Google Shame

Admit it, you Google yourself. It's okay though, we all do it. I like to do it whenever I know something new will appear. Sometimes boring things come up like the names of old schools but sometimes more fun (fun to me at least!) results like conference presentations or works of writing appear. Unfortunately, as many of us have discovered, the internet does not always allow us to discriminate about what issues are and are not revealed. Ideally only the good news and proud accomplishments would be made available to the public, however, there are the occasions that an indiscretion pops up and there is little to be done to stop it. The good news is that if you're willing to do some reconnaissance and be persistent, the unwanted Googles may sometimes be erased. Such was the case of my Google shame.

Now that it's gone, I can provide a bit of context. You see, back in highschool I was naive and less discriminating about where I displayed my creative writing. Apparently I didn't feel that a school issue of student works was sufficient. I thought the internet was the perfect solution. It was online that I posted a poem about cross country skiing (deep, I know), a hobby which I love now as I did then. I did fall out of love with the poem, however, and it drifted from my mind with a handful of other less-than-fond high chool memories. Much to my great distress, a personal Google search revealed this atrocious prose on the Lulu site that had acquired poetry.com, where I had originally published said work. The worst part? I had no idea what password/address/secret code/ridiculous identifier I had used so many years ago.

Well, my friends, it is with GREAT relief that I can now tell you that after no less than 11 emails to Lulu support and three months of waiting, the poem has been removed, and with it goes my Google shame.

The moral of this story is two fold: First, if you find yourself in a sticky situation, sometimes pestering the hell out of the administration will actually achieve results; Second, be careful what you post on the internet. It may reappear a decade later to remind you of your unfortunate 'poet' phase.