Internet addiction is tough to pin down.
When asked, “How many hours do you spend on a computer?” I
explain that a computer is not just one thing. I write, use the
Net, follow stocks. How many hours do you spend in a car?
A little defensive, hm?
OK, I confess: if I don’t check email for an entire day, I start
to twitch.
Recently I spoke in Las Vegas at the Aladdin Hotel for the Black
Hat Briefings and DefCon V. The PBX in the hotel is seventeen
years old. I tried six modem settings to move data through those
fraying wires without success.
Five days without email? I found a newer hotel with modem jacks
in the room and moved.
The next day, a well-known author was looking around the meeting
room with agitation. He spied a telephone jack near my chair and
dropped to a crouch, fumbling to plug in his modem.
“Damn!” he said. “No dial tone.”
I leaned down and whispered, “I moved to a hotel down the street.
You want to use my … telephone jack?”
His eyes brightened. “When? Now?”
“Sure.”
We raced to my room. He plugged in his laptop, clicked a few
times, and waited. His body was rigid, perched on the edge of the
bed. He blinked rapidly when the modem connected and stared at
the screen.
For a few tense seconds, he held his breath. Then:
“It’s downloading.”
He smiled as email after email transferred to his laptop. He
exhaled and sat back on the bed, collecting his stash.
Two guys in the mean streets of cyberspace sharing a single
needle.
Are we addicted? I ought to take a test to find out. I’ll do it
… tomorrow. Today, I’ll remember the bumper-stickers of auto
addicts.
Easy does it. First things first. A T1 in time … oops! A slip.
Back to Step One.
My name is Richard, and I am powerless over my need for email.
