Lauren Bialystok: False security in the electronic world

That's it. I'm going back to the quill and paper.

I'm sick of technology running -- and ruining -- my life.

When my computer was stolen from my apartment last weekend, my world fell apart. That outmoded gray box purchased the summer before my freshman year looked like a decent prize for a day's work of burglary, but to me it was far more than a hunk of plastic. Gone were my academic files collected since freshman year, gone were the hundreds of e-mails I had carefully saved and filed by category, gone were my ramblings in moments of reflective solitude from the ages of 18 to 21.

I know, I know; I should have backed it up. But I was so unconsciously dependent on my computer that it never even occurred to me that the contents of my hard drive would one day disappear irretrievably. My computer, like my bed, was simply there, a fixture in my bedroom and in my life.

When I lost 3 1/2 years of work in one fell swoop, I lost all my faith in the wonders of technology.

Suddenly, those very devices that purport to organize, simplify and secure our lives revealed their true colors. They entice us with their shiny screens and the illusion of convenience, but they're a fickle bunch.

Make no mistake -- that Palm Pilot or notebook you casually rely on to store all your information could at any moment flout your foolish trust in the safety of megabytes.

If robbery doesn't claim it, a computer virus or freak incident of electronic non-cooperation might.

Still, you couldn't give it up even if you wanted to. When it comes to information technology, we've reached the point of no return. Keeping your essays on paper somewhere is simply not an option anymore. Soon the notion of writing down your appointments by hand will be equally ludicrous.

Now I don't think there's anything wrong with funky gadgets for storing information. I'm just concerned that we've let our techno-dependence get out of hand.

As I've learned the hard way this semester, we're condemned to suffer the whims and caprices of all these non-human, non-paper forces.

When my DSL high speed Internet service was finally installed after a two-month wait -- and I found someone to sort through a tangled mess of wiring -- it proved to be a temperamental technology, working only at unpredictable intervals.

Checking my e-mail at home became a maddening game of turning my computer off and on over and over again, praying each time that my Instant Messenger screen would pop up and signal contact with the elusive cyberworld.

But no matter how much time I wasted at this absurd activity, I couldn't give up trying.

My first thought was that I'm a spoiled brat to demand continuous online access from my home computer, especially when the campus is practically teeming with e-mail terminals and computing resources.

But then I realized that my frustration was just the natural outcome of a wired world. You can't keep up anymore without lots of silicon at your disposal.

And in the increasingly interconnected world of communications, it's impossible to limit yourself to just the brass tacks.

Once you get the latest laptop, you might as well get the printer, the CD burner and the DVD player, too. Once you get the cell phone, you might as well get the Internet connection and the MP3 player that come with it. It's not a question of crass materialism or competition with the kids next door; it's a matter of efficiency. As soon as you contemplate transferring one part of your life to an info-communication device, you've sold your soul to the leviathan of technology.

The cyber age is no place for people who are afraid of commitment.

I wish someone had told me that before I poured my life into a 1998 Toshiba laptop.

Since that traumatic day after Thanksgiving break when I returned to a room sans computer, I have been roaming a frightening, desolate world. Nothing is permanent. Nothing is trustworthy. I am wary of all things electronic, and treat computers with particular suspicion. My Mead lined notebook is my new best friend.

My old friends have been wondering where I am, because I no longer make nightly appearances on three different Internet chat lines (conventional phone calls are, naturally, passe).

My social life, as well as my academic career, is on the verge of ruin.

Sadly, I know that I will eventually recover from this state of cynicism, and will once again resign myself to the tyranny of technology. My new computer has already been ordered, and my mother assures me it's a strapping model, complete with a built-in CD burner.

I can't pretend that I'm not the teeniest bit excited.

Lauren Bialystok is a senior Philosophy major from Toronto, Ontario.

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