Wednesday, December 23, 2009

The Lost Art of Stalking

In the spirit of giving this holiday season, I've decided to repost one or two of my own personal favorites from the past six months in an effort to both make up for my lack of new entries this past month...

And to also remind myself how clever I am.

Kids these days don’t know how easy they have it.

Stalking used to mean something.

People used to care. People used to make an effort. Now, like much of the 21st century, it has become an automated, disconnected experience where efficacy and quality’s been replaced for expediency and ease.

It’s laziness.

In the post-Obama world we should be standing up, getting involved. But it is a lost cause.

As a youngster, if someone wanted to stalk me, they’d have to put some time into it. Follow me after school, figure out ways to leave me notes in my text books so that I’d find them when I’d open to a specific chapter for that day's specific lesson (diabolical!), waiting outside my house with binoculars, hoping to spot me in case I was home, or at least to wait patiently upon my return. This is an impressive obsession.

But now facebook, twitter, myspace, IM, etc., they’ve done half the job for you. You’ll know where to find me simply by looking at my status.

You’ll know who to duct tape and leave in the trunk of your car for days by checking who I’m “in a relationship” with.

Why bother clandestinely following my route after school if you see on Twitter that "ianweinreich@twitter: seeing startrek at the plaza this afternoon." It's like being handed a road map.

Before, in my day, if I didn’t have the same feelings for you, I could easily just ignore you at school. And then have my mom answer the phone at night to screen the calls.

Caller ID was the impetus for the fall of stalking.

“Oh it’s that Dayna broad.” Ignore. Click.

We didn’t know how good we had it.

Now there’s IM, email, skype, facebook chat, texts, facebook message, wall posts...the ability to ignore you has become something of an uphill battle with the myriad of outlets for communication to be facilitated from your end.

A key element that used to drive obsession and turn a crush into an infatuation into a dangerous broad ready to kill my little girl’s rabbit in a boiling pot of water then bring her onto a roller coaster ride? (b/c I base much of my knowledge on stalking on the idea that Fatal Attraction is a realistic, down-to-earth depiction of just this), is not being able to expel the feeling for me inside you. having it bottled deep inside just drove you ever the more insane and furious with lust.

But there are just too many forums for you to blog, instant messange, or twitter me about that it’s cut the legs off a lot of that old school ferocious crushing (not unlike how you wanted to cut the legs off from me to keep me from leaving your bedroom after having me ‘study’ that one time in 8th grade – I know what you were thinking, I saw the axe in your closet, the iodine, and the chains).

When I want a stalker I want someone who goes the distance. I want to see her out there, waiting for me to come home at the end of a long day, following me haphazardly, not knowing my final destination.

That’s obsession.

This, today, this…it’s just such a sadness.

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