This New Yorker cartoon seemed to perfectly capture the world I’m living in right now — an overwhelming bombardment of real-time information and ubiquitous social network connectivity. Sadly, it also sums up the early performance of my fantasy baseball team, The Mar Vista Droppers, who combine a devastating pitching staff with anemic hitting.
I read cartoonist James Sturm’s excellent Slate piece, “Life Without the Web,” detailing his experiment in “disconnectivity” with a Kübler-Ross-esque hallucination of the stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Why would anyone willingly refuse to use the greatest invention since bacon? My stage 1 state of denial was interrupted by the incessant pleas of my 5-year-old addict: ”Daddy, can I used your iPhone to play Labyrinth?” The auto reply was “no.” I was now (stage 2) angrily pondering what kind of lunatic mind would give up the Internet when I realized things had gone too quiet around the house. I found the kid swiping away — playing Labyrinth on his newly constructed Lego iPod Touch. Even a 5-year-old had figured out how to get his methadone… the thing even had a built-in reserve battery pack (I hope you’re listening Steve Jobs).
In Lego We Trust
Reading Sturm’s article, I found myself bargaining, pointing out inconsistencies like a film geek searching for continuity errors in Jurassic Park — doesn’t using the car GPS to find a conference or having his wife add things to his Netflix queue violate the spirit of the experiment?
Then I read about similar experiments in The New York Times, with teenagers giving up social media for 2 days. Without the distractions of texting, IMs and Facebook, the teenagers got their homework done quicker and spent more quality time with their parents. Fortunately, it wasn’t too late for these kids, but a recent University of Maryland study found that college kids who eliminated social media from their daily diet exhibited “signs of withdrawal similar to those of drug addicts going cold turkey.” They could learn a lot from my 5-year-old (could Legos be classified as a gateway drug?).
Now depression was setting in. I seem incapable of putting my iPhone down — spending so much time reading emails, texts, tweets, unread articles in my Google Reader (only 937 unread articles left) and, of course, checking in on my Mar Vista Droppers (5 wins – 4 losses – 1 tie for the week… another thoroughly mediocre performance) — who has time to be in the moment? Head hung in shame, I noted this other New Yorker cartoon and felt a strong sense of acceptance for my human limitations, and vowed to go outside and play with my son — both of us sans iPhone or Legos for 15 minutes, at least.
Nice post. Withdrawal symptoms? Are you telling me that if I quit now I’ll have to spend the weekend reenacting scenes from Trainspotting?
@Andrew: Yes — that’s EXACTLY what happens. Lust for life.
Enjoyed the post, thanks. You might find a recent University of Maryland study “24 Hours: Unplugged” an interesting related read. Check out “Campus Overload” section of Washington Post on-line.
While far from lacking in electronic gadgets and cyber engagement myself, I am fascinated by(and at times concerned with)my teenage children’s levels of desire/reliance. The range (and coolness) of info and entertainment is great, and efficiency and convenience are wonderful things. In Ann Arbor back in ancient times I would have gladly upgraded my typewriter and dorm land line (with a cord!)for a laptop and mega-cellular device and traded library books and microfilm research for the web.
However, when I talk with and sometimes interview 17-25ish folk, direct conversation is very often uneasy and eye contact is rare. Maybe it’s fine if verbal communication goes the way of the beeper, maybe not.
At Summer Fest in Milwaukee last year, I found myself standing in line behind two teens, side by side, having a text message conversation back and forth. No full sentences were uttered, although there was a giggle and a “yeah, right” uttered. Tapping away, eyes downward, the texting zombies did not notice the line move forward ahead of them for several seconds.
Anyway – glad you you are unplugging and hanging out with your son, and perhaps the warm weather will wake up the Mar Vista bats.
Well done. You’re giving David Pogue a run for his money on this one.
@Mike: There are 12-step programs for these kids, but then how would YOU stay current? As for the Mar Vista bats, I’m afraid we’re a lost cause.
@Angela: Aww… shucks! Thank you — tell your friends… and family!