Some of my favorite childhood memories involve my grandmother, the sofa, and the telephone. The sofa was in the family room of our home and the telephone was right next to it. Attached to the phone's receiver was a coil of thick, maroon cord, a spiral that, when stretched out, must have been nearly 4 feet long. The cord would knot itself into a nasty tangle, so much so that when the phone rang, the first 20 or so seconds of conversation involved my grandmother cradling the receiver between her head and her neck while she, and her team of helpers (i.e. my sister and I) took our fingers to the mess.
Since Grandma made as many as a dozen calls a day to her very large circles of family and friends, that telephone cord became the bain of my existence. But now, in a world of not only cordless telephones, but telephones that no longer rely on a phone jack in the wall, Grandma sitting amongst the jumble of cord is a sweet memory. Those telephone calls were connection, in every sense. Now, though, I fear that those moments of connection are rapidly disappearing and I'm feeling adrift and untethered. In my lifetime, I've gone from using the cumbersome telephone in the family kitchen to calling home from a subway stop in Bangkok on a telephone so small and slim that it fits inside of my jean's pocket.
In my lifetime, I've gone from driving to my local bank to get cash in order to pay for things to sliding a card and now holding my PDA up to a transponder at my grocery store, or hardware store, or department store. I've gone from having my favorite bank teller cash my paycheck and filling me in on the latest gossip to having an unseen electronic hand put money into my bank account.
The way that I watch television has also been altered. Growing up, my ferocious need to watch "The Dukes of Hazzard" on the family room TV involved a complex set of negotiations with my older sister, Mom and Grandma. And heaven forbid you tried to schedule anything from 12:00PM to 4:00PM on a weekday, as that was when Grandma watched her "stories", a.k.a. the entire line-up of CBS daytime soap operas. Now, though, I have ample opportunities to stay current with my favorite shows, and none of them involves learning how to program a VCR! Sure, you can invest in TiVo, but most of the time the broadcast and cable channels will repeat a program within a couple of hours of its initial airing. These so-called "slugs" have proved so popular that TV ratings firms, such as Nielsen, have figured out a way to measure the slug watchers. And if I'd like to watch an episode of my favorite show from my seat on the commuter-rail, then I can watch it on my phone or on my iPad. This is a far cry from everyone gathering around to find out who shot J.R.!
Right now, the U.S. Postal Service is in danger of financial collapse as online efficiency is making physical mail obsolete. Computer makers, one of the drivers of the Postal Service's rapid descent, are also fighting to figure out this untethered life, as consumers and corporations have gone from dial-up to 4G, and have abandoned cumbersome desktop computers for the freedom and flexibility of laptops and tablets.
But for all of the "golly-gee" of technology that's allowing us to do almost anything at anytime with almost anyone, I don't think we're satisfied. You want to know why so many people are at your local coffee shop?? Because alongside the caffeine, we're craving a connection with each other. For all of our technological know-how, the true genius of humanity will always be our ability to create unique relationships with one another, to truly connect. I'm just saying:)
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label technology. Show all posts
Monday, October 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
All Plugged in and Nothing to Say: The Art of Conversation in 2011
The other day, as my hubby and I sat staring at the glow from our PDAs, we attempted a conversation about the latest news happenings, only to discover that we were both sourcing the same article on Huff Post. A second attempt landed a similar result, only this time the source was a New York Times article. A third attempt was called off, and we, instead, resumed our online wanderings with only the click of the trackball and the slide of the finger across the touchscreen punctuating the silence.
Welcome to Conversation 2011.
With so much information at our fingertips, we are constantly grabbing little bits of facts and cramming them into our heads, only to instantly regurgitate them to each other. Information becomes circular, and pretty soon you hear that same cool factoid that you'd just read spilling out of the mouth of someone else, or see it in someone's Twitter feed. And sadly, this is what passes for conversation.
