The internet.

I leave for America in three weeks, to live there for the foreseeable future. So for the next 21 days I’m writing down one memory per day of my time living in Europe. As a writing exercise but also as a way to test my brain. You can read them all here.

Day 20 | London, early 2000s

Being that this is the internet, I’m going to assume whoever reads this knows that the internet is in fact subject to some stringent rules.

There’s an additional internet rule I like to live by, inspired by one of the greatest comics ever drawn and written about life online.

That’s right. If you’ve never seen this, take another good look/read. Then pause and think for a minute. Have you ever been that person?

Back in 2004 or 2005 I was living with my then girlfriend at the time and spending more time than was healthy on music message boards.

One night she called out to me from our bedroom — I was in our work studio. The conversation detailed above pretty much took place, minus me admitting that someone was wrong on the internet verbally. But that’s what I was doing. Arguing with a stranger instead of getting laid.

Over the years I’ve come to realise the futility of arguing online. The only sort of online debate I’ll ever come close to is one that involves people I know in real life. 99% of the rest of the time I’ve learnt to stop myself. Everyonce in a while I may fail, or just about catch myself. When I do fail I tend to instantly regret it and go back and delete the comment/reply.

Life is short. The internet isn’t. And there is never any reason for you to tell someone they are wrong on the internet unless you personally know them. There just isn’t. So go hug your wife/husband/lover/child/animal, or knock one out, or walk down the road, or do whatever the fuck you like. Just don’t hit the reply button.

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