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Into the Wild

Wednesday, September 15th, 2010

What happens when five highly ambitious and educated scientists, who (like the rest of the civilized world) have come to live life through a lens of technological haze, embark on a 5-day camping trip without cell phones, e-mail, and an atmosphere of multitasking and keystrokes? Matt Ritchel, a journalist for the New York Times, sought the answer to this question in his recent article entitled “Outdoors and Out of Reach, Studying the Brain.” His subjects were a group of lively neuroscientists. They boast professorship at several prestigious universities in the Midwest—Kansas, Utah, Washington (St. Louis), and Illinois. Academic in its core, this excursion into the wilderness of Utah was not only a chance to experience the exhilarating danger of river rafting, the exquisite beauty of canyon rock, and the male bonding of campfire star gazing over bottles of beer, but also a chance to study what happens to the brain and attention span when electronic devices are rendered useless.

Of course, for high-powered scientists with hundreds of e-mails flooding inboxes by the hour, this isolation was easier said than done. One of the men, a Mr. Cramer, toted an “emergency satellite cell phone” with “emergency text message” capabilities along on the journey. The use of the word “emergency” seems a bit ridiculous in this case. The phone was not carried for safety. It wasn’t meant to call for help in the event of a rockslide, animal attack, forest fire, or random violent act of nature. Mr. Cramer was awaiting a very important e-mail—one that would tell him if he had received a 25 million dollar research grant. He had instructed his staff to send an “emergency” text message to the “emergency” phone in the case that the grant was received. I find that this says something about the priorities of the world today…

Following this example of technology addiction, Matt Ritchel continued his article with a discussion of technology redefining a sense of urgency. I thought immediately of the fast pace of text message conversations, Facebook instant messages, and plan-making. In my world, more than a two-minute lapse of conversation is an eternity. After ten minutes without a text, one person inevitably gives up and leaves the interaction (most likely holding a grudge.) Immersion in technology has completely changed our ability to focus. We can’t just sit still anymore. Even when sitting in front of the TV, I watch my little brother update his Facebook status hourly and search for new shoes on the family iPad. Just sitting has become a waste of time.

The men portrayed in this article had a chance to escape the fidgeting restlessness of the urban world and just “be.” According to Mr. Strayer, the scientist who organized the trip, being in a completely natural setting allows the brain to rest. Urban existence involves constant information intake and analysis. Think about all you take in during a one-block walk down a city street: flashing colored signals, the lingering smell of exhaust, a sidewalk sale to consider, the bare shoulders of strangers brushing your own, a string of “excuse me”s and blindly moving feet as eyes stare captivated at smart phones. It’s a jungle out there, and it’s a wonder the brain can even keep up.

Unsurprisingly, the ability of the brain to interpret new gadgets and information flow has become a huge area of research. In fact, the study of focus has become so popular that researchers have now mastered multitasking in their study of multitasking. Another scientist on the trip, Mr. Yantis, demonstrates this notion as he states; “We can study the brain and mind together in a rigorous scientific way.”

However, despite the use of multitasking to study multitasking, behavioral studies show that “performance suffers when people multitask.” One interesting example of this is the theory (provided by Mr. Yantis) that “the expectation of e-mail seems to be taking up working memory.” This leaves less space for reasoning and storing ideas. Essentially, as we try to enhance our ability to take in information by staying connected, we actually inhibit it. The addiction to technology in tiny moments of boredom has become an obsession—likely leading to poor decision making (like texting while driving for instance.)

Uninterrupted by e-mail or cell phone service, the men on this woodsy adventure were able to let their brains function organically for five days. The ideas flowed. Hiking, rafting, and reflecting, the group discussed neuroeconomics, neuroimaging, and research as time ticked by slowly and the scenery remained breathtaking. By the end of the trip, morning coffee was skipped and watches were freed from wrists. These were small yet significant steps toward cleaning up technology-infused brains.

