Phantom Syndrome

A phantom limb is the sensation that an amputated or missing limb is still attached to the body and is moving appropriately with other body parts (Mitchell 1871; Melzack 1992; Ramachandran & Hirstein 1998). Approximately 50 to 80% of amputees experience these phantom sensations in their amputated limb, and the majority of these people report that the sensations are painful (Sherman, Sherman & Parker 1984). (Wikipedia)


Although I'm demonstrating a callous insensitvity toward true amputees, I'm quasi-justified by the fact that this syndome can be used to describe something so trivial as a tooth extraction. Yes, being without my computer hurts.

I feel like there are three rough ways you can divide Americans up. The first group is defined by a total incongruence with technology. This group is comprised of those over 60, children of hippies, (although some of them own Macs) and most parents. To this person, technology is a train so long ago departed she has no hope of catching up to it on her rusting, single speed eco-conscious bicycle.

The second group of people is more or less up to speed on mainstream digital know-how. Perhaps she just defragmented her hard drive, successfully (although with considerable frustration and many calls to a member of the yet unmentioned third group) saved her data from the blue screen of death, and can converse in pdf, doc, jpg, and maybe even some html. This train rider loves the exhilarating sense of speed so much she doesn't care that she left her bike behind.

Finally, we get to the third and most obnoxious group of people. Scorned equally by members of the first and second groups (until said problems arise) she is so una-bash-edly in love with technology she has totally lost grep with the social awk-wardness she exudes. In fact she is immersed to the point of being jaded. Computer sleight-of-mouse she takes for granted, fully embracing the fact that her life is symbiotic with those spinning platters of metal containing that digital analog of her life called "My Documents". This train rider is most often seen sitting in the aisle seat listening to her iPod (or Zen Vision:M or Archos PMP or what have you) whilst tooling away on her Japanese laptop that has white text on a black background. In short, she is so damn sick of the bumpy train ride she wishes they'd invent anti-gravity travel already. All the same, every so often while her code is compiling she has a chance to reflect on those days when life was nothing but riding circles around her cul-de-sac, the days before her dad brought home the first DEC workstation which he won from his co-workers off a bet on compiler branch prediction optimization.

What's interesting to me is you can't really be happy no matter which group you land in. If you're that first sort of person, you probably feel about as lost as an American working for an Italian company living in a city the size of a swimming pool. On the other hand once you get familiar with technology the power of computers is revealed to you but you're still helpless, kind of like expecting a baby with a bigger hammer to build a house. Being a computer superstar is no better though; not only are people constantly making fun of the way you dress, you've invested so much time with computers the only explanations are you either have a job with them (misery) or you're surrounded by people who do. (insanity)

I find myself situated squarely in the second group. Though I used to be a full fledged computer dork, since leaving school I bought a Mac and it's really hard to call yourself a computer rockstar with only one mouse button. Losing my hard drive made me painfully aware of how dependent on that stupid thing I am, and how helpless (apparently one-click backup solutions are waaaaay to complicated) I am when things go wrong. I have to write a formal grant request in Italian and include a copy of my resumé. Well, my resumé is gone with my computer, so I have to make a new one, but I kind of forget what was on it. What is the solution? Email a person to whom I had emailed a copy of my resumé recently, and ask him to send it back to me. The problem? Now my resumé is a pdf, impossible to edit. What do I do? Use a program to reverse-transfer a pdf back into Latex so I can edit it, reprint as a pdf, and include it in my request. And I say I'm determined to not spend more time with computers....