Bye, We’ll Chat

I say bye (or see ya, later, talk to you soon, take care, see you around) and you say bye too – but I don’t believe the words coming out of my mouth because I can still call you and message you and text you and webcam you and skype you.

I can still talk to you, if I wanted to. It is really easy, because with a few clicks I can post on your facebook wall and send you tweets. It’s not hard. Your physical presence will be reduced to a ring tone on my cell phone, an icon on my screen, and a series of letters with emoticons to replace the familiar flashes of emotions around your mouth and eyes. But that’s okay, because I can still talk to you and that’s what matters. We can still tell each other everything and complain about movies and music and people we love and we don’t really like. We can still laugh together (either with a hahaha or a lolz, same difference).

But I am bawling my eyes out anyway.

It’s not the end of the world or anything, obviously, and you existing in my life two-dimensionally itself is nothing to be sad about. In fact, having the option to hear your voice is way better than having none. And as a loud and proud technophile (a youthful millennial in a love affair with her laptop) I have absolutely no qualms about compromising your presence this way (technically, anyway) because the mere fact that I can be in touch with you thousands of miles away is an awesome miracle (thank you, technology) for which I am very grateful. Fifty years ago it was really difficult to do even that when someone moved away. A hundred years ago it was even more difficult. Two hundred years ago, it was downright impossible. So trust me when I say that I am grateful.

But still I mourn it. I mourn you, in spite of everything. Not because I am sad about “the end of human intimacy without technology as the medium” or whatever it is those old farts make a fuss over. Rather, I am dressed in black because you leaving like this marks the end of something so delicate and perfectly invisible, I can’t even properly argue for its existence. I mourn this because it is a dead silent, motionless end of you as a physical being – as someone who breathes the same air as I do and suffers the same awful weather with me and drags my drunk ass to a beer joint where we would drink from the same pint.

And I mourn the inevitability of such exit. I mourn how easily we have to let each other go (because we are good friends and good friends happily accept that each other’s futures are sometimes thousands of miles away), and how we have to do it lightheartedly (because it’s not that big a deal, remember? we can still stay in touch via facebook and twitter and tumblr and msn and skype et cetera).

I am upset about these unceremonious and calm “I-am-flying-out-tomorrow” chats with you. I cry over these byes and “will facebook you!” and “message me!” and “we’ll keep in touch” and “will visit you” and “let me know when you are back in town (if you are ever back in town)” and awkward hugs just before we turn our backs to each other.

And it tears me apart that once we say adieu, you become intangible (physically absent) and only here in spirit (mentally, verbally, and emotionally present). You deathlessly become a ghost and haunt me (and when I see you years down the road, it will feel like you are resurrected from the dead).

Of course, I think it is most wonderful that you can venture so far and wide in life (and I will venture similarly, too, once I am done with this city) and yes, of course, we can and will still hold hands virtually. But I must be stupid and blind to all these fantastic options (unimaginable merely a few years past) or something, because I am still mourning. Saying bye still makes my eyes runny.

Design is the last bullet print media has in its revolver

Design is the last bullet print media has in its revolver. Magazine and newspaper as an affordable piece of mass art — that’s their chance at survival. Either that or perish like cassette tapes.

On second thought, I guess even cassette tapes or records can be salvaged by a few aesthetic snobs with a flair for the old and vintage. This means the medium of paper therefore has a real chance at surviving in a meaningful way (and not just as an alternative for the technologically tardy), because a lot of people still want to curl up with a tangible thing that can give you a painful paper cut. People still want to physically leaf through stuff they are reading.

My suggestion is to exploit that nostalgia. Become beautiful (hire real graphic designers, not some guy who lays stuff out), interactive (origami, anyone?), and worth having (become an attitude/intellectual status symbol). Do things web pages can’t, like being tangible and “there”. Make sure that the paper everything is printed on looks fantastic, smells nice, feels great, and screams environmentally friendly — that’s probably the only real defense against the crushing tyranny of Internet. Make it easier and more fun than searching online for good and relevant content.

On that note, a random idea for a magazine:

Custom designed magazine.

Have a large selection of articles/essays/interviews/roundtables/etc. that belong in many different sections (i.e. science, technology, design, art, humour, pop culture, literature, politics, religion, cultural reporting, etc.) and put them up online. The content is very important, but the editorial design that accompanies the content will have to be particularly varied and phenomenal. The subscribers can then go online once a month (this means the articles can’t be terribly time sensitive), choose the articles (based on excerpts and accompanying design) they want in their magazines (have them pay per article or give them a page limit). They can then add sudoku puzzles, crosswords, riddles, horoscopes, and other embellishments that are usually included in magazines. The subscribers’ requests will then be received and printed accordingly. Each magazine printed will be different and the subscriber’s name should be placed at a prominent location (“property of _______”).

Potential benefits.

Having chosen the articles they decided were relevant to them, people would be more likely to read/use every page of the magazine (something we rarely do ordinarily), which means trees will not have died in vain and little in general goes to waste – and this would also mean that the magazine will be jam-packed with content individuals want and consequently more meaningful to them personally.

Feedback?

Comments regarding this? Suggestions? Criticisms? Other benefits? Ways to improve the idea if it’s not too insane? Massive flaws I am overseeing? I am aware of the probable expensiveness of printing custom magazines, the ridiculously large workforce this project would require, and questions like “what would happen if the subscriber doesn’t have the time to choose the articles?” (maybe they should have default choices, based on pre-chosen keywords and/or previous selections – kind of like Google ads). Speak up! I’d love to hear what you all think.

