My dear old friend Nymal kindly introduced me to the joys of FML aka fuckmylife.com, a site dedicated to the confessions of Americans whose lives are going down the pan in short, sharp bursts of humiliation and stupidity. A kind of Twitter for depressives, every terrible incident is relayed in a sentence or two, with the sign off "FML" at the end - an Amen for fuck-ups: "Today, at the dentist, I was getting my teeth cleaned. Looking up at his nose, I saw runny snot dripping onto his lip. I tried to slowly move away. He told me 'Stop!' The movement of his lips caused the snot to fall right into my mouth. FML." At first it's very funny and also formally rather beautiful, as if Perec has been reincarnated as a fat girl somewhere in the Mid-West who can't get a date for the prom. After a few pages, though, it begins to make you feel a bit queasy. Everyone has terrible body image and their insecurity is constantly being reinforced by friends and family. Everyone's boyfriend is cheating on them, usually with their best friend. On the other hand, it is kind of great. "Today, a creepy man on the subway said he liked my eyeballs. It was the best compliment I've received in months. FML."
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