August 13 - Paris (written by Andy)

Our last day. We'd been planning this trip for years. Saving for it that long too. Seriously, we've had fights that seemed vicious enough to inspire divorce peter out after one of us would mention the Europe trip. How could we split when we had this trip in our future! We'd spent the last year in serious prep-mode, arranging and rearranging details in the hopes of producing this thing. We envisioned that decades from now we'd recall our European Grand Tour and share memories… climbing the acropolis, sailing among Greek islands, strolling along the Seine. We'd done it, and it was all wonderful. And now it was almost over.

So we launched ourselves into the day, taking the metro to Notre Dame Cathedral and anticipating a nightmare to get in. Actually, though lines began forming early in the morning, we had no problem finding our way inside. As usual, folks ignored the no photography signs and lit the place up with flashes (I had to take a couple shots too; sue me). Strangely enough, a wedding rehearsal was underway, which meant that our tour was augmented by celebratory music and priestly intonations. I hope the bride and groom enjoyed the extra attention.

Walking back across the Seine I searched out pieces of spray art, glad to finally find some of the stuff in Paris. We had no formal plans until our evening's encounter with the Moulin Rouge, allowing us to follow instinct from place to place. Gradually I noticed that the concentrations of graffiti and other street art had begun to thicken. Before long I realized that we were near Centre Pompidou and its world-renowned collection of modern and contemporary art. Ever the kind soul, Jenny consented to adding a stop and we used our Paris Pass to score free tickets. Riding the escalators up the facade of that crazily postmodern edifice that resembled a factory turned inside out by a malfunctioning transporter, we noticed clanking, crunching sounds augmented by droning chants. Later we'd learn that the auditory assault was a piece by Mickey Hart called "Soundwalk."

The displays were predictably mind-bending, conveying a sense that anything can be art -- even the guards who sat forlornly in their street clothes. A tangled mess of metal strewn about a floor: Art? Definitely. A cluster of people staring at a canvas of Yves Klein's IKB: Art? Surely. An empty wall, devoid of installation or explanation: Art? Maybe. Jenny was less thrilled with stuff that seemed defined more by various "artist's statements" and critical responses than recognizable aesthetic pleasure. I was pretty impressed, though. Lots of Kandinsky and a respectable array of Picasso, along with the requisite Andy Warhol. Even one of Duchamp's urinals. We even spotted a photograph of the UK Pavilion from the 2010 World's Fair. Even after seeing this thing personally I only now recognized a human face in the interior design. Amazing.

Jenny was done with museums, though, so I promised that we'd focus the afternoon on anything she wanted to do. She opted for Montmartre, so we caught the nearest metro heading that direction. On the other side of our ride, drop big fat raindrops began to fall, just as I remembered our decision to leave the umbrellas behind. We ducked into a souvenir shop and bought a cheap one. Minutes later, the rain cleared and we knew, we knew that we'd get no more precipitation that day. We climbed the steep hill toward the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur and searched for an ideal view to take in our last panorama of Paris. We toured the church long enough to count the excursion as vaguely "cultural" before diving into the tacky theme park extravagance of Montmartre. Creperies, painters, and busloads of tourists. Oh, and a mime. At last we saw a mime in Paris. We watched; we couldn't not watch him. And when he started texting on his mobile phone during a break, we had to giggle.

We had a couple hours before our planned arrival at the Moulin Rouge that evening, so we oozed along with the crowds for a while and then sat off alone to the (relatively) nearby Sacre-Coeur Cemetery. Once more, we had no specific plans. But we recognized a couple names on the handy map available at the office and searched out their plots. Actually Émile Zola had recently been moved to the Panthéon, where France commemorates its cultural heroes, but François Truffaut was still there, with a flower pot of metro tickets. I loved Truffaut first in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, years before I ever saw The 400 Blows. [I still haven't see The Last Metro.]

We followed a random course among the monuments, playing hide and seek with a black cat that had crossed our path, and then we headed back to the hotel. Just one last item on the itinerary to go. This one was, I suppose, mostly for Jenny. Yet I was the one who insisted that we pay the crazy-expensive price for tickets. The Moulin Rouge is pretty much the most famous cabaret in the world, though it offers almost nothing to remind you of Toulouse-Lautrec or that movie that Jenny loves so much. Instead you get dudes in tuxes offering obsequious welcomes, get-to-know-your-neighbor tight seating, and vigilant checks against anyone who'd dare to use a camera inside.

You also get one hell of a show after dinner. I couldn't begin to tell you what actually happened in the performance. But I remember lots of glimpses. There was a nearly naked babe thrashing about in a water tank filled with snakes. There were topless cancan dancers. There was a talking dog (really). It was obnoxiously entertaining. Relentlessly tacky. Exhaustingly fun. And when a tiny wisp of feather floating down from one of the dancer's outfits, I caught it for Jenny. I knew she'd want it.


