Ever since I announced that my book was coming out, people have been asking me if I have a page on MySpace to promote it. My answer has always been the same: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”After hearing the question one too many times, however, I started thinking that I was being a snob. How bad could it be? Plus, wouldn’t it be ironic to use Rupert Murdoch’s latest multi-billion dollar purchase to promote a book that satirizes media consolidation?
So, I gave in. Last week I went on MySpace to set up a page.
Now you’d think that someone who could handle all of these blogs would have no difficulty at all with the technical requirements of MySpace, but that’s where you would be wrong. Google does a magnificent job of making these blogs user friendly and easy to handle. MySpace, on the other hand, goes out of its way to make the entire process as difficult as possible.
For instance, in their Frequently Asked Questions tab, they answer the question “How do you change the backgrounds?” this way:
“Anyone who has a basic working knowledge of HTML should be able to help out. Why don’t you look for friends on MySpace to help?”
That's not an answer! You might as well post a picture of Rupert Murdoch extending his middle finger.
I should have bailed out right then and there, but I couldn’t figure out how to delete the entire page, so I labored on. I examined the templates of my blogs, looked for the HTML code that might apply, and against all odds managed to cut and paste enough HTML code to insert a few pictures, a few links, and a video.
After fiddling with it a little, it didn’t even look terrible.
That’s when I ran into the creepiest part of MySpace. If I had known that this next step was the whole point of doing this, I wouldn’t have done it all. Apparently the whole idea of MySpace is to get as many “friends” as you possibly can. You literally have to ask people to be your friends. It just seems so pathetic.
I went through my list of actual friends and came up nearly empty. We’re old. We don’t “MySpace.” If you’re my age, and you’re on MySpace, you’re either a pedophile cruising for underage youngsters, or you work in the media. Luckily, many of my friends still work in the media, so I went on their pages and asked them to be my friends. I rationalized this behavior by telling myself that I hadn’t ever officially asked them to be my friends in real life, so what the heck?
I clicked the button: “Add me to your list of friends.”
Only 17 responded.
About two dozen more of them either don’t want to be my friend anymore because of some unknown slight (and if that’s the case then screw them because who the hell do they think they are treating me that way after all I’ve done for them?)…or, more likely, they don’t bother checking to see who wants to be their friends, and let’s be honest here…that’s not very friendly either.
Someone (sniff) might take that a little personally.
Now I was faced with a real conundrum. What if someone went to my MySpace page and saw that I only had seventeen friends? Seventeen.
“LOSER!”
So I went into panic mode. Think, Kaempfer, think! You must know some young people. I went through my memory banks trying to remember 20-somethings that I know. I could only come up with two: my cousins. They were both shocked to see me on MySpace. Shocked. But they charitably added me anyway.
Now I had a total of 19 friends. Nineteen.
“LOSER!”
I literally couldn’t think of a single name to insert in the search function. As fate would have it, CNN was on in the background, and they were talking about the 2008 presidential race. Seeing this as a sign, I inserted the name Barack Obama.
You may know him for his years in the Senate, or his campaign for the Presidency, but to me, he’ll always be my twentieth friend. Likewise, I’m sure he will always consider me his 153,498th friend on his 3835th page of friends. Either that, or the friend pictured next to Gerard the donkey. Sigh.
The next day I read the story about Obama retaking his MySpace page from a mere fan. It turns out I wasn't added by Obama at all...just an Obama fan.
Sigh.
I wasn’t a happy camper. The next time I checked my e-mail, however, I suddenly had offers from a dozen more people asking me to be their friends. I excitedly clicked on their pictures to see who they were.
All of them were scantily clad females more than twenty years younger than me—and I may be out of line for saying this—but my guess is that Kayla and Portia and Bambi are not really looking to be my friend. Even so, I still felt guilty rejecting them. It just sounded so harsh. I had to click on a button that said: I DENY YOU THE RIGHT TO BE MY FRIEND!
I’ve never done that to anyone in my life. Well, at least not since that kid on the school bus who flicked me with his finger every time he walked by. Kayla, Portia, and Bambi never did anything to cause red welts on my forehead, and yet, here I was…publicly rejecting them just because they’re a front for a porno company looking for creepy 43-year-old married guys.
Sigh.
Anyway, this is my long, drawn-out, and more than slightly pathetic way of asking if you’re interested in helping an old guy crack the triple-digit mark of “friends” at http://www.myspace.com/rickkaempfer . I sure would appreciate it. I promise I’ll be your friend too…
Unless you’re a scantily clad 20-something woman.
Please forgive me, Portia, Kayla and Bambi.
