Get Out of MySpace
Still having a MySpace account at this point is being the last person left in a club when the lights come on. It’s uncomfortable, a little embarrassing and you’ve lost your ride home.
Recently, I’ve been wondering why I have continued my MySpace upkeep. I joined up when I moved to Japan and found it a great way to meet English speaking people. That then turned into being solicited by, seemingly, every foreign man in Japan who could appreciate a girl with hips. Being hit on via the interweb was quite a new phenomenon to me. I’d get home from work and marvel at the fact that I was receiving about 10-15 new messages a day and all I was doing was sitting in my sweats, drinking tea.
But then my friends back home started getting on it and it was a cool way to connect with them. Then I moved to Canada and heard all this mysterious talk about something called ‘Facebook’. I resisted it for a while, then it became apparent that I could no longer function in society without a Facebook account. Seriously, seeing the look on people’s faces when you say you haven’t got one, is worthy of a bitch slapping.
And so I signed up for Facebook, which has put me in touch with some great people I’d lost touch with and some not so great people whose reasons for friend requesting me, when they clearly hated my ass in high school, is beyond me. Being that I live in one country and most of my friends are in another, it has become, basically, the only way I keep in touch with anyone.
But then the Facebook bug wasn’t enough for me and I had to feed my social networking jones by adding Twitter into the mix, or ‘Facebook on crack’ as I like to call it. It’s the ultimate tool for any narcissist. It operates on the assumption that the world at large should be intensely interested in your every move and yes, you should be in mine. I am just that interesting.
And so that leaves little old MySpace, struggling to stay relevant in this sea of over sharing. I check my account every now and then and now I’m being propositioned by random middle eastern men (apparently, I’m big with the Arabs), Nigerians and anyone who has released a hip hop mixtape in the history of time. An ex of mine (who is now married and living in Italy) likes to message me every few months and tell me, repeatedly that he wishes me all the best and I deserve nothing but greatness and he really hopes everything works out for me. So, um, to that guy, message received, roger that, I got it, over and out. Now kindly fuck off. I have like, at least ten Arabs lined up to get with me.
So, methinks it might be time for me to bid MySpace farewell. We’ve had some good times and you did kinda introduce me to someone who is incredibly special to me, so I guess for that, you get a high five. But I just don’t have time for you anymore, what with all the Twittering and such like.
Before I go, I will turn down that friend request from that random death metal band in Utah just one last time, for old time’s sake. *Wipes tear* So long MySpace. It’s been special.
