I have to think of something really cool. -Paul, 1998
I stared at my new Red Hat 5.1 installation. After more than two hours learning about partition mounts and boot loaders, I had successfully installed linux on a computer I had pulled from a dumpster. It was time to pick a username. I looked around my room, and saw my Fender Stratocaster (made in Mexico) sitting against my practice amp in the corner of the room. I typed in rockstar and never looked back.
Computers were a hobby, you see. I was going to make my money on stage, as frontman of the next Pixies, the next Ramones, the next Green Day, the next Bush. Whatever band it was, I was gonna be at the front, on the magazine covers.
Fast forward to 2002 and suddenly people were paying me to do computering faster than I could book shows and get everyone together for band practice. It was easy to say "this is my job to keep me afloat until I get my big break." I wouldn't ever find that big break, for a variety of reasons. Over the next few years, as I matured, music began to take a backseat to something that I was good at and that people recognized I was good at it; it wasn't a struggle to find work, and I didn't have to deal with other divas trying to be the frontman.
Eventually, "Rock star" became a term used by awful VCs, thought leaders, and bad recruiters. It became a joke, and then a pejorative. It became such an issue that I began to wonder if it was time to retire the moniker I had used since before I could get a driver's license. Does my IRC nick send the wrong message? Does it encourage my colleagues not to work with me?
I’m not eulogizing my nick. I’m sticking with it. It is, however, important to me that I work to make that mean something better than those who would leach from this community without giving back. I would appreciate opportunities to do this, and I welcome my peers pulling me in (i.e. not calling me out) to help build this community rather than tearing it down.
