A Ode to Messenger

Briefly and earnestly I must commit these words to form: MSN Messenger still trumps Facebook Chat.

This may just be in my mind; It should, could and would drive it to the ground with features, video and sound that evolved from use and managed to escape the disastrous and frustrating design treatment that Microsoft so haphazardly treat us to yearly, bi-yearly and quadro-yearly. Buggy, perhaps, is the worst of the insults that my prominent program deserves. Outdated, inexcusable! That is just not fair and how very dare you for saying so. Fax machines are outdated. Text messages are outdated. Phones are soon-to-be outdated. MSN messenger? Was it even in-dated?

Sideline aside ironically I still miss avoiding ‘who the hell is this?’ Nicknames came, later than they should have (of course), but they provided an escape from incomprehensible user names and 10 minute conversations spent as a savant detective attempting to glean an identity from tactile questions like, “How are you?” and “What have you been up to?” My Colombo days are over. It’s CSI Southampton now. People and this may and could and possibly definitely includes myself, cannot control the flippancy that they use the ‘add a friend’ feature. The social network has it’s own rules and they’re out of control. I recently accepted a request from someone I could only presume I had met. Once. I think. Now they know everything about me, ever. They’re probably reading this right now, it’s perverse.

Often, in the recent months I have logged into my account; perhaps on a whim I have found myself at the creamy blue login screen for Hotmail and merely felt wintry at the college-based nostalgia it possesses for me. My rose-tinted glasses are no longer a pleasure because they are making me feel a little like I have watched too much Heroes and cannot adjust to the colour correction.

That creamy blue is now lugubrious beryl. The only thing I use it for now is making sure my Xbox payments have gone through properly. So consider this a premature eulogy of sorts, even if it’s poorly coagulated and of an off rhythm.

“To a dying friend; your Facebook contrecoup spells the end, a finute minite, lest you convalesce and replevin your missed ‘pizazz’ we will see you off with a pulchritudinous nudge.”

If I had a hat, I would tip it. I would say “you will be missed” but that’d be a complete lie because it turns out I have slightly better communication skills now. Oh, and a headset.

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About James

Uberbeard, otherwise known as James Crawford has just graduated from the Arts University Bournemouth, taking a course in Interactive Media. He's known to enjoy washing, eating and sleeping.

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