The online scene

I re-connected with an old friend the other day. We trade e-mails every once in a while, but not as frequently as I would like. He told me he didn't do well with "the online scene."

That was when I realized I have a problem. An Internet problem.

As I type this, I have eight windows open on my computer. Besides the file for this column, I have two pieces of fiction open so I will try and get my lazy ass motivated to do some more work on them. I think I have had them open for three days and have done very little. I have iTunes opened to keep my brain occupied. Then I have three Internet windows open - two are checking e-mail (I have six or seven accounts) and the other is on a message board where I post.

I consider this progress because I pretty much have my mind focused on this particular task, mainly because I have a deadline to meet and no idea when I will get enough time to finish the column before Hobo Stu starts harassing me.

I couldn't possibly comprehend having trouble with "the online scene." I have all these windows open while eating my lunch on a Monday. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I will go back to my desk in a little while where I have music, a bunch of Internet windows, plenty more work and e-mail, and the added distraction of Instant Messenger, which is sometimes used for real work purposes.

The thought of having absolutely no access to the World Wide Web honestly scares me. And this has nothing to do with porn. I use the Web for so much more.

I keep in touch with friends online every day. My family has its own site and communicates almost exclusively through there. I don't have to watch SportsCenter or anything like that anymore because I can read Deadspin and The Big Lead and With Leather which are funnier than the idiots telling jokes on ESPN.

That doesn't even take into account my own blog, the several message boards I frequent on a regular basis or the home page for m fantasy baseball team.

I vaguely remember fantasy baseball before the Internet. We did our statistics by hand. It was horrible. No one should have to live without access to a Web page which updates the status of your team every 30 seconds.

I remember one of the first times I heard about the glory of the Internet. I was visiting my father's office a year or so before he died. While we talked, he kept glancing at his computer. I finally asked him what was going on, and he told me he was waiting for an e-mail from my niece, who was away at college.

That just blew my mind. You didn't have to talk to anyone on the phone. They could just send you a message through the computer so you could read it whenever you felt like it? What a country!

In college, we could send messages to other people in the computer lab, but we didn't have anything like e-mail. Now, kids don't even bother using their e-mail; they just text each other instead.

I have caught on to pretty much all of this stuff. I have an account on Facebook and LinkedIn. I send texts, but I insist on spelling out words and using punctuation so I guess I am still kind of old-fashioned in that regard.

The one place I don't really feel comfortable is MySpace. I have enough problems with my attention span. I don't need music playing and things swirling and animated photos all over the place. I feel a seizure coming on sometimes when I have to visit there.

I don't understand how people can't find this stuff utterly fascinating. I have tried to explain computers to my wife's parents, but their eyes just glaze over. Some folks get scared around computers as if they are going to launch a game of Global Nucleothermal War if they click on the wrong thing. I never worried about anything like that and look at me.

I'm an almost-40-year-old guy with a Facebook page, half a dozen e-mail addresses and memberships on multiple message boards.

So maybe I'm not the perfect poster boy for how computers can enhance your life. But at least I can get in touch with people I haven't seen in more than a decade even if that's not their thing. That has to count for something.

Brian Shea is probably enjoying a beer in his basement right now. You can contact him at columns@regularguycolumn.com.