Every day I thank God that more of the Internet was not around when I was in high school and college. We had e-mail on campus my freshman year, and reading back through some of the stuff I saved is bad enough; I can only imagine if I’d been able to have those flamewars in real time, for everyone to see. I can’t imagine the lawsuits, plus the embarrassment factor.
I readthis story about Heather’s early blogging days and realize just how few people learn, as she did, thateveryone can see the Internet. Your parents (hi, Mom!), your friends, your exes, your company’s CEO, everyone. Unless you have a password-protected Livejournal or something, this Interweb thingy is not your personal diary, no matter how much it might feel that way. And being a needy attention whore just makes it worse: People love it when I write about my sex life! I should do it all the time! Sure, sparky, right up until the point where you post your leather-slave fantasies in which you and your 62-year-old married boss pretend to be John and Aeryn from Farscape. At which point you go from “cute and quirky” to “unemployed.”
Jailbait. If you’re 15 or under, then do us all a favor and get the fuck off of Myspace. Now. Unless you like long van rides with forty year old Harry Potter enthusiasts, no good can come of it. It’s not just concern for your safety that makes me say this; you are going through the stupidest years of your life, and broadcasting them into cyberspace. If there was a google-cached copy of all the idiotic things I wrote in my friend’s year books, I’d probably want to hang myself.