The lovely brunette was sitting on a dock near my home, watching the last moments of a gold-red sunset, already glinted with black. She had a record player next to her, and she was playing a couple snippets of melancholy pop tunes that she'd imported into her inventory. I knew her, and I knew why she was here. She was a sad woman, trying to get over a wicked heartbreak.

"My online partner left me," she told me.

"How come?"

"Because he's a coward," she said, "A fool and weak."

A week earlier, I saw her with a tall, muscular, poet-type, their avatars intertwined as they sat on a rooftop, watching another sunset, chatting back and forth with the kind of idle sweetheart-darling-dearest romantic dialog that made them swoon. (And everyone else, they happily admit, gag.) They were in-world lovers, they told me, and they had just bought a home together. They even invited me to their housewarming party. They were young and in love. (Though like Mr. and Mrs. Slate -- see Wednesday entry -- they also have respective spouses, in the real world.)

The night of the fete, she waited in her home with a group of their mutual friends. Her man never showed up at their own housewarming. Not much of a party.

"Later that night," she said, "he came back."

"All drunk?" I asked.

"I don't think so. Just stupid."

"And he laid it out?"

"Bah! He laid nothing out."

She had her own theories, though. "[There was] too much drama and instead of ignoring it, he left. He told me he couldn't handle it anymore. He was in a prior 'relationship' before me. He left her for me. It upset a lot of people. They constantly berated him. Instead of muting them (beautiful tool) he let them continue."

When you use the Mute command on people in Second Life, they pretty much drop out of your world; you don't hear anything they say, and your inventory won't accept anything they try to give you. It's the in-world equivalent of removing yourself from a whole circle of friends, not taking their phone calls, or even making eye contact with them, when you pass them on the street.

"[He] felt it was mean to mute them," she said. "Silly man. So instead of standing by me as he swore he would, he ran away, and left my heart broken in a million tiny shards."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yes, really. There are real feelings that seep into the role-playing. Not like 'in love' or anything. But caring. And losing. Still hurt."

"In real life," I said after awhile, trying to take the male point of view, "a lot of guys get jitters when it comes to moving in with a woman."

"But this isn't real life," she said, "this is Second Life."

"But male psychology the same [in both], maybe!"

"Who knows," said the lovely woman, "they say women are hard to understand... pffft."

"Cheer up!" I said later, trying the comedic route. "Wash that man RIGHT OUT OF YOUR HAIR."

She laughed at that, so I kept in that vein.

"Girlfriend," I said, going all Waiting to Exhale, "don't EVEN let him play you like that!"

And before I leave the dock, I told her: "You're a lovely avatar, and there are other studly avatars in the sea.

"Got one in my sights," she said coyly.

A couple weeks after that, the lovely woman will tell me she feels better. Much, actually. Mostly because she will have taken a few days away from Second Life, and put it all in perspective. For now, though, feet dangling over the pier, it was her moment to be sad, and spend some time mourning the loss with a friend.

"He's a fool," she said.

"All men are fools!"

She chuckled. "As are women for loving them, then."

"Well," I said, "there's that."

"A world full of fools."

"But a world with sunsets, too. Like this one."

"And sunrises with promises of new days," said the lovely woman.

"Yes," I said, "there's that."

Thanks to Daniel Terdiman for his first-rate story on Wired's online site a few weeks ago, on Second Life, and the war of the Jessie Wall (parts I-V here, parts VI-X here). As often happens, much of his interview with me ended up on the cutting room floor, so I thought I'd repurpose the outtakes into an interview with, well, myself:

DO PEOPLE IN SECOND LIFE TALK TO YOU ABOUT NEW WORLD NOTES?

A lot. It's a little weird, though gratifying, to have people in-world tell me they like my writing. One guy flew by (literally flew, since most people travel that way, in here) and told me my writing reminded him of Julian Dibbell's stuff, only more cheerful -- very cool of him.

Also, I notice that players often respond to me as a journalist, with that suddenly-catching-themselves-and-acting-standoffish effect -- just as they would in real life. In other words, they'll say something off-color or behave "illegally" by Linden standards, then turn to my avatar and say, "That's not going to be in an entry, is it? This is off the record, now!"

DO LIFERS GIVE YOU NEWS TIPS IN-GAME?

