Twenty-four-year-old Justine Ezarik, who goes by the moniker "iJustine," is bouncing around on my computer screen in a pink tank top and black bra, her platinum hair--ordinarily perfectly straight-- increasingly mussed as she works herself into a frenzy about something. I have turned my computer's sound off, so I don't know what's making her widen her heavily made-up eyes, flail her head from side to side, and fix the camera with an open-mouthed pout. My boyfriend glances at my screen as he walks by--and stops in his tracks and watches.

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