When I was in college, taking the liberal arts educational equivalent of circuit training - with classes in philosophy, history, literature, science, math, and religion - I remember conversations that lasted from noon to night-time. We talked about everything and in every way. Sure, we had hours of classroom lectures and hundreds of pages of textbooks to draw upon, but our discussions were more than just spitting out what we had memorized. We digested and played with the facts that we learned, exploding them and creating new worlds of meaning and possibility.
That's all changed, and not just because of the passage of a couple of decades. Our entire experience of information has been forever altered by the technological leaps that continue to transform how we access information. We see so much so fast that it's like Lucy and Ethel at the candy factory! We've become great generalists who can quote lots of little things about lots and lots of things, all without a depth and a connection to the subject matter. We are familiar with things, but we don't know them.
The quality of our conversations, then, becomes a casualty. So I'm on a mission to restore the art of conversation to its former glory. First, I've got to get some basic training under my belt. That's right - back to reading one book a week, reading the daily newspaper cover to cover, and avoiding the snack time served up on one of those news aggregator sites. I'll steer clear of CNN Headline News and spend a little quality time with C-SPAN. While I may not be able to go cold turkey on "The Today Show", I'll limit my viewing to thirty minutes and will read more background pieces on the topics that the show covers.
The second component to this basic training is creating better opportunities for conversation, which means scheduling brunches and dinners with people. This one's a bit tricky, but I'll take it on. Sitting down at a meal takes people away from those distractions that interfere with great conversations, and, untethered from your PDAs, you may even find the space to flex those mental muscles! Of course, there's the danger that, once at table with these people, you find that you have nothing to say to each other. But you can always pull out your iPhones and compare apps, if need be - just think of your phone like one of those "break glass in case of emergency" boxes! I'm just saying:)
Welcome to Conversation 2011.
With so much information at our fingertips, we are constantly grabbing little bits of facts and cramming them into our heads, only to instantly regurgitate them to each other. Information becomes circular, and pretty soon you hear that same cool factoid that you'd just read spilling out of the mouth of someone else, or see it in someone's Twitter feed. And sadly, this is what passes for conversation.
When I was in college, taking the liberal arts educational equivalent of circuit training - with classes in philosophy, history, literature, science, math, and religion - I remember conversations that lasted from noon to night-time. We talked about everything and in every way. Sure, we had hours of classroom lectures and hundreds of pages of textbooks to draw upon, but our discussions were more than just spitting out what we had memorized. We digested and played with the facts that we learned, exploding them and creating new worlds of meaning and possibility.
That's all changed, and not just because of the passage of a couple of decades. Our entire experience of information has been forever altered by the technological leaps that continue to transform how we access information. We see so much so fast that it's like Lucy and Ethel at the candy factory! We've become great generalists who can quote lots of little things about lots and lots of things, all without a depth and a connection to the subject matter. We are familiar with things, but we don't know them.
The quality of our conversations, then, becomes a casualty. So I'm on a mission to restore the art of conversation to its former glory. First, I've got to get some basic training under my belt. That's right - back to reading one book a week, reading the daily newspaper cover to cover, and avoiding the snack time served up on one of those news aggregator sites. I'll steer clear of CNN Headline News and spend a little quality time with C-SPAN. While I may not be able to go cold turkey on "The Today Show", I'll limit my viewing to thirty minutes and will read more background pieces on the topics that the show covers.
The second component to this basic training is creating better opportunities for conversation, which means scheduling brunches and dinners with people. This one's a bit tricky, but I'll take it on. Sitting down at a meal takes people away from those distractions that interfere with great conversations, and, untethered from your PDAs, you may even find the space to flex those mental muscles! Of course, there's the danger that, once at table with these people, you find that you have nothing to say to each other. But you can always pull out your iPhones and compare apps, if need be - just think of your phone like one of those "break glass in case of emergency" boxes! I'm just saying:)
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
YouPad, WePad, iPad, too!
