Chiding Young Billionaires & Coping Via Playlist.

Good afternoon, Blogosphere. Time for another faithful cross-post from your favorite (& somewhat heinously active) Eye contributor. (I know, I know—I'll get back to my own profanity-laced Bowie-gushing ASAP—but it's at least cool that these are actually published, right?)

Today, it's a bit more of a blip—some humour, if you will—"Seriously, Mark?: An Open Letter to Mark Zuckerberg." (Because really now: some bonkers shit is going down on the ol' BookFace, & it is patently unacceptable.)

Mark, we need to talk.

First, it was that awkward second location of Chat. Then, you started sorting my friends into these mysterious “Lists.” Soon enough, my every sidebar was filled with bizarre tidbits of information, ranging from the humiliating (e.g., “More Photos of Person You’re Already Shamelessly Stalking!”) to the just plain hateful (believe it or not, I’d rather not be reminded that, on September 23, 2007, I happened to think my lunch was “awesum!! <3”).

[ Also, check out the lovely FB-reminiscent formatting of the PDF! Page 3. ]

Today's Headphone Fodder:

It's perhaps apt that I'm starting with Mr. Zuckerberg, given that his recent portrayal in The Social Network showed us a young man obsessed with exclusivity—with belonging, being "in"—if only because, this past week, I was subject to the rather unpleasant (but, I'm sure, necessary, adult) experience of being turned down for something to which I applied—in layman's terms: being Rejected.

Sure, it sucked, for lack of a more artful expression—but really, in moments like these, one rarely has the requisite drive to be artful, to do anything more than wallow, situated squarely in a Funk (& not the fun "ph-" kind, like Fergie sings about—this is some we know Major Tom's a junkie shit).

Still, there comes a point when enough is enough—when you can't deny that the sun's still rising & personal rainclouds seem increasingly ridiculous—when you have to realize that, honestly now, you are a Grown-Ass Woman (because, regardless of personal gender expression, in this moment, we are all Grown-Ass Women), & it's long past time to scrub off stray eyeliner, pull up your pantyhose, & Make a Fucking Playlist.

So, here it is—for any & all of us who've felt that castaway sting, who've muddled endless through those infamous Five Stages & landed, at last, upon:

10-5-11: Acceptance.
[ ^ Click to hear the whole thing! Via YouTube! In order! Continuous-like! ^ ]

Rejected—Flight of the Conchords.
Get Over It—Ok Go.
Wandering Star—Portishead.
Oh! You Pretty Things—David Bowie.
Eleanor Rigby (4 Centers Dubstep Remixxx)—The Beatles.
Shut Me Up—Mindless Self Indulgence.
It's Alright, Baby—Komeda.
The Passenger (Live)—Iggy Pop.
Angeles (Live)—Elliott Smith.
You Oughta Know—Das Racist.
Special—Garbage.
Golden Hours—Brian Eno.
She Hates Me—Puddle of Mudd.
Good Day—The Dresden Dolls.
Your Name is Jake—Dr. Skinnybones. [** Not on YouTube, but FREE-DOWNLOADABLE on BANDCAMP.]
Whip My Hair (Drowning in Blood)—Skull Tape (Willow Smith cover).
It's Not—Aimee Mann.
It Ain't Gonna Save Me—Jay Reatard.
Lithium—Nirvana.
Forest Whitaker—Brother Ali.
Emerge—Fischerspooner.
So What—P!nk.

[ NOTE: Though, of course, these are meticulously organized for your listening pleasure into an 80-minute whole, I would like to single out "Your Name is Jake" by Dr. Skinnybones—not only because it is not, as you may have noted, included in the YouTube playlist—but moreover, because it's a delightful new addition to my collection, a perfect anthem for room-bound slam-dance comebacks. ]