We stumbled out of the theater (well, I stumbled, actually, after drinking the full bottle of champagne that came with our meals - and finishing the bottle inexplicably left by one of our neighbors) and entered the metro for one last ride. Three weeks of airplanes, trains, boats, cars, and an ATV had led to this: a final trip to our hotel where we would pack our bags and head home. We had an insanely early airport shuttle scheduled the next morning, yet we insisted on watching the Eiffel Tower from our room at 1 a.m. On schedule, those glittering lights fluttered with kinetic exuberance. I sought some sort of descriptive language but could only think of fireflies in an invisible jar. Five minutes or so clicked by as we celebrated that last moment together, embracing each other and Paris too. The time passed and then, as we knew it would, the Tower blinked off for the night.

Day 21 | Return to Start

Shameless Media Plug: Rome News Tribune

Still on my travel hiatus - just returned from an amazing week on the east coast [with plenty of pix to come]. But I wanted to share this plug from the Rome News-Tribune about my forthcoming Berry College presentation.

As part of the Oxbridge Lecture Series, Wood will speak at 7 p.m. in the Berry College Science Auditorium. The event, entitled “Seeking Public Life in a Mediated World,” is sponsored by the Berry College Honors Program and admission is free and open to the public. A reception sponsored by the Berry College Forensics Union will follow the event.

In the lecture, Wood will explore how today's communication practices reflect broader transformations in urban design. Tracing a path from the boulevards of 19th century Paris through the totalizing spectacle of 20th century world's fairs to the rise of today's surveillance society, the lecture examines the modern paradox that simultaneously converges and fragments people, that, as Wood explains, leaves “us tapping on cell phones and clicking on virtual corn crops to relieve anxieties we can barely name.”

Bridging scholarly research and pop culture fascination, Wood will lead a tour through digital footprints, iPod dogma, the death of Detroit and why the next Depression will be televised. This presentation, anchored in critique but motivated by hope, aims to get audience members talking.

Read More: Oxbridge Lecture Series Presents Professor Andrew Wood April 6

Social Media Addiction: Are You At Risk?

This YourTango video is 15 types of awesome: a satire of social media addiction done as a cheesy 70s-style after school special: "Did I just laugh out loud? Dan, I just laughed out loud!" Just watch out for the downer ending: "Ohhh, Daddy like Boing Boing!"

See how many app-refs you recognize!

Update: Here's another YourTango production: Online Dating in the 1950s

Draft Policy on Mobile Devices

Lately I've been thinking about how and why students use electronic gadgets in class. A fair amount of research and anecdotal evidence shows that students are using mobile phones (and other devices) far more than most faculty recognize. Quoting Wilkes University research:

"95 percent of students bring their phones to class every day and 91 percent have used their phones to text message during class time. Almost half of all respondents indicated that it is easy to text in class without their instructor being aware. In fact, students frequently commented on the survey that their professors would be 'shocked' if they knew how much texting went on in class."

I certainly remember taking a community college refresher course last year and observing that roughly one third of my fellow students seemed more interested in updating their Facebook pages than in focusing on the topic at hand.

My initial response to the notion of students fiddling with their machines in my classroom is to propose a draconian rule: no mobile devices, ever. I didn't use them in my college classes, I figure; students don't need them today. Upon reflection, though, that approach strikes me as being shortsighted.

So now I've developed a more nuanced response, one that affirms my basic respect for the autonomy of adults while trying to maintain a minimal standard of decorum and practicality.

My plan is to share a revised version of this note with my students this spring [here's the current draft]. It's over-written, I admit it, and it's crafted in a more legalistic tone than I'd prefer. But my written policy is merely a supporting document for a conversation I intend to conduct with my students.

Few students (if any) will actually read these words. I just want to have something written down. At a minimum, a message like this signals that I've considered the issue carefully. Better yet, this note might help us avoid frustration later on.

Here's a draft.

Any thoughts? Concerns? Recommendations? Please post a comment.

Also, fellow faculty members, do you have a mobile device policy that you'd like to share? I'd love to see it.

Mobile Devices in Class

You may use mobile devices (phones, laptops, etc.) in my class so long as you follow basic social and ethical guidelines.

To explain those guidelines, let me first explain why I created a mobile device policy at all. Like it or not, virtually all students bring electronic gadgets to class. And why not? You want to stay connected to friends and family, and sometimes important news just can't wait until the end of class. Moreover, these devices aren't toys; they're tools.

Today's mobile devices enable you to check notes, update your calendar, or perhaps get a second opinion on assertions I may offer. Additionally, mobile devices play an essential role in our university's emergency notification network. It therefore seems silly to mandate that you cannot access your phones, laptops, and other electronic tools in class.

That being said, there are three obvious exceptions to this policy, related to testing, privacy, and distraction. In these cases I must adopt a hard line.

1. You may not use any mobile device while any student is taking a quiz or test in the classroom. Restricting the use of mobile devices in a testing environment is a matter of integrity, both practical and perceptual. And I would be well within my rights to interpret any such usage (without my express permission) as a sign of cheating.

2. You may not use any mobile device to record sound or images in class without my consent. Why? Well, for starters, even though you are attending a public university, my classroom is not located in the "public domain." No one in this class has authorized you to record their images or voices. Doing so without gaining permission thus constitutes an invasion of privacy - and potentially a form of theft.

