There are people whom I know in an Internet Only way who must think I suffer from some sort of multiple personality disorder because of all the email addresses they have for me. A quick count shows that I have eight active email addresses. Eight.
There’s the standard personal account, the business account, the WD/MN identity account, the old blog account, the new blog account, the old hotel account, and two ancient Hotmail accounts. Except for the last two, I send and receive items from each of these accounts every single day.
This is part of my whole obsession with organizing; even the junk drawer in my kitchen has everything separated into different sections and held in little Ziplocs. I like to compartmentalize, I guess, because it’s efficient. And I especially like thinking, “I know so-and-so from XYZ, so he’ll be in the 123 account.”
But some of you people are starting to cross lines, and now you have, like, four email addresses for me. Is it making you as crazy as it’s making yours truly?
This whole compartmentalizing thing is about to blow up in my face, though, because in a few months a whole slew of you will get added to the Real Life List.
And then the Internets will explode.
I’m so excited about my upcoming trip out West where I’ll meet a gaggle of Internet Only people that I honestly can’t even think about it. Because if I think about it, I’ll start fantasizing about it. And if I start fantasizing about it, pretty soon there will be this whole thing where we’re all trapped on a deserted island together. (I have already gone through this with Aunt Doodie,* Spike,** Zach Galifianakis and Nathan Fillion. And Neil Patrick Harris better stop being such a kick-ass, adorable, singing machine unless he wants to play Robinson Crusoe to my Friday.***) If a whole bunch of you show up on my own personal Fantasy Island at the same time, it’s going to turn into Bizarro Lost. Then I’ll have to figure out which of you are Kate and Jack. And then I’ll hate the two of you, whoever the two of you may be. Which would suck, because I like you right now.
And what will happen if I’m not the same person there that I am here in cyberspace? I think I’m the same person. Well, except for the contractions; I use far fewer contractions online than I do in real life. (I think this is a WD influence, because in Arkansas we have more contractions than the rest of the country combined. And I know them all.)
But the question remains: will I be more or less in person? And while I mean “less” in the “nice and interesting” way rather than the “human worth” way, it’s still something I think about. What if my vocabulary isn’t big enough? What if I can’t understand the British or the Northeners**** because they talk too fast? What if I’m boring as all get out? What if we don’t actually watch Buffy at some point and I panic in the face of withdrawal? What if I fart in front of everybody? What if my hair frizzes out super bad and they all taunt me into singing selections from Annie?
What if all or part of that comes to pass and I can’t get by on my tits and charming accent?
God. This is just like seminary all over again.
*Not that way.
**Spike. Not James Marsters. Because he is a doofus.
***Please note that I am not the protagonist in my own fantasy. I am lazy everywhere.
****I still can’t watch The Fully Monty or Fargo without subtitles.