The Internet is Evil

or, the Tragic Pleasure of Pity and Fear 2.0

I've said it before and I'll say it again: in a world as big as ours, I'm amazed people are even as nice to each other as they are. That's why I find Web 2.0 and all of its resultant buzzwords so encouraging: all of this "social networking" is making us "collectively intelligent," and helping us find our "affiliations" on the "long tail."

So why is it, every time I surf the Internet, I find people socially networking at one another's expense? I found this clip the other day, from a British radio show—something I'd never have found before Web 2.0.

I've played it over and over and I can't stop: it offers too many kinds of awful, all in one place, to turn away.

This is high drama of the Internet Age, with all the formal structures of classic tragedy—her squeaky expectant hope ("What sort of ring?") shows a kind of innocent nobility, but is followed immediately by the reveal of her tragic flaw ("How much is it worth?"); then, the drawn-out anticipation of the episode ("I'm so in love with him... I can't wait to get married and have babies."), and finally the terrible reversal and recognition: she's knocked speechless by the radio host ("Wha-?"), and stays on the line while pilloried across Yorkshire and the World Wide Web—"Everyone knows you're a dirty little tart."

But for all the spectacle of this poor girl's tragedy, don't forget to save some pathos for the boyfriend (who chose to end a four-year "perfect" relationship not with a conversation, but instead via a radio show proxy), and for the radio DJ, too, who has made this his life's work.

If the power of catharsis comes in part from fear that these events could befall us, as well as the protagonist, then I am afraid of playing any of these roles, and this is cathartic times three.