Personal Experience: Ain't She a Bitch?

The internet brings out the inner child in all of us. Where else can you forget who you are, what you do for a living, and proceed to act like you are suddenly in second grade, and it's Valentine's Day, and not only is your Valentine's Box (made out of an old box of kleenex you emptied the night before by stuffing all the kleenex in the trash can in the loo, taping hearts made out of tin foil or hershey kiss wrappers - the only things you could find - to the outside in the HOPES someone would give you a Valentine done only after agonizingly writing out a card to every single kid in the class because it would be rude if someone didn't get a card, wouldn't it?) the shittiest box in the class, you didn't get a card either? And everyone else is enjoying their cupcake and making kissy faces at each other, and you, you little sucker you, get to feel sorry for yourself over in the corner because they are all holding hands and sticking their tongues out at you because you are just a little lonely loser.

Yeah, the internet is a hell of a lot like second grade, except we only think we're smarter, and we might have a job, and we have boobs (some of us).

I've always looked at the blog/net as a place to practice my writing. It's something I've always enjoyed (someone gave me a little blue diary when we lived in South Carolina, when I was about seven, and although my handwriting was horrid at that point I decided that I loved reading so much I should give writing a whirl as well). I'm not fool enough to think I could do this for a career, but periodically I've a mind to pick up a pen/keyboard and tell you whatever is on my mind, however silly, profane, sublime, or nonsensicial or heavy handed it is.

There is, however, one thing that I do not do. I do not get into people's personal bullshit on the internet. Certainly, I talk about family things, but in such generic terms that the casual reader hopefully hasn't a clue. I talk about personal things, again under the same terms. I bitch about work, and you all know I love to complain about politics and the economy and other things that upset me (or are stupid or just plain wrong). I don't talk about my internet friends - what they do on the internet or otherwise - and I expect the same degree of respect from them, and I expect that they treat my friends accordingly.

Now, let's move onto technology.

Those of us who blog tend to use tracking tools - especially those of us who have gotten nasty comments - to see who comes to read, when, where from, etc. These tools are not infallible. They can be beaten. They cannot detect, for example, when someone is using someone else's IP to route traffic through. They cannot tell you who is using a computer. They cannot tell you if someone is lying to you. They certainly cannot tell you if someone has a personal agenda. They certainly cannot tell you why on earth someone would take the time out of their busy day to bother responding to something so inconsequential as a fart in cyber space - because, in essence, that is what all of this amounts to. A giant cosmic fart. I've thought someone was reading my blog before - someone I didn't want here; I was wrong.

Ain't I a dumbass?

People take two roads. You might get all indignant and pick sides. Start a flame war. Visit each other's blogs, leave nasty anonymous comments. Get caught out by IP, go to someone else's house, to Kinko's, go to a website that re-routes traffic (they exist) so that you look anonymous and try again. Go to whatever social networking site they use and leave messages there. Go to all their friends pages. Whatever. Belittle them to everyone you know in cyber space. Smear them. Leave nasty messages. Be profane. Be as obscene as you want, and certainly feel free to use language that would never cross your lips in public (would you really say cunt or nigger? I bet you wouldn't). Ruin their inboxes by signing them up for Gay Pony Blond Sex with Canadian Trout spam. Create dating profiles in their name and email address. Go ahead, make someone's life hellacious. Be criminal and hack into their bank account (Go Directly to Jail). Stalk them: it's not hard to find where someone lives. You can GoogleEarth their address, and have a nice picture of their house. Hell, you can put that up on your own blog, with a nice little target superimposed over their home sweet home! You can really make someone miserable, and be like that mom who eventually drove that little girl to hang herself. How proud are you to be lumped in with that sociopath? Because you aren't any better. You've made a little clique, a little social group, and you are utilizing peer pressure to obtain the result you want - whateve result that happens to be.

So this is what I think of when I think of the internet:

You're touching me!

I am not!

Yes you are! Stop touching my side of the car or I'm going to tell!

SO second grade.