Forbidden Fruit
J. Kevin Tumlinson

You know what would be cool? It'd be pretty cool if you could take it all with you. All of that stuff on the web that you find so interesting, it'd be neat if you could package it up, stick it in your pocket, pull it out whenever you were bored. I suppose you could print it, but the reams of paper you'd use would fell rainforests for acres upon acres around the globe, leading to man's inevitable destruction.

Too bad.

But wait! What about a laptop? That's portable, right? Heck, you can sit on the beach in Maui, sip something adult and intoxicating out of a coconut, and chat with your buddy in Squat-diddly Arkansas all at the same time. The perfect solution, right?

Still a little bulky, though. How about palm tops? They make those with cellular antennas now, don't they? You can download your stocks while waiting in line to buy your socks. You can IM with your Granny while waiting to win a Grammy. Heck, you could e-mail your girl friend while you... do something that rhymes with girlfriend.

It's a web surfing world after all. Heck, there's hardly a reason to stay home anymore.

But what does all of this gallivanting amount to? Are we possibly becoming too web savvy for our own good? It's possible. I discovered it for myself when I was asked to look up the number for the movie theater in the phone book.

I refused. I said, "Don't you have the web? Let's just log on and look up their web site."

"My connection is really slow," said my girlfriend. She's tech, but not so much as I am. She's happy with her dial up. Her 56k. Her antiquated, carbon dated access to the pulse of the living beast that is information.

"I hate the phone book," I said, feeling suddenly sullen and agitated. With good reason. I haven't looked at phone book in ten years. Why would I? I carry every phone number on earth with me on my Palm. Why, oh why, would I ever, ever look at a big, yellow, confusing collection of paid ads? The "confusing" part is probably why.

When did the phone book become so complicated? Or is it just me? At some point I managed to forget just how to use the darn thing. It became intimidating. It haunts me. It shows up on the doorstep of my apartment every few months, no matter how far I drive to throw it in the dumpster.

My phone book phobia is just one of many symptoms I suffer due to my growing dependency on the web. And the fact that I can take the web anywhere doesn't help things much. I'm starting to get a little paranoid here. Could it be that the government has finally found the one drug that will enslave mankind-a narcotic we are powerless against? Could it be that the web is the "lotus leaves" of our generation (see Homer for vague references. Note: Not Homer Simpson, the other one)?

As I sit here, forty pounds over-weight, snacking on my Papa John's pizza (ordered from their web site at www.papajohns.com), sipping my Coke from a 2-liter bottle (also delivered by Papa John's), I can't help but believe that it's true. I can almost feel my body dissolving into a useless mush with every web site I visit.

The fact that I can now take the web on the road with me brings no solace. I'm not exactly going to surf the web while I jog. So when I do get out of the house, I find myself plopping down on a park bench, in a fast food restaurant, in a hotel room-becoming completely inactive physically and staring somewhat vacantly at my Palm Pilot or my laptop. Of course, I do take the occasional break to watch T.V.

I'm caught in the loop. Or, if you can forgive the pun, I'm caught in the web. Every movement I make puts out a vibration that just draws Mr. Spider closer. What's a boy to do?

But is it all bad? I mean, because of my mobile link to the vast resources of the web, I never get lost. I always have a map, complete with guides to hotels and restaurants. If I find myself on foreign soil, I have an easily upgradeable dictionary to help get me through those tight spots, such as "Where are your disease free bathrooms?" If I need instructions on how to assemble a makeshift hang glider (presumably to escape a psychopathic madman at the top of a craggy cliff face), POOF! Like a magic genie, the web delivers the goods.

So there's a trade off. It's really the same one we've been given since the dawn of time. Think about it... Adam and Eve were told they couldn't partake of the Tree of Knowledge or they'd surely die. These days, our Tree of Knowledge is the web, and maybe it's helping us to early graves by causing us to allow our bodies to deteriorate into so much oatmeal.

Maybe we just need the self-control and the inner strength to step away from the web every now and then and let life surprise us. I'll make you a deal. I'll start spending less time at my desk, reading web-articles about the mating habits of the South American log lizard, and get out of the apartment more, take a walk, enjoy a web free moment each day. I'll do it, if you will. Heck, maybe we'll bump into each other out there!

Then we can come back to our computers and e-mail each other about it.

J. Kevin Tumlinson is a writer, web designer and a schoolteacher living in Lake Jackson, Texas. He has a background in Electronics Engineering, Television and Radio, and degrees in English and Communications. He actually does get out of the house every now and then.