Embarrassingly Addicted

If MySpace was a single human entity, I would try to strangle it. I’ve logged in approximately 15 hours last week on my profile page. Most of that time was spent messing with the layout. The rest of the time, finding old high school and college classmates. The MySpace frenzy has caused my current employer to block the site through their proxy … my guess is that the amount of time spent on the site has astronomically grown over the past years … less productivity … more MySpace. Sad that I know that they blocked the site … obviously tried to log on at work … my anger grows.

Why manage your work, when you can manage MySpace. Why have real friends, when you can have 1,000,001 MySpace friends. Why keep secrets, when you can see what everyone’s saying about you on MySpace comments. Why take a lunch break, when you can spend an hour on MySpace. Why write your coworker an email, when you can write a comment on their MySpace page.

With all the MySpace activity going on these days, you would think that they’re making a killing on advertising. Comparing internet traffic on Google vs MySpace, the numbers must be close. Hell, not only do they have over 50 million registered users but I Google’d a MySpace search just the other day. Google has NEVER been slow. No matter the search. It’s pretty obvious that Google has invested in their infrastructure over the past few years … ensuring zero lag on their site. MySpace is slow all the f**kin time. Where’s the loot going? They’re not spending it on their web development. Not spending it on infrastructure improvements. Has everyone’s friend, TOM, been receiving large yearly bonuses??? JIC he has, I’ve removed him from my friend list. I gotta move on!

But yet I seem to find my way back … especially after receiving those damm email notification that someone out there wants to be my friend. OMG who is it? Typically it’s “Jessica” or “Liza” or “Monica” or “Look at my beautiful breasts and check out my web cam Nikki.” And all of these girls ironically don’t want to have kids. Why am I so infatuated? What is it? I could give a rat’s ass about what happens on Friendster. But someone left a comment for me on MySpace … watch the f**k out … must check comment. You want to be my friend … you live in somewhere in Boulder … you look better than the average … OK … let’s go out for dinner … I’ll order you a Cleveland Houdini AND we’ll take it from there! Checkin' into MySpace rehab tomorrow!