I worked, early on, as an editor for the dot.com that made the first free "homepage builder" (TriTeca? anyone?). I have a few vivid memories of the internet 1.0, back when you could stumble onto truly odd private esoterica, gritty low-res photographs and raw musings, bits uploaded directly from the idiosyncratic corners of other people's subconscious lives. It was a world when we were all less practiced at curating ourselves online. 

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This dates me, and so does that the fact that I once had a blog.  Remember when late at night, you could page through fragments of other places, without expectations or notifications? 

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At the risk of codeswitching too quickly, given the other stuff I post here, please enjoy an old blog post, complete with the original comments section (remember comments?). In 2014, I wrote about drinking and writing and rockstars:

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I like the whole album, but that song, their biggest hit, is about that time at the end of the night when you want to call your ex, the one you can’t stop thinking about but know you shouldn’t call. It’s about obsession and spilling drinks on my settee and crawling back to you, feelings and cravings that people conventionally shelve in a marketing category separate from soccer moms. We are meant to hold down the edges of a square world that indie rock must define itself against

Yes, it’s true, Alex Turner, I also like Katy Perry. But I promise my fandom doesn’t have a downside, I carry no glamor that wards off cool. Dark feelings and difficult cravings don’t end because you have children. I meet your music where it lives