Backstory: Wrong-domain man and other Web intrigue

This is a story about Scott Calvert. Not Scott Calvert my husband, the 34-year-old journalist who lives in South Africa. This is about the other Scott Calvert, the computer expert living near Chicago, the man who came into our lives via a slew of misdirected e-mails.

In the end, really, it is a story about a cyber voice, one that left us with poetry and smiles along with unanswered questions and dangling ends, a classic Internet connection.

It all started some time ago when Chicago Scott, obviously more cyber savvy than my husband, managed to snag a Firstname.Lastname address with one of the country's large e-mail providers. This is no small feat. Ask anyone who has tried to set up an account recently with Yahoo or Hotmail or Gmail. A name is no longer sufficiently unique – you must add letters or numbers to make a distinctive address.

So when my husband signed up for his account, he included his middle initial – Scottmcalvert. It wasn't a big deal. After all, I'm srhanes in cyberworld. My cousin, Jessica, is jessie8689. He didn't think about who owned regular old scottcalvert, and certainly didn't imagine a name double typing away in the Midwest.

But before long, the cyber gods were messing with us.

My Scott – who would become known as SMC, or "smack" – wondered why he kept missing important e-mails. Chicago Scott – now known by his initials SLC, or "slick" – wondered why he was being spammed with dozens of Africa-related press releases. (My husband is the Baltimore Sun's correspondent here.) SLC also got e-mails about our house in Baltimore, our life in Johannesburg, our jobs. Eventually, he would receive details about our lease, as well as a happy birthday e-card from some woman named Carol.

"Who are you and why are you sending me a birthday card?" he wrote to Carol, my mother-in-law.

"You're kidding, right?" she responded. "I'm sending you a birthday card because I'm your mother, you dope."

Sometimes SLC responded to the senders, informing them of their error. Sometimes he just forwarded the e-mails to SMC. In January, we sensed his patience was wearing thin.

"This e-mail was sent to the wrong recipient; please notify the necessary parties so they can change their records," he replied to Global Witness, a group focused on resource exploitation. "The sender of this e-mail will now be put on my blocked senders list. Thank you."

After that, my Scott wrote back.

"Sorry about that, SLC." Signed, "SMC."

"SMC, Thank you." Signed, "SLC."

The next thing I knew, Scott and Scott were e-mailing back and forth, comparing weather in Chicago and Johannesburg. (Johannesburg: sunny and mid 70s. Chicago: snowy, foggy, windy.) In a bizarre sort of way, they became, well, not really friends, but acquaintances.

Much has been written about the Internet's power to connect, and to pull people apart.

There are the horror stories – the antisocial teenagers glued to the keyboard, the Internet predators. But there are also the positive social bonds – the neighborhood chat groups, discussion boards for dog lovers, weekly e-mail notices about global human rights issues. There are couples who meet on Match.com; families who keep in touch using e-mail and Web phones.

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