TSJ Enemies: Myspace

"A place for friends"?



Perhaps. But moreso, a place for charlatans, pederasts and terrible, terrible web design.

Let's forget for the moment that social networking sites can undermine the value of interpersonal relationships and foster a distorted version of the social self. Surely, stalwart reader, neither you nor I are so easily betrayed. Can you think of any social gatherings wherein there are preachings of the redeeming and unfaltering friendship of a single ubiquitous being?



Besides him?



Correct. How unfair is it to promise an attention-starved teen that someone as ostensibly nice as Tom will always be their friend? Tom never gets too busy with his girlfriend for you; he never goes backpacking in Europe, leaving you behind for the summer; he never ditches you for the cool group. You might yourself never get a single add, yet there is one unifying being that all your 'spaced friends share, and embracing him with love and compassion will surely deliver just rewards (your new friend might have cute other friends! Four million of them!)

Let us pray. Oh Tom Anderson, what is your true and unbiased age, and does the truth have anything to do with why you never change your profile pic? Were you really an 80's era computer-cowboy, like Jonny Lee Miller in "Hackers"? Did you really found Myspace? (I could link to this story...but do you care? Thought so.)

Speaketh unto to us, Tom, for one should expect to find intelligence in your design, yet scrutinize as I try, I see none! I look upon this pagan idolatry, and, in faith, I see chaste space and function:



yet here: Gomorrah!



Was this done out of benevolence and foresight, or blind, cruel chance, like a swamp thing out of the primordial ooze? It's difficult to keep faith sometimes, when there is na'er a sign from the administration, besides occasional useless homepage changes.

Tom Anderson: when we creep our friends, we creep with innocence and naivety, and it is up to the Great Designer to guide us and steer us upon a Path: what is to be clicked, and what is to be viewed; what is a call to action versus useless fine print; who is our new friend versus an ad for lonely girls in our city. Within the twitsphere, we are but stumbling, blind lepers with credit cards, bound to make horrible mistakes with our purchasing power, lest some simple interface directives guide us through the valley, like the dim aisle lights in airline safety videos.

I can recall another time when humankind was left to organize their own information. It was called the Tower of motherflipping Babel. Also, Thai full moon parties.



So fill your space with caution. The makers have left the building, and are busy with the next IPO.