If you’re on Facebook (or MySpace?), you’ve probably received one of those messages touting a “secret admirer” whose identity you can only suss out by signing up for some Web site or application. The idea that some actual unknown paramour over the age of 15 would be too shy to talk to you in person (or at least, you know, facebook poke you, or whatever it is the kids do these days) but totally comfortable signing up for a Web site that will then reveal his or her identity to you via text message kind of defies logic. Nonetheless, I always kind of assumed it was one of those things along the lines of the “Will you be my zombie jump rope partner ninja pirate bride?” messages that crop up from more annoying online friendsâa cutesy meme/gimmick. Turns out it’s more sinister; it’s a hoax! Or at least one such brand of it is:
MyLuvCrush was one of a number of businesses to seek lonely hearts using the increasingly populous online communities. The new generation of Internet services has, some experts say, created new opportunities for fraud and identity crime.
Users of several social networking sites were shown advertisements made to look like incoming messages, said Paula Selis, senior counsel for the state Attorney General’s Office’s high-tech consumer protection unit. Users were told a “crush” in their area was looking for them, then routed through a series of prompts ending with a demand that they sign up for a mobile phone text messaging service to see their nonexistent “crush.”
In Seattle, the state where MyLuvCrush’s parent-company is based, the state has branded this activity deceptive advertising, and ordered MyLuvCrush to stop. Web 2.0: crueler than the Burn Book.
Too busy dreaming about all your secret admirers to read Salon’s 17-billion-part series on the future of conservatism? PunkAssBlog condenses nicely:
Douglas Kmiec, a professor of constitutional law at Pepperdine University: Barack Obama is Ronald Reagan reborn. Also, could we stop obsessing on abortion?
Ross Douthat, author of Grand New Party and a blogger for the Atlantic: No.
Etc. [read the whole thing; if you’re used to traveling in conservative Interweb circles, it’s pretty funny to see an outsider’s take on the whole thing]
Or you could just read Wonkette’s Sara K. Smith on the future of the conservative intelligentsia. The saddest sentence ever written:
NR has now lost Buckley and Frum. The only scribes who remain are K-Lo, Starburst, and their fat Mexican secretary, Jonah Goldberg. Together this threesome will save American conservatism.
Speaking of Wonkette, why is everyone so uproarious about these pictures of Sarah Palin lounging poolside? Dude, the woman just lost the vice presidency; let her guzzle champagne in short shorts all she likes.
And while we’re on the Gawker Media family, Marianne beat me to blogging here about the Kay Hymowitz City Journal article about how it’s hard to be a mysoginist in the dating scene, but if you want more, Jezebel has a good analysis.
Oh, and let’s not get started on the whole bullshit “nice guys don’t get the girl” that all these guys re-hash. Well, yeah, sure, if The Girl is the head cheerleader (and she always is) â but were they ever asking out the girl who was President of Students Against Drunk Driving and the German club (i.e., dorky, awkward me)? Some of them were, sure, but I’ll be damned if most of them aren’t happily married to truly pleasant women who they adore.
And while we’re on girlie sites, Slate has announced the editors for its soon-to-be-launched women’s mag, Double X, which include the lady Chloe Sevigny played in Shattered Glass (Hanna Rosin) and the intimidatingly impressive Megan O’Rourke, who edits the poetry section of The Paris Review (which, in a fit of something, inspired me to decide I don’t read enough literary journals and subscribe to The Paris Review this morning, because I need more things piling up on my coffee table…).
But the pub I can have pile up on my coffee table no longer? Playgirl. After 35 years, the mag will lavish us with handle-bar mustaches and ample chest hair no longer. (Oh, okay, I’ve never even seen a copy of Playgirl, I just needed another bad segue).
Evening, folks.