal. Yet another reason to hide it from the masses.
I used to try to be funny on this thing. I think I need to go back to that.
Has anyone fictionalized a blog? Pretended to write the sexpolits of a 16 year old New Yorker when you are really a 70 year old man from LA? If it hasn’t been done yet, it will be soon.

Sometimes I think I should just move to a small town, marry a nice, decent man, work a decent job as a receptionist, raise a couple of decent pretty children and just try to be decently happy.

My roommate

So I live next to a Turkish man who has been briefly mentioned in an earlier posts. I discovered that the walls of International House are paper thin through his opera. He also starts the mornings sometimes by making phone calls and yelling at someone in Turkish. Then hanging up. Then calling them back and yelling some more. I can hear his alarm clock go off in the morning, which is fine because it is usually only a few minutes before or after my alarm clock has gone off. Sometimes I come home at three am and sit on my computer typing and listening to him snore.
This also means that he hears everything in my room just as well (hello playing music ALL THE TIME). Which is sorta REALLY embarrassing when I think about it. Anyway, I was practicing my poetry for class tomorrow and my phone rings.
Me: Hello?
Roommate: Hello, its your neighbor. I was just wondering, what it is that you were reading?
Me: oh, I was, um practicing. My poetry.
Roommate: would you read again? It was so nice.
Me: um. Sure. I guess.
But then I decided it was too weird to just say my poem through the wall. So I go over and stand in the door way to say my poem. I then give a little plug for the show and go back to my room.
A few minutes later there is a knock on my door. It is my neighbor.
Roommate: I heard you coughing (Note: I’ve had a terrible cough for like three weeks now. Its absurd) and I brought you some stuff.
Me: oh thanks. Is it tea?
Roommate: you just boil it and then drink.
Me: so it is tea?
Roommate: I don’t know what it is. I look it up.
Turns out he gave me chamomile flowers which is awesome. But also weird. And I don’t think is helping my cough any. And now I am really self conscious every time I cough.