Looking for the Online You.

Byline: Rob Long

Late at night, when I'm bored or feeling insecure, I often kill a few hours by Googling myself.

Let me rephrase that. Late at night, when I'm bored or feeling insecure, I often kill a few hours by plugging my name into Google, the now standard Internet search engine, and seeing what comes up. That sounds better.

I get about 4,800 hits, which is pretty good, I think, for a noncelebrity. (Mike Myers gets 638,000.) Of course, some of those hits are sex sites, due, I'm told, to the fact that my last name, when combined with certain other words, gives off a certain porno vibe. And there's a photographer with my name who has a site, and a few kids in high school, and someone trying to sell a 1967 Mustang Fastback. Oh, and a guy who specializes in counseling victims of intrafamily sexual abuse has a site, and is quoted here and there. But when I cut out all of the non-me Rob Longs and focus on Googling myself, I get some interesting responses.

There are, apparently, a few misguided people around who did not find my first book, "Conversations With My Agent," the delightful and memorable read that it is, OK? They have found each other on the Net, and thanks to Google, I've found them. It's nothing too painful to read--even my worst critics seem to have enjoyed the book--but it's still a little weird to come across, and it stings more than any proper, published review I received. It's almost like I've overheard a conversation that perhaps I shouldn't have. Maybe I'm a titch oversensitive, though considering all of the things in the world there are to be sensitive to, what, exactly, does oversensitive mean? Anyway, it feels like you've just discovered that sometimes, when you're not around, your friends talk trash about you.

Of course, there are also people on the Net who have read and enjoyed things that I've written. Some so much that they've even ...