When insomnia struck tonight, did I reach for a book or magazine, or perhaps write a chapter in my memoir-in-progress about how fucking brilliant I am?

Heavens, no. I might come dangerously close to accomplishing something if I did that.

No, because we live in FutureWorld, I went to Craigslist, of course. Then MySpace.

Even though these cyber-diversions are more ancient than Interpol, Lindsay Lohan, and Scientology combined, I never cease to be amazed at just what effective and horrendously entertaining time-sucks they are.

To wit.

Hey “Lost” fans: Did you know that, according to at least one of Kate’s ten (10) MySpace profiles, she went to high school with me? GHS class of ‘97, apparently. I’d like to contest this information, however, because if she’d gone to high school with me I would have definitely dated her. Or at least tried to.

“Hey Kate, care to join Drama Club? We meet every Tuesday after school. I’m the president, you know. Okay then, uh, I’ll see you at 3:30!”

I learned this fun fact while engaging in another fun MySpace activity: running a search for everyone who went to my high school. In my case, because my alma mater is so small, the results weren’t overwhelming and I recognized a lot of people (the ones over age 25, anyway), including a couple of my ex-girlfriends (besides those of the gorgeous, albeit fictional, television castaway variety). And, most importantly, I have experienced a unique mixture of remorse and nostalgia that is probably more familiar than I prefer. Good times!

And now, off to read a month’s worth of Gawker archives. [cue gun-to-own-head gesture]