MySpace is Now My Space and I'm Glad

The first reaction I saw was one of disbelief; many refused to believe the statistics. One person knew for a fact that all the people joining MySpace since the end of last year were teens trying to avoid scrutiny by reversing their ages (17 becomes 71). A second blogger disagreed, he knew inherently that fact can’t be true because that would give the lie to the earlier discovery that hundreds of thousands of perverts were taking over the site by doing just the opposite (71 becomes 17). Wait, said blogger number three, the real increase in older sign-ups is due to parents joining so they can see what their kids are up to.

Then suddenly all that was brushed aside as the more serious question was taken up, what of the future? Death loomed. In such cases we are told that if grief is allowed to take its natural course, disbelief is followed by anger, then revenge. The imminent demise of MySpace was no exception. People immediately began recalling the bad things, especially the earlier insults, the invasion of their private space by parents and perverts, and let’s not forget those teachers looking for liquor and drug usage! All of this shock and revulsion made it easier to justify their vow to shift to Facebook . Soon as you could wink, a We’ll show ‘em! attitude developed. Some even came up with the ultimate put-down, We don’t need it! It’s just a matter of time before real time, face-to-face conversation will replace computer chit-chat. Honestly, some people believed that social networking will soon leave cyberspace and come back down to street level. Perhaps as a result of the next revolution. I can't wait I presume this will be the new rage, Yeah!

Still, all this was new to me. I had just joined MySpace a few months back and was still fascinated by it. Following instructions provided by several teenaged tutors, I had gone fishing for friends. My wife, looking over my shoulder, told me to set the browser at ages 40 to 68. Isn’t that a bit extreme? I asked. You don’t want to be branded as a pervert, do you? she said. Oh, good thinking, I said, disregarding the sly look she gave me.

The first names I came up with were older people who had very few friends. Parents, explained my youthful advisors. How the hell did you know that? Look at their bulletins, they said. I saw what they meant, statements like, Hey dog! How’s the leg? LOL, had to be from some young relative, possibly a son. Translated he probably meant, Hello Dad, I know that arthritic leg must be killing you, but, if you laugh out loud, maybe it will cure itself. Or consider this, Hey m. sorry I can’t get home for the big event, I luv every 1 of u n’ how ya help me. Possibly that could be read as, Dear Mom, your fiftieth birthday will definitely be a bomb, how could it be anything else? Hope you remember to pay off the outstanding balance on my credit card, or I’m toast, and you know we don’t want that to happen, do we?

It was to these new over-40 friends and/or parents that I directed my first messages, and from them that I received heart-felt replies, like, At last, an adult! or, Such a relief to talk to someone my age, and in the background classical music took the place of the heavy metal that so often graced the other pages. Or, MySpace is great isn't it? Just be careful, there are lots of weirdos out there, but I can tell you're not. Thanks for the add!

I especially liked the fact that all the profiles had photos, often snapshots of grandchildren or complete family albums, so I had a good idea of who I was talking to. On my part I would lead off with ideas about reading, favorite authors, writing, travel, past experiences. In return I’d get flashes of inspiration, life stories, answers to questions I hadn’t asked, and opinions, opinions, opinions. I also quickly found that the women were the most outgoing.

Obviously there is something in the male makeup that forces us to hold back with strangers, but I soon got over that and before long inner thoughts, aspirations, exasperations and more stories came my way. Then it slowed, after which it was more difficult to keep the exchange going. Sort of like strangers at a cocktail party, having recounted the highlights of their life, one or both are apt to go looking for another drink unless some common ground has been established.

In this case the fact that the whole exchange was written out reminded me of the tradition in literary life, where writing letters and reading were considered important for the well being and productive life of an author. Charles Dickens was a fine example of this. He read constantly, wrote thousands of words every day, knocked off several multi-page letters, an essay or two, and a dozen pages of a novel or a story for a newspaper or magazine before he went to bed. All with a quill pen and ink! Even in his sleep it didn’t stop, his dreams were the stuff of the next day’s production. Many other examples can be found. At the moment I happen to be reading the work of MFK Fisher, another voracious reader and bold writer of long letters (California and France, 1920-1990). And again in her case the pattern was the same, as she readily admits, read, read, read and write, write, write, and you will grow, both as a person and as a writer.

How then to explain my case, I continue to read a great deal and have evolved into a writer even though I never willingly wrote a letter of any length worth recording. That is, until I opened up my page on MySpace. Now I can’t stop. Reams and reams flow from my pen, or in this case my laptop or PC, and I benefit. My writing has improved by leaps and bounds. I’m sure this is not unique and has something to do with exposure to these new friends and their correspondence. It’s this very same graying of MySpace, recently disparaged, that encourages me to sit down and communicate and allow my new friends to draw me out. And I dearly appreciate the stimulus this provides. I like it, this MySpace. I think perhaps I’ve been waiting for it most of my life.

I for one am glad it’s here; I just hope it doesn’t die before I do.