To prevent the sort of reverse-evolution that seems to be going on in our brains, (focus being reduced rather than enhanced by streaming arbitrary media), perhaps we all just need to go on vacation in the deep, deep woods.

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Where you At? Oh Wait… I Already Know.

Monday, August 30th, 2010

It’s official. Facebook is now inescapable, even in the “real world.” The company has released a new feature called “Places.” Using your iPhone or smart phone you can now “check in” at your favorite local theaters, restaurants, and bars—letting all of your friends (yes, even your freshly-facebook-indoctrinated Grandmother) know exactly where you are at all times. You can see any friends who are “checked in” nearby, and tag any friends who are with you. The idea, as the creator Michael Sharon states, is not to be “a service to broadcast your location at all times, but rather one to share where you are, who you are with, when you want to.” Sure, it boosts advertising and extends a network that has completely changed social interaction… but I find “Places” to be borderline creepy. It’s already nearly impossible to go anywhere or do anything without seeking some sort of Facebook recognition for it. Every major (and minor) event ends with a Facebook album of “tagged” faces showing where you’ve been. It’s kind of unnerving when you show up to your family reunion and the aunts and uncles remark that you “look like you’ve been having a lot of fun this summer in all of those pictures from concerts and days at the beach!”

Privacy has definitely changed. “Places” only offers the opportunity for less of it. If I want to get a group of friends together, I think I’ll stick with the mass text message. I don’t plan on staging any “spontaneous” run-ins with friends I stalk on my news feed. I am not looking forward to the day when “Hey, my Facebook page told me you’d be here and I just thought I’d drop by (wink)” becomes the new pickup line.

The Comics

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010

cartoon

Today, I discovered the comics. Most mornings I skim through the front page, maintaining my vow to stay informed, yet also buying into the whole “there’s never enough time” mentality. On a week long vacation however, there are ample hours.

As I sat writing a letter to a friend from school, my grandmother asked me if I ever read the funnies (later she would state her surprise at the fact I was writing “snail mail.” I could tell she was proud I wasn’t letting the art of letter writing die out like so much of my generation has…) When I told her that I don’t often get to them, she placed the paper in front of me and told me that I had to today. I stumbled across this one, and found that it puts everything I’ve been writing about into three tidy boxes and sums it all up in 29 words. Sometimes I think we could all use a significant amount of time at Camp AwannaGoHome.

In her last letter, my friend told me about a two-day power outage she experienced in her Minnesota hometown. She wrote the letter by candlelight, saying that it was all so romantic at first, but now the food in the refrigerator had spoiled and life without the internet just wasn’t as fun. Everything we do depends upon continuous innovation and transforming technology. Do we have the ability to give it up? Even camping trips to the wilderness involve battery operated lanterns, GPS systems, and cell phones for emergencies. Maybe someone should create a camp like the environment portrayed in this short comic strip—A camp where kids are taught to miss their parents more than their game boys and electronics. Whether or not this camp would have any occupants is the only issue.

Summerfest…. With a Cell Phone Screen

Tuesday, August 17th, 2010

This past month, the white gates and pavement that stretches beyond them, having stood untouched and eerie in their grand scale emptiness for three long seasons, finally opened. Summerfest’s park (housing these eleven days of music festival) floods for the last weeks of June and the first week of July with a daytime crowd of aging hippies, nuclear families equipped with high-end strollers and sunscreen, and pre-teens barred from trolling the same asphalt after dark. When darkness does fall, the venue transforms into a drunken menagerie of interweaving melodies, glowstick necklaces, tabletop dancing, and endless possiblities for a hoard of 20-somethings. At least that’s the impression I’ve gotten in the past two years of adventures at this festival that makes Milwaukee famous.

