Between fielding phone calls, emails and making preparations for a three day weekend based around a holiday I didn’t realize existed, not to mention don’t have to work on, I stumble across a piece by Laura Matsue about her reasoning behind (mostly) disappearing from the internet. While I can’t relate on the topics of heavy adult drug use and being an artistic drifter through varying big cities in Canada, I do understand the need to distance yourself from the person you are perceived to be by anyone that thinks they’ve seen your life through whatever glimpses you’ve offered them through the computer screen. It’s hard to sever your own connection to the information super-highway, though the importance of said information is open to debate. And what’s harder than giving up the internet? Getting the internet to give up YOU.

Unlike most people I know, I hate having my photo taken. Sometimes I wonder if this is a generational thing; my 90+ year old great-grandmother looks amazing in every photo that’s ever been taken of her—a smiling vision of perfection, even with a beheaded chicken in hand. For a few years the feeling subsided and I wondered if maybe I’d outgrown feeling annoyed every time I looked at pictures of myself. But I didn’t, and I’m back to feeling like I should have complete control over photos of myself, online or not. As a self-critical individual, seldom do the pictures I see of myself meet my own quality control standards. That’s probably the real root of the issue, but I’m pushing that thought aside for the time being.

It’s less about having the photo taken than looking at it later. Why don’t I look the same in pictures as I do in my head? (Simple answer: in my head I am a gray misty something, and in print I am a very solid something.) As a kid, I hid from my family & friends whenever they toted cameras around in the hopes of capturing some magic moment.

Somewhere in the piles of stuff I haven’t talked myself into throwing out yet is a picture taken on my 15th birthday. I’m on the living room floor, held down by my friends so that my mom would have some shred of photographic evidence that not only did I have friends, but they came to my birthday party. Looking at myself in Kikwear pants and a Powerpuff Girls shirt is no less shame-inducing now than it was then. The difference is I couldn’t disappear then like I can now, after a fashion.

The disappearing started small: quickly deleting of pictures I didn’t like from my Flickr account. The joyful sensation that I was effectively disappearing was instantly exhilarating, and soon I had no photos of my face left. Two days later, I deleted the whole account. As I groomed the rest of my social networking profiles, I got pseudo-high off the process of untagging, hiding and deleting images of myself. “What a strange thing” I realized, “to be virtually invisible on the internet.” (A sign not only of the times but my excessive attachment to them, to be sure.) I’m not interested in lurking or dramatically “quitting the internet”, but there’s something important about the fact that converting myself into little more than text accompanied by a grainy, face-free user icon made the internet fun (again).

As far as Facebook is concerned, I am a default nondescript female head shape. Anything I had the power to remove, I did. A big part of me wants to keep it that way; it’s hard to see myself as being “out there” in a way that I never meant to be, in social circles that I find to be repulsive on the whole. I want to live quietly or, at the very least, keep my business off the internet. You’re smirking as you read this on my blog that I have connected to a few of my social networking presences–but I’m serious; there’s something frighteningly old-but-new (and enjoyable) about exercising strict control over what pieces of my life wind up online. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the internet in the last few years, it’s that less is more.

Clearly, I’m not looking to be anonymous–and, to be honest, it’s a bit late for that. I don’t want to be invisible exactly, but I do want to be a part of the scenery in the least distracting way possible. (Amusingly, my computer tried to auto correct that to “detracting”. Relevant?) Acting as background to my own internet presence just… feels safe. The attention from strangers for what I now think might be the wrong reasons can end anytime. What I used to think was validation just confuses me now. Why so much interest? Why the anonymously harsh criticism at every turn?

Maybe you don’t have that problem. Maybe your self-esteem is like a brick wall and you don’t question yourself, ever, because you’re the shit. Good for you! I’m my own worst critic: harsh, unforgiving, and so on. Whatever snarky comment you have to offer, I’ve already thought of.

Posting this might be breaking my only cardinal internet rule: don’t say too much. Don’t give people the type of insight that they would only have if they had gained my trust in person. But I’ve grown up posting in both public and private spaces varying portions of myself I saw fit to put down. I type faster than I write, edit more thoroughly when words are on a screen in neat little rows and frankly, I get writer’s cramp long before I’m done getting my thoughts down.

Is there a safe space in between super-internet-girl and just being me, via internet? I’m not sure and I don’t expect that anyone who would actually read a personal web blog would be, either. In other words, I might just go back to talking about strangers on the subway and varying fiction snippets for a while. When I first started keeping blogs I thought I was capable of saying something, but now I suspect I’ve said just about enough.

