Spin doctors

By ANNA FIORENTINO, Portland Press Herald Writer

Copyright © 2006 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

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A Word about Pod THE WORD 'PODCAST' was decreed 2005's Word of the Year by the Oxford American Dictionary, which it defines as "a digital recording of a radio broadcast or similar program, made available on the Internet for downloading to a personal audio player" such as an iPod. IPODS OR MP3 PLAYERS are owned by more than 22 million American adults, of whom 29 percent – more than 6 million – have downloaded podcasts from the Web to listen to audio files, according to the Pew Internet & American Life Project. To top of story

Meet Franklin Keen, a bleach-blond Ken doll look-alike wearing pinstripes and living in a penthouse suite in a faraway land called Second Life.

He's entertaining a guest. I, Loulou Cianci, am a slim and slender "city chic" gal who wears pigtails and a frilly dress, one with orange flowers and a bright green bow. Though I am just a visitor to the penthouse, the dance floor, personal bartender and good company make it tempting to overstay my welcome. The most substantial choice I've had to make since I arrived was whether to do the cha-cha or switch it up with some hip-hop beats.

In Second Life no one laughs when I dance.

I am indeed a dance machine in the most literal sense: I, Loulou Cianci, am a computer-generated, 3D digital character logged into an online virtual reality world that crosses the simulation video game Sim City with the social network Myspace.com. In this computer world called Second Life, I am joined by 363,706 worldwide users (real people) represented by digitally animated characters that coexist in a complex social structure with a fully functioning economy. This virtual world is about the square mileage of Boston and up for the taking – creatively and financially. There are no bad guys and the game is never over.

Just an hour before, the real-life version of Franklin Keen sits inside his Cumberland Avenue home and personal studio. His name is Franklin McMahon, a Portland-based media artist and photographer.

I listen intently as McMahon describes his newest business venture, a podcast that involves guiding people through this increasingly popular Second Life. The podcast, "Secrets of Second Life," is riding that growth.

"But what's the point?" I ask, notebook in hand.

McMahon insists Second Life is best understood by actually creating an account and entering it.

"I'll show you," he says, and suddenly he's on the Second Life Web site creating my user name.

"People can get sucked into Second Life for hours a day, but we'll try to keep today's visit short."

He goes on: "Oh yeah, and when you first go 'In-World,' you might crash into things. We all laugh at the new people because it's so obvious they are new. We've all been there."

I wonder: What am I getting myself into?

A little leery, I choose my alias: Second Life resident name Loulou Cianci – Loulou after my cat and Cianci because it is one of the names offered by Linden Lab, the San Francisco-based company that launched Second Life in 2003. The company's intent was to give users the tools to shape this self-perpetuating virtual world, where – with the right know-how and a little knowledge of Photoshop – you can build homes or even profitable businesses that generate real-life revenue.

Second Life residents buy and sell these things with something called "Linden dollars," whose value relative to United States dollars fluctuates daily on LindX, the currency exchange. Linden Lab has said the Second Life economy generates approximately $200,000 in economic activity a day – in real-world dollars.

My basic Second Life membership is free, but a premium membership can range up to $72 annually. That covers an initial installment of Linden dollars and stipends that follow weekly.

When I finally make it "In-World," what I see can best be described by the Linden Lab slogan: "Your World. Your Imagination." My world and my imagination – rather, Loulou Cianci's – begins on a place called Orientation Island. Like all new Second Life users, my digitally animated character, or avatar, wears a purple shirt and a glazed-over look. With a single click of the mouse, my appearance looks something like the real-life me, but a litter thinner, a little taller and, just for fun, a little wilder. I push "page up" on the keyboard and suddenly I'm flying like a bird.

"This is the life," I say.

I crash into the side of a hill.

"Now is the time for 'Secrets of Second Life,' " says McMahon, taking over the mouse with authority. He minimizes the Second Life window on the screen, and proudly opens his newest podcast. (For those of you who don't know, a podcast is a free way of distributing multimedia files, such as audio programs or music videos, over the Internet for playback on computers and mobile devices like iPods.)

A simulated version of Second Life appears in the new window and the sound of McMahon's prerecorded voice floods the workstation, instructing users "To fly, master 'page up,' 'page down' and your arrow keys." McMahon's eight-minute, self-produced podcast guides users on Second Life's finer points.

"Oh, I get it," I say.

"Secrets of Second Life" began broadcasting weekly on the Internet just a few weeks ago. It has since been featured on the Apple Computer iTunes podcast Web page, and hit No. 4 on the iTunes Technology chart.

The "Secrets" video tour navigates users like me through basics of how to exist in Second Life, while McMahon's more advanced podcasts tell users how to gamble for Lindens, chat with friends and unveil a transparent object In-World.

"I've been a fan of Second Life for some time now, and I knew creating a video podcast based on it would be a perfect fit, not just for the company (Franklin McMahon Studios) but also for hundreds of thousands of Second Life users out there," McMahon says.

I watch a few podcasts – McMahon's done eight so far – before once again taking the mouse and reopening Second Life, this time a tad more confident than before. I use what "Secrets" taught me to transport myself from Orientation Island to Roman Resorts Mall where I go to clothing designer Callie Cline's store.

"Shopping," McMahon says, "is a big part of Second Life."

McMahon tells me Callie Cline designed her teeny, ornate outfits in Photoshop. Though the boutique is imaginary, it is a real-life success.

In-World, Keen generously hands me, Loulou, 500 Lindens (the equivalent of slightly less than two U.S. dollars). I see three floors of clothes and browse mini cowgirl outfits with tiny boots and hats, a frayed denim skirt and a string bikini that, despite her perfect body, just isn't Loulou's taste.

Then I spot the dress. It's the one with the orange flowers and bright green bow. Guided by "Secrets," I click buy and get the perfect dress for a perfect 499 Lindens. The money is automatically transferred to the account of user Callie Cline, who can exchange the Linden dollars for U.S. dollars at an In-World ATM Machine or on the currency exchange. The dollars will be automatically transferred to the credit card she used to open her premium account.

McMahon just shakes his head. "That didn't take long," he says.

Next, I travel to the rooftop of Keen's penthouse where McMahon says he plans to start a business he thinks could be lucrative. He's toyed with the idea of taking freeze-frame screen shots of digital characters In-World and selling them to users for Lindens. Starting an In-World business sure worked for Anshe Chung, a Chinese-born language teacher in Germany who has become a Second Life icon. She recently opened a ten-person studio and office in China to manage her virtual land and currency holdings, worth about $250,000 (U.S.). Others open nightclubs, sell jewelry or become wedding planners (yes, people are virtually wed in Second Life too, though some relationships translate to real life).

"I have an ad for 'Secrets of Second Life' in here too," McMahon said, motioning to his promo spinning in the corner of the penthouse. Only recently have real-life companies begun advertising for real-life companies In-World.

Suddenly, I notice we are no longer alone in Keen's penthouse. Someone who goes by the name "Radio Cher Social Dave Bird Brain" is standing in the corner. As creepy as it seems, anyone can enter a Second Life home at anytime, as long as they aren't "Griefers," Second Life troublemakers who can have their service denied by Linden Lab for destroying things and bothering people.

"Hi, Loulou," the "Bird Brain" instant messages me.

After a short chat with the new guy, who seems pretty harmless, I remember there is something I must do before returning to reality – to work and a deadline: I click on the dance floor in the corner of the room, and in my new dress – the one with orange flowers and bright green bow – I begin to do the cha-cha.

Staff Writer Anna Fiorentino can be contacted at 791-6330 or at: afiorentino@pressherald.com