Reflections of a ModemJunkie
                     by Leonard A. Grossman


    Oh wad some power the giftie gie us 
    To see oursel's as others see us! 
    It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 
    And foolish notion.  

     Ah yes.. from way back in the recesses of my mind these
words of Robert Burns have come back to haunt me in recent weeks. 
Actually, the exact words didn't come to mind, but I wanted to
get it right. So, I logged on to the Internet and checked out
Bartletts Quotations.  In a few seconds I had the exact quote.
Cut and paste-- click-- and here they are.

     But the power of the Internet as a search tool isn't my
topic, today.  Today's subject is rather more personal.  For
several years I have written columns under the title,
"Reflections of a ModemJunkie,"  without giving the full
implications much thought.  I have joked about my online
"addiction."  But never _really_ understood what I was saying. 

     Then, the other day, there was a post in a general chat
newsgroup on the Internet asking if there were any Internet
hobbyists out there, individuals who spend a significant time on
the net, who would be interested in discussing the Internet with
a reporter from Channel 7, the local ABC outlet.

     I responded and shortly later was given a number to call at
the station.  I spoke for quite some time to a reporter, Sylvia
Jones, who seemed genuinely interested in the Internet.  I talked
at some length about many of the things I have discussed here
before--E-mail, news groups, the Web.  I talked about its use as
a research tool and as entertainment and about my daughter's use
of the Net as well.  It seemed that the station was planning a
feature on the Internet.  When could they come out and do an
interview?  Would my daughter be available?  Whose ego can say,
No?

     The following Monday was a holiday. At the appointed hour a
beat up Chevy arrived with a camera man and the reporter.  They
squeezed into my study.. For the next hour they interviewed me
and, in turn, my daughter.  

     I waxed eloquent about the glories of the net.  I didn't
catch on when they asked if I were addicted.  I joked about the
name of this column and about a twelve step program for modem
junkies that doesn't work because you have to log on.  This
discussion was two or three sentences in more than twenty minutes
of tape.

     My daughter isn't as slow as her dad.  When they asked her
if she were addicted she replied with a forthright, "NO!"  Asked
if she would feel bad if I wouldn't let her use the computer, she
said, "Yes. But I'd feel bad if they closed the library, too.
They are both tools I use."  She talked about her chat line and
about how the Internet helps her with her homework.

     We learned that the feature was to appear a week later on
the 10:00 news.  I eagerly awaited the news.  I turned on the set
a few minutes early.  I put a blank tape in the machine and got
ready to start recording.  But before I could even start, before
the end of the previous show, there was a promo-- I recognized
myself and then a great shot of my daughter typing away.  As the
voice over said, "Stay tuned for our Special Segment, `Terminal
Addiction!'"

     My heart sank... Was I going to look like some helpless
nerd, with no social skills, stuck at this keyboard with no other
life.  After all, the Special Segment often deals with terminal
illnesses of another kind.  Were we just another piece of fodder
for news as soap opera as it seems to be, lately.

     Of course, the only quotes they used were the two sentences
about addiction, and they left out my daughter's spirited
defense.  But although I thought I looked quite old and tired,
the program did put its negativism in some context and compared
modem addiction to t.v. watching couch potatoes quite favorably. 
And my daughter looked great.  

     Still, it was a lesson in ego and perception.  Over the next
few weeks, many friends mentioned having seen me.  Only a few
razzed me about my addiction.  I even heard from a student from
my teaching days in the 70's.  Most told me how good I looked. 
Old ladies told me they were proud of me.  I wondered how much
they had understood.  Being on t.v. creates a minor thrill of
celebrity.  Some people actually acted a little shy around me for
a day or so, as they approached to say the saw me. 

     The congratulations amazed me. This was a show about
confessed addiction, even if it was good natured.  Would some
people still have congratulated me if it was about wife beating
or cheating on my income tax or alcoholism?

     The strangest thing was all of those who told me how good I
looked.  I saw this old tired, somewhat overweight, guy. (The
twenty pounds I lost since last summer seemed to have been
restored by the camera).  But then I realized something.  I don't
see myself as others see me.  

     In my mind's eye I still see a younger man.  I see the kid
who was so skinny he thought he'd get sand kicked in his face at
the beach.  But my friends see me as I am.  They were not shocked
by what they saw.  They were not comparing me to some ideal but
to the guy they know. That test I can pass.  And for that I am
grateful.

     Perhaps it would be a great gift to see ourselves as others
see us...or not.

copyright 1996 Leonard Grossman
grossman@mcs.com
grossman@syslink.mcs.com