Blogspot matchmaking service: Universal truth-o-meter?

Holy shit, in response to an anonymous comment to my last post, I decided to put a few things in my profile, to abate what seems to be one person's raging lust for information about me. I typed in some things, whatever came to mine, didn't bother with interests because, well, you wouldn't GET my interests and my influences are mostly German. So then I save it, then revise and save again because the occupation field apparently requires you keep the witty non-sequiters to 40 characters or something--which is what's wrong with this country by the way: field lengths.

Finally I amputate my response until it's completely nonsensical and save. Then, characteristically, out of my intense self-preoccupation and to make sure I didn't misspell anything, I check the formatted version.

Strange.

All my bands and books have turned into links. . . so this is how they make money, I think to myself--outloud--the heads of coworkers craning around to see which worker shattered the collective drone. I slump in my chair and expect the click of a band to take me to itunes.com or to Amazon for one of the books.

The truth, as I'm sure most of you know, is much more sinister. Clicking my own link for The Decemberists took me to a page filled with faces smirking ironically in thick-rimmed glasses and with cigarettes perfectly framed in the upper-left corner of the webcam snapshot. More frightening than the fact that I'd been setup for complete indexing and cataloging by some annonymous taunt, was the fact that I'd been more or less perfectly categorized by this system based on my enjoyment of a single band. Any of these face shots seemed like viable candidates for a torrid affair of intellectual and sexual comingling. By that I mean a casual friendship I unsuccessfully try to steer towards romance.

I'm ever more frightened of places like eharmony.com who, with their trademarked 29 points of compatibility, could probably tell me things about myself I don't even know.

ME: "Excuse me, Dr. Harmony, all these potential matches are men."
eHarmony.com: "Indeed."

It also makes me think that the three and a half years I spent emerging from my pupa into the rarified air of snot-nosed individualism was all a big waste of time. I mean I specifically listen to the Decemberists because no one else does (except for every friend and aquaintence I have). I read books I think no one else has read just to lord the fact over EVERYONE. This page of smiling pseudo-literati was really fucking with me.

I took Existentialism from a Keirkegaardian Catholic who was very proud of the fact that he grew up in the aftermath of the "free-love sixties". He was fond of drawing attention to the fact that all the counter-culture movements that sprung up then didn't succeed in abolishing homogeneity in society or in bringing individualism to suburbia, they simply created smaller pockets of sheep that thought differently in the same way. That's the kind of cynicism I eat up with fork and knife and seems to have borne itself out today. I'm just one of the throng of Decemberists fans that look and think and dress the same. I would've been in the same basic position if I'd gotten a finance degree and was making shitloads of money.

Though I'd probably be cursed with crappy glasses.