Let me explain: My lectures and other classroom activities are my intellectual property. And while I recognize that student fees help pay for the costs of this room (and for my services) I do not wave my right to create and distribute classroom content as I see fit. That's why you must ask my permission (ideally in written form) to photograph a slide, record a lecture, or distribute my likeness in any way.

3. You may not use any mobile device in a manner that distracts other people. If your use of a mobile device disturbs other folks (especially with ringtones or loud buzzing) - or if attention paid to your device means that you cannot participate meaningfully in our conversations - you may be required to leave the class.

That regrettable action may seem harsh. But ultimately it's a matter of respect. You deserve my full attention in the classroom; I ask for a reasonable portion of the same. If you want to send a quick text or perform a brief web search, feel free. Just be discrete. If you need a gentle reminder about this policy, I'll provide one. Thereafter my approach must become much more strict.

After all, our classroom is a community. What we do and say here matters. There's an anxious, busy world beyond our walls, I know. But that world can wait, at least for the brief time we share together. And when it can't, you can always quietly step outside. I merely ask you to remember that this class - indeed, your choice to seek a degree - is ultimately your choice. And with that choice comes certain responsibilities. One of them: contributing to a respectful learning environment.

Otherwise, there's really no point in coming to college at all.

Disconnect to Connect

A while back I was invited to present a talk about City Ubiquitous for SJSU alumni. It was one of those one-shot deals that gave me a chance to meet some cool folks but, presumably, was not a long-term-impact thing. I'm so glad I was wrong about that assumption. One lovely gift from that presentation was the chance to get to know our university director of alumni relations, Paul Richardson, a bit more. He really caught the vision of the omnitopia project and has shared his thoughts about the idea in occasional conversations and emails since that Phoenix presentation. Cool, right? But now Paul's outdone himself. He sent me a DTAC (Thai mobile phone company) video yesterday that just blew me away. It's called "Disconnect to Connect."

Normally this is the kind of video that calls for a shot by shot analysis, but the elegant beauty of this piece requires no highfalutin interpretation. Telling its story with images (until the end) this video conveys a sad dimension of our wireless lives, that we can connect with anyone around the world but find ourselves increasingly isolated from the people around us. Anyone who's read my blog knows that this is a constant hum of concern in the back of my mind. I see people standing together - friends, family members - who seem more interested in talking or tapping to disembodied folks far away than in being with persons close enough to touch. This video says what I've wanted to say with so much more power than any speech I've given. Check it out (and pay particular attention to the umbrella).

Halloween in Mobile-Land

Chris Ware, The New Yorker, November 2, 2009

Somehow I missed this New Yorker cover from last year: a literally perfect illustration of contemporary life, and least the life of middle class privilege in the United States. As I contemplate the next Halloween for the Wood Family in our own comfortable bedroom community, I am compelled to consider the worlds seen and unseen in this image.

I was sitting in a Starbucks this morning in downtown San Jose where buildings tower but are increasingly empty of residents, where storefronts are filled with artwork because business has died off and isn't coming back anytime soon. At the table next to me, four bedraggled folks were strategizing on how to move a TV left on a sidewalk somewhere to a storage container. Someone would want to buy it, one argued reasonably enough.

Yet somewhere - a world where folks get subscriptions to smart magazines like The New Yorker, I guess - this image also makes sense: a place where parents drag their costumed offspring from McMansion to McMansion (those tacky signs of conspicuous consumption are beginning to weigh heavy in an age of imminent double-dip recession, but the kids don't know) - only to gaggle on their phones the entire time. Chris Ware's cover image offers a glimpse of that privileged enclave.

His critique is soft. But the illustration's muted, autumnal colors say something important. The middle class world of mobile community, of dispersed community, exists today. It's anyone's guess how long it can endure.

How good a multitasker are you?

Matt Richtel has written a comprehensive article in the New York Times about the impact of iPhones, video games, and multitasking on the human brain. While based on the experiences of one family, the article cites fascinating research on how our society's growing obsession with gadgets is changing how we prioritize information and relationships. Some tasty quotes:

Converging Ourselves to Death (Speech)

This is a slightly revised version of the speech I presented last month as keynoter for the Rocky Mountain Communication Association's 2010 conference in Denver. The trip was a delight, especially the opportunity it provided to photograph farm relics and neon signs. But the best part was the chance to meet some really cool folks (including some outstanding faculty members and graduate students at The University of Northern Colorado). I just thought it'd be useful to archive my RMCA remarks, if only to bring back some happy memories...

Think back to the last time you were several places at once.

Visualize the moment.

Imagine you're chatting on a mobile phone while scanning a website on your laptop. Perhaps you catch a glimpse of video on another screen nearby. Maybe you're doing these things on the same device.

OK, how many places so far? Three?

Dont h8: Keyboard Got Me LOLing

A fullsize keyboard for folks who write in LOLs has arrived. It's called the Fast Finger Keyboard, and it offers a host of TextTalk options under the function keys, everything from ASAP to TTYL. The keyboard also allows you to switch from QWERTY to A-Z formats.

