I’m almost on the cutting edge of cool. I’m like the fourth blade on the Schick Quattro of cool. I don’t cut off all the coarse hairs, but without me, your face would only be really smooth, not incomparably smooth.
 
So how, I wonder, did I fall behind the curve? I’m on MySpace. At this point I’m at that place where I’m becoming one of the old guys on MySpace, but at least I’m there. I use it to find indie band pics for the magazine. I have hundreds of friends. I don’t know most of them and, I admit, I don’t blog. I never add photos to my page, I don’t write messages to people, and I never update my profile since the first time I made it how many decades ago, but there I am, filling my cyberspace, ignoring the scores of invites and blasts people send out every day. If they’d just report the important stuff instead of crying wolf every time someone was going to meet for beers after work, I’d read it. But I forgive you. We live in increasingly different worlds. I don’t expect to understand you, and I don’t expect you to know where Iraq is on a globe. Ah, MySpace, my link to hipness, did you know that you are now totally dorksville?
 
What, you say? MySpace isn’t cool anymore? Apparently not. What’s up with that? Toilet paper isn’t that cool either but we still use it. I guess if we could find a way to mentholate it, it would be cool. Suddenly everyone is following the sheep to Facebook. It’s, like, totally way cooler and stuff. Of course, the first time I looked at Facebook, I could not join. You had to be a student. Then about two years ago someone said I could now join and sent me an invite. I joined and didn’t upload a photo or anything, it just sat there for a year. Then a while back after someone belittled me for having a sub-par profile, I beefed it up and put some pictures on. All of a sudden, I have a boatload of friend requests. I’m reconnecting with people I haven’t seen since college or maybe even high school. That was pretty nice. This thing has value. Maybe it is cooler. Maybe this is the adult MySpace. Somewhere we can REALLY network and discuss adulty things!
 
And then it happens. Someone sent me a plant, a Lil’ Green Patch request. What is that? I do some research. It’s a virtual plant to grow in my virtual garden. I’m supposed to send them a virtual plant back, I guess. Why? I don’t know. I don’t have time to care for my real garden. Now I’m going to do virtual gardening? Apparently by doing so, I help save a tree in Africa or something. So I do it. I didn’t want to be rude. While I love trees in Africa, I couldn’t really give a rat’s patootie about a virtual plant. Then the flood gates opened. People are sending me drinking requests for virtual beers, I guess, and “pieces of flair.” Yes, I saw Office Space, I get it. Challenging me to “Mob Wars” or inviting me to be their vassal so they can progress up the knighthood ladder? What?! I’m back in junior high, but with grown adults. Some people have a LOT of free time. More requests ... a movie quiz test! Okay, well, I might do that one.
 
Oh, no! A request to cure cancer! I have to click yes to that, right, even if it’s likely not going to really cure a disease? What if I kill a person because I clicked “Ignore?” I’m going to hell! Will I get a request to join “hell” on Facebook then? I’m so confused. Can I pass on that invite to more friends? Like the ones who sent me the binary vegetation! It’s amazing that I can cure cancer and save the rainforest just by accepting these invites! I can completely drop out of civic responsibility in real life and just stay on Facebook all day and save the world with my thumb. Ah, this is so much easier. Why didn’t someone tell me about this earlier? And to think I wasted all those hours in high school writing real letters for Amnesty International. They need to get a Facebook clicky thing. If we all click it, we can free Nelson Mandela in like a week. Er, uh, wait. That was high school. I guess THOSE letters worked. Someone else then. Robert Downey, Jr. Is he back in jail yet? Free him. I guess it’s like cereal box tops or soup can labels. We send Kim Jong-Il a few thousand clicks and a lunchbox full of POGS (look it up) and in exchange he destroys a nuclear plant or something. Sweet.
 
And the event invites. “Are you coming to my event, Bryce?” Yes, no, or maybe? You have to answer. Uh, probably not, but I feel so guilty saying no. What kind of ass says, “No, I’m not coming to your party?” So the only PC answer is to click “maybe.” This is social scrutiny hell! But for the record, uh, I’m not really coming, that “Maybe” is my CYA version of “no.” Stop asking.
 
Finally, when people change their profiles, the system automatically sends out the clarion call. “HEY EVERYBODY, JENNY CHANGED HER STATUS FROM “IN A RELATIONSHIP” TO “SINGLE.” How embarrassing. I’m never changing anything ever again. HEY EVERYBODY, BRYCE JUST WENT FROM “HUNGRY FOR MEXICAN” TO “SEVERELY GASSY.” And it encourages you to comment on people’s profile changes. Poor Jenny. Her boyfriend cheated on her and in disgust she changed her profile to “Single” as a cathartic healing moment and instead Facebook encourages all 235 of her friends to prod her for details and discuss her pain amongst themselves in front of her. Lovely!
 
So for heaven’s sake people, if you’re not on the Facebook yet, get on here. I’m dying to know what you are doing RIGHT NOW! In fact, I’m watching you. Can you feel me? We’re ALL watching you. Welcome to the future. Oh, wait a minute. Someone’s texting me ... What is “ROTFLMAO?”
 
God help us all!