Today, in a desperate attempt to post something, anything, that requires very little effort, I will reveal the glorious effects when I Google myself. I recommend you trying this on yourself, but it might not work so well if your name isn’t as weird (or at least as weirdly spelled) as mine.

When I type in my first and last name, I discover things I didn’t realize or remember, and I’m a little surprised that I have more than one page of goodies. Evidently I have a ScrapBlog and a ScrapBio, probably created back when I actually made scrapbook pages and labored under the cruel delusion that someday the world might want to share in the awesomeness that is my craftiness.

My LinkedIn thing also pops up. There’s some Zonta deal that lists me as a member, and a few things from the school district and high school where I taught. Newsletters and board meeting minutes and junk like that.

I’m reminded that I submitted ideas to a site called Writing Fix, because that shows up as the fourth item in the list. And I have some kind of freelance writer/editor portfolio that I must have created recently, given the address attached to it, but I don’t recall creating such a thing even vaguely.

Page 2 of the Google listings shows an interesting bit from the German version of Amazon.com. My name is clearly mentioned, but I’m not sure why, as I can’t read German. Some kind of profile (or profil) of me, it seems. And I guess I’m a Top Reviewer on Amazon because I submitted two reviews, one for a book that I don’t even remember reading. I appallingly used way too many exclamation points, which might be why I don’t write Amazon reviews anymore.

Oh, and then somewhere down the list is my infant vision article. Well, not actually the article. My article is referenced on some website written in Spanish. I’m sure if I continued to scroll through the pages, or searched by my initials instead of full first name, I’d find the actual article, or at least an abstract of it. Exciting stuff.

Then, for some reason, the section of my photo gallery that has pictures of my pets pops up.

Well, all this excitement has worn me out. It seems like seeing myself in lights for all these inane “accomplishments” should spur me into writing an ebook, finishing my mystery novel, or at least becoming a spectacular celebrity stalker, but no. It makes me want to curl up in anonymity and hope none of the hiring managers I’m pimping myself out to actually try Googling my name.