The Scrap and I went to Dayton, Ohio the day before yesterday. It was fucking humid, and we ate at Denny’s twice. He his Moons Over My Hammy, and I my Super Bird. The air was so thick the guitars wouldn’t stay in tune–it was funny for the first couple of songs, but really threw me for the rest of the set. A bunch of seven year old girls were dancing in front of the stage, and yelling requests for “27 Jennifers.”
Who are those people in the yearbook photos on the MySpace ads? She’s a Model Now?! And They’re married and have seven kids?! They must be people that work at the ad agencies. Who else would sign the releases? They keep recombining and mixing the ads–now one doesn’t simply click to see the name of their crush; we have to slap the belly of the Classmates.com big-hair girls. I call on all Americans to volunteer their yearbook photos in the name of cultural variety.
I love those Match.com ads with the webcam shots of the cute-but-not-model-beautiful girls smiling and playing with their hair as some unknown typist flirts with them online. It distresses me that they’re now replacing them with actual model girls in fake webcam shots pretending to be flirted with.