Whenever I type “Ryan Somma” into google. There’s the bit of JavaScript code I wrote to strip characters from a string variable. There’s my Waterway 5k stats. There are court dockets from my divorce and the time I was sued for a million dollars. There’s also the “Rare Ryan Somma Sighting!” picture of me on a camping-trip adventure with some friends, and, most unusual of all, a high score from an Atari game “Frogs and Flies” I played a few times in college with some friends.
This is known as “egosurfing” or “egogoogling” or “being an ego-maniac.” I’ve even set up a service with Google to e-mail me whenever a new web site with my name appears on the Internet. I will be e-mailed soon after posting this.
My name Google’s really well. I’m the only “Ryan Somma” in cyberspace. That’s something you prospective parents should keep in mind when naming your children. Common names make it nearly impossible to egogoogle. Don’t condemn your kids to a life of online anonymity with an undistinguished name like “John Smith” or “Mary Jane.”
Whenever I meet a prospective mate, I always run a quick google-check to find out more about her. What kind of music, movies, and books does she list as favorites on her MySpace or FaceBook pages? What gift ideas can I get from her Amazon.com wish list? Are there any pictures of her on Flickr? Is there anyone stalking her on Google?
Most prospective ladies I meet google me also. Then they find out just how obnoxiously nerdy I am, and thus I don’t get many second-dates.
My unabashed pride in my geekdom prevents me from changing, but even if I wanted to portray myself in a more sexy, stylish, martinis “shaken not stirred” persona online, it’s too late. My geeky past is already irretrievably out there.
Thanks to the wonders of Google’s cached pages feature, the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, and other services, everything on the Internet is collected and archived for posterity and redundancy. Every angry rant, embarrassing photo, and incriminating blog entry is stored away on a server farm accessible to anyone with Internet access and the know-how to find it for months and even years after you’ve deleted it.
The White House discovered this fact when it quietly made changes to old articles on its website to cover up embarrassing statements made in the past. The blogs had a field day linking to Google’s cached version of the pages, ridiculing the White House’s failed cover-ups (The White House has since taken steps to block caching).
So here’s your warning kids: MySpace is forever.
When you post that photo of yourself passed out drunk on the floor, your face covered in permanent marker your friends have so helpfully scribbled on you, with the caption, “Dude! Too many beer bongs!” to your myspace profile, that photo is permanently archived, safely waiting to appear in your opponent’s political campaign ads when you run for public office, at your divorce hearing as character evidence, or in your performance appraisal when you’re seeking a promotion to the position “Vice President of Cool.”
The Information Age puts us all in the public eye. Everything we say, every picture we post, and hundreds, even thousands of web surfers, see every video we stream. It’s more important than ever that we turn on our minds before engaging our mouths. I know I have more than my fair share of stupid, reactionary things I wish I could take back online.
On the Internet, we are all part of a very small town where everybody lives right next door to everybody else. That’s why they call it a Global Village.