So now that the dust has settled and the temporary camp sites that were erected outside of Apple stores have been broken down, it's safe to say goodbye to all of the iPad 2 hype. It was fun while it lasted, though, wasn't it? There were the joyful proclamations by the Mac masses, ever faithful to their brand, and confident that THIS would change the very face of computing. There were the Haters, poking a finger in the eye at the subpar camera and the other dubious upgrades offered on the device. There were the urban legends, including the one where a woman who had the coveted first spot in the long, snaking line outside of an Apple store sold her spot to a man for $900.
I wanted to see for myself, but, as I had a life, I waited until Saturday, after the dust had settled, to wonder into the nearest Apple store. The storefront window was festooned with silver balloons and oversized cardboard versions of the iPad 2 and its rainbow of colorful carrying cases. Inside the store stood two weary security guards and the team of blue-shirted geniuses, with various piercings, wool beanie hats, and soul patches, all zipping around tending to the 40 or so customers. They were exhausted, partly from crowd control the day before, but mostly, I suspect, from being asked the same question over and over again, "so, when are you getting more iPad 2s??"
The young lady who came to help me was a friendly soul who bore the look of one of those actors hired to stay in character all day at Disney - you know that look that says "I'm tired, and even though this is the happiest place on earth I'm mustering this smile purely out of obligation and not the actual emotion of joy." I felt bad for her, and soon we were chatting like old friends, that is until we were interrupted by a customer in the uniform of the hipster Mac owner - interesting glasses, functional footwear, expensive outdoor wear. He was feverish, having missed out on an iPad 2 the day before. He'd resorted to Apple's online store, but his beloved iPad 2 wouldn't be delivered for 3-4 weeks, so here he was, trying to get some hard intel from my genius on the arrival of the next shipment to the store. But my genius was formidable, and inscrutable, telling him that only the great and powerful Oz, oops, I meant Jobs would know when the next shipment would arrive. Our hipster friend left, most likely on his way to another Apple store, but he wasn't the only one who came in telling a similar story.
I sat down and toyed around with one of the display models, and while it is a very cool machine, I wondered just how much more special it could possibly be in comparison to its much hyped big sister, the original iPad. And what about the next very special thing that will inevitably be released from the gods of Cupertino? Will there ever be a time when we'll be allowed to just be happy with what we have?
Unfortunately, I think the answer is no. The iPad is like a lot of new technology - it's not something that we need, it's something that we desire. Need is so basic - I need shelter, I need air, I need clothing, I need food to eat and water to drink. But desire - the desire to have the biggest house I can afford, to wear expensive clothing, to eat expensive food and drink expensive designer bottles of water - desire knows no end. Now, after getting the object of our desire, we may then press it into service and say that it does fulfill a need. This is the genius of Apple - the subversion of need with the perversion of desire all for a tidy profit. But hey, it's not like they invented this, I mean temptation has been around since a nice girl gave the first apple to a nice boy, and we know where that led us! I'm just saying:)
I wanted to see for myself, but, as I had a life, I waited until Saturday, after the dust had settled, to wonder into the nearest Apple store. The storefront window was festooned with silver balloons and oversized cardboard versions of the iPad 2 and its rainbow of colorful carrying cases. Inside the store stood two weary security guards and the team of blue-shirted geniuses, with various piercings, wool beanie hats, and soul patches, all zipping around tending to the 40 or so customers. They were exhausted, partly from crowd control the day before, but mostly, I suspect, from being asked the same question over and over again, "so, when are you getting more iPad 2s??"
The young lady who came to help me was a friendly soul who bore the look of one of those actors hired to stay in character all day at Disney - you know that look that says "I'm tired, and even though this is the happiest place on earth I'm mustering this smile purely out of obligation and not the actual emotion of joy." I felt bad for her, and soon we were chatting like old friends, that is until we were interrupted by a customer in the uniform of the hipster Mac owner - interesting glasses, functional footwear, expensive outdoor wear. He was feverish, having missed out on an iPad 2 the day before. He'd resorted to Apple's online store, but his beloved iPad 2 wouldn't be delivered for 3-4 weeks, so here he was, trying to get some hard intel from my genius on the arrival of the next shipment to the store. But my genius was formidable, and inscrutable, telling him that only the great and powerful Oz, oops, I meant Jobs would know when the next shipment would arrive. Our hipster friend left, most likely on his way to another Apple store, but he wasn't the only one who came in telling a similar story.