Of course, I'm waiting for Version 2, which features automatic English-to-TextTalk translation.

Learn more: Fast Finger website

Text-Talk, Like Kudzu, Continues to Colonize

Earlier this month, I came across a CNN story [link] about a reality show performer named Kandi Burruss whose fiance, Ashley "A.J." Jewell, was beaten to death at a strip club called "Body Tap."

You can't make these names up, but that's not my point.

What struck me (so to speak) was CNN's inclusion of Kandi's Twitter posts about her loss. Here's the copy/paste:

"im just in one of those moods where i dont wanna talk, i dont wanna b held & told its gonna b ok. i just wanna cry myself 2 sleep, alone," she says.

"i could never n a million years imagine this happening. please pray for AJ's children. that's who im the most concerned 4."

"im bout 2 giv my swollen eyes sum rest now. i just wanted to say thanks 2 every1 for their prayers."

Look, I don't mean to trivialize this tragedy. Anyone deserves compassion in Kandi's situation. Perhaps we should leave this as a live-and-let live situation (except for the dude who inflicted blunt force trauma on A.J.).

But I can't wrap my head around Kandi's choice to share news of her genuinely painful suffering in the language of text-talk. To reiterate: "im bout 2 giv my swollen eyes sum rest now... i just wanted to say thanks 2 every1"

Really?

Your fiance just got his head pulverized, and you're too bereaved to spell "everyone"?

Maybe the matter is the medium. Twitter demands brevity; the 140 character-cap doesn't allow for encyclopedic bloviation [that's what blogs are for]. And then there's the matter of personal choice. No doubt, anyone seriously calling herself "Kandi" is going to write however she darn well pleases.

Still, if I were sharing heartbreaking news, in any form, I'd take a break from trendy-chat. I'd certainly differentiate between "sum" and "some." But that's just me.

What about the larger trend? Well, it's hardly news that people -- "ppl," in text-talk -- increasingly resort to telescoped language. It's quick and it's popular, yet it could also represent a problem, especially as functional and fashionable choices continue to blur our willingness, if not our ability, to convey complex ideas in meaningful ways.

At some point I fear that we're creating a world where public discourse is little more than a cacophony of car honks and fart noises, the verbal equivalent of typing (or saluting) with one middle finger. And when it transforms from clever technique to ubiquitous practice, all this rapi-tapping pushes us further along into the din.

No, I'm not railing for some abstract principle of "decorum" or "etiquette." I'm just advocating the more basic principle of "not sounding like an 14 year old who just discovered Prince," at least when writing about the loss of a loved one. That's my hopelessly outdated dream.

wats urs?

December 20, 2009 update: Here's a copy/paste from CNN's report of Ashton Kutcher's Twitter Post following the death of Brittany Murphy: "2day the world lost a little piece of sunshine. My deepest condolences go out 2 Brittany's family, her husband, & her amazing mother Sharon."

January 5, 2010 update: Here's a copy/paste from one of Tila Tequila's Twitter Posts following the death of Casey Johnson: "R.I.P my Angel. @caseyjonsonJnJ u will forever be in my heart! I love u so so much and we will Marry when I see U in Heaven my Wifey."

September 16, 2010 update: Creepy loser Wisconsin prosecutor sends repeated come-on texts to crime victim, including this gem: "Are you the kind of girl that likes secret contact with an older married elected DA ... the riskier the better?" followed by the kicker: "I would not expect you to be the other woman. I would want you to be so hot and treat me so well that you'd be THE woman! R U that good?" Really. R U that stupid?

December 30, 2010 update: Raz-B tweets his displeasure at Chris Brown: "@chrisbrown u victimize victims, ur a homophobe, ur on the down low & a woman beater. Merry Christmas & thx 4 showin every1 ur true colors."

January 17, 2012 update: Some idiot ignores a restraining order: "Even though u r mad at me will u still marrier [sic] me? ... I love you!"

Related Posts

• Text-Speak and the New Discourse - Djelloul Marbrook has written an interesting piece about the impact of online communication on what counts as good writing, and he offers a provocative thesis, that today's electronic writing, often a lazy mishmash of lazy and hackneyed tripe, may yet unfold into something new and transformative.

• Dont h8: Keyboard Got Me LOLing - A fullsize keyboard for folks who write in LOLs has arrived. It's called the Fast Finger Keyboard, and it offers a host of TextTalk options under the function keys, everything from ASAP to TTYL. The keyboard also allows you to switch from QWERTY to A-Z formats.

Texting-While-Living

Yay! Another texting-while-living article! Happily, I never tire of these.

This piece, by the AP's Karyn D. Collins, quotes someone from the Johns Hopkins University's Civility Initiative [I love that name] who bemoans the fact that students increasingly multitask in environments - time with family, attending a lecture at school - that have traditionally called for some degree of single-mindedness.

