You work here, you know! That's right. Every time you comment on this website, someone makes some money from it. Your check is supposed to be in the mail—but we don't seem to have your address. Oh well! So you get paid in recognition, with your host Lolcait.
Well friends, she's come to an end. A lurching, hideous, bile-spewing end. What began with glorious hope (a Democrat-controlled legislature! A soaring housing market! Television!) ended in despair (no television! Bubbles burst! The general malaise and awfulness of politics!). Yes, 2007 offered its share of disappointments (and gleefully nihilistic moments of schadenfreude,) but there were also lovely bits, wonderful memories to which we should cling; words of solace, hope, and comfort, acts of kindness. Britney rid herself of lice, once and for all. Harry Potter met the unspeakably grisly fate of a government job. And Pakistan was finally stabilized (Right? Right? Oh? Oh. I see). And, 10 people said 10 truly glorious things right here on this very weblog. So without further, miserable ado, I give you the Top 10 Comments of 2007.
"How about 'Like a moth to a spotlight, she was drawn to the spotlight, because she is a moth. Or like one.'"
[That is as beautiful as a flower that is beautiful.]
"i can't read that shit. everything looks like a dispatch from the fucking boston tea party."
"He's gay because I saw The Secret and I've been focusing real hard on one of my goals."
[Oprah! Sort of!]
"About ten years ago, I was friends with and secretly in love with an amazingly talented artist. Brilliant and crazy and sexy as all hell.
I did press kits for him and hung out with him whenever he was around. (He would disappear for months at a time.) There were shows on the far west side of Spring Street and parties in warehouse lofts in Williamsburg and Long Island City.
At one of those parties in LIC, we had both taken some acid and ecstasy. While I was on the roof professing my true love of the symmetrical beauty of water towers, the artist of my affection was sort of having a freakout, taking off his clothes and standing on top of the kitchen counter.
It was decided to take him to my place. Two friends joined the artist and I as we walked the mile in the cold Sunday morning. We passed people filing into churches and noticed little glimpses of beauty in trees, architecture, and pebbles.
The artist was still agitated when we arrived to my place. To calm him, we gave him crayons, markers, pencils and paints and a large blank wall of my place. He drew in a mad frenzy and created a garbled dimorphic cataclysm filled with rage and confusion and anger.
A couple years passed, and I'd met a more stable business-minded person. In time he moved in with me and, partly from dislike of the piece and partly (perhaps more so) from knowing the work was of a past crush, he demanded the wall painted over. The wall was covered in a cream nondescript paint.
The relationship lasted six years. The artist disappeared forever around 2002. The wall remains covered in the nondescript paint. Occasionally, when every light in the room is on and I'm looking at the right angle, I can see a slight flush of red in the center of the wall. Those are good times"
"John Fitzgerald Page just signed for a Thank You cheese basket from The Pollack Family."
[The Circle (jerk) Game]
"She got served."
[Small and perfect.]
"He makes a good point."
[Leave no one alone. Ever.]
"don't people who want to murder other people have better people to murder?"
[I hope so, for our sake.]
"I should really start making a bigger deal about things."
"Well, I can top that."
[Oh, I believe it.]
Congratulations all. No one really sent in nominations for picks of the year, so I'll assume it would have gone to TedSez or CollegeCallGirl. Or, to me. Yeah, let's say it went to me. For that Foxy Brown thing. Yes. Thanks guys!!
Let's all take a moment to reflect on the weeks and days that were, the air we breathed, the great trusses of civilization that we saw crumble and collapse around us. May these 10 comments stand for thousands of years, like aqueducts; haunting reminders of a glory that was once as bright as a flash bulb. Or as a computer screen glowing, calling to us out of the dark.
Or into it.
Safe and happy New Year.