I sat down and toyed around with one of the display models, and while it is a very cool machine, I wondered just how much more special it could possibly be in comparison to its much hyped big sister, the original iPad. And what about the next very special thing that will inevitably be released from the gods of Cupertino? Will there ever be a time when we'll be allowed to just be happy with what we have?
Unfortunately, I think the answer is no. The iPad is like a lot of new technology - it's not something that we need, it's something that we desire. Need is so basic - I need shelter, I need air, I need clothing, I need food to eat and water to drink. But desire - the desire to have the biggest house I can afford, to wear expensive clothing, to eat expensive food and drink expensive designer bottles of water - desire knows no end. Now, after getting the object of our desire, we may then press it into service and say that it does fulfill a need. This is the genius of Apple - the subversion of need with the perversion of desire all for a tidy profit. But hey, it's not like they invented this, I mean temptation has been around since a nice girl gave the first apple to a nice boy, and we know where that led us! I'm just saying:)
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Come Join the Anti-Multi-Tasking Movement!
As I sit here at my computer writing this, I'm also watching a presidential documentary on TV, reading email messages, and checking out Huff Post while a house cat rests on the arm of my chair. Across the room, my husband checks his emails, archives data while twisting around to watch that same presidential documentary when it sounds like there's something interesting. We are the Multi-Taskers and, I suspect, you are, too.
How did we get here? When I was a little girl, I came home from school and did my homework to the sounds of the evening meal being cooked - no iPod, no radio, no television, emails, tweets! Homework time was a sacred and singular pursuit. Friends knew not to visit or call during homework time. That's not to say that I didn't get to see my friends. On the contrary, we friends would spend hours outside, jumping rope or just flat-out running as fast as our legs would take us. After friend time, there was meal time, spent with the buzz of conversation instead of the buzz of the Blackberry. Dinner was eaten at the dinner table, without a television in sight, and if the telephone rang, well, it just kept ringing because there were no phone calls allowed.
So what changed? Well, the rapid development and deployment of technologies for one. Technologies have grown ever more portable, and they've served to erode the artificial barriers that we erected in our orderly little pre-megabyte world. I can put the finishing touches on my boss's speech on a device the size of a cassette tape all from the comfort of my family room while Snooki smooshes with a Juice Head on the Jersey Shore and iTunes updates this week's pod casts. I can Skype from my kitchen to my best friend in San Francisco while fixing dinner and listening to my favorite Boston radio station online while reading the recipe I downloaded to the PDA in my apron pocket.
But it can't all be technology's fault - right?? Right, it can't be. I have to take some responsibility for where I currently find myself. Technology can be a bit like that character in my favorite movie, "All About Eve." The character "Eve is an upstart young actress who, upon meeting her idol, an older Broadway star played by Bettie Davis, insinuates herself into her life, acting as wide-eyed innocent errand-girl while wrapping her tentacles round poor Bettie Davis. In the end, Ms. Davis fends off her younger rival, and defiantly breaks free of "Eve." I may not be able to defeat technology, and, to be honest, I don't really want to. I merely want some balance back in my life.
So here's my Anti-Multi-Tasking Movement Manifesto:
How did we get here? When I was a little girl, I came home from school and did my homework to the sounds of the evening meal being cooked - no iPod, no radio, no television, emails, tweets! Homework time was a sacred and singular pursuit. Friends knew not to visit or call during homework time. That's not to say that I didn't get to see my friends. On the contrary, we friends would spend hours outside, jumping rope or just flat-out running as fast as our legs would take us. After friend time, there was meal time, spent with the buzz of conversation instead of the buzz of the Blackberry. Dinner was eaten at the dinner table, without a television in sight, and if the telephone rang, well, it just kept ringing because there were no phone calls allowed.