The music is diverse, and the people watching is some of the best you will ever come across. Now that I’ve given a brief image of the chaotic panorama that is Summerfest post-sunset, and pointed out that those over age 35 don’t exactly fit into the scene, I’ll argue that my generation’s use of technology helps to maintain Summerfest’s nighttime setting of youthful shenanigans. Like every other public setting these days, we don’t leave home without our cell phones. We don’t wear watches, and we rely on their blue-lit screens to plan everything.

The texting begins around 7 pm. Sent out en mass to groups of friends, these messages ask first: “What’s going on tonight?” “Who’s playing at summerfest?” “Where’s the pre-party?” and continue on to “Which bus are we taking?” “What stage are we meeting at?” Inevitably, the group is split up into segments of 4 or 5, all planning to meet in one location. At a festival where you can hardly hear yourself think let alone answer a phone call while being swallowed by a mutating crowd, texting is essential.

Dancing atop a row of bleachers at a concert given by the reggae/electronic band “Thievery Corporation,” my friend clutched my elbow and leaned in to yell into my ear the whereabouts of different members of the group we had come with. After every song finished, and we had erupted with the crowd with out own shouts of appreciation and standard waving of arms in the air, we checked our phones again—a clockwork addiction.

Yes, our constant use of cell phones, connected to our hips, does help us to keep track of each other at somewhat sketchy locations like this. In allowing us to be in such quick contact, we have a new freedom. We scatter. We don’t have to stick together in one huge pack. Instead, we run around in groups of two and three, confident that we can find our way back with the light of technology. But with this undying faith, we don’t account for potential mishaps. We assume that everyone has a phone at all times. We decide that if a text message was sent saying that a group is leaving on a bus at a certain time, it’s up to the person who receives it to figure it out and make it there. “Well I texted you!” becomes a rampant excuse in angry arguments when buses are missed or groups feel “ditched.” Not to mention the loss of musical experience when screens are checked incessantly. It’s a sort of Catch-22. Our technological connectedness offers a sense of security and unparalleled ability to socially organize a night out, but this sense of security can leave us ultimately less secure and more divided. We are offered both more and less freedom. And let’s not forget, our personal squares of technology aren’t invincible. In Cream City, the possibility (and inevitability) of spilled beer is definitely something to cry over.

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Drake: A Celebrity Example of Our Technological Transformation

Monday, August 16th, 2010

As he confidently stares into the lens of the camera with a smirk plastered across his handsome latte colored cheeks, the up and coming rapper/R&B artist “Drake” speaks of his method for putting his constant lyrical ideas into concrete form. He reveals that the “pen to paper thing” doesn’t really work for him. In his world, the sleek black shape of a Blackberry phone is his go-to device. He tells his audience; “It’s like my thumbs were made for those keys.”

A short segment in the recent MTV documentary entitled “Drake:Better than Good Enough,”this Blackberry scene was likely meant to be a simple fun fact to make the viewer laugh and find Drake (aka Aubrey Graham, a childhood actor on the set of Degrassi and rising star in the rap and music realm) that much more charming. However, it resonated with me for different reasons. Drake finds himself unable to express himself through a medium that has been used…well, forever. His producers literally keep a dozen Blackberry mobile devices (most of which don’t even work beyond the word processing application) on hand just in case Drake comes across inspiration and doesn’t have his within reach. He is an example of how technology has come to change the way we think, act, and live. Drake’s quip about thumbs molded to tiny plastic keys is one that may actually have merit. Don’t we learn how to manipulate our bodies in order to use technology?