Yes, that also happens a lot. Usually it's great, because it leads to an excellent news tip. Occasionally, though, I feel like I'm being dragged into an interpersonal conflict, or a dispute with Linden Lab's in-game guides, with my journal used as leverage.

WHAT'S IT LIKE, TO BE PLAYING THE GAME AS A JOURNALIST?

Let me explain it this way: I paid a Second Life tailor to fashion the white suit my avatar wears in the game to resemble the one made famous by Tom Wolfe. It's my nod to the founder of New Journalism, and in a larger sense, to the way those writers began to insert themselves into the story, even making themselves the story. (Though I suppose a better role model there would have been Hunter S. Thompson; then again, I'm not sure Linden Lab would like the idea of their journalist wondering around in the world with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and a .45 magnum revolver in the other.) So I'm aware of that hybrid role, and I try to play it just as I would, in a real life setting.

Avatar tributes to Gonzo generously provided by Misnomer Jones (top screenshot, pictured with Taessa Weaver) and Yuki Sunshine (bottom screenshot, pictured with the creator). Ask for their avatar-customizing skills by name!

For Linkin and Nyna Slate (see Monday's entry), being "married" isn't just an affection of shared names -- it's a real, practical relationship. They actually had the matrimonial ceremony in another online game, then migrated as a couple to Second Life, to build a new home in this world.

"But the point of playing as a couple has helped here," says Linkin. "We built everything around that idea -- we share resources. Why do you think there are so many houses unfinished? We built and finished [our place] like we were married. Made a home."

I ask them how they manage to maintain a real life marriage (both have offline spouses) and this one simultaneously. "Well," says Linkin, "we put our real life spouses first -- and our families know [about the SL marriage.]"

What do their real families think of that?

"They think what it is: it's a role-play." In any case, Nyna adds, "Linkin and I are very good friends." ("We are best friends," Mr. Slate chimes in immediately.) And while they've never met -- he lives in Minnesota, and she in Maryland -- they have spoken over the phone. However, says Linkin, "It's best to keep it in here… the more you know about someone makes it difficult." They've seen other online "marriages" break up real marriages, when certain boundaries are crossed.

"We put our [real] families first," Mr. Slate says. "Always."

"We don't make playing in SL a priority," Nyna adds, then laughs. "Well, try not to."

Still, their support for each other extends offline. Nyna's real world Dalmatian had to be put to sleep, and even more tragic, one of her kittens unexpectedly died soon after, while she was busy hosting an in-world event. To comfort her, Linkin ended up calling her home, and spoke with her real husband, to make sure she was OK. I express surprise at that, but that makes Nyna ask, "Do you keep your best friend a secret from your family?"

Meanwhile, the practical benefits extend beyond homemaking; one of the initial motivations for the marriage, for example, was to discourage pushy online flirters. "This guy popped out of Prelude [the beginner's orientation zone]," says Mrs. Slate by example. "The first thing he said was, 'Hey Nyna, you're hot.' Then wanted to come by. All I had to do was say, 'Sure come over and you and my hubby can have a beer." They haven't seen him since.

Still, says Linkin, "Like any marriage she can be a nag."

"And you can be moody," Nyna counters. "He likes to build so much I get bored and bug him."

Apart from that, they share intimacies, advice, and the in-joke repartee of any close couple. "He can look at what I tell him with an unbiased view, so when I need advice from my friend," Mrs. Slate says, "He is very frank with me."

"Who is Frank?" Mr. Slate asks.

"The guy up the street who borrowed your mower."

In late July, a cadre of outraged Lifers began agitating against the Linden tax system, which they see as unjustly penalizing ambitious builders, who contribute so much value to the world. By August 2nd, their cause had broken out into open protest. The first blow was leveled on

Americana, the user-driven project to recreate famous US icons in a city space. Dissent appropriately took a very American form: the project's Washington monument had been replaced by a giant tower of tea crates; the baseball stadium rendered unusable by similar stacks; the Route 66 gas station set ablaze by an insurrectionist midget shooting off seditious fireworks. Crates and signs were festooned everywhere -- there, and throughout the world. Contacted by New World Notes, Fleabite Beach -- the iconoclastic kitty who leads this revolt -- here pleads their case to the general public:

WHAT IS YOUR GROUP CALLED, OF WHO IS IT COMPOSED, AND WHAT IS ITS PURPOSE?