So what changed? Well, the rapid development and deployment of technologies for one. Technologies have grown ever more portable, and they've served to erode the artificial barriers that we erected in our orderly little pre-megabyte world. I can put the finishing touches on my boss's speech on a device the size of a cassette tape all from the comfort of my family room while Snooki smooshes with a Juice Head on the Jersey Shore and iTunes updates this week's pod casts. I can Skype from my kitchen to my best friend in San Francisco while fixing dinner and listening to my favorite Boston radio station online while reading the recipe I downloaded to the PDA in my apron pocket.
But it can't all be technology's fault - right?? Right, it can't be. I have to take some responsibility for where I currently find myself. Technology can be a bit like that character in my favorite movie, "All About Eve." The character "Eve is an upstart young actress who, upon meeting her idol, an older Broadway star played by Bettie Davis, insinuates herself into her life, acting as wide-eyed innocent errand-girl while wrapping her tentacles round poor Bettie Davis. In the end, Ms. Davis fends off her younger rival, and defiantly breaks free of "Eve." I may not be able to defeat technology, and, to be honest, I don't really want to. I merely want some balance back in my life.
So here's my Anti-Multi-Tasking Movement Manifesto:
- I will ignore the urge to update my Facebook status while standing in line at the store/Post Office/grocery store, etc. Instead, I will talk to the person in line with me instead.
- I will sit next to my husband and watch a television show or movie with my PDA in silent mode.
- When sitting next to my husband and watching a TV show or movie, I will resist the temptation to look up a relevant piece of trivia on said PDA and will, instead, make a mental note to look it up at a later time and deal with the temporary unease of not knowing.
- I will sit at the kitchen table and read the hard copy of the daily newspaper.
- I will eat all meals at the kitchen table or dining room table with only conversation and light background music as our accompaniment, and with my PDA in silent mode and shoved into my briefcase.
- I will not read the NY Times, Huff Post, Thomson Reuters from my PDA while in bed.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
The 10 Commandments of Facebook
By now, we've all enjoyed long Saturday afternoons mining the delights of Facebook. But, apparently, that's not all we've been doing. Recent news stories have told tales of marriage-busting indiscretions that have begun on Facebook. Divorce lawyers back up these claims with figures of their own, showing an uptick in Facebook being a factor in marital rifts. So it seems that the time has come for I'm Just Saying's 10 Commandments for Facebook:
- Thou shalt not "friend" nor confirm your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.
- Thou shalt not "friend" nor confirm that guy or gal you hooked up with sophomore year of undergrad.
- Thou shalt not post suggestive photos of yourself as your profile pic.
- Thou shalt not post status updates that read, "bored and looking for some company."
- Thou shalt not IM your friend's spouse and have long conversations about the meaning of life and your impending mid-life or quarter-life crisis.
- If thou hast broken Commandment #1, then thou shalt not suggest a telephone call or coffee date to "catch up," because you might get caught up!
- Thou shalt not check "single" in Relationship Status if you're in a relationship.
- Thou shalt not hit the "like" button when your buff ex from high school posts his shirtless pics on his profile.
- Thou shalt not post old photos of you and your exes on your profile.
- If thou hast broken any of these commandments, thou shalt not attempt to hide your actions from your spouse, for as there are no secrets on Facebook, so no secret can be hid from your spouse.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Twas the Week Without iPhone:(
It all started innocently enough - it was the end of the week, time to take a few minutes to sync up the old iPhone. At least that's how this electronic adventure began for my husband and I. The iPhone in question is his as I have and continue to be a lover of Blackberry, but let's not rub salt into the wounds. So let me get back to my story, ah yes, it was time to sync. All seemed to be fine, until it was time to download and install an iTunes update. That's when hell's fury was unleashed and my hubby's iPhone became a blank, empty useless shell. No apps. No NPR/New York Times real time updates. No LMAO singing, "Shots." No texting. No telephone. We were off the grid.