After countless hours spent pounding the keys of this MacBook, day after day, practicing the skill of typing I began to learn as a third grader, my thoughts become black sentences and paragraphs on screen at a rate of hundreds of words per minute. I have essentially rewired my brain, teaching my fingers how to translate the web of words in my mind. Even without a keyboard in front of me, I could probably tap where the keys would be on a blank surface accurately. Though I suppose this is true of any skill, it is still pretty amazing to think about. We are constantly adapting—living in a period of technological evolution. We adopt machines into our everyday lives. This cooperation is an incredible feat, but of course there are always positive and negative aspects. Maintaining Drake’s example, his addiction to typed text on a specific device allows him to assert his creativity more quickly and offers the possibility of sending anywhere—a plus in the marketing and production world of music. But what about the loss of tradition? The absence of the unique scrawl of letters that will say something about an artist after he or she is dead and gone? There is something so romantic and so necessary about handwriting. When I think of great musical lyrics in their infancies, I think of black ink on coffee-ringed paper, smeared in its effort to let out ideas that tumble at relentless speed. But hey, maybe I should just embrace the change.

Start Stumbling

Thursday, August 5th, 2010

Chris is a mysterious man with very specific needs. His letters are posted all over New York City, catching the eye, and bewildered smile, of thousands. Chris posts his requests in all capital letters. For your viewing pleasure, here are a few of his messages:

stumble

Chris is a fictional character created by a man named Todd Lamb in 2008. He is an ongoing project and social experiment. He is also an example of the millions of stories out there in cyberspace just waiting to be found. I “stumbled” upon Chris.

I have recently become a frequent user of the blossoming internet experience that is stumbleupon.com. It is an entirely new way to experience and explore the internet, and it allows the discovery of obscure corners that never would have been found otherwise. For those who haven’t heard of “stumbling” and its satisfying results, let me fill you in.

Referencing another website that changed the way the internet was used, Wikipedia does a great job of summarizing stumbleupon.com’s innovative goals. The free encyclopedia well-known for its ability to be revised by almost anyone, states that StumbleUpon is “an Internet community that allows its users to discover and rate Web pages, photos, and videos. It is a personalized recommendation engine which uses peer and social-networking principles.” Based on categories a user identifies as interesting to produce links to sites that meet this personal criteria, “stumbling” makes surfing the web a lot like channel surfing—with only channels that have to do with what you like. Of course, it can be argued that this limits the user experience by allowing only exploration of things he/she already likes, prohibiting the discovery of websites outside of a predefined comfort zone. Despite this valid argument, I have found that stumbleupon allows me to broaden my horizons much more than it confines them. The more boxes I click when asked what sorts of things interest me, the greater variety of information I have access to. Only one site at a time is visited, so I am not overwhelmed by the overflow of stimuli that is so prevalent with most internet communities (i.e. Facebook).

Before discovering the cleverly and appropriately named web surfing method of “stumbling,” I was baffled as to how one could even “surf” the internet. With search engines and web addresses I always had to know exactly what I was searching for. What about all of those places in the world of the web whose subject matter existed, but had never even crossed my mind? StumbleUpon (and its branching sites StumbleVideo and StumbleThru) allows a new form of self expression for a new social era. Many times I have found videos, images and text that leave me laughing out loud, reflective, or inspired. Wanting to share these feelings with my friends and social network, StumbleUpon gives me the opportunity to link a site directly to my Facebook page. Instantly, my friends have access to a website that means something to me, and consequently says something about me as well. Living in a world where it seems that a large part of identity is created through technology, “stumbling” allows yet another nuance of defining the individual. It offers a new way to mold the identity that expresses the way you want to be perceived by the outside world. To “stumble” is to create your own nook in the infinite space of the internet—a nook which all of your friends can visit and admire.

Physically Present, Mentally Absent

Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010

Reading to your kid, an aspect of parenting I was lucky enough to get a healthy dose of, seems like a simple task. However, the social norms of the modern era often push it, and other parallel parenting tasks, to the bottom of the priority list. We believe that we have conquered time. Every hour is for productivity. Seldom is there a moment where just one thing is done. The 9 to 5 job has become 24 hours long. Cell phones do not turn off, or, God forbid, lose their charge. We are constantly on call. Staring at screens with tired eyes and furrowed brows, we juggle our devices, treating them like people and forgetting that they are hardwired plastic.