We are PATRIOTS to the man, woman and cat, as are all loyal subjects to the King who watch from afar as common sense and conscience are compromised, until liberty wells up in their hearts and they are forced to action. King Linden's laws have no power to make a man more just; and commonly, by means of their respect for it, even the well-intentioned are daily made the agents of injustice. Our purpose here today, as should be daily and everywhere, is one of a well-reasoned Justice and nothing more.

WHAT ARE THE PARTICULAR CAUSES OF YOUR GRIEVANCES?

The subjects of King George Linden serve the King, not as subjects and taxpayers and pay-to-players merely, but as machines, with their bodies. They are the Builders, the Scripters, the Texture Makers, the Events Coordinators, the Tour Givers, The Mentors, the Resident Instructors, etc. In most cases they are treated akin to horses or dogs, expected to serve and to work, not by conscience, but by din of a much heralded way and an unreasoned loyalty to a Mad King. A wise man will only be useful as a man and will not be submitted to the realm of beasts of burden.

WHAT DEMANDS DO YOU MAKE OF "MAD KING GEORGE LINDEN"?

The thoughtful consideration and realization of a means by which all Loyal Subjects can work toward the greater goods of community, god and country without the abdication of their moral relevance. We cast our voices upwards, as we think is right, but we should not be vitally concerned that right should come of it, only that our voices are heard and respected. Without true Representation there is nothing in SL but pixels that labor to arrange other pixels for the glory and prosperity of Kings.

WHAT ACTIONS DO YOU THREATEN, IF THE KING MEETS NOT YOUR DEMANDS?

Regarding future consideration by the Callous and Cavalier King George, we expect that our demands will fall on deaf or uncaring ear. Should this be the case, we shall make of ourselves soldiers of the heart, embracing Liberty and Justice for all; and rejecting law and dictate made in haste to the detriment of just and free-thinking men, women and cats everywhere. To the Mad Mad King George we shall say, "You and your kind will rue the day. To you, sirs, Tea Crates in the Bay."

IF YOUR DEMANDS ARE STILL NOT MET, WHAT SHALL YOUR NEXT RECOURSE BE?

There is naught to be done but act upon the heart. What man is given a conscience specifically to abdicate to Kings? Why have a conscience at all I say? When the time comes to stay the heart, none shall stop beating. When the time comes to lay down honor, none shall lay before the King's carriage, to be crushed beneath the hooves of those unable to do more. When the time comes, there is in the minds of all good men, only action.

-- and so the die is cast. But even now, a Linden loyalist movement has sprung up in opposition to the revolutionaries. Who shall ultimately prevail?

Before remodeling

Nyna and Linkin Slate, a married couple in the Brown suburban simulator, are waiting for me on their porch, when I arrive to interview them for the digest entry. "Should I check my make up?" she asks her husband. "You're fine, dear," says Linkin.

The Slates' challenge was to take a Linden-made pre-fab house on this oceanside lot, and turn it into a dream home. "It was what he had to work with," says Linkin. "Have you seen the original?" Nyna asks. "Yuck."

They've doubled the floor space of the original pre-fab, adding walls and glass windows as desired, and replaced as much of the original framework with hand-tooled (so to speak) material of their own design. From there, it's a matter of installing the furniture, appliances, and art objects that give the space warmth, and personality. The basic house took two weeks to build, then three to four more weeks to reach the point where they are now. (They're still expanding.)

It's the fine details that strike you, every small object for living lovingly rendered to create a genuine sense of a home by the sea. Not only is there a fully-appointed bathroom, for example, it even comes with a roll of toilet paper, mounted on a brass roller.

The only drawback to such a high level of detail is cost. When I ask how many Linden Dollars they put into their home, Linkin hesitates even to guess. "It would scare me, I think." Everything he makes weekly in ratings and the income from making/selling stoves, refrigerators, and cars, is plowed into the home. To customize items, you have to start with a primitive, the basic building block in Second Life. And primitives cost $L to bring into the world, and incur a weekly tax, to keep them there. So like any suburban couple, the Slates spend much of their time renovating the house -- then wondering how far in debt they can go, and still hold onto it.

continued later this week: "House as a Home"