I committed MySpace suicide Sunday.

MySpace proved to be just another sledgehammer, pounding away on my fragile self-esteem.

It was too much like heading back to junior high school and facing another seventh-grade mixer, on the sidelines, making small talk with the other sweaty-palmed geeks during the slow songs.

Being constantly available, but rarely contacted, can be damaging to a person's ego.

For those who've been living in a cave the last few years, deep inside a basalt cliff near Wilson Creek, MySpace is a social networking Web site letting users post photos, blogs and journals. The site has more than 100 million registered users.

I spent several months on MySpace, doing a first-hand investigation, trying to determine what all the fuss is about. As a journalist, of course.

During my very unpopular trial run, I ended up with a meager 650 profile views and a grand total of nine friends. In other words, almost nobody looked at my profile.

Few people actually sent me messages. Most came from my brother and sister.

An even smaller number commented on my blogs or requested my friendship. So much for the MySpace motto: "A place for friends."

Upon the recommendation of "friends," I made the foolish mistake of asking a Web site to track who visits my profile and how often.

"With The Space Tracker, knowing the details of your traffic is easy, informative and fun! Join now," according to the Web site.

It's easy and informative, yes. Fun it's not. There should be a warning for people who don't have much traffic to track.

The brutal reality — the cold, hard statistics — of how often people visited proved demoralizing.

But determined not to quit, I became more proactive.

I tried every trick in the book to pump up my coolness quotient, increase my profile views and add new friends.

During my pathetic and ultimately doomed shot at self-promotion, I was forced to stretch the truth a bit about myself. I lied about where I lived, knowing Moses Lake is not the sexiest city in the MySpace universe. Lying about where you live is fairly common on MySpace. It seemed a harmless transgression.

The lies got even worse.

I claimed I'd read a bunch of fancy books in a poorly veiled attempt at trying to appear smart. I bragged about partaking in a bunch of super-jock hobbies.

Then I became friends with Ashton Kutcher. But Kutcher never writes back, no surprise there. The one-sided friendship quickly deteriorated.

There were other celebrities, but the results were always the same.

I tried being friends with the Lubbock, Texas-based band Thrift Store Cowboys, thinking some friends from the south would be nice. I ended up dumping them after they completely ignored me for several weeks.

If impressive content didn't win me any new friends, maybe improved form would.

So, my profile got "pimped," meaning I customized the layout, colors and background.

Fancy pictures of myself were quickly posted.

Clips from movies, like Al Pacino's pre-game speech in "Any Given Sunday," were placed on my profile. Clips from music videos were also added, Bjork's song "Human Behavior," most recently.

To give my fellow MySpacers a reason to visit my profile, I tried keeping my blog updated.

I posted outlandish comments on my friends' profiles, expecting to catch the eye of someone browsing and lure them in my direction. Maybe somebody would see my clever remarks and decide to send me a friend request. It never happened.

I tried sending what I thought were really interesting and thoughtful messages to friends I already had, hoping they would rank me higher on their list of friends.

These friends' rankings are beyond crucial in the MySpace world. My brother was my sister's top friend, though I never cracked her top ten. For now, let's just say I noticed.

To ensure no similar offenses occurred, one MySpacer I know sent a bulletin to all her friends. She informed them they were not being ranked, but simply placed in random order. I definitely recommend this approach.

For me, this was all too much hard work. I forgot how exhausting it can be to make and keep friends.

Plus, it's a major drain on valuable time. And did I mention how shallow I think it is? Yes, OK.

So long MySpace. I must say, it's like I died and went to heaven.

David Cole is the Columbia Basin Herald's county reporter. He hates www.hotornot.com even more than he does MySpace, and not just because his ratings weren't higher.