Anyone who uses an iPhone can attest to the wonders and joys of catching up on the latest episode of "Glee" while you're standing in a long line at the Post Office, or playing a raucous game of Scrabble while you're at the DMV. It's a beautiful thing - when it works. But when it doesn't work, it's an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Since it was a busy work week, my hubby could only dedicate evening hours in pursuit of a fix. We decided to work as a team. I went the conventional route, calling the customer support number for Apple and trying to restore the settings on the dang thing. The telephone call was an exercise in frustration, and, in the end, the disembodied voice over the phone and the help function in iTunes both led me to the same place - the desolate realm of the online support forums. Pages and pages, with links to subpages and footnotes, flew before my eyes with a dizzying array of instructions and alternate actions, all in super-geek-speak.
My husband would check in by phone to see how the patient was doing, and he'd continue the work on his return from the office, on a furious hunt for corrupted files, failures to initiate, or drivers that failed to install. One night, we stayed up until 3am, well, actually, the hubby did - I took little cat-naps illuminated by the light of the computer screen. Until finally, he turned off the lamp and the computer and issued a DNR for his iPhone, at least until we can take it to a "genius" over the weekend.
The psychological effects of this have been curious. When we're watching television and trying to figure out just where we've seen that actor before, instead of the usual quick trip to his iPhone, my husband struggles to remember instead. At dinner, our little friend is no longer on the table. And when I'm reading, I've noticed that my husband's actually staring at me and not the screen. It's been nice.
But as much as his iPhone can hinder our communication, it also has been a great tool for us to keep in touch during our busy days. While I'm at work, he'll send me sweet text messages to ask how it's going, almost like digital mash notes. I can text him a funny joke on a day when I know he's slammed.
Hopefully, our little iPhone will be all fixed and ready for action. But I hope that we remember that it's nice, once in a while, to turn it off. BTW, Blackberry rocks! I'm just saying:)
Anyone who uses an iPhone can attest to the wonders and joys of catching up on the latest episode of "Glee" while you're standing in a long line at the Post Office, or playing a raucous game of Scrabble while you're at the DMV. It's a beautiful thing - when it works. But when it doesn't work, it's an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Since it was a busy work week, my hubby could only dedicate evening hours in pursuit of a fix. We decided to work as a team. I went the conventional route, calling the customer support number for Apple and trying to restore the settings on the dang thing. The telephone call was an exercise in frustration, and, in the end, the disembodied voice over the phone and the help function in iTunes both led me to the same place - the desolate realm of the online support forums. Pages and pages, with links to subpages and footnotes, flew before my eyes with a dizzying array of instructions and alternate actions, all in super-geek-speak.
My husband would check in by phone to see how the patient was doing, and he'd continue the work on his return from the office, on a furious hunt for corrupted files, failures to initiate, or drivers that failed to install. One night, we stayed up until 3am, well, actually, the hubby did - I took little cat-naps illuminated by the light of the computer screen. Until finally, he turned off the lamp and the computer and issued a DNR for his iPhone, at least until we can take it to a "genius" over the weekend.
The psychological effects of this have been curious. When we're watching television and trying to figure out just where we've seen that actor before, instead of the usual quick trip to his iPhone, my husband struggles to remember instead. At dinner, our little friend is no longer on the table. And when I'm reading, I've noticed that my husband's actually staring at me and not the screen. It's been nice.
But as much as his iPhone can hinder our communication, it also has been a great tool for us to keep in touch during our busy days. While I'm at work, he'll send me sweet text messages to ask how it's going, almost like digital mash notes. I can text him a funny joke on a day when I know he's slammed.