On a rather unrelated note, I am incredibly excited about this endeavour!

ETA: Apparently a magazine sort of like it exists (existed)! http://www.slate.com/id/2219063/ Thanks Cooper, for letting me know. I should’ve done more research, probably.

Help, I’m Telling Strangers My Secrets

We complain about things like Facebook and Twitter impinging on our privacy, but I think that’s absurd because we are the ones providing details about our lives (including our relationship status, down to the minute of hook-up and break-up) on the web and showing them off to friends and “friends” and strangers.

If we don’t want someone to come inside our house, we can lock the door. Likewise, if we don’t want the information that we are foot fetishists to be known and used against us, we can make a conscious decision to not put it on our profiles. It’s as simple as that, especially since the Great and Almighty Corporation of Facebook can’t jump out of our screens and learn what we did last weekend with a bong and eight shots of tequila, so long as we don’t tell them. On the other hand, any trespasser or hooligan can break through our windows and get inside our homes, so really they aren’t that bad in comparison.

We are the exhibitors of our personal information, the ones typing it all up. We are the invaders of our own privacy. We can’t pretend not to know this because it’s so obvious.

I think we feel inclined to blame Facebook for everything, because of the cognitive dissonance (psychological tension caused by one’s own contradicting attitude and behaviour) that occurs when we use tools like Facebook or Twitter. We are torn between our powerful exhibitionistic urges and our ideological appreciation of privacy — and this confuses and makes us feel uncomfortable.

Take me, for example. If someone asked me, “do you value your privacy?” I’d say I do, absolutely. The public has no business in what I am doing with myself and I wholeheartedly believe that.

But I am obviously an exhibitionist. I am easily tempted to reveal intimate facts about myself to the public. That’s why I blog it, Twitter it, Facebook it, and Tumblr it. I discuss, elaborate, analyze, narrate, and illustrate how my day went, all in the extreme public sphere of the Internet. Even offline, I make friends and tell them more than I should. I beg them to be involved in my private life.

In fact, upon further introspection, my exhibitionism seems to run even deeper. Although in my sane mind I think stalking is incredibly creepy, I find with a shudder that secretly and unconsciously I want people to be interested in me enough to stalk me. I want people to care about the mundane things I do and monitor my every move. I want strangers to recognize me and have forum discussions about my thoughts, beliefs, and actions. It sometimes gives me exquisite chills to receive comments on my blog entry or a status update on one of my many social networking sites.

When that happens, I cannot believe how much of a freak and hypocrite I am.

For someone who says she values her privacy, I sure spend a lot of my time exposing myself. I whine about people disrespecting my personal space, but I am the one that doesn’t give a damn about it, telling everyone about her darkest secrets and oral hygiene.

And it really makes me want to blame Facebook and Twitter and blog and Tumblr (that I signed up for out of my own free will) that make it that easy for me to do so. I want to say, “damn you, Internet! You are making me invade my privacy in a really user-friendly and aesthetically pleasing way!”

Maybe our culture’s obsession with fame has turned me into this off-putting attention whore. Damn you, western civilization! But of course I don’t think it is a simple as that. We can’t just blame the generalized “our culture” and become free of personal blame for being what we are.

Instead, I think we should gather the courage to ask the question: Why do we come up with increasingly better ways to expose ourselves (i.e. Facebook, then Twitter) all the while complaining about our personal space being spat on? Why do we want everyone to know that our teeth hurt today and that we should really go see a dentist?

I want to argue here that it is because our entire worldview is built around the idea that openness and communication is awesome, that open door policies are a good and healthy thing (even if it opens doors to the riff-raffs too), that knowing is the first step to understanding and empathy (even if too much information is annoying), and that truth is infinitely productive (even at its most destructive). And I think we are right to believe these things.

Privacy is only offered behind locked doors. But when no one is free to come inside your personal sphere – sticking their nose in matters of your thoughts, attitudes, and actions – no real dialogue can occur. No dialogue means no movement, no change, no solutions and no real understanding of others or even ourselves. Dialogue and social interaction is crucial for individual growth and a healthy community. Don’t trust anyone who tells you otherwise because they are either a coward or your enemy.

I think because many of us understand this fact, consciously or unconsciously, we are quickly seduced by the idea of unlocking the door. And it makes perfect sense to bust it open and invite people in, because what kind of life is it to live it by ourselves? Although we shouldn’t be forced to reveal secrets we do not want to reveal (unless of course the secret in question is the location of the bomb or hostages or victims of a kidnap or bodies of the murdered victims), we might eagerly choose to for the breath of fresh air. On a purely experiential level, when we share what’s on our minds, it feels good – and of course there are effective therapies built around this fact.

So we undress and reveal ourselves! Watch me! Please watch me!

And it’s exhilarating to be naked and watched. But then we feel embarrassed and guilty about our nakedness, because we stigmatize exhibitionistic behavior as imprudent and inappropriate. So when someone (sometimes ourselves) point out this inner paradox, we make a scapegoat out of Facebook and Twitter. Damn you, you useful tools with which we indulge our twisted appetite for exposure!

But I would like to take this opportunity to defend these effective hammers against the walls between us. Privacy is important, but so is openness. Self-indulgent and excessive exhibitionism is annoying, but we can just say “I don’t care” or “Too much information” to that and move on. In the form of considerate openness (not in-your-face aggressive revelations), however, I think self-exposure should be encouraged. I think twittering can be wonderfully healthy.

(Published in the first edition of Konekt Magazine, Fall 2009)