In The Matrix, the recent box-office hit now on DVD, Keanu Reeves and his leather-clad gang spend quite a bit of time staring at green columns of digital characters that stream down their computer monitors. These columns, our protagonists explain, represent the incredibly complex digital reconstruction of the 20th century human world--a vast computer program affectionately known as, well, the Matrix. By staring at these columns, those outside the Matrix can "see" what's going on within. "I don't even see the code," boasts one of the male techies as he points to various spots in the flickering green monitor. "All I see is brunette, blond, red-head."

These days, I too have been spending quite a bit a lot of time staring at green columns of digital characters that stream down my computer screen. The ASCII characters on my screen don't look nearly as cool as the ones created by Warner Brothers. Nor do these characters represent anything close to an elaborate human prison designed by intelligent robots gone sour. But Keanu's Matrix is my Unix, and like my stolid friend, I can see what people are up to. Sort of.

Almost everyone familiar with Unix knows that typing "who" at the fas% prompt will bring up a list of users on a given login machine. Typing "w" will display that same list, but it will also display what each of those users is doing at that very moment. We've all done it at one point. Those who haven't will most likely run to their computers to try it now.

It's really not all that exciting--at least, that's what my friends tell me. But I can't seem to get enough. Perhaps it's some perverse personal flaw, but I think I've become some kind of digital peeping tom.

True, these lines of green text are not all that informative. For one thing, they only report the specific Unix operations that the particular users on your login are performing at that particular moment in time. In other words, you get a long list of unfamiliar user names, each usually followed by the word "pine." On some rare occasions you might even see something as interesting as "telnet hollis." Or, if you get really lucky, someone might be running "ytalk" or "finger."

But my fascination with these digital columns doesn't stem from the fact that I know what people are doing. Rather, it's because I think I do. Or, more specifically, I think I can figure it out.

Why, for example, at "Mon Oct 25 17:35:22 EDT 1999", did "bob53" ph "aasmith"? (All the usernames from here on in have been replaced with pseudo-usernames). What did "minitrof" have to ytalk about with "emclurm" yesterday afternoon? They were chatting for an awfully long time. Does "dewed" have a secret crush on "prinik"? Or is such repeated use of the finger command signify something more benign?

I'll probably never know the real answers. But that doesn't stop me from interpreting these fuzzy snapshots of digital activity. Using the wonderful Unix tools at my fingertips, I shamelessly extrapolate beyond the virtual realm, weaving intricate stories about semi-fictional characters I will never meet. I create elaborate personae based on three-line ".plan" files. I conjecture wild theories based on the geographic information garnered from "ph." In my fictional world, login information from "last" becomes nothing less than a complete roadmap of someone's daily schedule. And slowly, these 4-8 character user names develop personalities and plots.

I begin to "see" things in my Matrix.

I know that "ajchun" and "ktsmith" are close blockmates because they "write" each other on a regular basis. I know that if Shuttleboy were ever to disappear, regular Quad users like "ajjoh" and "vollnin" would be heartbroken. I speculate that "lianate" must have had some sort of a fight with "moseau"--why else would he not respond to his roommate's "ytalk" request? I cheer "kmrote" for dedicating so much time to editing her webpage and I silently chide the inconsiderate ones--who I won't name, even in pseudo-username--who idle at the Science Center kiosks for longer than 5 minutes during peak hours.

With a kind of breathless fascination I watch the digital dynamic scroll before me--a fragmented picture of activity that all but invites interpretation. Contrary to stalking, which implies singling out a particular person, "w" displays a sea of faceless usernames. It is this impersonality and vagueness that makes it so addictive. The groundless deconstruction and reconstruction of these ever-changing green columns has become a part-time hobby.

The ironic thing is that everyone can do it; everyone can get hooked--especially during reading period, when procrastination consumes us all. Imagine all of us sitting in front of our keyboards, ignoring our term papers and final exams, staring intently into a sea of streaming green columns, hitting w... w... w... We'd all be watching each other, watching other people watch each other.

Richard S. Lee '01 is a social studies concentrator in Pforzheimer House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.