It’s nearly 1:30 in the morning. On a Sunday. I should be working on research, but I’m not. I’m distracted by the power of the internets. Damn you internets, with your endless sources of information and entertainment and time-sucking, mind-rotting, and occasionally seizure-inducing web sites. Oh Geocities. I do not miss you.
The internet is also really great for making you feel terrible about yourself. For instance, this evening I learned that Dooce.com pulls in about 40k a month from advertising.
Yeah. I’ll be lucky if I make that a year when I’m done with my 22+ years of formal education.
In other, non-internet related news, I have also learned that it is indeed possible to eat too many hershy kisses.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I have the impulse to click on a link labelled “seizure-inducing.” It’s like when your friend said, “This is awful! Taste it!” Why am I always the moron?
I love the Internets. What’s scary is that I know how much work I get done now. If I could wean myself off the Internet, I would produce an insane amount.
Dooce also makes $40K a month talking about poop. Not fair? Maybe. But I think you (and I) are going to make out better in the long run. Money isn’t everything. Being able to command an audience without reverting to poop talk? I’d rather be poor.