Are you serious? (Because you should be)

Margo's got me scratching my head again...her perspective on online affairs seems to be straight from 1998:

Dear Margo: My wife and I regularly play an online video game. Since I work full time and she doesn't, she plays more than I do. A few weeks ago, she asked me if I had a problem with her spending a lot of time playing the game with an online friend, who happens to be male. I said that as long as he was "just a friend," it was no problem. Over the past few weeks, however, I noticed behavioral changes in her that made me think something was amiss, so I read her game logs on her computer to assure myself that their relationship was "just friends."
Long story short, I found enough in the logs to become very upset. I confronted her, and she admitted that she is in love with the online guy! She says she also loves me, is confused and doesn't want to hurt either one of us. I love her, and the thought of her leaving makes me ill, but I want her to be happy. I also want her to hurry and make a decision because the stress of not knowing if she will leave me for him is killing me. But she doesn't want to be rushed into making a decision. — Nice Guy Who Doesn't Want To Finish Last

Dear Nice: I am having trouble with this. Your wife is playing an online game and thinks she's fallen in love with Online Gamer Guy? Sheesh, it doesn't take much, does it? The Internet being, well, the Internet, for all she knows, her game-boy could be an elderly lady who writes romance novels. No offense, but your mate doesn't sound as though she's wrapped real tight. Either that, or there's not much going on in your marriage. It just seems addled to me that anyone could think she's fallen in love with an unseen partner playing a computer game ... and she's telling you to hang on until she decides. I think if this happened to me, I would begin a new game called "Let's Separate." But in your case, I would suggest you both stop with the video games and instead go to a couples counselor to see what is wrong and what can be salvaged.
— Margo, amazedly

Amazedly? Frankly, I'm amazed that she's amazed. Although of course it's true that people can embrace imaginary identities online, and some do, that's no longer the majority of folk. Most people, it seems, no longer have a clear divide between their real and virtual lives, but rather find their online presence--on blogs, social networking sites, gaming communities, message boards, etc.--to be more or less integrated, and indeed a major facet of, their "real" lives.

Child molesters posing as teens trying to pick up other minors? Yes, still (and always) a legitimate danger. Extrapolating that to predict that a longtime gamer is in fact an elderly woman pretending to be a man playing a game....? Come on, Margo. Get real. The situation this writer is in is hardly uncommon. In fact, these days, marriages wrecked by very real virtual affairs are probably far more common than affairs wrecked by false identities.

"It just seems addled to me that anyone could think she's fallen in love with an unseen partner playing a computer game ... " shows a total ignorance of the changing social world in which she lives....which I can only imagine will leave her readers wondering why she has any business advising about it.

Cheryl Lavin: Remissing in Action?

I've mentioned before that Cheryl tends to let her readers do the talking, often building whole columns out of the excerpts of her letters and e-mails. This works--sometimes. After all, her column is called "Tales from the Front," and sometimes that's just what it is--tales, rather than questions.

But when the story reveals that the teller is making a huge mistake--one that she doesn't even seem to be aware of, or want help with--should the advice columnist step in and help open her eyes?

It's true that unsolicited advice is often ignored....but I think by virtue of the fact that she's an advice columnist, she has the privilege to freely advise anyone who writes to her--and this woman needs it.

Today, Cheryl did what she so often does: picks a theme, and prints reader stories related to it. The column focuses on romances rekindled through a Google search. The first one is a lovely Cinderalla story, though it has sort of a bizarre "I have a friend who...." format. The second one cries out for help. It starts out as a typical tale of "the one who got away."

I've been married for more than 20 years, although the last eight have been a struggle. Mainly I'm staying for the sake of the kids, who will soon be out of the nest. Three years ago, I decided to search out Rod, the last boyfriend I had before I met my husband. Although I'd had several boyfriends prior to him, we shared a connection that was exciting, unique and unforgettable.

GASP--would you believe it--the woman googles "Rod," with some difficulty because of his common name (which means we know Cheryl must be using an alias. Rod?):

Undeterred, I narrowed my search, adding key terms that pertained to his career choice at the time. Bingo! I found his home address and wrote, just a friendly how-ya-doing? kind of letter, filling him in on some general details about my life (marriage, kids, job, etc.)

Twice, Rod cut off their communication, saying that he treasured the memory of their relationship, but refused to become involved with her while she was still married. But!

I protested that I wasn't looking for involvement—I just wanted to have lunch!

Mmmmhmm. When she persisted in emailing him (apparently to this reader a 6 month delay seemed sufficient for Rod to forget a) that she was married or b) that he had a problem with this), he really put his foot down. Though he packed his email with loving memories and kind words, the crux of it was this:

This is it, Rose. Please do not write me again or search for me on the Internet.

And yet, Rose says, a year later she is

much closer now to making a decision about my marriage.

and further,

when the dust settles, even at the risk of being disappointed with the outcome, I know who will get the first e-mail.

Cheryl--this woman needs help, and you gave her nothing! Unless you sent her a personal response advising her to quit harrassing and obsessing over Rod, you did her no favors by printing this letter. You're an advice columnist. Advise!