"We're seeing behavior that you never would have seen before," he said. "Students getting up in the middle of class to answer their phones, texting during class, students watching TV on their laptops during lectures." -- P.M. Forni

Not only in my line of work but also in a class I'm taking off campus, I see this regularly: students who are confident they can attend to their social duties and functional obligations while staying in touch with their BFFs, constantly. For many of these folks, texting-while-living is so much better than merely being where they are.

Some parents respond with draconian restrictions and even investigations of their kids' text logs - one response that I can't accept. Instilling responsibility requires that you offer an opportunity to get things right, not just the threat that every error will be scrutinized. Still, the next generation's always-on/partially-there mentality troubles me.

I'm hoping to get past the "what's with these kids?" stage and gain some understanding of how this constant tappa-tapping makes sense to its practitioners. It's relatively easy to condemn the youth for being youthful. Heck, it's an ancient tradition! But I'm sure constant-texters hear such nattering as static, nothing more. I just don't yet know why.

Read the entire article: No texting at dinner! Parenting in the digital era

Real-time Web

Jon Swartz's USA Today article "Real-time Web keeps social networkers connected" offers an overview of the Real-Time Web, the supposed follow-up to Web 2.0. It takes merely three paragraphs before the author lobs the money quote, but I'll not make you wait even that long:

"It's always on, and glued to my body, "says [Sara] Wilson, a 26-year old media buyer in San Francisco who has not had a land line since college. "It's like a security blanket." [Incidentally, Swartz cites CDC research suggesting that land-lines will essentially become extinct in 2025.]

Swartz defines the Real-Time Web era as one marked by constant connectivity, abbreviated communication, and a lack of privacy. He then cites Tim O'Reilly's proposal of "web-squared" as a designator for companies that capitalize on the instant/ubiquitous-content era to capture customers.

One result is the rise of social networking games such as Mafia Wars and FarmVille (both owned by the same company, Zynga) that upend the goal of immersive experience, offering instead quick-dips into a virtual community designed to last [prepare for some conceptual confusion] no more than a few moments. [Maybe the key is to pivot from "community" to "society" as the way to interpret this manifestation of public life.]

Swartz lists some impacts of the always-on lifestyle, which include drops in college grades, at least according to an Ohio State study claiming that Facebook-users earn lower GPAs than non-Facebook users. Surely my students would disagree with that claim. So, who's right? Out-of-touch eggheads or perpetually wired hipsters?

I have not reviewed the Ohio State research in this area, but I can imagine that students leaping from assignment to mobile phone-text back to assignment to instant chat back to assignment to the next digital intrusion are less likely to retain knowledge in a deep-structure way.

Indeed, I remember just recently chatting with some of my students about the movie Gandhi, recommending it as a study in non-violence. A number of students, pretty much all in their early twenties, seemed intrigued until discovering the 188-minute running time. "No way," was the general consensus.

I'm not sure today's students could wait so long without dipping into the info stream. Foregoing the more dreadful implications of the forthcoming term, I imagine that a constant stream of stimulus - the beeps and taps and clicks that signify "you're here" (even more than "I'm here") - is too addictive to delay, even for a few hours.

[Catching a typo in my initial draft, I wonder about the distinction between "I'm here" and "I'm hear." Marshall McLuhan would be absolutely catatonic with joy while studying our current age, coining clever terms and posing philosophical conundrums with each new software iteration and hardware upgrade.]

Swartz's article dribbles off at this point, recalling some University of Melbourne research that found workers who go online for personal matters are more productive than those who don't, before concluding - just ending, really - with an update that 14 states have passed laws against texting-while driving.

At this point I checked and rechecked the article. That's it? Nothing to pull this piece together? Just another factoid whose implicit affirmation of the main idea must serve as a kind of peroration? Then I remembered, USA Today has been preparing for the Real-Time Web communication style since before the first web page went live. In many ways, this journalistic style set the tone for the age in which we live.

Read the entire article: Real-time Web keeps social networkers connected

Waffle House: 7 of 10

The following is from a ten-part serialized essay on Waffle House, initially written in December 2008. A sort of mashup between scholarly musings and personal reflection, this piece may satisfy no one in particular. But I'm happy to share it nonetheless (presuming you don't edit or repackage this piece without my permission). Also, a reminder: these words do not reflect the opinions of Waffle House, San José State University, or any other entity.

Any place becomes an entirely different place at night...

Late one evening, about 2 a.m., I sit in the 59th Avenue Waffle House. At the table across from me, a guy and a red ballcap, a Bluetooth device stuck in his ear, sits with a forlorn looking woman. She's tapping on her mobile phone. Texting someone, I suppose. No, it turns out she's scrolling through an electronic assemblage of toots and beeps and whistles, selecting a ringtone. A server walks by and deposits some coffee: "I was wondering where those sounds came from," she says with a smile. Neither patron utters a word in reply.

I get up and slide a dollar in the juke: Eric Clapton's "After Midnight." No one seems to care. Soon thereafter the machine cranks up "House of the Rising Sun" (The Animals version, of course), and the grill cook whistles along. "Last Night I Saw Elvis At The Waffle House" follows, and the guy slinging eggs turns around:

"Who played that?" he asks.
"I did," I reply sheepishly.
"That's a good song!"

