QUOTE(oh geez @ Feb 11 2008, 03:23 PM) [snapback]356311[/snapback]
checked out your myspace page, just the front page.
MY oh my, you are an exceedingly curious one, aren't you?
QUOTE
... you were so disappointed that you couldn't post your photo here...is that you on your page with the horns holding a baby the the exposed heart?
That was a portrait done for me done by an old friend who has since passed away. I like it because it's provocative. Of course, like most people, I only have
one picture of myself, and that's the one.
QUOTE
I didn't go deeper than the first page.
Seriously, though...If you would have explored a bit, you'd've seen another dozen or more photos of me, taken at various times in my life. Less than half of them show me viciously biting the hearts out of naked infants. If you won't go see for yourself you'll just have to trust me on this one.
QUOTE
that myspace stuff is too creepy for me (an old broad and all). some things are meant to be personal.
"Old" is a relative term. Some days I feel like I'm 95, others, 25. All my aches and enthusiasm manages to average me out to my actual age of 49. "Personal" is also a relative attribute. If I consider something so personally sacred, I wouldn't post it online. I
have learned a little bit of discretion. What I post there are things I'm happy to reveal to people. And by your blanket "creepy" assessment of all things concerning MySpace, it sounds to me like all the "predator/sex perv/bullying" horror stories being fed to all of us by the media has grabbed you, hook, line, sinker, worm and all. That crap makes for eyeball-grabbing sensationalistic news, but it's hardly the whole truth, not by a long stretch.
Want some truth? Here's the story of my involvement with MySpace (not that I should really have to explain, but it might help counter some of the negative vibe you catch from it):
Back in March of 2006 I advertised a guitar amp for sale on the Lancaster CraigsList. A nice 25-year-old kid--grad student at TempleU.--answered my advert, and came up to check it out. His amp was dead, and his band had a bunch of gigs coming up. He played, he liked, he bought, and we went to have a couple tall frosty pops to cement the deal. I asked if he had a website, and he gave me his MySpace address.
I went to his band's page, listened to some of their original music, and really liked it. I wanted to post a compliment to their page, but discovered I had to register as a MySpace user first. So I did--using an obscure web mail address I employ for just such a situation. Then I got distracted by work and promptly forgot about it. A coup[le months later I was checking that obsure webmail account's Inbox, and discovered the confirmation email sent by MySpace's administration.
I signed up, and set about building my page. Tossed on some photos, poured in a couple old stories I'd written, created some custom graphics to trick the whole thing out. Then I set about exploring the MySpace universe.
In the past 22 months or so I've discovered some amazing music by relatively unknown artists, stumbled upon the pages built by old friends I hadn't talked to in 20-30 years and longer; had terrific, long-missed old friends contact me out of the blue. I've been working on some long-distance recording projects with a bass player from one of my old bands, and with a drummer from one of
his old bands...were all geographically separated by 1000's of miles. I've gotten a few dozen graphic design jobs from people I've had MySpace-initiated confabs with. I helped prevent the son of one of my best friends from dropping out of school, and later, from possibly attempting suicide.
Pretty fulfilling from such a "creepy" site, eh?
QUOTE
I'm catching some "British" phrases in your posts. Is that where you're from?
You'd have a better clue about that if you'd only deign to pay attention to what I posted on my MySpace page.
QUOTE
... or is this really Brittany Spears?
Oh, my. I hope you don't shave your lags with that rapier. Best go buy some goo instead.
Hey you wondered, I told. I throw in the snarky replies gratis.