• by George Simpson , Featured Contributor, January 3, 2005

Like a light snowfall in the night, predictions for '05 now blanket the landscape. Fortunately, clearing them away--so that you don't believe one, then slip and break your neck--is not as labor-intensive as real snow. A simple "What the hell does HE know?" should suffice.

Interestingly, in all the prognostication I've pondered thus far, none has shined a light on the most likely development: the end of all face-to-face human interaction. Yes, this is the year that technology will enable us to live within the same house without ever seeing one another. Let's see how it will work in a typical suburban house with two parents (in a nod to the red states, let's have a Mom and a Dad), two kids (Jr. and Sis), and a dog (Kevin).

Because this is a modern, upper-income, suburban home (where a whiny "The entire eighth grade has one except me..." drives more unnecessary purchases than a truckload of plastic gift cards), the whole house is Wi-Fi-ed for Internet access--and everyone (except Kevin) has a PC, a BlackBerry, a photo/cell phone, an IM account, e-mail, and individual TV sets with Playstations attached to them.

It starts innocently enough. Since Mom and Dad are at work much of the day, they sent IMs to the kids to ask how school was and to see if anyone has fed Kevin. Nobody has (again)--so they set up a dog blog to keep track of if and when Kevin eats and is let out to do his business (which includes barking at the deer.) Within days, a PR rep from Purina enters the blog and tries to subtly talk up an upscale new dog food. He is ignored.

By the time Dad gets home, Jr. has gotten a ride to basketball practice, but he's left an e-mail claiming that he has finished his homework. Sis is on the phone to someone who lives near enough to hit with a well-thrown rock, but prefers cell contact. She sees from caller ID that it is just Dad from downstairs, so as usual, ignores the call waiting beep.

Mom sends BlackBerry e-mail saying the train has broken down in Larchmont (a not infrequent occurrence) and her ETA is unknown. While Dad is watching the news, Jr. apparently returns home and heads straight for Playstation, skipping the prehistoric notion of greeting his father.

Sis uses the house phone intercom to ask Dad when dinner is. Dad does what Dads do best in the kitchen: he orders pizza. On delivery, Dad hollers "Dinner!" up the darkened staircase, then returns to TV and a nearby PC to watch the UConn game and catch up on e-mailed newsletters.

Jr. and Sis appear at different times to gather pizza slices, then retreat back to their warrens, where Sis goes online to IM her 273 best friends, and Jr. watches TV while playing an online game while listening to MP3s he downloaded yesterday. Oh--and reads his English Lit assignment.

Mom calls her sister on her cell to rant about Metro North. It is a rant repeated by the thousands as other passengers kill time on their cell phones. Dad gets an e-mail that the train had begun to move. UConn is up by 23 at the half. He IMs Jr. to tell him the score. Jr. IMs back, asking if he can have his allowance early this week.

When Mom arrives home, Dad is watching "West Wing," Jr. is up to level seven in his game, and Sis is back on her cell. Kevin, however, gives her a welcome home lick on the hand.

When Mom knocks at Sis's door, she hears back a friendly, yet unequivocal, "Not NOW!" The same knock on Jr.'s door is drowned out by Green Day and the sound of gunfire. It is possible a voice said "Later." But she can't be sure.

>From the bathroom she asks her husband how his day was, but hears back, "Hang on--I think Bartlett is dying of MS." She settles for cold pizza with Kevin. She almost catches sight of her daughter making a run at the freezer, but can't recall, since Mom has fallen asleep on the couch watching an HBO movie. When she comes to bed at 11, Dad is fast asleep.

She has left a note on the counter wishing her kids a good next day at school. But Kevin eats it, along with her unfinished slice of pizza.

Jr. falls asleep after having cybersex with someone purporting to be a cheerleader and part-time model at Southern Cal. Sis makes her last cell call at midnight. It is to leave a VM on Mom's cell asking her if she can leave a check for the school yearbook on the counter.

At some point during the night, Kevin pees on the kitchen floor because, once again, no one has read the dog blog where there is posted a reminder-- left by the Purina guy--to be sure and let Kevin out once before bedtime.