Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs

I've started to read my second Charles Klosterman book.
I'm beginning to think I'm addicted to pop-culture criticism.
This entire book seems like pure hatred for 90% of todays modern reality.
Which is somewhat audacious of myself to even speak about it.
I hate 90% of reality television, but somehow I'm subconsciously attracted to its criticism.
Though despite his appreciation of the entire Real World Series, I still stand by my beliefs the show is a waste of existance.

Which rises another point concerning the Sims.
Why am I, along with so many others so hopelessly drawn to this video game?
I no longer play it, but my pseudo nostalgia for what I have done merely over a year ago, is driving me insane.
Why the fuck would I buy a video, simply to virtually re-create why I did in real-life.
Except, in this virtual reality, SimMike has to think about this shit non-stop.
Meanwhile in reality reality, its all subconsciously done, because I know I have to do this shit, but SimMike doesn't learn it. He's virtually retarded, along with virtually materialistic because the only shit that makes him not depressed is more expensive shit.
As Klosterman put it, I don't sleep on a bed, I sleep on a sleeping machine, manufactured in the corner of my room. I see no point in buying a bed that is only going to be slept on, so I created this huge cushion in my corner. But not SimChuck, until he got his one thousand dollar Napoleon Post bed, all he did was cry like a bitch.

He also delves into the Sims conversation, claiming all they ever talking about is money and sailboats. And you can so easily have the option to tickle someone, when in reality, its not the brightest thing to do, but I suppose in virtual civilazation, tickles are the rage.

Another topic I can't get off my head, well, for the past 15-20 minutes, is my own self-constructed, subconscious, soundtrack.

When you go on a road trip, you bring music, and when you drive fast, you listen to heavy shit.
You can do 90 mph to the Norma Jean, or for those hipsters, Metallica.

But doing 90mph while Ben Folds lights up the piano throughout Landed, just seems ludicris.
No pun intended between Norma Jean and ludicriss. (I.e. spelling is not Lutikriss.)

So what could I subconsciously play to my entire life. Only I can hear, but doesn't completely distract me, because multi-tasking is very much out of the question.

I'd like something hard for working, soft and mellow for sleeping. Somewhat upbeat for walking, unless that walking was walking up to a funeral (then something sad) or a wedding (something happy) or to kick someone's ass (revert back to working music.)

I think that would be cool.
If I could invent PREmodernism.
Thats an invention that will be modern within the next 500 years. Give or take a couple centuries.

I'm also pondering writing my own novel. Nothing cynical or depressing, but probably a replica of my own mind, except organizated and put into text, something like this, but with a greater purpose.

Can you actually call yourself cynical?
I doubt this is true.
True cynics wouldn't give themselves that much praise.
Fuck them.

My knees hurt from being in a crawlspace all day.
And by god, I'm happy as a clam.