doomscrolling girl, interrupted

I got ninety nine problems and not one of them is actually a real problem that needs solving I just kinda have to get over myself lol

Nobody makes forgettable content on purpose, of course. But out of every hundred short form videos I consume I remember MAYBE one. Maybe. Am I forgetful, or is it all so forgettable? (Trick question. It’s the third option.) I guess movies would look empty without all the extras casually strolling in and out of view, but…

As I lock my phone and stare at the dark rectangle in my hand, I imagine a world where Tate Modern and MoMA launch scrollable app-versions of their collections. I wonder if Kandinsky’s Riding Couple I saw in the Blue Rider exhibition a couple of weeks ago would have stayed with me, had it been one of a hundred paintings I happened to be casually scrolling through in bed.

Take anything out of its context, then watch yourself realise you’re peeking in on yet another complete stranger doing their skincare routine. But why? We have completely different skin types, I thought the algorithm knew this?

I was deep into a doom scrolling session a few weeks ago and stumbled upon one of those unforgettable golden nuggets of modern culture.

This guy took a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, preserved it in resin, suspended it in an earthquake-proof contraption inside a three thousand or something pound concrete sarcophagus, sanitised the whole thing, and buried it underground.

I want to make it very very clear that I find the video of a man burying a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos neither clever, nor funny. I didn’t enjoy rewatching it while writing this post. I find the construction itself painfully unimaginative. Ironically, had he elaborated on, well, anything, I would have found it more watchable.

But I do find it culturally significant, bear with me.

Here is the video. By the way I saw this a couple of weeks ago but pretty sure he did this in like 2022, so it’s not even new.

You hearing this shit? “Seismically isolated”, he says. Seismically. Isolated.

*

So I actually realised something super important this morning. It’s not that deep. Some things are, but IT isn’t. You know… it.

So what if I can’t and don’t want to write anything or produce any thoughts or see the world the way I have my whole life. Pft. So what if my opinions and views have been reduced to “war is bad”, “this weather, huh”, “why do toddlers?!!!”, and “wonder what edtwt girlies are up to”.

So what. This is Substack, land of dreams. I can do anything or say anything I want. You open this e-mail, I win. You don’t open it, I win because you remain ignorant of what a mess my head is.

It’s not that deep. Nobody cares.

I so so love that nobody cares.

And still, in this time of extreme burnout and low motivation I’m pulling some of my best ever outfits. You win some, you lose some. I might be somewhat miserable, but it looks kinda good on me.

I sleep wearing silicone patches on my face, held in place by another, thinner mask, looking very Jason Vorhees. I wake up with soft skin, devoid of the usual morning puffiness, and my scars are clearing up, so.

-You sleep like this? Every day?! - My mother in law recoiled. -But what about Jules, waking up next to you like that? That’s not very nice to wake up to…

To her credit, she stumbled over that second part, clearly wanting to put it a better way, failing miserably. I have a set of prepared sentences for how lucky her son or any man for that matter would be to wake up next to me, Jason or no Jason. I save these for the actually malicious people. The unintentionally awkward are usually spared; I’m nice that way. There were after all notes of genuine concern for her son’s heart health in her voice. I let it slide.

Look at you, reading about a stranger’s weird skincare routine.

*

Men will encapsulate a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in resin, seismically isolate it inside a laser-sanitised thousand pound concrete sarcophagus and bury it underground instead of going to therapy. (Sorry.)

The fact that he thinks that humanity has the patience to wait for ten thousand years before opening this thing is amazing. Same guy who created this thing and managed to condense this arduous process into a video less than one minute long. Ten thousand years, really?

I happen to know that preserving an irregularly shaped object in the middle of a block of resin without creating lots of ugly bubbles is quite difficult.

He didn’t think we had the attention span to sit through a slightly more detailed description of the process, but we can wait ten thousand years? Fifteen years ago, this would have been a two hour long documentary.

Forget it.

Tim’s Vermeer in 2024 would be a fifty-seven second long instagram reel.

Don’t get your hopes up, future generations. Somewhere in a German village or something there’s a Geoguessr pro sitting on the exact coordinates of this thing, just saving up for a plane ticket. Just as well. Who here thinks we’re making it another 10 thousand years? Not me.

*

“What a waste of time and money”, the comments say. Because there is, of course, already a list of widely approved expensive things you are allowed to do for fun. Like playing golf or skydiving or traveling far away from where you live to be there for a while, then come back. God forbid you want to do anything else. Think about Yemen.

People are DYING, Mark, and you want to build a concrete tomb for your CHEETOS? Why can’t you just go skiing in Aspen, like a normal person.

But then, a ray of hope, a philosopher amongst men: “Is this what you want the future generations to think of us? What will this say about our society?”

The most optimistic question of them all. Not least of all because it assumes that we can offer these future generations anything more than a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. As for me personally, I do think that any conclusion future archaeologists could draw about us from unearthing a bag of Cheetos would be correct.

Time travel with me for a second.

Year 12 024 (I had to think an embarrassingly long time about this 2024+10 000….). Civilisation all but wiped out, fractured remnants of humanity surviving off of repurposing ancient manufactured non-degradable materials like canned beans and plastic. Limited resources. Return to tribalism. Warlords. Mad Max.

The clock is close to striking midnight on our descendants as they’re backed into a corner by climate change, disease, conflict, and lack of sustenance.

One small hope remains.

A mysterious tomb, left behind by the ancients. A shot in the dark, their final chance. These ancestors who are said to have erected legendary cities housing millions, cured illnesses, drank safe water straight from their taps, and sent men into space.

These future people, our descendants, they are unable to restore or utilise all the technology left behind. The knowledge has long been lost and forgotten during Dark Ages 2.0 aka the 8 thousand years after Trump is re-elected president. Collective memory managed to retain through word of mouth the whistle rendition of the Monkeys Spinning Monkeys tune and the Let Me Be Your Woman TikTok dance.

A screen somewhere in Cupertino, powered by its own miniature hydroelectric station concealed in a nearby Japanese garden is playing on repeat an advert for iPhone 34. It is invisible and can read minds. There is, of course, no way for our descendants to comprehend the meaning of any of this. It is the last working electrical device on Earth, and has become a destination for religious pilgrimage and worship.

It’s almost time for the future people to learn these secrets and more, but they must be patient.

They must wait.

*

Lissen, I think that the disappointment that the starved, diseased and war-torn remnants of humanity will feel upon opening that damn sarcophagus will sum us up exactly and perfectly.

“Oh, you thought this was about you? This was about us this whole time, and our twisted sense of humour and lack of foresight.”

Actually, it’s not even about us.

It’s about that one fucking guy who made this thing. I don’t even know what his @ is. So much for doing elaborate projects for attention. Would he be satisfied knowing that most people who know of this project will experience anything between indifference and minor disgruntlement, but most likely never learn his name?

*

If you scroll through a hundred videos and can only recall one of them after a week, what’s the value of the other ninety-nine videos? Even away from the screen I tend to find myself performing ninety-nine meaningless actions, thinking about ninety-nine irrelevant things, before ever sitting down and doing anything at all important.

I know I said it’s not that deep, but can’t it be a little bit deep? Maybe I can see more exhibitions, which I intend to, or watch better movies. Read a BOOK. Substacks are amazing, but I sort of miss books now.

I don’t even know, you make of all this what you will. I’m just hungry now. It’s been more than fifteen years since I had any Cheetos, flamin’ hot or regular, so you can imagine.