Anybody missed me?? Yep, I got hit with creeping chest crud, Round Two. Just when I thought I had it beat, it took some non-sanctioned steroids or something and kicked my hiney once again. You would think blogging would be something you could do easily when you are under the weather, but unfortunately the side effect of the creeping chest crud is that all your brain cells become congested as well. I may have looked like heck, but my thought processes were even scarier. So, instead of blogging, I decided to spend my time more productively – – I created a MySpace page.
Not to be outdone by my teenager or my husband (who recently had to sign up on Facebook and MySpace for a class he is taking), I am now prominently displayed among the other narcissists of the world who feel they are interesting enough to have a page of their interests, political affiliations, and favorites hanging out for all of humanity to see. As I moved around my modules, and customized my background colors, and deleted excess text on the page, I couldn’t help but think back to my own teenage yearning for a space to call my own.
Of course back in ye olde 80’s, personalizing your space meant moving the furniture in your bedroom, sewing sequins on your valances, and switching out your old cutesy animal posters for Teen Beat centerfolds of Michael J. Fox and Duran Duran. But hey, it’s the same idea, right? We wanted the world to know who we were, and since we had absolutely no idea ourselves, we had to symbolize it with jelly shoes and Molly Ringwald’s hairstyle. Of course, in the 80’s individuality was not a high commodity. You wanted to be as much like “your group” as possible. The preps all wore izods and khakis with the collars turned up, the braniacs all got the same Trapper Keeper for their notebooks, the druggies listened to the same Guns and Roses albums, and the jocks all bought the same Nikes.
Having a unique personal identity is probably more acceptable now, as long as you make it sound “kewl” on your MySpace page and put glittery sparkles around the text of your quirks. But I am still amazed at how much information Gen Y is willing to part with. As a teen, I wasn’t terribly thrilled when several of my female classmates witnessed a tissue fall out of my bra in my 7th grade PE locker room. Today’s teens not only willingly tell you their bra size, but also when they are planning to have their augmentation surgery! And I wasn’t much of a partier in school, so I was never drunk enough to reveal my experimental exploits with even my closest friends. On MySpace, boys and girls are happy to detail for you just exactly how they got their most recent VD, and what medicine seems to knock it out the quickest.
Life has changed, and I don’t remember where I put my user’s manual. Yes, I have a MySpace. And yes, I’ve been married longer than most of the other people who have a MySpace have been alive. But does that stop me?? Nope. So even though it is juvenile, and self-centered, and time-wasting, I am going to spend the evening making my page look super cool. And while my brain cells are stuffed up, even those glittery textie-thingies are starting to look cute. You think I could find one that says “Kiss My Grits!” in bright blue?
It would look really cute under my flashing “Ronald Reagan Rocks my Socks” icon. Who says I’m too old for this stuff??!!