In my thirty-ninth year my attention has been drifting towards the next level of representation up, which may partly explain my lack of enthusiasm for spending huge amounts of time in a virtual world (almost) one whole level further down. And writers like myself are anyway more interested in the virtuality that is immanent in the real.
Nevertheless, I spent a few hours last night looking over V's shoulder as she made her maiden excursion into Second Life. We chatted for a while with the owner of a private island that hosts a chill-out lounge.
That was after we escaped from newbies island, where people kept wandering up and asking if we minded if they masturbated. V amused herself by telling one L-plated second-lifer a whole load of invented tosh that he took as useful information. Later on she also tried out some misbehaviour, for which she was briefly confined to a burning cage. It seems that there are consequences here too.
I've always preferred tourism in tandem, especially the serendipitous sort. Yet I suppose that once I know the lie of the virtual land I may be more inclined to make goal-orientated incursions on my own.