Okay, look … this is me.

So is this.

That’s me, over there.

And also here.

“Sproing” was my first-ever username, dating back to at least 1994 and the rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc Usenet group where I made my early embarrassing bows on the Internet. I liked it; it evoked the sound of a spring popping loose in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. I was just as happy to go without using my proper name, although somebody in one of the forums I frequented recognized my ISP prefix and tried to get in touch IRL … which, oogie! Or at least it was back then, unselective as I was about whom I interfaced with online.

The value in netonymity escapes me these days. I’m friends online with many people who used pseudonyms — in some cases I know their real names, but in many cases not — and friendly in real life with many others who are likewise blogging, tweeting or Facebooking from behind aliases. Some will come out from behind their screennames and cop to their true identities among fellow users — it’s just not a big deal for them — and some would rather piss powdered glass. The pen name is a valuable armor with a long history in the world of arts and letters, and I would not see it denied to anyone, whatever their medium.

I’ve employed the username “Sproing” on various social networks ever since those Usenet days. At the time, wherever you found people FTPing clever jpegs, this was the cartoon you saw a lot of:

But who cares if they do? I acknowledge that you probably wouldn’t want your websurfing history e-mailed to your boss and your mom, nor would I, and your commenting history is likewise yours, a path you’ve cut by your own hand through the bracken and deadfall, which should not be betrayed if that’s not your wish. But as far as what I say online, here or elsewhere, I’ve determined that it’s mine, I own it, it is relevant to me and whoever chooses to attend it, and Sproing, or Soulsmithy, or jefferson36 is as much me as I am he.

Maybe it’s a function of maturity. I was already in my 20s when the Internet became a thing you could have in your home. I’d been anonymous before, whether in ‘zine articles or art projects, but it never came naturally. Like anybody who writes, I wanted to be recognized for having done so. And now streams of communication are more rapid and more diverse, so anything I compose online can earn response from others whose opinions I value. If I want to talk about films with Richard Brody, or assert that WALL-E and the Joker of The Dark Knight are essentially the same character, or argue with Neil Gaiman about whether his work qualifies as science fiction (he says Miracleman does, I’m kinda like the arc of the oeuvre says otherwise), why would I do that under a pseudonym? My opinion may be valid or it may be full of shit, but a layer of anonymity allows extra leeway for its dismissal.

There are pitfalls. I like having a job, so although I might criticize the overall condition of my profession (it is evolving, quite painfully, and I hope not to become as irrelevant as a coccyx), I probably won’t gripe openly about my employer. The correspondents I interact with most online aren’t generally invested in my job status anyway. I’m not going to do a lot of FML bellyaching, unless there’s a support I can only find through these netchannels, or unless I can make it interesting or entertaining for the people who’ve done me the honor of paying attention.

This is not a pro-Zuckerbergian rant. He hasn’t changed the way people behave online anywhere near as much as we’re led to believe — Facebook is to 2011 what AOL was to 1995: the gate most casual users pass through to get “on the Internet.” (Yes, John Scalzi wrote that already, but goddammit, I typed these words hours before I read his excellent screed.) And it’s one thing to build a playground like Facebook and invite the world into it under a defined set of rules, but quite another to change the rules, over and over again,  in the middle of recess; and still another to harass us for our phone numbers.

Owning up doesn’t mean I forfeit the right to anonymity or the right to a second identity later on, unless Zuckerberg gets his wish. Facebook in no way wants our identities to be mutable, which used to be the point of using the Internet. The nice thing about this sea we’re surfing now is it’s too big to be mastered by any one King Canute with a hot IPO. My identity is my own; right now I just happen to be using the one I’ve had since birth. I’ll tell Zuckerberg that to his face.

{Editor’s note: Embedded video of Bruce Springsteen’s “Brilliant Disguise” deleted on account of VEVO is a butthead that doesn’t want to play with WordPress. Too bad; it was a nice touch.}

Kirby Krackle — Secret Identity