Now, I am always connected to the Web. The rare exceptions to the rule cause excruciating anxiety. I work online. I play online. I have sex online. I sleep with my smartphone at the foot of my bed and wake up every few hours to check my email in my sleep (something I like to call dreamailing).But it’s not enough connectivity. I crave an existence where batteries never die, wireless connections never fail, and the time between asking a question and having the answer is approximately zero. If I could be jacked in at every waking hour of the day, I would, and I think a lot of my peers would do the same. So Hal, please hurry up with that Google implant. We’re getting antsy.
There’s a name for this condition: Stockholm Syndrome.
Is it just me, or is there not some irony in the Google executive's name — HAL?
Once again, I'll recommend Vernor Vinge's novella "Fast Times at Fairmont High" as a convincing and unsettling portrayal of the sort of ubiquitous, uninterrupted net connection that Millikan craves.
Why, this is Hell, nor am I out of it.
Like drug addiction, the net has made her something less than human.
Reading this sort of thing makes me want to throw my computer out of the window, become a farmer, and never look at a screen again.
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