These days I hear, “Google it,” all the time.

The expression sounds considerably more elegant than “I don’t have a f:^)ing clue.”

Google is kind of like walkabout for the brain. It spells the end of bar bets. It feeds curiosity, whether intelligent or downright goofy

Case in point. Courtesy of ESPN, Mary and I watched Joey Chestnuts compete in the annual, fourth-of-July, hotdog-eating contest on Coney Island. Sixty-one dogs in ten minutes. Of course, we wanted to know whether professional eaters purge afterwards.

Googled it.

Over the past few months, I’ve Googled topics that range from sick to mindless all in the name of research: k-holes; is there a good bar near one international place in Boston; celebrity rants; and a few other subjects that I don’t care to share.

There’s no doubt the NSA is watching me.

I Googled “Tau Phi Delta,” because some sub-human strain of viral shitococcus spray-painted the fraternity’s letters at the rock beach near our home in Rhode Island, thereby defiling the natural beauty of the spot and bringing shame to an organization that otherwise professes to care about our environment.

Google Tau Phi Delta, and you’ll find a Penn State website:

Tau Phi Delta (Treehouse)

Treehouse is a national professional forestry fraternity that holds a special interest in the outdoors, enjoying hunting, fishing, and camping. Emphasis is placed on conservation efforts, scholarship, and social events. Membership is not limited to forestry majors but covers a wide range of majors from agricultural science to engineering. The house is proud of its continued support in blood drives, intramural competitions, and other campus activities. Tau Phi Delta also has an active little sister program.

I’d be grateful to anyone who comments below and joins me in my shout out to the fraternity. In fairness, Tau Phi Delta is not the only graffiti covering the rocks. I Googled, “Gordo is a chub,” but the source is uncertain.

Grrr…..

When I Googled “emptiness,” I found a quote from Shakespeare, which I liked so much, I’m writing it into my novel. I’m not sure whether the following passage will survive edits, but it conveys the fury of my fictional hero when his friend betrays him:

Shakespeare once wrote, “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”

To think… He never worked at Gulag Sachs. He never heard of ESBM Capital. And he never met Gordie Berkowitz, my supposed friend, the steaming pile of radio-rectal waste who sprouted a tail, slithered through the sewage pipes of downtown Boston, and violated Pell College.

Hmmm. I bet Shakespeare didn’t know the frat boys from Tau Phi Delta either.

This morning, I Googled “wok.”

I know what a “wok” is, of course, but a friend sent me a nice email, and she signed it, “wok.”

Huh? Her initials are not “wok.”

I Googled it. Nothing enlightening. Thinking that I had missed some kind of hip email shorthand, I replied to my friend, “Wok?”

“Autocorrect of ‘xok,’ ” she emailed.

Huh? Again. I Googled “xok” and found that it means “the condition of being in a very good mood, or very okay.”

I’m not sure that’s what my friend meant. Her first name begins with K. Maybe she typed “XO K,” which was autocorrected to “wok.”

So Google’s not perfect. It won’t solve autocorrect issues, and it doesn’t tell me who thinks, Berto is a chub. But these seem like minor problems. I love Google for research, for the serendipitous discoveries that stoke creativity.

The only drawback of “Googling it” for research—and of the Internet in general—is that you miss primary experiences like sitting with your feet dangling in the sea, breathing the cool spray and feeling the mist settle on the back of your throat, smelling the centuries of salty shells, and hearing the birds squawk as the surf pounds against the rocks.

If only some chowdah head hadn’t tagged our public beach with Tau Phi Delta.