But … the Myspace thing creeped me out. Most of Brodie’s friends were 15-year-old skateboard kids, and no one seemed too intent on interacting. The number of friends you had seemed more important than how often you communicated with people; quantity, not quality.
It makes perfect sense for using Myspace for commercial purposes, but to me it seems like a fucked up way to find friends. Rupert Murdoch now determines how popular someone is. He already feeds us most of our news; this is very fucked up in my opinion and friendships can be created and deleted with the click of a mouse instead of over a cup of coffee or bottle of whiskey. I opted to make zines, real pages that people can touch instead of pages that people can delete.
I was recently engaged in conversation with a woman who told me about how one of her old roommates, who was very reserved, was only able to explain his deep platonic love for her via text message. The two have been friends for years and he couldn’t let her know that he appreciated their friendship any other way but through a teensy weensy cellular tellular? Excuse me while I call this guy a pussy.
But this is often the case and why I think texting turns us all into pussies. It’s easy to be intimate when you don’t have to look the person in the eyes, thus killing intimacy. It’s a nice big social safety net.
I personally have to admit that I’ve replaced my nicotine habit with cleaver texts I hated smoking but I used to do it anyway. And now here I am, writing this article, jonzing for my five-minute text break.
I think instant messaging isn’t as much of a BFD as texting. Our cell phones are always with us, our computers aren’t (yet). I used to be afraid to go to the dentist because I thought he’d put a government microchip in my molar but now he doesn’t have to. We keep our microchip tracking devices voluntarily and we call them cell phones.
I think in about 1,000 years or so humans will evolve into this: Man will reproduce through a USB cable that connects to his penis and plugs into his computer. He can go to his Myspace page, click on the VBJ tab (virtual blow job) and upload his seed into a test tube stored in a Rupert Murdoch branded sperm bank. Women can insert a special 30GB flash disc/dildo contraption up their canyon that ships eggs to the same sperm bank. Then you can click on your friends tab and create a baby without any hassle and minimal emotional connection. Babies will be made there in the Rupert Murdoch baby facility and raised by cute little robots that look kind of like monkeys until they are old enough to fit the same USB cables and Flash disks up their genitalia.