He then starts to sing a few lines. Finally I seal the deal with Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues."

The cook asks me: Why Johnny'd shoot a man in Reno ("just to watch him die") only to wind up in California's Folsom Prison?

"Maybe the guy he shot crawled across the state line," I offer.
"You sure have a taste in music, guy."

The caffeine is working its magic and I'm getting a bit jittery. It seems like a good time to head out and find another Waffle House, to check out the early morning vibe elsewhere. Just across the street, I spot a gas station and fill up. Behind me, tires squeal. An unmarked cop car races up and a young guy in a buzzcut races into the store where I'd been sitting. The place empties out. I have no idea why.

I head to the Waffle House on University. It's a different scene than when I first visited in daylight a few hours before. In normal times, this Waffle House seems fit into the omnitopian pattern, part of an office-park hotel complex, and the only place during my Phoenix fast food travels where I score free wireless (easy internet access is as essential to omnitopia as holy water is to a cathedral). But the mood is much more tense when I return at 3:43 a.m., just having left that strange parking lot scene on 59th. The server offers a menu, but I can tell she's shaking.

"How are you?" she asks.
"Fine. How are you?"
"OK, I guess, for someone who just got robbed."

Part 8 of 10 appears tomorrow.

Read More

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10

Starbucks Texting

Leonora LaPeter Anton wrote an article for this past Sunday's St. Petersburg Times that shares her reflections on the usage of media devices in that famed "third place," Starbucks.

She envisions the coffee shop - and its 12,000 nodes spread worldwide - as it might be seen if we could peer further into the electromagnetic spectrum: a lightning-flashed matrix of tweets, IMs, chats, and calls. "If we could see all of this happen," she says, "places like Starbucks would glow like fireworks."

The author then cites numbers from The Wireless Association stating that Americans text 343 texts per month (almost triple the average three years ago). This average, she notes, does not account for those super-texters who make the headlines with their 35,000 monthly texts.

Here's the cool part of the story: I see this activity - particularly those SJSU students wandering the sidewalks with heads down, tapping away - and wonder: What on earth are they writing? This article offers some tasty examples, and some sad ones too.

Check it out: What's brewing at Starbucks? A peek into the subtext behind the text of our lives

Walking, No Talking

While I was waiting for the bus yesterday, I saw a guy and a girl in their early twenties walking on the sidewalk toward me. The girl was wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and the guy was wearing a slightly hip cut of jeans. From their proximity to each other, I could tell they are a couple.

They weren't talking to each other.

The guy was thumbing a mobile phone, sending a text. His eyes were cast downward, staring at the device. The girl occasionally looked his way but, finding a vacuum, cast her eyes to her left, upward, across the street, seeking something to catch her gaze.

I see things like this all the time, and I want to take pictures. That's a goal of mine, to get some interesting snaps of people texting in public or interpersonal settings. I don't know why, but there's something both sad and poignant about these scenes. I want to photograph them.

I just need to work up the courage to take that shot.

Exhibiting the 3G Family

Note: This post is inspired by an original essay by Theresa Walsh Giarrusso (cited below). Her piece was published before mine, and I explore a number of themes that she first raised.

Sprint's new "3G Family" ad celebrates the ways in which mobile phones allow us to drift off into our own little enclaves, ignoring places and people around us.

Maybe you've seen it. The ad portrays a nuclear family walking through some sort of natural history museum, you know, with dinosaurs and lions and such. Nothing's real. Everything's a fake.

Perhaps it's a trick of camera framing, but the group appears at first to walk closely together.

Then we see a sideways view, the mother walking backward while aiming her camera phone at the family. They ham it up, waving at her. The little boy twirls for the camera.

"If your family were a 3G family you could post your trip on YouTube before you even get home."

Ah, great. Another unedited, self-absorbed, look-at-me YouTube video.

Then the scene shifts. The mother is pointing out something on display while the father hides around a corner. Is he downloading porn? There's something creepily self-satisfied about his smile.

"Or surprise your wife with tickets to a broadway show."

OK. It's not porn, probably.

The little boy is now peering into a display for a stuffed tiger. He roars at the animal before shifting his gaze onto the phone screen. Spielberg's framing a shot.

"Email grandma a T-Rex one second and a tiger the next."

The family hasn't visited Grandma since last Thanksgiving, or was it the one two years ago? But that's probably for the best. Grandma smells kind of funny and her "candy" is a bowl filled with tooth-shattering peppermint nubbins that have congealed into a sold mass untouched since Reagan announced Morning in America.

Of course, the boy's sister is text-messaging the entire time, keeping her head down, tapping on those tiny keys. Something like, "OMG! IM soooo BORD!" (That's my generic example for all text messages. Sorry).

"All at 3G speed."

The end of the spot shows the family departing the scene. Each member is spaced further apart from each other than we saw in the establishing shot. The girl is still texting her silent frustration at being stuck with these losers and the boy appears to be left behind. He stares at the painted lions on the wall.

The 3G family needs to ditch the phones and go to a park.

