Nothing You Read Here Is Real

(February 19, 2007)

Ah, week of the 19th, welcome. I think it's gonna be a good week, albeit dusty and busy and tedious at times. Dusty because we're having some construction done in the office at work, busy because I've got a couple of meetings and shows I wanna see, and tedious because I think somehow I've got to conduct a physical inventory count. Except, because of the aforementioned construction, shit is everywhere in boxes instead of neatly on the shelves...bad timing, man. Awful. How'm I gonna count shit when I can't even find it?

Last week was nutty. I didn't work on Monday the 12th because I was scheduled for a CAT scan and consultation; lately I've been feeling a weird lump in my abdomen, on the left. Based on late nights and the Internet, I gave in to the temptation of self-diagnosis and after many expert websites, gave myself an enlarged spleen, a hernia, leukemia, stomach cancer and a lodged baby. In actuality, according to a medical doctor, an ultrasound technician and a surgeon, it's just leftover scar tissue from 2003 when my diverticulitis almost killed me in Zurich. Meaning it's nothing.

(You're still thinking of "lodged baby," aren't you.)

The week before that, I was totally devastated by a guy in an online message board that will never be named in this diary again. I've never been spoken to this viciously by anyone, online or in real life, and this guy was completely thrilled with himself for basically making me cry and mortifying me. What happened was this: one of my long-time Boston music compatriots posed a question about the relationship between "online" and "real life." About whether or not the two do, or should, cross over. I replied to him that definitely, absolutely the two are related. I mean, there's a million examples for me personally, from Hub and Kelly meeting up in a Yahoo game room (now married and about to have a Hublet) to me welling up just now from reading McC's tribute to her aunt who just died at 101. At that time, what was most recent in my mind was how wrecked many of us were when we lost Jon Erik, especially if we're friends with his brother. (I know I wrote this already in this diary but, when that happened, I wrote how surreal the Internet can be -- hyper-real, even. I didn't cry at all when my grandfather died; yet I bawled for days for Jon Erik, who I only knew online.)

So that's what I replied to the question about "real" vs "online" life. In response, some guy called me a piece of shit, empty, shallow, sniveling putrid cunt. Among other things. And people backed him up. THEN the thread took a hard left turn into a huge, whole big messy bloodbath about people who "take things personally" on a message board and how, essentially, anyone who reads words online and believes them is an idiot. Because it's "just" the Internet. So because it's "just the Internet," anything goes. Name-calling, insults and personal attacks are expected, and in fact endorsed.

I don't, at all, understand the guy who attacked me. If nothing on the Internet is supposed to be taken seriously, then why did what I said, about missing Jon Erik, move him to such vitriol? Was he trying to be as outrageously vicious as humanly possible so that, when I respond in kind, he could say "ha, gotcha"? I didn't respond at all, so I never found out. I don't think that is what he was trying to do though. I think the guy is just a seriously disturbed individual.

If his motives flummox me, then I REALLY don't understand his cheerleaders.

These people really, truly believe that it is perfectly acceptable to be monstrous and horrible to everyone, friends or strangers, because it is "just" the Internet. And if you're NOT acting that way, then you just don't understand what the Internet is for.

This is a load of fetid, steaming bullshit.

If you're reading this right now, whether or not I know you, if you were to write me a post online, whether it be in Myspace or any message board, bulletin board or in this very guest list below, and in that post you are vicious and mean and disgusting...I'm supposed to laugh it off because it's "just" the Internet? If I'm hurt by it, I'M the idiot?

What if it's in an email?

What if it's in a letter in my mail box, on paper with a stamp?

What if it's an open letter printed in the local paper?

I don't get it. I really don't. The words are the same, why does it matter where the motherfuck they are written?

One person...hey, why write "one person"? If it's just the Internet and, according to this person, nothing on your computer screen matters, then I should be able to just say that this person's name is (***UPDATE 20 FEB 2007: I just can't keep someone's name in here, it's too much, I took it out.***) and that this person is an arrogant, nasty little cunt online...anyway, this person claims loftily that a thinking individual is SUPPOSED to start a little shit online, because "everyone needs to be brought down a peg" and that such behaviour "breeds conversation." Hey guess what. No it doesn't. All it breeds is contempt. It hurts feelings, it fosters hatred. It brings out the worst in others when manipulated into defense mode by your shocking rudeness. And you're lucky I'm a reasonable, non-violent person and so I won't sock you in your fucking mouth when I see you out, how about that? (Did I do it right, or was that not personal enough?) Well, how's this then: you can't sing your way out of a wet paper bag and your keyboard playing is bad. (Not funny enough? I'll try again.) How about: Your keyboard playing is an insult to that trained rooster who can peck out "Chopsticks," and you do NOT have the looks to be onstage except in a Seinfeld look-a-like contest for George Costanza's mother. (Am I up to your standard yet?)

I mean, if that's the game, then I didn't get the memo. I didn't know, so tell me, is this what you're going for? Civility replaced by name-calling? Politeness replaced by hostility? Uncomfortable silence when we see each other, instead of a hug? An adult interaction replaced by such childish ridiculousness that I can barely stand to read what I just wrote about you?

Seriously?

Great job, guy-who-called-me-names and all his cheerleaders. Have fun breeding more scintillating, productive conversation. Two weeks ago I was wishing that I could be inside your heads for awhile so that I could learn and understand your point of view. Now that I have some perspective on it, I hope that never, ever happens, 'cuz it feels ugly.