In a recent article in the New York Times by Julie Scelfo, the dangers of the enslaving qualities of electronics and technology are analyzed in the job that is supposed to be full time: parenthood. Though the use of technology by children is often examined in relationship to their development, the use of technology by their parents may play just as large a role. Doctor Turkle, the director of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Initiative on Technology and Self quoted in the article, states; “There’s something that’s so engrossing about the kind of interactions people do with screens that they wall out the world,” she said. “I’ve talked to children who try to get their parents to stop texting while driving and they get resistance, ‘Oh, just one, just one more quick one, honey.’ It’s like ‘one more drink.’ ” Could technology be as damaging as a disease as severe as alcoholism as this quote suggests? Most would scoff at this comparison, but it does have merit. Technology has addictive qualities. It can both strengthen and inhibit communication. This is true too in the realm of parenting. A parent may be home more due to the freedom that smartphones and internet access allow, but this time spent at home could be of lower quality. Ignoring a child, even momentarily, in order to send off one more business e-mail, or check one more text message, can become habit. Every time this occurs, fewer words are exchanged between parent and child—words that are the building blocks of social and intellectual development.

From fights over too-full laundry hampers and living room spills to full-fledge political discussions, the billions of words I have exchanged with my parents throughout my lifetime have created the person I am today. Scelfo’s article, “The Risks of Parenting While Plugged In,” referenced a study that analyzed the culminating impact of these strands of words statistically. It looked at the socioeconomics of the sentences spoken among families in their private homes, and found that “children in higher socioeconomic homes hear an average of 2,153 words an hour, whereas those in working-class households hear only about 1,251; children in the study whose parents were on welfare heard an average of 616 words an hour.” Looking at this data, it seems that future success and development correlate with the number of words exchanged between parent and child. Granted, this is a huge generalization, but it seems likely that the parents on the high end of the socioeconomic spectrum may have more time to spend with their children due to economic privilege, while the working class parents may be absent more often due to the demands of a blue collar job. This notion supports the idea that it is incredibly difficult to rise from the social niche you are born into. Overcoming the developmental deficiencies of an environment you could not choose is a monumental feat. Reading this article in a publication that caters to wealthier well-educated Americans, it was easy for me to accept these statistics as logical from my comfortable perspective near the top of the social ladder. Though I don’t think it is fair or right, it made sense that the children of affluent parents with presumably high levels of education would be more exposed to language and opportunities to intellectually develop. However, the article offered an interesting twist. In today’s society, the wealthy families whose children once benefitted from more avid communication, are now the families that have the ability to own smartphones ,laptops, and televisions with thousands of channels. Simply put, the statistics are starting to flip. Money now offers wealthy parents the opportunity (and often obligation) to communicate less with their children. In a study of the average number of words spoken between parents and children with smartphones on versus off, there were cases in which words exchanged per hour were almost cut in half when the phones were on. There were still families who managed to maintain the same level of communication with the phones on and off, but the results remain troubling.

Technology has the ability to prevent us from actually living our lives. The question remains; How can we reap the benefits of technology while avoiding its addictive multi-tasking mentalities that affect our relationships and keep us from being “present?” I wonder if it is possible to design products with the more destructive consequences of technology in mind. What if we designed in a way that encouraged people to focus on only one thing at a time? For example, I have heard people complain about the iPhone and iPad, whining that they cannot open more than one application at a time. But what if that’s actually more beneficial? What if it forces you to actually enjoy the one thing you are doing? Sure there are times when juxtaposing information and windows on screen can lead to epiphanies and intriguing collages of information, but not all of the time. Do you really want your doctor staring at a screen with 10 windows open simultaneously as you try to describe your worrisome symptoms and he or she nods absentmindedly while navigating multiple other priorities? We need technology that refocuses us. In a world where the newest commodities are desirable, maybe this renovation is possible. We need a new product to trick us into a use of technology that reminds us that less can be more.