The internet is an amazing and dangerous place, especially if you’re too young to fully understand the repercussions of posting questionable content online. For two days Tumblr has been ablaze with re-postings of a screen cap from a video of a young girl throwing a puppy into a body of water. Along with the photo was this little blurb:

“This is actually one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen on the internet, and I’ve really seen it all. I’ve seen suicide videos (mildly disturbing, but usually cartoonish), etc… but this is just fucking awful.

[…]Obviously, if you know who this girl is, report her to law enforcement, even if you’re not a “dog person”.

Here’s why you should report her to law enforcement: She’s a serial killer in the making. There are various reports on the internet [...] that show the direct correlation between animal abuse in childhood, and serial killing sprees as adults. This girl is sick.

This girl, while she appears to still only be a child, needs to be locked up away from people.”

Not that I’m trying to nitpick, but the “she’s a serial killer in the making” comment is a bit of a stretch. In no way am I contesting the fact that this is one very sick little girl — but she’s probably not on her way to serial killer-dom. Just repeated incidences of animal abuse, which isn’t much better.

Once upon a time, I wanted to be an FBI agent. Like everyone else that has had an interest in psychology, I dreamed of working with the profiling unit at Quantico. This led to a lot of reading on the topic of serial killers, which is why I know the information I’m about to regurgitate all over your screen.

The behaviors necessary for this type of loose diagnosis usually manifest themselves in at least two of three areas before anyone takes the leap to saying something regarding characteristics of a serial killer. Yes, she has the whole animal torture thing covered but pyromania and chronic bed wetting are two equally important symptoms in this triad. Plus, she’s female and I’m pretty sure that means there’s a significantly slimmer chance she’d ever make it to multiple murder status.

So she’s got a few screws loose and clearly needs help; that means an assessment from a qualified professional before we leap straight to locking her up forever. She should probably get new friends too, because who the fuck would post something like that on the internet? All of this is assuming the video is real which, as I think we’ve all learned in the past, it could just as easily not be.

I’m not posting a link to the video or the screen-cap because frankly, I need less horror in my life and I figure the rest of you do, too. I can’t even fathom wanting to watch the damn video. If you’re reading this, you’re probably Google-savvy enough to find it yourself anyway. The internet is supposed to allow for research, keeping up with current events and lurking hot girls photos on Facebook. I don’t need one more thing to make my stomach clench, to make me hate humanity with my whole heart. I do that well enough on my own – why else do you think I quit watching the evening news and put a cap on the amount of time I will allow myself to read about sad things in one 24-hour period? Happy news doesn’t sell, and while I’m not trying to argue that it should it would be a nice change of pace for once to see people get up in arms about a cause they can reasonably do something about.

Back to the topic at hand: a link to this girl’s Facebook is now making the rounds as well. For the time being her page is private, but we know that won’t last. I’m curious how long it will take for her account to be removed by Facebook admins (unlikely), deleted by the girl/her family (slightly more likely) or hacked by someone with ill intentions (most likely). Only so much attention can be put on this before someone pulls some crazy stunt to try to “teach her a lesson.” I’m talking 4chan levels of too far, because we all know someone will go there. Will someone call her friends, her school… her parents? Have they already?

If the person whose account has been fingered is actually the culprit, their full name is now forever linked to this video. Assuming it’s real, and that she gets help, this will never stop popping up alongside her name in search engines. The internet, as I’ve said before, is not a forgiving place. Forgetting is not an option either–the internet really does mean forever.

Maybe I’m off base here, but there’s something equally (if not more) wrong with people–most of which are adults–posting this link while encouraging others to try to contact her. Reporting her to the authorities is one thing; behaving like some kind of citizens brigade towards what we all seem sure is just a child strikes me as dangerous. An internet mob mentality running full steam does not equal a happy or productive ending to incidents like this, ever.

If you think reposting things like this for all to see, harassment and otherwise alienating this (and I cannot stress this word enough) KID is going to help her change her ways, you probably need just as much therapy as she does. To be clear, we all love cute furry creatures and hurting them is wrong. But cute furry creatures aren’t the ones that are going to need protection as a result of these posts: that girl is. From the innumerable messages she’s probably received, news media agents, stalkers… at this rate, she may need to be concerned about masked agents of the ALF showing up on her doorstep.

I understand the internet is trying to do right but man… y’all are going about this in entirely the wrong way.

I got three phone calls in rapid succession recently from a number I didn’t recognize. I don’t know about you, but I don’t answer numbers that aren’t already in my address book unless I’ve recently put something up on Craigslist. When I called the number back I hit an obnoxious voicemail of a recorded song instead of identifying phrase telling me whose phone I’d just rung up. (I thought that went out with pagers around the year 2000, but maybe I’m just out of the loop.)

