MyGod

There are two reasons why I still visit MySpace (or Myspace, or My______; whatever they’re calling themselves these days)  every now and then.  One, I do occasionally stumble upon an indie artist that I like, and I always feel better giving those guys five or ten bucks for a new album than most of the over-produced and over-hyped dregs on the iTunes top 10.  Lately, though, it seems that even that group's stopped sending me friend invites, which leads me to the second reason: it’s not-so-slow dive into obscurity.

It’s probably the first really great rise-and-fall story of the internet age.  Sure, there were others before it, but Friendster never made the level of stardom that MySpace did.   Four years ago, how many TV sitcoms had that one “MySpace episode?”  These days, saying no one uses MySpace is barely an exaggeration.  Not even their parent company, News Corp, bothers promoting them using their other many, many, many holdings.  IGN is one of their sister sites, and if their MySpace page was a building it would've been condemned over a year ago.

 

Find us…anywhere but here.

 

It's like the internet version of Boogie Nights.  Right now, MySpace is only trying to make it in the music business (with Digg playing John C. Reilly’s character), but judging by their current set of ads, they’re one PageRank point drop from trying to sell Alfred Molina fake cocaine.

Well, garsh!

 

This one’s even better, even when you don’t factor in the fact that I’m a white guy.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to do something to erase the image of Tom Anderson talking to himself in the mirror with his junk hanging out.