2009 was the year my good friend Currado Malaspina lost his zest for life. He calls it 'The Great Unraveling" and looking back in retrospect it's easy to see why.
It started out when, after being shamed, coaxed and cajoled by his studio assistant Mohammad, he purchased his first cell phone. Mo is a sweet young guy who, when he's not smoking cigarettes or stretching canvas he's posting pictures on Instagram and Facebook. Social media is vital to him because he spends a lot of his spare time chatting up full-breasted American tourists in the hookah bars in the 8ème and it's very important that his friends in Bagneux know all about it.
Mo thought Currado needed to become wired and connected and he assured him that it would only serve to simplify his cluttered life.
In no time Currado was talking, typing, texting and teasing his way through a grove of young women whose primary occupation in life seemed to be the manufacture of curated selves on social media.
He got so sucked in that he soon found himself spending the better part of his days shuttling between these inane recreational platforms. Quite out of character he began messaging, liking, poking and composing all manner of cleverly flirtatious commentary hoping upon hope that one of these invisible nymphs would notice him.
It got so bad he had Mo hook up a Playstation so he could conduct his mute correspondences on the big screen while reclining in his pajamas on his American La-Z-Boy.
It took the mortification of discovering that the comely Italian artist with the sparkling white teeth and the vermillion lips was actually a chubby gamer from Passaic who had over fifteen online identities and a muddled relationship with gender.
I'm not entirely sure Currado is completely over his obsession but he seems to have cut down considerably the amount of time he spends in front of his screen. Occasionally I see one of his tweets which usually have something to do with loneliness, alienation and the decline of the slow-baked baguette.
And he has a new assistant, Jessica, whose only job, it seems, is to make clever, 10 second videos of Currado running his fingers over his temple and posting them on Vine.
Mo thought Currado needed to become wired and connected and he assured him that it would only serve to simplify his cluttered life.
In no time Currado was talking, typing, texting and teasing his way through a grove of young women whose primary occupation in life seemed to be the manufacture of curated selves on social media.
He got so sucked in that he soon found himself spending the better part of his days shuttling between these inane recreational platforms. Quite out of character he began messaging, liking, poking and composing all manner of cleverly flirtatious commentary hoping upon hope that one of these invisible nymphs would notice him.
It got so bad he had Mo hook up a Playstation so he could conduct his mute correspondences on the big screen while reclining in his pajamas on his American La-Z-Boy.
I'm not entirely sure Currado is completely over his obsession but he seems to have cut down considerably the amount of time he spends in front of his screen. Occasionally I see one of his tweets which usually have something to do with loneliness, alienation and the decline of the slow-baked baguette.
And he has a new assistant, Jessica, whose only job, it seems, is to make clever, 10 second videos of Currado running his fingers over his temple and posting them on Vine.
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