From the monthly archives:

August 2010

The fall semester started last week and that means my life just got a lot more hectic! It also means less time for blogging. So while I’m trying to get my classes all sorted out, here are some of my favorite links for the week.

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Today, the New York Times reported on an interesting ethnographic study involving 5 neuroscientists on a quest to understand ”how heavy use of digital devices and other technology changes how we think and behave, and how a retreat into nature might reverse those effects.”

A boat trip down the Colorado River? Research grant turned into mini-vacation, anyone? Now why didn’t I think of this? Sure would have sweetened the social media fast a little bit! Although I wonder if that would have merely created a different type of distraction. After all, it seems easier to leave your digital life behind while you’re on vacation — or while you’re struggling not to fall off a boat. What’s more difficult is leaving your laptop turned off when it’s sitting right next to you begging for attention and longing to be touched.

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It’s on.  It’s on all the time anymore.  I don’t even bother to turn it off, and I reach for it, down the side of my chair, flick aside the magnetic power connector and raise it to its familiar spot on my lap.  Flip the screen up and begin.  It’s a fluid motion I’ve performed a million times now, and I know the balance and the weight of it.  My browser is already up and glowing–why is it on a page for all inclusives in Barbados?  I had begun my search last night with fares to Paris—can’t quite recall how I got to Barbados.

I click on my “movies” tab.  Inception is showing at 3:15 p.m.  I’ve already seen it once but must see it again, as there’s something compellingly familiar about its multilayered plot.  As I’m about to search for “Inception explained” just one more time, the music plays, that subtle hum that says someone is trying to contact me in this cyberworld.  I quickly shift over to Mail and see that I’ve a new email from Swaptree.  Zimmer’s score for the film has just become available and I can swap for it.  The darn score just came out—how are these getting up on Swaptree so soon? Are they just ripping these things now? Is this a snail mail version of the original Napster with postage?

I’m two levels down and investigating the CD’s condition and reviews and checking out the seller’s rating.  I begin to question my swap–how does the score really hold up on its own, not as the bits and pieces of intense driving brass laden electronica in the tense setting of the film itself?  Click.  Now I’m in iTunes, three levels down.  Time slows, there’s tons of new music I want to check out, The National, The Morning Benders, and of course Arcade Fire.  I could spend a lifetime here, forget my wife and job and just become one with the music, movies, and apps.  Zimmer!  Zimmer, I’m here for Zimmer!  Check it out.  Sounds good.  Gonna do the trade.  But is it true what I’ve read that the dream sequence intros are based on a slowed down version of Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne Regrette Rien?”  Gotta look that one up again.

Click.  Four levels down.  Time has slowed again.  There are many articles on Nolan’s use of Piaf’s classic. I choose a YouTube video that compares the score to the song.  How long have I been down here? An hour, two hours?  But I need to know if its true—certainly can’t trust YouTube so I’ll download the mp3 from iTunes and slow it down in GarageBand. I’m four levels down and just one more click could send me into limbo. Am I to become an old man down here, regretting the time I’ve wasted?  But I’ve got to know—what’s one more click?

Then comes the music, that familiar hum where it all began.  But this time the hum kicks me back to level two. Shoot, I’ve got to get back with our web programmer—maybe that’s her trying to reach me down here.  Thank goodness it’s just another fishing scam trying to extract some info and get at my credit line.  What time was Inception playing?  I flip the screen down.  I can feel the weight of it, rub my hand across its surface and slide it back to its position next to my chair.  Everything is right as rain.  Maybe I need a break.

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Introducing my social media fast accomplice

by shannanb on August 8, 2010

I’d like to introduce a new voice to this blog: my husband and social media fast accomplice, Shannan Butler. Shannan was the first to bug me about my social media consumption habits (although his aren’t a whole lot better…) and not only supported the idea of the fast, but also decided to join me in it. He will be sharing his experience on this blog under the name shannanb.

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They [men of today] have ears only for the noise of the media, which they take to be almost the voice of God. So man becomes fragmented and pathless. To the fragmented the Simple seems monotonous. The monotonous becomes wearisome. Those who are weary find only uniformity. The Simple has fled. Its quiet power is exhausted. [...] The renunciation does not take. The renunciation gives. It gives the inexhaustible power of the Simple. Martin Heidegger, The Field Path

It’s been a couple of weeks since I renounced all access to the Internet and I must admit I enjoyed escaping the noise of the (social) media for the seven days I stayed offline. Although Heidegger couldn’t possibly have anticipated the extent of our wired lives when he wrote The Field Path in 1949, I find this part of his essay to really capture the problems introduced by our dependance on all kinds of electronic gadgets [Note that the German "den Lärm der Apparate" was translated as "the noise of the media," but Apparate could just as well have been translated as gadgets or machines]. So, did my social media fast allow me to return to Heidegger’s ideal of the Simple?

Well, I’m afraid things aren’t quite that… uhm, simple. Social media is a two-way street and by going off the grid for a week, I only removed one party from the equation. As Douglas Rushkoff explained in the PBS documentary Digital Nation, “combatting distraction isn’t as easy as turning off your email program. If you turn off your email program it’s not the software that’s going to complain, it’s the people on the other side: your friends, your boss, your bills.” Even before my fast had officially started, one of my colleagues got wind of it and thinking I had already unplugged for good, contacted my husband via Facebook with a message to relay to me — meaning that the same medium I had vowed to avoid managed to get through to me nonetheless. My fast therefore, started with the rather sobering realization that you really can’t hide from Facebook!

What this example also shows are the expectations tied to our use of digital media. New technologies have granted us near constant access to others and those others in turn have come to expect that access. If I make myself less available, or in the case of my fast, decide to remove all mediated access except for phone calls, I am violating norms of expected behavior. This violation in turn may cause uncertainty and lead others to question my intentions and/or my relationship with them. As Rushkoff noted, others are bound to wonder “Where’s my report? Why haven’t you answered your email? Are you mad at me?” This is probably one of the reasons I felt compelled to announce my fast on all the social media platforms I was getting ready to leave and to add an automated away message to my email accounts.

Announcing my fast on Facebook

Let’s think about this for a second. Tweeting, Facebooking, blogging — those are all things I do for fun and yet, here I am, if not apologizing for my intentional absence, at least prepping my networks for that unusual event. Even in my absence I am trying to manage my public persona  – an activity we engage in each time we perform an identity through a tweet, a status update, or a blog post. Ironically, this perpetual performance of identity was the exact activity I was trying to take a break from in first place by going on a social media fast! Of course, I had a choice not to announce my fast. But knowing about the potentially negative consequences of violating other’s expectations on my perceived identity and my relationships with people in my social networks, how attractive was that option really?

I think that one of the first lessons my fast taught me is the same conclusion reached by Rushkoff: that you can’t do this in isolation.  Your social networks don’t cease to exist and demand access to you simply because you logged off or decided to shut them out for a week. This doesn’t just mean that we will have a thousand emails to sift through once we reconnect to the Internet, it also means that the self-presentational work we do online is bound to continue even during a fast. After all, what is an automated away message, if not an attempt at managing others’ perceptions of us?

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