Pettibon and Myspace

It's too hot in Sadie Coles tonight, especially as we are all wrapped up in coats against a vicious wind that is punching its way along the streets like a drunk, so I go stand outside and wait for the others to finish beers, conversations and looking at Raymond Pettibon's new show.
I've never made up my mind about Pettibon.
Have you?
Has anyone?
This show still hasn't helped (above).
We go along to a party thrown by the publishers MIT, up in Chenies Street. There are canapes and drinks and us huddled up in a group in the middle of the crowd. Simon Armstrong, from the Design Museum shop, is there and we talk about Myspace. This is because I am still in my first month of being properly signed up and because it is new and exciting and all those things you feel when you get addicted to something straight away, and you have to talk about them all the time. And I want to talk to everyone about it, ALL THE TIME. In maybe another week or so, I'll forget all about it, but for now, I HAVE to talk about it.
We talk about trawling through lists of friend's friends, the relentless and shameless attention of bands trying to build a fanbase, the people who post bulletins everyday, deleting Tom from your list of friends...
Where will this all be in 50 years time? I wonder.
Where will all these profiles go?
When we die will we all leave an internet footprint forever?
My head begins to hurt.