Here’s the text message exchange that followed:

UnIdentified caller: Hey, how are you?
Me: Uhhh, who is this?
UnIdentified caller: This is Samson, we had lunch once.
Me: Oh, I deleted your number. You should do the same thing with mine!

Here’s the deal, I went on a lunch date with Samson following a semi-weird message exchange online about a month ago. Ten minutes into lunch I was wondering if I could pretend my non-existent dog had been hit by a car, or that friend was in the midst of a Chris Brown moment, or maybe my already dead grandmother had just suffered a stroke–anything to get the fuck out of this restaurant without causing a scene.

What could make me, an avid people watcher, so desperate to book it out of there? It was the debate we got into within ten minutes of meeting. This wasn’t just any debate, mind you. He decided to unleash his inner eco-fag and lectured (a very appropriate choice of words in this case) me on how ‘we’ should “force big business to be more environmentally friendly.” While that is a cute idea in the land of lollipops and holiday-affiliated semi-deities that give children presents, it’s not realistic. The fact is that at present time being ecologically sound is not economically wise; it’s too expensive, time consuming, and a long list of other things meaning no big name business making large financial contributions to political cantidates has to think about. This debate got increasingly heated as he became frustrated with the fact that he was incapable of defending his point of view. If there’s one thing I get a kick out of, it’s making people see flaws in whatever point of view they just tried to desperately to cram down my throat without being able to back it up.

I’d like to mention the fact that this guy was one of those “professional student” types. You know, living in his parents basement and changing from one major to another at the drop of a hat… interested only in appearing well-educated and worldly based off what he’d picked up from several 200-level philosophy courses. People like this only look smart when speaking to someone who doesn’t know anything about the topic, or can’t hold their own in a debate. I do not fall into either of those categories, and so once the check was paid I made haste with the exit.

After that I ignored his calls, texts, and other attempts to contact me. If you aren’t feeling it after the first time you meet, there’s no reason to bother speaking to that person again. I thought after weeks without a response he’d get it. What is it about text messaging that makes people feel empowered enough to try to start an argument when it’s best to just let it be, anyway?

UnIdentified caller: Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Me: Maybe you missed the implication in my last text: I’m not interested!
UnIdentified caller: Well I’m glad you finally had the balls to tell me instead of avoiding me!
Me: Lulz!
UnIdentified caller: For the record I think you’re a grade-a bitch. Go fuck yourself, forever, have a nice night.
Me: If you could take the hint instead of crying about it, that would be great. Have fun in your mom’s basement lamenting about girls that don’t feel they should have to justify not being interested in you.

This was followed with a flurry of texts I didn’t reply to, some highlights include the fact that I am an “ice queen” who will “someday be humbled” and that I should “grow some balls.” Listen guys, let me tell you something: one unpleasant lunch date you decided we should go Dutch on (reason #1 we will never be going out again) followed by me not responding to any of your attempts to contact me is a pretty clear statement that I don’t want to talk to you. Beyond that I am a girl, I do not have balls nor would I like a pair of my own. And frankly after that, why would you want for me to make you look bad a second time?

I thought the “fuck you, forever” was a nice touch, especially considering it was followed by “have a nice night.” Sometimes my life is just a live feed of passiveaggressivenotes.com. Looks like Samson will either need to start meeting less intelligent girls, or ones with a Captain Planet fetish.

HIM: Hmm… awfully picky for a girl covered in trashy tattoos.

ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Was that your attempt at a pickup line or did you just feel like using a dating site to “make a statement”?

HIM: No. I just like to laugh at white trash… it’s funny. I would come back with “read much?” to counter your argument, but we both know the answer to that, don’t we? When I start accepting the opinions of militant little girls with daddy issues, I’ll put your request at the top of the pile.

ME: Do you put this kind of energy into messaging every girl whose profile doesn’t strike your fancy? You seem like the type that would. “We both know the answer to that” – or not, obviously. I’m not going to justify my dislike of LAME DUDES to someone of your ‘caliber’. Keep the insults rolling, you’re not lowering my self-esteem. You are, however, showcasing precisely the reason why you’re single. Have a great life. May you find a girl as goofy-looking and overly concerned with other peoples’ standards as you are!

I’m not bummed out on being called white trash because I have tattoos. That’s fine, it’s the fact someone would go out of their way to message a stranger just to be a jerk. I am fairly certain this means I spend way too much time using a computer. Not only that but I am totes busted for engaging in an internet fight with someone that is obviously into trying to start internet fights. (I fully expect someone to post that image involving the special Olympics* in response I welcome it, even.) Not that I’m going to spend less time on the computer, but it does mean I think I need to be burning off energy daily. Fucking holidays are throwing me off my flow, guys.

