And so, the New York Times observes, again, that living off-line can be uncomfortable. It's a wonderful little story by Wyatt Mason that delves into what makes a relationship and a community.
I did, I confess, begin to trespass variously against our new neighbors, in search of e-mail. I did drive with suspicious slowness down leafy lanes, laptop flagrantly agape in the passenger seat, pulling into driveways where I had no honest business. Idling in front of a house from which an unprotected network might be pulsing, I did master the art of holding a map in my left hand and squinting confusedly at its surface while pointing and clicking and connecting discreetly with my hidden right. Nor were my hunting expeditions always automotive. By the time July rolled in and I was gardening (with clothes on) and taking photos with my laptop camera of my proud crop of organic kale, I noticed the plucky, single WiFi-signal bar I’d not seen before, faint, but promising. Bearing the machine before me like some dowser of yore by modernity deranged, I let the machine lead me from the garden and deep into the woods, where I found, broadcast by what knotty pine I couldn’t say, the signal strength I sought. Did I get my e-mail? Yes. I also got stung by a hornet in the process. At the time it seemed like an even-enough trade.
Here's a link to the article.
