Last night, Jason went to bed a normal man, with a normal Twitter account (albeit one with a weed-smoking Elmo as the avatar), and a few dozen followers.
This morning, Jason woke up to an inbox full of messages, thousands of new followers, and wants to sell his account for many thousands of dollars.
As we chronicled last night, Netflix made a rather fundamental mistake in launching their new spin-off brand, Qwikster: they didn’t make sure they had the name locked down on all of the big social networks before making the announcement. As Jason’s luck had it, he had long owned the @Qwikster handle. He’s willing to part with it — he just wants to make sure he’ll “be making bank” first.
After over a month of silence, Jason’s @Qwikster account sprang back to life just a few hours ago and, likely to Netflix’s horror, has been more active today than it ever was before. Jason keeps touching on the idea of selling the account between poetic bursts like “I’m about to go play soccer n I got stug by a fucken bee” and “I just got scared I went into the shower turned on the water n then stuff started falling I was lik omg wtf lol”:
Well look what was waiting for me when I got home.
No blogging tonight. I’m gonna be a bit busy.
Alton Brown’s rules for how commoners should act around him. I’m really not regretting my answer for yesterday’s Question of the Day:
Once upon a time fans knew what to expect from the fan/celebrity relationship. You could join a fan club, occasionally wait behind a barricade outside some theater or arena and hope for a live glimpse alongside a few thousand like-minded friends, buy periodicals featuring said celebrity, or actively stalk thus risking the wrath of security personnel, both public and private.
Today there are still megastars who fit the old model…George Clooney comes to mind, but the rest of us fit into an ever widening, Warholian spiral of quasi-celebrity. We are the cable-ebrities and the web-ebrities, and unlike the Liz and Dicks of the world, we live, work, eat, shop, worship, and recreate right alongside the rest of you. We don’t have gated mansions, entourages, or bodyguards. We wait in lines, drop off the dry cleaning, and interact regularly with the “citizens” around us (that’s celebrity-speak for non-famous folk). This situation often stretches the very fabric of our society because we just don’t have rules for this sort of thing.
Since I’m about to go out on book tour and meet several thousand of you for the first or second or third time I thought I’d give you my rules for this sort of thing…just so we’re all on the same page.
NORTH KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — Stephen Forthman shoots first and asks questions later. He wears a shirt proudly displaying the words “I don’t dial 911” next to a picture of a hand gripping a sixshooter. When it comes time to contact local emergency services for assistance, he’d rather just shoot at the problem until it goes away — even when the problem is his own home being on fire.
No injuries were reported in a large structural house fire in North Knoxville at Forthman’s residence on Whittle Springs Road yesterday.
Knoxville firefighters were alerted by neighbors at 2:15 p.m. of smoke at the residence, according to Knoxville Fire Department spokesman Capt.
John Nickleton. The Knoxville Fire Department responded to an initial report of heavy smoke coming from the garage, and of a large bearded man in the front yard screaming and shooting into the house.