Below is a collage I’ve made that sums up the Plugged In mentality of the modern world that has become so inescapable:
connected

Endangered Reading

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

As a knobby kneed seven year old, sporting a bobbed hair cut and a smile fragmented with empty spaces, there were countless evening hours spent snuggled up next to my Dad in the hours before bedtime with an open book propped between us. We went on adventures with Max the dog as he cavorted thorough Paris and fell in love with a poodle named Fifi. We played quidditch with Harry and Ron, and I dreamed of becoming Hermione. There were the orphaned boxcar children who inspired the theme for games of “house” with the neighbors, and National Velvet to remind me that I could always compete with the boys. Eventually, colorful illustrations faded into tiny text, and it was my voice that read aloud until my father drifted off to sleep. I stored those characters all away in the shelves of my mind. They had entire homes, neighborhoods, and social networks in there. I missed them when the cover closed and the ink came to an end, but in my head their imagined world still existed.

Being read to at a young age initiated my hunger for literature. In elementary and middle school, my punishment for sassy comments and fighting with my little brother was given through restricted reading time. I wasn’t given candy or stickers for reading books (as I see so many parents do with their children today), but loved the imagined worlds books created so much that my punishment blocked me from visiting them. Today, living in a realm of Sparknotes, Google, and an addiction to multitasking and gadgets, the incredible power contained within bound paper pages has been largely diminished for my generation. Reading is a chore. Sitting in blue plastic chairs beside the 4th graders I tutored in my second semester away at college, listening to bored monotone voices stumble through word after word in books chosen based on predetermined reading level, I attempted to draw their drifting eyes away from the lure of flashy computer screens. I wanted them to know the imaginary worlds I loved when I was ten. When I told them to read over the summer, they smiled and shook their heads. Why would they spend an hour with a book when it could be spent with a video game instead? I understand the case made for reading-based computer games, but I wish the use of technology to peak interest wasn’t so necessary. I wish the satisfying scent of fresh pages flipped beneath thumbs was universal. I wish that children’s reading became less associated with future success and standardized test scores (though it undoubtedly does impact these two things), and more with developing individual identity and traveling to places beyond the physical world. Technology makes life easier, but not always better. There is something to be said for the simple things. We don’t need Baby Einstein Videos or complex computer games for cognitive development—we just need to continue to read for the sake of the experience

Plugged In Part III

Thursday, July 22nd, 2010

This morning I read an article in the New York Times about the dangers of multitasking, and the evolution of life and re-wiring of the brain in a technological era. Ironically, as I read the 5 page article online, its text surrounded by ads and speckled with various links to click, I also watched TV and sent about a dozen text messages. Between the buzz of my iPhone against my thigh, the poignant words of Colin Firth on a flat TV screen, and the words illuminated on my laptop, I embodied this electronically archived article. Sitting with three screens in front of me, my back to the window and turned away from the green leaves of the outside world, my thumb pressed the rewind button three times on the remote control before I fully comprehended the end of the movie I was watching. It took me twice as long to read the “convenient” online version of an article than it would have to leaf through the filmy pages of the paper copy. These scenes of admittedly ridiculous multi tasking occur daily in my life. They are the way I have learned to exist. Toggling between windows on screen, streaming Pandora music a constant soundtrack to my every activity, I convince myself of my productivity as I cross off to do lists and marvel at the number of birds I killed with one stone. Matt Ritchel’s article, “Hooked on Gadgets and Paying a Mental Price,” discusses this mentality as the norm in a world of flooded e-mail inboxes, watches replaced by cell phones, and text message induced adrenaline. Ritchel states that; “For better or worse, the consumption of media, as varied as e-mail and TV, has exploded. In 2008, people consumed three times as much information each day as they did in 1960. And they are constantly shifting their attention. Computer users at work change windows or check e-mail or other programs nearly 37 times an hour, new research shows.” We live in an age that is never unplugged. We are constantly interacting, but also constantly withdrawn. Our social norms are unprecedented. Can we adapt to lives lived through technology and multi-tasking, or are we destroying experience by attempting to do so? Adam Gazzaley, a neuroscientist at the University of California, San Francisco, answers this question as he reveals that “We are exposing our brains to an environment and asking them to do things we weren’t necessarily evolved to do…We know already there are consequences.” To me, the most prevalent and disturbing of these consequences is the loss of face-to-face human connection. Our gadgets offer escape. As Apple boasts in their sleek and undeniably attractive advertising campaign, there is an application for everything. You can order tickets to a newly released film at your local movie theater through Facebook while simultaneously inviting all of your friends. You can track oversized cartoon characters on the family vacation to Disney World with a Disney designed GPS application for your phone—avoiding the alternative trek across miles of tourist ridden pavement and the frustrated tears of munchkins in tow. Yes, technology does allow us to continue to increase the pace and “productivity” of our already fast-paced lives, and gives us an opportunity to expand our contacts and social networks further than ever before. But what about the ability to explore? Isn’t there something to be said for finding something that goes beyond typing words into a search engine? Have we lost the ability to live without instant gratification?

