Before MySpace began to creep up on our society - closing their hands around our necks, crushing our worldwide trachea - I was feverishly at work on maintaining friendships the old fashioned way. You know, phone calls, hanging out, seeing how people are doing, learning the little niches of their lives by leaving the house to see them? I would even branch out into the world of Instant Messenging. I had assumed it could never get any easier to keep pace with people, but I never expected to be reeled in by this monument to laziness. We are strapped to this medium and even seem to need it. I avoided it until everyone I knew thought I was crazy for not having it. Let's face it, MySpace is stupid.
It all started with Friendster, I suppose - to collect frineds like bubble gum cards and hope they leave me a comment (where others toil and I harvest the accolades). I got over this. I said, "Hold, brothers. This trend will soon pass." Oh boy, was I ever wrong.
Maybe the time to bag on MySpace was years ago, when everyone just LOVED it, as opposed to now, when they've finally delivered a cool draught of its deep promise. The staple to our electronic lives that goes hand in hand with checking e-mail - a state you might call post post post hip. Maybe it's just common place.
So what am I? Addicted. Everyone is either a MySpace fanatic (those who spend a good hour of their day posting bulletins and leaving everyone comments), a MySpace drifter (those who have the profile but check it less than once a month), and me: The addict. I go in once a day, maybe twice to check things out (usually at the hands of the fanatics), even though I tell myself not to. I'd pray for my friends to have an intervention but they're all addicts too...
