Joe Essid directs the Writing Center at the University of Richmond, where he teaches courses in writing and literature. He is a Richmond native who attended the University of Virginia and earned a Master's and PhD at Indiana University. His research interests include technology in the classroom and Southern literary humor. His academic writing has appeared in Computers and Humanities, The Writing Lab Newsletter, and anthologies about technology and writing. He is a contributor to Style Weekly and has appeared in Eighty One and RVA. Ignatius Onomatopoeia is the "avatar" who represents Joe in the game-world Second Life. Ignatius will be wandering the virtual terrain of Second Life while his creator writes here about what may be either "the next big thing" for the Internet or the latest darling of the cyber-hip... the reader can decide.
E-mail contact: jessid@mac.com | Web address: writing2.richmond.edu/jessid

Location: Orientation Island

I can fly, hover, run, dance, and do other moves an avatar needs on “The Mainland”  to avoid being labeled a “newbie”: advice from James Wagner Au’s “New World Notes,“ one of the best sources for in-world news, along with Adam Reuters’ News Center for the company.

Orientation Island had begun to feel cramped; lots of newbies flitting about, blowing kisses, falling out of the sky like cartoon coyotes.  Signs warn the uninitiated to not run around naked—Orientation Island is a PG region.  By the way, stock avatars have no naughty bits. . . like store manikins. 

Before I teleported—instantaneous transit to any point—to the Mainland, it seemed wise to make a few friends.  My students would soon be in-world for a project, and I wanted advice from a few experts who have been in Second Life since ancient times (that means since 2003).

So I needed to make friends but my list consisted of a Muscovite wanting to practice English, a Greek Cypriot bored at home, a teenager (in Second Life illegally—there is a separate teen area) who “likes 2 look at objects.“  Hmm. . . none have logged in a second time.  No pearls of wisdom yet.

So I decided to teleport anyway. What risk?  That, I learned, is such a newbie question.

Location: Off the Coast of Orientation Island

One of the purest pleasures in Second Life involves flying like a bird. . .like Superman. . .like a jet. . . like a dorky English professor in a turtleneck. . .uh, yeah.

Wish-fulfillment is one of the greatest motives for this new virtual world, and what human hasn’t wanted to fly at some point?  By clicking the “fly” button or pushing Page Up on the keyboard, I make my avatar fly. 

The game includes some hilarious special effects (known, I think, as game physics) for when one hits an obstacle or accidentally hits the “stop flying” button. Consider what happens to a cartoon character who steps off a cliff. . . I know that readers will enjoy a shot of me falling from the sky (I’ll have to explain the car in another post).

But landing does not kill the avatar.  Landing in the water, or merely stepping off the shore, also does not drown the avatar.  One can walk around underwater forever. . .and practice gestures and dance-moves.  And get rid of the awful stock glasses and begin to make a pair of shades. . . Second Life’s hidden gem, which I’ll discuss soon, is how players can create objects (from sunglasses to skyscrapers) for no cost.  It’s the show-stopper in-world: players BUILD this world themselves. Comments (2)

Location: Wooded valley, Orientation Island

I tried to have my first conversation with another person and I failed, miserably. 

Once Ignatius had his appearance more or less correct, I walked away from the central plaza on Orientation Island, flew into the air like Superman (a favored way to travel “in-world”) and landed in a well designed forest.  A much later snapshot (I didn’t know how to take them when this happened) gives some idea of what the landscape looks like.

After crossing a small stream on stepping-stones, Iggy sat in the shade of the trees and thought about the utter strangeness of the virtual world.  Soon enough, a female avatar walked by. I waved, shouting “hey,“ using a pre-programmed animation from a set that all avatars possess.  She walked over.

Once you get close enough to another avatar, you can type short messages.  I began to type, and Iggy’s fingers obediently made little typing motions in mid-air.

Being no stranger to MOOs and MUDs, the text-only virtual worlds long popular in academia, I figured that I would have no trouble at all.  My style is right: articulate with just enough shortcuts to keep the typing swift (lol for “laughing out loud,“ btw for “by the way,“ and so on).

Here is what I typed; I will never forget: “I am utterly new to this. What about you? Can you tell me anything?“

Reply: “???“ followed by the other avatar swiftly walking away.

Jean Baudrillard, where are you?  He’s the French philosopher who predicted that we prefer simulations to reality.  Wait. Baudrillard just died.

I wonder if I can get a virtual T-shirt that reads “Dork. Utterly”. . .