Good thing I’ve almost finished the master-craft that is the blog entry regaling you with stories involving some recent IRL dating awkwardness, right? :D The internet: my work-out inspiration.

* Am I supposed to capitalize Special? And do they really expect me not to make retard references on the internet with a name like that?

- Invoke you & your date’s sense of childhood wonder with a trip to the planetarium. If you’re suffering from back pain, had shoulder surgery, or are otherwise entitled to do so… smoke a joint first. (Maybe buy your tickets prior to the smoking though, so nobody gets paranoid.) Go to the latest show they offer and maybe you can do some soul/mouth searching while looking at the stars. This is a date I still haven’t been on because my birthday date flaked. It’s also the best idea I’ve ever had, and I am determined to go with someone who will want to make out after.

- Determined to involve booze with your outing? Fine. Purchase some shooters of peppermint Schnapp’s. Bring them along on a date that will be spent judging someone’s intellect and ability to hold a conversation–like wandering around in a park/open space without any particular agenda. My apologies in advance as this idea is sort-of cutesy and has a little Christmas feel in there (sorry, Jew friends). Find a nearby Starbucks & get hot cocoa. Add the peppermint Shnapp’s you purchased earlier. If you’re straight-edge, I’d say go the creme de menthe route except that’s just dumb.

- If the idea of drinking Shnapp’s doesn’t grab you, why not go for wine instead? Pick up a bottle of something relatively inexpensive and go to a park. Or better yet, see if there’s any kind of wine tasting going on in your area. You don’t have to be living in the Napa Valley to enjoy a wine tasting. Plus, some chicks will misinterpret your interest in wine as a hidden way to tell if you are “cultured”. Bonus points!

- Museums are a good date for people you actually enjoy being around and conversing with… one top of one other big bonus: there’s no time limit. Probably not a good first date just because it’s too awesome to waste on just anyone.

And don’t you worry your pretty little heads – I have more e-dates I really did go on to talk about, too.

Oh wait, this chick has a video lurking around somewhere of her fingering herself? That’s laughable as-is, but let’s not forget how she protests people calling it a sex tape because “it’s just me, I’m not having sex.” I hope this girl doesn’t believe in the pull-out method, too.

The problem with the e-dating posts is that typically, someone winds up offended about the way I relay my side of the story to the internet at large. So if you’re one of those dudes who followed up reading about our date on here with a sassy email telling me what’s what, calm down. It’s just the internet, nobody knows who you are, and I obviously tweak the stories a bit for humor’s sake.

On the upside, at least I’m keeping you artsy types up late doing something creative instead of just something fun?

Guy #2: A guy with one photo always makes me wary–there’s something about people who don’t have asshole friends with a desire to capture every last Kodak moment that I just don’t trust. We met up for cheeseburgers & mocked not only several tatt’d up bros, but the morbidly obese guy that ordered four double-doubles. (Don’t worry, we did it under our breaths in true Paris Hilton style!) Following that we went directly to the bar where I learned about celebrities he had worked as an assistant for and how terrible their supermodel girlfriends were. I ended the evening wishing I had been out with said celebrity, since he is probably at least the height he claims to be on the internet.

Guy #3: Older, wiser… and slightly weirder than who I thought I was going to be meeting off the internet. What is it about older guys and making out? Maybe I’m miswired but I don’t want to make out for 30 minutes. Fuck, I really don’t even want to be making out for 10 minutes, regardless of your skill level. His consistent mentioning of moving elsewhere and telling me how much I’d like it there too got old with a quickness. Eventually he became annoyed because I keep a pretty busy schedule and generally don’t have time to see someone two to three times a week, and sent me an email saying that Sasha Grey’s role in “The Girlfriend Experience” made him think of me. I don’t know if he realizes how insulting that sort of comparison is, but I didn’t care enough to reply and tell him so. Sorry dude, hope you find a girl looking to relocate and down to be compared to shady porno chicks in the near future!

Guy #4: “Oh hi, I don’t look anything like my photos. Like, at all. Are you embarrassed by how wasted I’m getting? How about uncomfortable with the consistent sexual innuendo I’m dropping? What do you mean you’re leaving our date early? Aren’t my really fucked up teeth getting you randy?” This was an all-over fail dude that I couldn’t bring myself to be a dick to. Mostly out of concern that he had a garrote in his back pocket.

I’m serious, someone just needs to cough up $7,000 for my customized mail-order boyfriend.

I’m sorry, but reading the same post from one person’s “blog” on the same fifteen other “blogs” is annoying. I’m unbookmarking all of you! DO YOU HEAR ME? I’M SERIOUS THIS IS THE INTERNET AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY!

You guys take the internet too seriously. Quit lurking me, and post something original.