Theresa Walsh Giarrusso's original essay: I don't want to be a 3G Family

Text Crazy

Susannah Cahalan writes in the The New York Post about a teen who sent 14,528 messages - in a month. Here's a snip:

Reina had a karaoke birthday party, and while other people were singing, she was texting her best friend sitting right next to her.

She even texted her friends to brag about the high number of text messages she had logged when her parents got the statement.

Her texting soared last month because "it was winter break and I was bored," Reina told her parents.

And here's a useful fact:

The average number of monthly texts for a 13- to 17-year-old teen is 1,742, according to a Nielsen study of cellphone usage.

Here's more information about average text amounts: blog.nielsen.com (Nielsen Wire).

Read the entire article: This kid's a text maniac

More mobile phone craziness

Knife-Wielding Teen Enraged Over Cell Phone Punish: "Authorities were called to the home at about 3 a.m. Sunday. Police say the girl violently attacked the door while her parents hid in the bedroom. Investigators say it started when the girl's father took her cell phone away while she used it in her bedroom. The father suspected the girl stole money from her mother's purse to buy more minutes on a prepaid phone card."

Drivers beware -- kids crossing with cell phones: "A team at the University of Alabama at Birmingham reported on Monday that children who talk on cell phones while crossing streets are 43 percent more likely to be hit by a car than when their phones are turned off. . . [Despina] Stavrinos said in a statement that children who attempt to multitask while talking on a cell phone have 'reduced cognitive capacity to devote to potentially dangerous activities such as crossing streets.'"

Ethereal Places

I just finished reading an essay in Critical Studies in Media Communication by Serena Hashimoto and Scott Campbell, entitled "The occupation of ethereal locations: Indications of mobile data." It's an interesting piece that employs a psychoanalytical view (with a bit of symbolic interactionism) to explore the ways in which mobile technologies (with a particular emphasis in texting) change our relationships to people and places. The article discusses a notion of ethereal place that aligns in useful ways with my own journeys through placeless enclaves. Here's a decent summary of the authors' concept from the piece: "The space is a product of fantasies of pure communication, of perpetual contact, and of the other being present here now, without any of the distances and difficulties enhanced by discerning vision" (p. 546).

Here are a few representative quotations:

On the historical nature of communication technologies: "[C]ommunication technologies were developed in order to overcome the barriers that stand between self and other, such as time, space, and flesh" (p. 542).

On one purpose of texting: "Young people are particularly known for their expressive use of the technology in an effort to remove otherness through demonstration of social network membership" (p. 543).

On the large number of "nonsense messages" supposedly sent by youthful texters: "Oftentimes it is the symbolic nature of these characters and not the actual content of their message that carry meaning" (p. 544).

On the "blindness" created by mobile telephony: "The loss of the primacy of vision in telephonic interplay engenders the telephone slipping away 'as a sensory object.'" (p. 545).

On the ways in which mobile devices lose their meaning as objects: "As the user walks freely, hands empty, talking to the other in a thing, an ethereal place has been entered" (p. 546).

On the diminishing value of place: "Mobile data have no concreteness of place, no rapport with location. Their structure is based on ongoing permeability and flux" (p. 549).

On the changing values and fashions associated with mobile technologies: "Mobile telephony has aided in the creation of new 'places' which demand a new aesthetic in order that they be entered" (p. 550).

Quoting Manuel Castells, who coined the phrase mass self-communication: These are communications that are "self-generated in content, self-directed in emission, and self-selected in reception by many that communicate with many" (p. 552).

Hashimoto, S. & Campbell, S. (2008). The occupation of ethereal locations: Indications of mobile media. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 25(5), 537-558.

Learn More

Manuel Castells, http://www.mediacoolhunting.com/archives/the-rise-of-mass-self-communication

Center for Mobile Communication Studies Publications of Interest

Hula-Texting

It happened again last night, that eerie silence.

Jenny and I were at our beloved Hula's -- I was digging into a faux coconut shell filled with wasabi mashed potatoes, along with a Caesar salad and four steak skewers -- when we noticed a sudden quietude from the table closest to us.

Just a few minutes before, three teenaged girls were laughing and chatting. One announced loudly, "I have to tinkle" and Jenny and I shared a silent eye-roll (kind of like an egg roll, but more tasty).

Then it got quiet.

At first we didn't notice, settling back into our own conversation. But then we picked up on the strange wordlessness coming from our neighbors.

Jenny spotted them first: two remaining girls text-messaging on their phones.

Both were facing each other, but each was intently staring at individual screens.

Jenny whispered to me, "Why would they be texting when they're out to dinner with each other?"

To our middle-aged sensibilities, this was a weird performance.

Gazing upon the texting masses, I often wonder: just what do people say when they're mashing those tiny buttons? Occasionally I'll text Jenny or Vienna if I'm attending a meeting that's running late. Sometimes my phone's texting feature helps me send a quick message when I don't want to disturb my surroundings.

But the idea of texting someone else while enjoying a meal with a friend strikes me as bizarre.

