Hey hi! Disco Diaries turns 1 year old this weekend. I’m really so grateful for everyone who has chosen to spend some time with this project and community. Here’s to the future of the disco.
The setting is a single room, painted two shades of blue, packed with yard sale furniture.
The time is past 11 p.m., long after lights out, and quiet.
There’s nothing to do. The house is still, the day is decidedly over, and yet a young mind races.
Tomorrow there is a burden unseen by most but known by many. First bell rings at 8:15 a.m. and it begins a ritual of discomfort. School doesn’t feel like a haven of learning and socializing, it feels like a machine that moves people from awkward place to awkward place, uncertainly but without hesitation. There was no means of control, which left things — particularly oneself — feeling out of reach.
These late hours are of the essence, and that’s a truth that will never change. There’s a sweet time at the tip of the night when no one can expect anything from you (they’re too tired), and morning can’t scare you (it’s too far away).
Everything in this single room is under control. It’s all here making statements about identity — the tropical theme and books about surfing, the CD inserts pinned thoughtfully to a bulletin board next to pictures printed on standard printer paper. She dreams of being somewhere else, some place that looks out into blue space, some place that plays Weezer’s green album once a day, at least.
The room has portals, means for controlling who comes and goes — a luxury not afforded after 8:15 a.m. on a school day.
She started with a phone. Later, she got a computer. The grey behemoth sits on a bright yellow desk in the corner. So much of what’s in it is customizable. The picture in the background, the pages of her online journal, the music of her MySpace page.
The name “MySpace” rolls off the tongue fast and automatically, like a familiar ice cream flavor, like “mintchocolatechip” or “chocochipcookiedough.” It becomes just a name, although it perfectly describes its own appeal. We need a place to show off without interruptions, without a crowded room dampening the effect of our presence. On this profile and on this internet in general, we can pick the font color that best suits our personality, and choose the friends that best match our social goals. We can get boyfriends and girlfriends from the safety of our own bedrooms.
Her boyfriend’s is named Chris. He works at a chain pizza place and owns a skateboard. His family dynamic is different than hers — less strict, more broken — so his nights are late and his rules are loose.
IRL, this would not work. But through the portal, all things are possible. She waits for his arrival, casually but meticulously, her screen name “dudeyoufell” fading to grey on the AIM buddy list to indicate her absence, although IRL she rests her eyes just feet away from the computer, from where she could see and hear the sound of Chris’s login, which she had customized to be a loud, noticeable “moo.”
In the depths of the night, the sound of farm animals wakes her from her shallow dreams, and she bolts to the grey desktop in order to seek attention. She is like a dog trained to search for snacks (validation) in the most unreal place (a room of bone holograms). Although the messages from him are sparse and distracted, she is accustomed to the virtual hunt for attention in a space she can control and escape any time she wants. She gets what she can, and leaves the rest up to her dreams.
P.S. What was your screen name?
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