(no subject)
There follows an apology. I recently claimed that MySpace is like a school canteen when it's raining and no-one's allowed to go outside. I have since come to realise that this is utterly, utterly wrong and I take these sentiments beack whole-heartedly and without reservation. I am sorry for making such a heinous error of judgement. You see, MySpace is actually like the seaside.
Let me explain.
It occurred to me today that pictures of people visiting the Great British seaside only ever appear in newspapers for one of two reasons:-
a) the thermometer has nudged over 18 degrees C for the first time in the year and three girls desperate to become Page 3 models have taken to the seas of Bourenmouth in their bikinis and shiveringly waited for a photographer to pull up before having a good old frolic. One of them will probably take her top off if the mercury hits 20.
b) thunderstorms are battering Britain and waves the size of Canary Wharf are toppling onto the promenades of Blackpool and Brighton. You can absolutely guarantee that in any one of the pictures taken of this happening that appears in the papers, there'll be an utter mong in a blue cagoul striding under the mountains of brine like he's "just popped out for a stroll along the front".
At this point I had a clever paragraph planned which linked the attention seeking clowns who populate these tabloid seaside scene with the vast proportion of the people who clog MySpace up with the tiniest details of their lives and personalities. However, I've gone and forgotten exactly what I was going to say in it so this rather self-inflexive glimpse inside the writing process will have to do instead.
People who strip to their bikinis in a British mid-April, and people who wander through Hurricane Katrina in nothing more than a Karrimor just to get in the papers would seem to be blessed with a healthy dose of self-awareness- the bikini babes have nice figures and the storm stroller is a bit of eccentric. However, whilst they must know this to some extent, what they're really after is every newspaper reader in the country looking at pictures of them and saying either "look at the shirt potatoes on that!" or "blimey, look at that bloke!".
There's no harm in this, per se- everyone needs a bit of positive reinforcement every now and again, but it's on MySpace that such a demand to know exactly what everyone thinks of you in excruciating detail, combined with a desire to share even the most tedious vaguries of existence is magnified to the nth degree. Obviously the structure of MySpace means that such information is usually shared out amongst a collection of "friends", thereby reducing the risk of anyone telling you something along the lines of "you are a self-involved muppet, frightened of making proper relationships without the use of a keyboard and if you send me another quiz telling me what colour socks you've got on and the last person who gave you chocolate then I'm going to come looking for you".
So, basically, you're going to spend your time being told how well liked you are by people who like you. And in turn, you're going to let them know whether you sing in the shower and which is your favourite toenail.
Well if that's how people today want to make friends, then so be it. As for me, I'll stick to meeting other folk in the real world.
I think I'll find some at the seaside....
Let me explain.
It occurred to me today that pictures of people visiting the Great British seaside only ever appear in newspapers for one of two reasons:-
a) the thermometer has nudged over 18 degrees C for the first time in the year and three girls desperate to become Page 3 models have taken to the seas of Bourenmouth in their bikinis and shiveringly waited for a photographer to pull up before having a good old frolic. One of them will probably take her top off if the mercury hits 20.
b) thunderstorms are battering Britain and waves the size of Canary Wharf are toppling onto the promenades of Blackpool and Brighton. You can absolutely guarantee that in any one of the pictures taken of this happening that appears in the papers, there'll be an utter mong in a blue cagoul striding under the mountains of brine like he's "just popped out for a stroll along the front".
At this point I had a clever paragraph planned which linked the attention seeking clowns who populate these tabloid seaside scene with the vast proportion of the people who clog MySpace up with the tiniest details of their lives and personalities. However, I've gone and forgotten exactly what I was going to say in it so this rather self-inflexive glimpse inside the writing process will have to do instead.
People who strip to their bikinis in a British mid-April, and people who wander through Hurricane Katrina in nothing more than a Karrimor just to get in the papers would seem to be blessed with a healthy dose of self-awareness- the bikini babes have nice figures and the storm stroller is a bit of eccentric. However, whilst they must know this to some extent, what they're really after is every newspaper reader in the country looking at pictures of them and saying either "look at the shirt potatoes on that!" or "blimey, look at that bloke!".
There's no harm in this, per se- everyone needs a bit of positive reinforcement every now and again, but it's on MySpace that such a demand to know exactly what everyone thinks of you in excruciating detail, combined with a desire to share even the most tedious vaguries of existence is magnified to the nth degree. Obviously the structure of MySpace means that such information is usually shared out amongst a collection of "friends", thereby reducing the risk of anyone telling you something along the lines of "you are a self-involved muppet, frightened of making proper relationships without the use of a keyboard and if you send me another quiz telling me what colour socks you've got on and the last person who gave you chocolate then I'm going to come looking for you".
So, basically, you're going to spend your time being told how well liked you are by people who like you. And in turn, you're going to let them know whether you sing in the shower and which is your favourite toenail.
Well if that's how people today want to make friends, then so be it. As for me, I'll stick to meeting other folk in the real world.
I think I'll find some at the seaside....