Friday, September 25, 2009
It was the decade when...
Our Friends Became Friendsters...
Aw, poor Friendster. You were there, before everyone else, giving the people of the world their very first friend request, and the first pangs of guilt when you ignored your old elementary school classmate who you barely remembered until you realized that you used to call him the dandruff troll and he somehow found you and asked you to be his "Friendster." Ah, I remember when I actually felt bad about that.
You were so friendly friendster! You had a nice appealing layout and design. Clean and readable. Not like that other, ugly social networking rip-off that stole all your thunder but ended up a Hobbesian waste-land of stoner bands and skanks named after alcoholic beverages. And, oh I how I loved your testimonials! I spent hours reading my friends mini-essays on how great I am. It's like attending your own funeral, but you're not dead.
Ah, Friendster. And what a great name: FRIEND-STER. It's warm and fuzzy. Like what a child might call their Teddy Bear or pet snake. "My Friendster." You could say to your pals who hadn't yet learned the joys of social networking, "Be my Friendster?" It rolled off the tongue. That is top-shelf netspeak if ever I heard it.
And stalking people! I almost forgot about stalking people. You made it so easy. I didn't even have to be your friend or in your city or attend your college to read all about you! After all, I should be able to internet-stalk total strangers who I have never met and would otherwise have no contact with, shouldn't I? Best of all, I can see if you've read my profile. I like to see who has read about me. I deserve to be read about. You know Friendster, that's what you taught me most of all....I AM REALLY INTERESTING AND WORTH READING ABOUT! And just to think, before you, I didn't think the rest of the world cared about my favorite ice-cream flavor. Or what bands I listen too. Or what books I read. Or what TV shows I watch. Or....well, you get the idea. But, you proved me wrong Friendster. I am worth writing and reading about. After all, it's all right there in black and white. I mean, who is going to take the time to write such a charming and witty profile about someone if it's not worth reading, right? And pictures!! Suddenly I had to pick out a "Profile Picture." Oh my God! I could look at pictures of me all day! How am I going to pick just ONE? Friendster, you made me so busy sometimes, but I still love you.
So...where did you go? Asia it seems. Why the fuck do you want all those Asian people to be Friendsters? What was wrong with us good ol' Americans? Is this a globalization thing? Have you been reading Thomas Friedman? And why did everyone here leave you? No "Dear John-ster" letter. Nothing. Just packed up and gone. I didn't want to. You have to know that Friendster. My profile is still there. Dormant. Quiet. But there. All the old friendly chatter, the profile updates, the picture updates...it's all gone. It's a ghost town of a social networking site. The architecture is still standing but, it's all dusty and dead and covered in cobwebs. No teary good-byes or cathartic demolitions, just abandonment. No closure. Like when a network abruptly cancels a Television series before they can write a good final episode (Pushing Daises I'm looking at you!). You deserved a big final hurrah Friendster! But, I guess it's often the imitator that triumphs over the original. Just ask The Backstreet Boys.
So here's to you Friendster! You changed the world forever and brought social networking to the masses. So, three cheers for...ohmigod! I totally forgot to update my Facebook status today! Gotta go.
You AUGHT To Remember.