Must Not Google My Lunch

In the early days of the internet, I had a frightening moment of clarity.

I could not find my keys anywhere, although I had already ransacked my apartment for 20 minutes. Finally, I stood in the middle of the room, and stared at the walls. It took a few moments, but eventually I realized what I was doing, and why it would not help me find my keys:

I had been looking for my apartment's search engine.

From that moment on, I've been acutely aware of the ways in which my brain has adapted to this new internet age. I am even more of a research freak than ever, and more than happy to pay for access to a valuable database. (Except when said access is ridiculously overpriced -- yeah, I'm looking at you, Hollywood Creative Directory.)

But I didn't see the newest wrinkle in my brain coming: I am addicted to online reviews.

This is so much more than a compulsive need to check consumerreports.org before buying my cell phone. (Although, of course, I did that too.) At first, I'd read the Amazon.com reviews before taking a leap on a new book. Then I'd occasionally check in with makeupalley.com, if I was thinking of switching moisturizers.

But over Christmas, I started checking the recipe reviews on Epicurious, and now I have a real problem on my hands. I tried to buy a tub of pesto yesterday, but couldn't -- because there was an outside chance that it wasn't any good. Later, I drove past a cute sandwich shop and thought about stopping in for a bite, but held off because I wanted to get home and Chowhound it.

Basically, I need to Google everything I eat. This is not good. Then again, I don't really have anything to worry about -- at least, until I hold off on breathing until Consumer Reports publishes their annual 2008 Oxygen Overview.