Sure, I can imagine all sorts of reasons why it made sense to these folks. And, of course, it's really none of my business why a stranger chooses to send a text message.

But I think that many, many folks text as a sort of nervous tic, a technological parallel to saying "like" every three words while speaking.

Awkward silence? Send a text. Boring surroundings? Send a text. Insufficient stimulus? Send a text.

Really, I wonder what percentage of all the texts sent throughout the world simply announce, "OMG, IM soooo bord!!! :-(" (don't get me started on the impact of text messaging on spelling).

Doubtlessly, my rant reads like the complaint of an old fogey hearing The Beatles for the first time: "You call that music? It's caterwauling!" Yeah, OK, gramps...

But for the life of me, I just don't get texting.

(Cartoon borrowed from Savage Chickens)

Close Encounters

Jenny and I saw Close Encounters of the Third Kind on the big screen in Santa Cruz last night, a one-night only show at the multiplex that attracted a surprisingly large crowd. For me it was a special occasion, since Close Encounters is my favorite movie of all time. I know there are better movies out there, ones that are more challenging or more provocative or more technically proficient, but Close Encounters will always hold a grip on my imagination. I saw the movie first as a kid, having been drenched by the pop culture tidal wave that was Star Wars. I was ready for more space fantasy, hurtling with lasers and adventure. What I got was something very different: the first movie that showed me how adults can be terrified and amazed by the universe, just like kids. That's the appeal of the dialogue when Roy and Jillian laugh together nervously: "It's like Halloween for grownups . . . Trick or treat!" I'd never seen adults so human and so overawed by forces beyond them.

Spoiler Alert

As it turns out, Close Encounters really isn't about aliens at all. Consider how little of them that we see. Given the 70s-era limitations of the technologies available to Spielberg and his crew, one can hardly be surprised that the spaceships are merely bright lights, smoke, clouds, and a little bit of plastic. The aliens themselves are seen in short bursts, the snaps of a camera, or a creature almost hidden within dazzling luminosity. The one vast and incredible spectacle, the so-called "mother ship," resembles what would happen if you combine Las Vegas and an oil refinery. That's the money shot. But the bulk of the movie concentrates on more earthly matters, most importantly the estrangement of a middle-aged man from his family.

Yes, I admit it: I've always felt that I understand Roy Neary. He loves his family and he is satisfied by his job, but he's always felt an inescapable yearning to go to distant places, to shirk off the commitments of adulthood, to seek grand adventure. And he knows instinctively somehow that he's not meant for his time and place. Sure, Roy makes a decision that only a genuinely childish person would contemplate: he abandons his family. But even that excess of irresponsibility can seem strangely tenable from time to time. In Close Encounters we meet lots of people like Roy, adults who are unsure, imperfect, impatient, and overwhelmed by forces entirely beyond their control. And in meeting these people we come to tolerate a little of our own imperfections.

My love for Close Encounters has called forth an impressive degree of patience from my family. We see the movie about two times a year, typically on evenings that we call "Saucer Nights." That means making up a huge batch of mashed potatoes (props for my recitation of the "This means something. This is important" scene) and eating various "saucer-shaped" foods like quesadillas and cookies while watching the movie. Of course, one year I almost mirrored Roy's brand of obsession when I convinced my family to drive to Devil's Tower, Wyoming, where they show Close Encounters nightly at a nearby KOA. Once there, we filmed a shot-by-shot remake of the scene in which Roy and Jillian see the tower for the first time ("I don't believe it's real. I don't believe it's real"). No, that wasn't the point of the trip, but it was a highlight for me. We spent hours trying to mimic the camera moves, the intonation, the framing of the shots, all for less than two minutes of footage. Jenny and Vienna demonstrated unearthly kindness by putting up with this silly production, definitely a once-in-a-lifetime event.



So you can imagine how excited I was to spot Close Encounters as a coming attraction. It had been so long since I'd seen this movie on the big screen. Arriving early and getting a perfect seat, I groaned at the prospect of folks talking loudly or texting onto mobile phones since the crowd was spiked with plenty of kids who (based on their loud conversations) seemed to have stumbled into the auditorium by accident or beer-induced haze. But once the movie started, everyone fell under its spell. We all laughed together at the same jokes and jumped together at the same frights (it seemed that way at least). Every once in a while I'd peer to my left to enjoy the sight of a middle-aged woman sitting on the edge of her seat and smiling to herself. And of course it was cool to spot tiny details of set design that had eluded me on our relatively smaller screen. Imagine that, seeing something new in a movie that I've viewed at least a hundred times. It was a great night.

Driving home, Jenny and I sang that odd song that plays when Barry is awakened by aliens ("Look with care for the shape of a square!") and shared bits of Close Encounters trivia (Do you know the name of the newscaster who helped Roy make the "psychic connection"?). Jenny knows and understands much of why I love this movie. And she's the reason why I'd stay here rather than board the spaceship.

Though I'd be tempted.

Difficulty seeing the video above? Click on the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OGUpoD2RALc

[Note: If you select the link rather than the embedded video, please click "Watch in High Quality" to get the best looking view.]