The Eye of Big Brother

November 7, 1999

ICQ, NetMeeting, and E-mail have sucked me in. The darkness in my room is pierced only by the glow of my monitor. It's iridescence is irresistible to my eyes and I cannot look away. "Uh-Oh!" pours from my speakers. I've got a message. Hey, my stepsister's online. My girlfriend's on the phone. My best friend's girlfriend sings me a song about "Puff the Magic Maggot" while I send her clips of Weird Al classics such as "The White Stuff" and "Polka Your Eyes Out." It's a strange digital world.

I have been assimilated into some dark collective filled with digital relationships and nothing else. For a night, at least, I have become an Internet addict.

My QuickCam sits atop my desk. I second guess my every motion within it's view; as it were the eye of "Big Brother" himself, watching me ever so vigilantly.

Hunger gnaws at my stomach, yet I stay fast at the keyboard in eager anticipation of the next file transfer or voice message.

I haven't gone outside today.

My only excursion from this room was to get breakfast and supper those many hours ago. I tell myself this cannot be good.

But hey, it's only for a night, right? It's not like I'm a real addict or anything.