Cybercrack: Is Our Techno-addiction Alleviating or Exacerbating Our Collective Alienation?

I recently attended the seventh birthday party of a friend's daughter at a place called The Main Event in Austin. I'd been there before; it's one of those over-stimulating kiddie havens, throbbing with the electronic complaints of hundreds of video games. Strobe-lit in day-glo colors, it's an epileptic seizure waiting to happen. As a parent of children in the 3 to 10 age range, it's inevitable that we will spend some time in one of these hells, at the behest of a friend, at least two or three times a year, in a good year.

At one point -- it was one of those kid-centered, cake-eating moments -- I happened to look up from checking email on my Blackberry when I was struck by something: Nearly every other adult in the room was doing what looked suspiciously like what I was doing at that moment. We lined the walls of the little party room, each of us in our own, separate cyber-world.

I found the moment disturbing. I'm often one who sings the praises of technology these days, so pleased am I to have reconnected with so many long-lost friends via Facebook, for example.

And I really do mean that, with not a speck of irony or sarcasm intended. How else would I be in regular contact with Gayle Saks, Miki Kasai, and Ruben Howard? Ruben Howard, for God's sake! I hadn't heard from that dude in years and years. Now I get to hear him rant about the economy on a regular basis! And I get to hear about my former students and how their lives are shaping up as adults. In a word, it's the coolest.

But there is a flipside to this. I am constantly, and I mean constantly, wondering if anyone has anything new to say. On Facebook, Twitter, wherever. If I've floated an idea, like this blogpost, in a cyberbasket down the River Cyber, like a little CyberMoses, I'm in an ongoing, sustained state of anticipation. And when I check my pages for like the umpteenth time, and I see that there have been exactly 0 responses, I am decidedly dejected, bordering on the Big D-word, dare I say it, DEPRESSED.

All of which leads me to the question: Does being able to see what some 600 "friends" are thinking and feeling at any given moment necessarily mean I am any less alone than I've ever been in the world? If you feel sad for me, feel free to "poke" me. But the question remains -- will all that poking make me feel more loved, or more alone?

In the words of Michael Scott, "That's what she said."

Sorry, I couldn't resist.