The Final, Actual, Serious, No-Bluffing Death of Friendster
THE DEATH OF FRIENDSTER
Friendster was born in 2003, the product of a blissful love affair between hipsters and technology. Friendster thrived in its early months, despite critics diagnosing it as "clumsy" and "slow", and it still managed to gain a healthy following.
As the months progressed, and its popularity grew, the original Friendsters started get progressively more annoyed: "Why is this social networking system admitting the likes of people who live in Tampa and who are 'married' in a non-ironic way?" they would ask themselves aloud. And so the backlash began. Unbathed people from "Billyburg" to "Ban Brancisco" reviled the site, and began copycat websites where "their kind" could communicate and cyberstalk without the rest of the "normal Americans" intruding.
But Friendster pushed on, and people logged in. Where else could you anonymously view pictures of strangers you've slept with? (All hinging, of course, on whether or not you got their full name.) Or secretly read testimonials from people you hated in high school and finally feel superior to them? (Who wants to be married, rich and jobless at 24?!? NOT I, THANK YOU.) Or even to see how their nose jobs are coming along? (Badly, as I had always suspected.)
And then there was the competition: "Who had more friends? How many friends do you have? How many page views have you gotten? Testimonials? Gimme a number." ad nauseous. Friendster feigned to be all about relationships, but underneath lay a competitive and blood-sucking beast so competitive and number-hungry (Mad Libs joke, prepare yourself...) it made __(noun)__ look like ___(more extreme noun)___ !
The molecular structure of "Pointless Hatred and Jealousy".
And yet, we still came back to you F-ster.
A few weeks ago, like Liza Minelli on a manicotti-stuffed-with-botox-fueled rampage, Friendster got a "face lift". All of a sudden, finding out the occupation of the imaginary-man-of-your-digital-dreams became confusing, practically a chore. Things were too colorful, jumbled, hard to find. If you wanted to upload a new picture, you better think long and hard, because EVERYONE is going to know -- as a huge "NEW PICTURES!!!" would flash below your profile blurb. No way of showing your close, personal friends what a thorough bikini wax you just got -- now the whole world has to know! Friendster was like a $10,000 bike with tassles, except the tassles were made of poisonous snakes and herpes.
Won't be needing THESE anymore!
Then this morning happened.
This morning, a friend IM's me with this news that is best described as "Cooh-Cooh-Cah-Cray-Cray" (or "C to the fifth power"):
Friend: on friendster
Friend: you can now see WHO'S VIEWED YOU
Friend: i know i know
Michelle: WHATWAHTW!@@#$09:-(;-)89ru0p2q3 r5
Michelle: i am ALITERALLY DYING!
Friend: this is fucking crazy
Friend: my palms are literally sweating
Why the virtual freak out?
See, now anyone you want to cull information about will KNOW that you are interested in them in one way or another. Whereas before, you could freely check-in on people you hated/secretly coveted anonymously and with no worry of that party finding out, now ALL YOUR CARDS ARE ON THE TABLE! Want to find out more about the hussy your ex-boyfriend is fucking? Well you better be prepared to lose all dignity whatsoever as that bitch will know you've come for her (virtually speaking, of course).
The point is: Friendster is now officially dead. The one thing it was good for, creepy, faceless fact-finding, is now gone.
Oh, and apparently you can also "Send a Smile" now.
The last time someone tried to "Send Me A Smile" with a "Balloon Bouquet", I tried to "Strangle Myself" with the "Colorful Ribbons".
The Good News Is
I was delightfully surprised to find out that very few to no freaks were cyberstalking me on Friendster. If anything, there were a couple of profiles that piqued my interest, which I IMed back to my friend in an effort to have him "check them out" -- and he's a huge fag, so you know he's honest -- including one man who my friend deduced could "kill me with his pinky or strong manly jaw!". And, yes, I'll also admit to saying that I'd "never had this much fun, IN MY LYF". So shoot me! I'm obsessed with myself.
The point is, now that Friendster is less creepy/sleazy, it highly restricts me, a creepy-sleaze, using it to my full potential.
Now, please, won't someone send me a fucking smile already??