If I don't return, IM my mom.
Day 1. There really is not much to starting a MySpace profile. You sign up using your e-mail address and the site guides you through the short steps to create a personal page.
First, the picture. Although not required, the true MySpacer posts a picture that personifies who they are. There are basically four types of MySpace profile pictures: the crooked self-photo via cell phone (the more cleavage, the better); the substituted pet photo (extra points for a zoo animal); the blatant copyright violation (a defaced Spongebob or presidential figure); and the group photo (usually taken at a kegger).
I decide on a black-and-white photo taken when I first arrived in Florida.
Next, I add my demographic information. MySpace wants to know if you are married, single or a swinger; gay, straight or bi; your occupation and yearly salary; and your education level and schools attended.
Most of these I choose not to fill out. I find myself not wanting to divulge personal information for the rest of the world to see. I'm also bothered by having to fit my life into a pre-approved MySpace template — I don't watch TV, my musical tastes are too varied to list, and I don't have any "heroes."
Still, I fill out my profile as expected, press "submit," and voila! — I'm inducted into the largest digital cult in history.
I sit staring at my finished profile for a moment and realize I already have a friend. Oh yes, it's Tom Anderson — the site's creator. Tom is everyone's friend. As part of the code that makes up the site, Tom is automatically added to your friend's list when you create a page. This way, even the loneliest of us don't have to go friendless. I can't say I'm excited to be just another notch on Tom's belt o' friends. So I delete him, purely out of spite.
I'm about to sign out of my page and return to the real world when I receive a message: "Kiki would like to be added to your MySpace friends list." I don't know a Kiki, so before I approve or deny Kiki's request for friendship, I decide to click on the profile to see what Kiki is all about. She is a 15-year-old girl from Ocala. I deny friendship. Less than two hours into MySpace world and I've already come too close to statutory rape. I'm done for today.
Day 2. Despite the near-trauma of my first day, I decide to join the other multitudes of MySpacers in what appears to be the No. 1 activity on MySpace — stalking ex-classmates online.
At first I am apprehensive about finding old friends and acquaintances. One of the main reasons I did not keep a MySpace account is my old-fashioned view of privacy; that is, I like it.
My fear arises from the site's exceptional ability to attract all those freaks from high school I've tried so hard to forget. Sure, it's great to find that your cheating first love ended up a fat hairdresser in a Largo trailer park. But at the risk of finding another classmate who you dumped and now has stolen her jailed boyfriend's car to drive 1,500 miles to show up at your doorstep claiming she bore your love child? No, thank you.
The search is enlightening, if not a bit disturbing. Most of the people I sat next to while attending a tiny Central Florida high school ended up in the military. One of them, a guy I barely remember, has an interesting motto: "U.S. Marines ... Travel agents to Allah ... Kill 'em all." Now I remember why I left.
A search of my Iowa high school yields more lighthearted results: An avowed Satanist I dated became a lesbian; the sweet straight-edge girl I had a crush on is drunk in every one of her pictures; ex-girlfriends are married to gnarled farmers; and another is essentially whoring herself out through the site.
I see the attraction of MySpace: spying on people you know and laughing at their growing misfortune in life. It's the ultimate reality TV show. I just don't understand why anyone would put themselves through that kind of torture.
I'd rather risk isolation.
Day 3. While perusing my friends' profiles today, I come across what is soon to be some psychology student's thesis — the effect of MySpace on relationships. The Web is full of sites detailing the sad stories of lovers ruined by the cyber meat market that is MySpace. Even the simple question of "dating status" could provoke an argument, as it did with my girlfriend and me. A search of her page revealed a "single" status, while mine remained "in a relationship." I convince myself it was a simple mistake — "single" is the default setting unless you change it manually — but in weaker relationships where the line between single and monogamy is hazy, it could start a tug of war between trust and noncommitment issues.