Technology has both eased and created stress. It has brought families closer together through movie nights and the expectation of “staying in touch” due to the simplicity of pounding out a simple message in an e-mail once a week. However, it has also torn families apart. Marina Stefan, in another New York Times article entitled “More Americans Sense a Downside to an Always Plugged in Existence,” performed a study about technology use in which she found that “One in seven married respondents said the use of these devices was causing them to see less of their spouses. And 1 in 10 said they spent less time with their children under 18.” Perhaps this trend of occasionally neglecting playtime for screen time explains the miniature adults of America’s youth. At younger and younger ages, American children become indoctrinated into the world of technology. 4 year olds clutch sparkly pink plastic toy cell phones, as elementary schoolers argue that iPods are a social necessity and 6th graders beg for laptop computers to accompany their growing and coveted collection of gadgets. What it means to be a kid has changed. I’m only 19, and already I can see that. I don’t think that it’s possible to go backward with our technological progress at this point, nor do I think we necessarily should. I enjoy my digitized library of music and endless information at my fingertips as much as the next person. However, I do think that we need to think about the consequences of the way we use technology—that is to say the way that we never stop using it. I think that everybody needs to take a break. Schedule it into your blackberry, iPhone, or electronic calender: Go Explore.

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Plugged In Part II

Wednesday, July 21st, 2010

Squeezing through the crowded aisles of airplanes over the past year, nearly every passenger, after grunting and sweating baggage into beige overhead bins, was tapping, talking, or typing on some sort of hand-held personal electronic device before grudgingly stowing it away at the last possible moment before take off. Conversations were carried out as if no one else were present, I love yous and I’ll be there soons echoed to invisible ears on the other end of the line. When those big metal birds started taxiing down the runway, their passengers entered the world of the in-between. They were lost without the constant connection they couldn’t escape on solid ground—left only to their thoughts and the strangers surrounding them. I’ve always seen this as a good thing. However, though loudspeakers still prohibit cell phone use in flight, wireless internet access is becoming more widely available. It has become less and less acceptable to sit idly on airplanes. Time is money, and fast-paced life can’t be interrupted for even a few hours in the clouds. Blue striped seats and folding tray tables become substitute offices. We all bring our own personal music and headphones and avoid conversation.

Sailing at an altitude of hundreds of feet, we watch the panorama of pinprick lights grow closer and brighter as we descend. We marvel at the beauty of the neon show, the civilization and the headlights of ants, but we don’t think about what we’ve replaced. National Geographic recently featured a story and photo spread entitled “Our Vanishing Night.” The lights are never off in this world of ours. The beauty of those nights of clear skies and domes of stars are reserved for country famers and undeveloped nations. The line between urban life and nature becomes more and more defined.

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