Hopefully, our little iPhone will be all fixed and ready for action. But I hope that we remember that it's nice, once in a while, to turn it off. BTW, Blackberry rocks! I'm just saying:)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Farewell to the "B" Side
Somewhere between my rash experimentation with the Jeri Curl and my addiction to my Blackberry, the whole world changed. In the span of those two decades, the universe flipped from Beta Max to NetFlix, and, while I dearly love the ability to fit every album that I own on a device that's slightly longer than a credit card, I've found myself missing something - the "B" side.
Surely, all of my Gen. X and older folks (as well as some of you hipper-than-thou vinyl enthusiasts) remember the time when an album described a physical, two-sided object. Side one had all of the goodies, including those several cuts that got major radio airplay. It had the song that you couldn't wait to hear, that had you running into the house and stripping the record of its Waxie-Maxie bag and cardboard jacket before throwing it onto the record player.
But the "B" side - well, it was a place of hidden gems, those songs that may not have made you jump off of your sofa and bust a move. The "B" sides were places for experimentation, a special place beyond market testing and focus groups. Part of the joy of the "B" side was the joy of discovering what other listeners didn't have the stamina or patience to hear.
Today, there is no "B" side. The development of auto-reverse on cassette tapes and its continuous loop spelled doom for the "B" side, and with the CD, the drums beat ever louder. Now, thanks to Pandora and iTunes, you can't even hold the music physically in your hand. Every cut is a prime cut - ranked and qualified by other listeners and purchasers for other listeners and purchasers. Not sure what the track sounds like? No need to await its airing on a terrestrial signal - you can just click and listen to a snippet.
All of these changes have made music selection and purchase a far more efficient operation, but I'm not so sure what it's done for music appreciation. If all that you hear is what you want to hear, then how do tastes grow and deepen? If there's never any exposure to new sounds that challenge the ear, and that introduce new shades of complexity, then are we doomed to remain in a static, sonic wonderland? Well, not if I have anything to do about it, and you can do your part, too. So here's my pledge to stop the "B" side banishment (you can use it, too):
I'm just saying:)
Surely, all of my Gen. X and older folks (as well as some of you hipper-than-thou vinyl enthusiasts) remember the time when an album described a physical, two-sided object. Side one had all of the goodies, including those several cuts that got major radio airplay. It had the song that you couldn't wait to hear, that had you running into the house and stripping the record of its Waxie-Maxie bag and cardboard jacket before throwing it onto the record player.
But the "B" side - well, it was a place of hidden gems, those songs that may not have made you jump off of your sofa and bust a move. The "B" sides were places for experimentation, a special place beyond market testing and focus groups. Part of the joy of the "B" side was the joy of discovering what other listeners didn't have the stamina or patience to hear.
Today, there is no "B" side. The development of auto-reverse on cassette tapes and its continuous loop spelled doom for the "B" side, and with the CD, the drums beat ever louder. Now, thanks to Pandora and iTunes, you can't even hold the music physically in your hand. Every cut is a prime cut - ranked and qualified by other listeners and purchasers for other listeners and purchasers. Not sure what the track sounds like? No need to await its airing on a terrestrial signal - you can just click and listen to a snippet.
All of these changes have made music selection and purchase a far more efficient operation, but I'm not so sure what it's done for music appreciation. If all that you hear is what you want to hear, then how do tastes grow and deepen? If there's never any exposure to new sounds that challenge the ear, and that introduce new shades of complexity, then are we doomed to remain in a static, sonic wonderland? Well, not if I have anything to do about it, and you can do your part, too. So here's my pledge to stop the "B" side banishment (you can use it, too):
- I pledge to purchase an entire CD (even when buying on iTunes)
- I pledge to listen to every track, all of the way through on the CD (not just snippets)
- I pledge that in cases when I'm compelled to purchase only one song from an album that I will then purchase several additional tracks by the same artist from different albums
- I pledge to ignore ratings and rankings, and, instead, take a chance that I may discover something completely awesome by simply listening
- I pledge that when I go to a concert to hear an artist perform that I will NOT wander off to the t-shirt stand when they start playing "new material"
I'm just saying:)
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