Before the WWW, there was merely Usenet. Those of you who remember Usenet will recall hundreds of specialty groups where you could connect with likeminded geeks. My favorite places were alt.tv.twinpeaks, rec.music.beatles, rec.travel, rec.arts.startrek, alt.folklore.urban, and rec.cooking.food. Or something like that. It was so long ago -- BC (Before Children). It has all become a distant blur.
I do, however, recall several occasions when I made a complete ass of myself online. I was an internet novice at the time; that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. I'd prefer that all those instances fade into obscurity. But no such luck. My ignorance and ignominy live on in perpetuity as Google Groups, which adopted all those Usenet forums. And I mean all of them, past and present.
One day I surfed into Google Groups and -- strictly out of curiosity -- searched on my own name. That was a big mistake.
Every. Single. Post. I. EVER. Made.
Every single one of them is there. Every single fucking one.
Oh holy shit.
Fifteen years later, a whole new generation of people can read my asinine comments about exploding seagulls or witness my obsession with Twin Peaks and Star Trek. It's like discovering a secret sex tape of yourself on the web. This was mental masturbation at its worst. And it will live on forever. And there's nothing I can do about it.
"But that's not all. Tell them what else she won, Don Pardo!"
"Well Bob, she also won Every Single New Web Forum Post She Ever Made!"
If I'd had any idea that those forum posts would wind up in the Google search engine, I would have used an assumed name. Damn, hindsight is 20/20. Let that be a lesson to you. Nothing is ever forgotten on the Web. And nothing is ever, ever private.
The Web is a wondrous place, but it is heartless. The Web is not concerned with my mortal embarrassment. The fact that I obsessively analyzed Beatles lyrics or posted an awful recipe for Chicken Curry is information. And we live in a society where freedom of information is paramount. Unfortunately, so is freedom of stupidity. Forever and ever. Until a nuke destroys our civilization. Unless it is all preserved in some massive underground CPU farm. Where some alien will discover my stupid posts a million years from now. And beings on other planets, in other dimensions, will chuckle and shake their heads. Boy, that human woman sure was a piece of work; good thing they all fried themselves!
I wish I was a Vulcan. I would carefully place my slim fingers on my CPU and do a mind meld with the Great Brain of The World Wide Web. My client to your server. My mind to your minds. My thoughts to your thoughts. Delete! Delete! Delete! For-get! For-get! For-get! 01000110 - 01001111 - 01010010 - 01000111 - 0100010 - 01010100!
Bones would exclaim, "It's dead, Lynn. You killed it." And I would slump to the floor with an exhausted gasp. Kinda like Wesley Crusher did after he merged with The Traveler.
Well kiddo, no such luck.
I am Veeger. I will fulfill my destiny and create a new race of binary stupidity.
Oh well, at least I'm not bald.
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