An Inhuman Condition

The laptop computer will be the death of our society. I see the signs written on the walls in ASCII. Coffee shops are littered by blank faces in front of glowing screens. Fingers type frantically to instant messages with friends they used to see in person. News, entertainment, everything is delivered over copper wires straight to their liquid-crystal displays.

It used to be the case that people would call one another. One would bump into someone on the street, have a small chat, exchange numbers and meet up at a coffee shop or bar for a few hours to swap stories and reminisce. Now one hears the sordid statement, “Oh, you should look me up on Facebook!” Instead of spending the few bucks and an afternoon conversing in the flesh, they pour over status updates, new profile photos, new notifications. Instead of post cards or letters, people send YouTube videos. Nostalgia is instantaneous, uploaded and tagged: “Yes, those are pictures from yesterday; I remember yesterday!” The only address anyone is interested in is an email address.

Is it some sort of numbers game? Is it more satisfying to have over a hundred online friends that ten in the real world? I can’t help but wonder and feel that it isn’t. I see them all, often sitting at a table entranced with their computer. They can be sitting across from someone else, who is probably also on a laptop, clicking away into the night. I can just imagine them sitting less than three feet from one another messaging over Trillion, Pidgin, Digsby or any other multi-messenger because they just downloaded an album and are wearing headphones to listen to it.

I understand though; how can one stick with a solitary messaging service? When one prides themselves in the extent of their online network of electronic acquaintances, how could one expect everyone to use the same messenger? Except everyone is using a multi-messenger, everyone is signed on to AIM, MSN, ICQ and Yahoo simultaneously. They and all of their online friends have accounts on multiple, if not all, of those god damned services. What is the point? Have the capitalists succeeded? Are we not only alienated from our jobs, goods, government but from one another as well?

This issue is riding high on my mind because I am sitting across a table from one of these digital zombies studying him up close in his natural habitat. Instead of stumbling through an awkward conversation about our lives, thoughts and mutual friends, he has chosen to snub me for Facebook. I could either compete for attention with a machine or turn to my own alienated place: my spiral-bound notebook. I feel lucky that my laptop broke and lifted the curse off of me. I was able to quit the disconnection game cold turkey, and I’ve learned to write in good ol’ scratchy analog again. I feel much more real this way despite the fact that I will eventually sit in front of my computer typing it up. Microsoft will make up for my lack of penmanship and spelling skills.

I remember when I used to be one of them. I dragged my laptop everywhere and plugged in the power cord anywhere I could find juice. I was pirating on any open WiFi hot-spot and obsessively trolling for anything interesting to share with my ignored company. I know we are not living in the dark ages. I know the computer has made our lives easier. I don’t want them to go away. I know they are a fun way to pass time alone, and I have the porn collection to prove it. What I want is to be able to get through a conversation without a laptop owner whipping it out and checking his email. I want to believe that these people are doing something worthwhile, but when I see them looking at pictures on MySpace, I cannot suspend my disbelief.

I am still a slave to the machines like anyone else, but I would prefer to think that trying to fight the digital conversion and trying to hold onto real, gritty, uncorrected, awkward humanity is somehow worthwhile.

Memento vivere, memento mori.