There I am, chatting away inconsequentially to N, and she tells me that her online alter-ego wins giant marrow growing competitions in Alaska, or somesuch.
"Google doppelganger!" I exclaim. "No, wait.... googleganger!" I think I'm so funny.
Then I do what any self-respecting twentyfirst century info-speed-freak does: google. Turns out 56 people and counting have thought this before me: not only has Robin Pascoe met her googleganger for lunch - and as I write this I can't help humming gin-gan-goolie-goolie-goolie-goolie-wotsit, or whatever it is - but there's a googleganger website.
So not only are there no secrets in the twentyfirst century, there are no original thoughts, either.
And just fyi - my kinda-googleganger (long story, name-wise) runs an internet consultancy on the East coast of the States. No, we're not related. I wouldn't know the internet if it came up and said hello, although of course I have tried to print it out.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment