After a year of MySpacedom, exactly four people from high school have found me. Four. Besides being a lemming, reconnecting with former classmates was my primary reason for signing up. Templates that make my eyes bleed, creepy people who want to be my “friend” (just say no, kids!), countless bulletins, the ads — oh, the ads — and all because I refuse to pay for Classmates.com. (“Hi, Patricia! 82 people have searched for you lately. Want to find out who? Then pony up the dough, bitch!”) So in lieu of actually reconnecting with people I used to know, I’ve now decided to use my MySpace page primarily for evil: collecting celebrity “friends.” Although a few of them have been nice enough to respond to brief messages (a congrats on an Emmy nomination, asking for the stalking charges to be dropped — you get the idea), which is nice.
I’m one of those people who actually checks out profiles before deciding to add someone as a “friend”; I’m not a collector. And, boy, have I turned down some weirdos. But, hey, to each their own, right? At least I can count lots of local bands and published(!) authors among my “friends.” I figure why not help local bands out with the added exposure? Although I do scrutinize their profiles like anyone else’s and listen to their music; I’ve turned down some bands with songs containing lyrics that cross even my admittedly liberal line.
While MySpace is a harmless enough diversion for me (when I bother to check in), I don’t get why it’s a hardcore addictive habit for some people I know (ahem). Then again, I’ve never been wired exactly the same as everyone else. Which is just fine by me.