USA Today

One of my animated cyber-personas has lighter-colored hair than I do, and frankly a fair amount more of it. He has a more muscular build, dances better and thinks nothing of dropping a few bucks on a pair of Levi's, flying off a cliff or hopping on a hovercraft with a stranger.

Should I be hopping on a couch instead?

I can't imagine what Sigmund Freud might think of the immersive 3-D environments in which I've been living vicariously through avatars. But I found the graphically stunning online worlds of There and Second Life escapist fun and surprisingly addictive. Hours flew by on the nights I participated.

This is saying a lot. I have never been much for chatting on the Net, nor am I a big PC gamer. But meld both capabilities in an aesthetically appealing atmosphere, and the experience becomes far more engaging.

Computerized fantasy worlds have existed for more than a decade, but only recently have they come of age. The two I tested, the recently launched There, from There Inc., and Second Life, from Linden Labs, compete for adults against The Sims Online and VZones.

While there are similarities between There and Second Life - including, alas, that both put considerable demands on a system and are buggy - differences emerge. A closer peek:

Atmosphere and scenery. The 3-D landscapes in the two worlds are visually appetizing. So are the customizable (and at times sexily clad) avatars. There's characters look more like everyday people; Second Life's are likely to be dressed as superheroes or in other costumes.

In general, There is about hanging out and chatting; you can do a variety of things - walk a Labrador, race dune buggies, play paintball - but the activities serve primarily as conversation ice breakers. It is a welcoming community that seems less about winning and more about friendship. There bills itself as a service, not a game.

You get to meet people doing various activities in Second Life as well, but the environment strikes me as a bit more creative, competitive and challenging. That also means it's harder to learn and break into. There are more than 150 unique sliders for altering an avatar's traits, from foot size to eye color. Navigating from place to place can be difficult, even though characters can travel great distances in the air and move faster than their There counterparts. Early on, my Second Life avatar got stuck on a ceiling, and I didn't know how to bring him down.

Various scoring and rating systems are also part of the Second Life experience as you (via your characters) build things and places, from homes to discos. I visited one character's impressive art gallery. Second Life has both PG and "mature" areas.

By contrast, There is decidedly PG-13 (13 is the minimum age); avatars are restricted from lying down or gambling, though they can blow kisses and flirt, and I heard suggestive banter.

Virtual economies. The money in Second Life is called Linden Dollars. Players get a weekly stipend that rises when they earn high marks (on their appearance, building skills, etc.) from other members. Participants also can bring in extra money by running contests, leading tours or building in-world attractions and then charging admission. I managed to make a few Linden dollars playing Jeopardy.

There's currency, called Therebucks, has a real-life twist. You get 20,000T when you sign up for a year, or 10,000T for the monthly plan. But you can buy additional Therebucks with real U.S. loot, at the rate of 1,787 per dollar. The average beta tester spent $7 per month on "in-world" goods, but somehow in context it seems like the right thing to do, and the Levi's I bought set my online bank account back 5,999T. At least there are refund policies if you return items within a designated time frame (30 minutes, 1 day, 1 week, etc.)

There is cheaper at the start, but there are plenty of other opportunities to part with your money. For example, $10 buys you an explorer pack that, among other things, makes it easier to teleport around to exotic locales.

Graphic chats. Participants in There schmooze by typing on a keyboard, and words appear quickly in comic-strip-like chat balloons. If you have a microphone, you also can engage in voice chat; I was impressed that the avatars' mouths move in sync with the actual voices. You also can express yourself by typing out or clicking on emoticons and specific commands (smile, yawn, blush). When I typed "twist," my avatar moved like Chubby Checker; I entered "idea," and a floating light bulb appeared above his head. You can make your character focus his or her gaze on another avatar, do a back flip, sip a drink or share it with a chat partner. While standing around, avatars naturally place their hands on their hips and shift their weight.

I came across people, fronted by the avies, from all across the USA, plus Australia, Denmark and the UK, and hung out with them in virtual dark forests, mountains and hot tubs - even inside an Egyptian pyramid. There claims about a 60% to 40% male/female ratio, with an age range skewed between 29 and 49; Second Life is 70% male, with most members between 25 and 44.

Incidentally, through the end of the year There is accepting members on a "Limited Access" basis, meaning you get to apply and wait for an invitation to join; you usually get past the virtual "velvet rope," I'm told, within 48 hours. It's all a way to manage the service's growing pains. There is currently closed Tuesday and opens other days at 11 a.m. P.T.

Big advantage for Second Life: It's open all the time. Chatting is clumsier, however. When you type, text scrolls on screen like the dialogue in a chat room or an instant message window, making it sometimes tough to tell who you're talking to. Moreover, you actually hear the pitter-patter of keys and see avatars unnaturally type on an invisible keyboard when they are in the process of responding to you (or someone else).

Imagine that, online behavior that doesn't seem true to life. Can virtual shrinks be far behind?