I Think MySpace is Fucking Stupid

You know, I've been thinking. I wonder to myself, (pre-2003) how people ages 20-32, communicated with each other, being that MySpace/Text Messaging/Emailing/etc., etc. have become so ingrained in our social networks. The funny thing is, MySpace isn't really about other people. It's about you. It's in the friggen' name. MY - Space. "Look at me, I'm unique, my life is full of excitment. I have a higher existence and consequently my experiences are far suprerior to your's...and here's pictorial proof of every one of those points." Space. It's all vanity-induced. The mass-gathering of "friends," the pictures, the poses, the digital vomit that comes off our cameras from every weekend, or drunken party we attend. Shit, I'm guilty of it too. I always post pictures of my latest trip, or stupid weekend excursion for the world to see. Yet, I understand the irony of self-promotion. Nobody cares....nobody but me for mine, and nobody but you for yours. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I hate it. Much like my hatred for American television. I have gone far beyond seeing past what TV does to a person. Makes you mindless, dumbfounded, staggering drones. Blathering on about who fucks who on Desperate Housewives, or who has the most "talent" in some ridiculous phone-in-popularity-contest-reality-show. What does it really matter? Same with MySpace...what the fuck does it really matter? All it does is make us egocentric, internally-driven robots only concerned with further perpetuating our "online persona" (the most important of all...I mean, for God's sake...who wants to find out who the real person is behind that profile pic...definitely not me), and giving us a faux reality of who a person really is. When the reality couldn't be any further from what's posted on the bulletin board. We all shit in toilets and wipe our asses the same. We all eat too much or too little, we all cry when we're weak, we're all jealous of something or somebody, we all want more money, we all undercut people, love people, have times of happiness and sadness, puke when we've drank too much, smell bad when we don't shower, use credit cards too much, think of weird shit in our weird little brains, and all the other things that make us connected on so many levels.

You see one of the problems I see with MySpace is actually a splintered effect of a much larger underlying problem with society in general. We all HAVE to be unique. Uniqueness is a fucking commodity nowdays, and the weirder you are the better. The more independent from status quo living, or what we deem to be status quo living, the better. But what the fuck is the status quo anymore? We're hit over the head every day, from every which angle, from every form and type of medium with an extreme overload of information. It's too much information to process. We get all scatter-brained. So we force things out and force ourselves up to be louder than the noise. To be noticed. Before we know it, we're balancing ourselves on our own pedestal screaming, "LOOK AT ME! I'M A PAINTER/MUSICIAN/SURFER/BALL PLAYER/SEX KITTEN/COMEDIAN/RICH GUY/ACTRESS/BULLSHIT AFTER BULLSHIT. PLEASE LOOK AT ME!!!! PLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEE!!!!!"

You see, back in the old days. Like say the pre-internet/9-11 days....we got to know somebody with our own senses. We touched them, we listened to them, we saw them (in person), we heard about their weekends, their trips, their stories, and if we were lucky enough, we even gained some insight on their inner monologue, instead of reading it on some stupid blog or bulletin. Yes, I realize the irony at play here. But, after the contact with that person, if they were a piece of shit, we knew they were a piece of shit. If they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married, then you knew they were a lovely person that you'd love to date if only they weren't married. But we did it with a trial by fire.

When I move to Austin, a city chock full of "I don't really give a shit" attitude, I think (know wait, I know) I'm going to bury my MySpace profile six-feet in the ground. Then, if I want someone to know about me or what I do, or have done, or will do...well, I'll fucking call them and have dinner. I might even ask them about themselves.

And I'll try to be as humble as possible.