Technology’s Greatest Gift

A friend pointed me to an article this week, a post by Arianna Huffington detailing her planned holiday week Unplugging Challenge. She outlined a timeout from her “devices,” no TV, no social media, only two email check-ins per day, only when the office is open during the week of Christmas. There is, of course, no small irony in the blog post which also points to the #holidaysunplugged hashtag through which she and her compatriots will keep the conversation going, but of course only before and after the “blackout.”

All irony aside, while I appreciate the notion of being more present with those around us and the need for greater introspection, I replied with no hint of over-the-top drama that I would kill myself before I would do that. In fact, for myriad reasons, I would not kill myself. I also would not commit to turning off my devices for a week, soulless person that I am.

I recognize that the grand gesture makes for a better blog headline, and surely it lends itself to a better hashtag than #balance. But as with so many things in life, balance is the elusive goal for which we should, almost always fruitlessly, strive.

Still, the article and subsequent discussion made me think, and my hat’s off to anyone who does that.

So why would I (not really except in overly dramatic spirit) kill myself before I would turn off, tune out, log off?

In part, because I don’t give the Internet quite as much crap as a lot of people do. Sure, it’s awash in bad grammar, mind-bendingly bad spelling, even more mind-bendingly bad propaganda on every side of the aisle, and pages and pages and pages of pornography that would make even Hugh Hefner shout “enough!”

But because we are so enamored with decrying the evils of contemporary society (a fascinatingly consistent cry regardless of what point in history marks a person’s particular relationship to what is contemporary), we forget what the Internet does. It opens a world of ideas to us with an ease that is so remarkable we already take it for granted. It opens a world of people to us as well. At the end of the day, it’s the people that always will keep me from pushing my devices aside.

I joined Twitter just over a year ago for a single silly reason but with no thought that I would enjoy it. Me? Expressing myself in 140 characters… it seemed beyond the pale of what might be possible. But I did enjoy it. I consume the articles that no longer escape my notice because @parisreview, @TIME, @Variety, @nytimes, and a host of others are in my newsfeed. In fact, they are from time to time a catalyst for the introspection some would say only a break from technology allows.

But the opportunity to connect with people in far flung corners of the globe with whom I share an interest or two is why I delight in my Twitter account.

There’s a brilliant, funny, broken, fierce girl in Canada with an honesty of spirit that is quite simply beautiful and whose path would never cross mine in the “real world.” There’s a lady in Atlanta with a courage and serenity that left me speechless for much of this year as she cheerfully faced one unbelievably absurd obstacle after another. I adore them both and look forward to the day when our real worlds collide.

At times, while using my devices, I am encouraged to “talk to real people,” but it is the very real people in my life--but unfortunately not often enough in my eyesight--who make my devices essential to me. There are dear friends whose presence in my life is quite simply greater by virtue of the ease with which we can connect in today’s plugged-in world. There are relationships, some stretching back decades, which are profoundly enhanced by the ability to communicate daily about things of great import and those of almost no consequence at all.

Because, at the end of the day, when we share our thoughts with others, whether it is in person or electronically, we enrich our lives. Connections with people who matter to us broaden our humanity, illuminate our hearts and minds, and feed our souls. The people who make us laugh, cry, think, and dream need not only sit with us in the room. It is the people who are a delight to me. The people. And the manner in which we are able to connect is only background noise. Embracing absent friends, as well as those in the room, is a gift enabled by our technological age.

And that’s not something I’m willing to turn off.

What Price Loyalty?

I'm cheap, at times painfully, absurdly cheap. It's all my dad's fault. I am not besmirching his memory in saying that. He's was notably, colossally, heralded-in-song-and-story cheap.

But this is about me.

I love my tech. I do. I sat on the couch the other night with two laptops, an iPad, and an iPhone all going. I was using them all.

So when Apple announced the new iPhone. I looked. I coveted. I looked a lot. Cause it's so pretty. Sooooo pretty. Space grey is the new black.

But I love my iPhone. I loved my Blackberry before it and was slow to part with it. But I would marry my iPhone. I would adopt my iPad, but I would marry my IPhone. I know we could live happily ever after.

And so the notion of divorcing my iPhone 4S to run away with a space grey 5S feels frivolous and disloyal. Plus, kids in college... I know I shouldn't spend money on a new pretty phone to replace a perfectly functioning and almost (but not quite! Shh!) equally pretty iPhone.

Of course, I do qualify for an upgrade. (Thanks Verizon!) That means the new phone is only $199. Not bad.

And my 4S, should I choose to part with it, is worth $200 in trade-in.

Now you're thinking, that's a no-brainer, right?

Well maybe that's how your brain works, not mine.

To be honest, there is a $30 activation fee that I didn't mention. Plus, the connector is different. At minimum, I'd need to buy one extra cord. $29. And a case. The case is important. A phone is an accessory and the outfitting of said accessory matters. A lot.

Which brings to mind my iPhone 4S with its snappy and oh-so-appropriate "The Great Gatsby" cover. One of my five favorite books. Original cover art (not some vaguely tacky art from the largely bad movie adaptation.) And now, the case is out of print.

Houston, we have a problem.

Despite the exceptional beauty of the 5S, it does require a case. Clearly, not just any case will do.

But. I found one. It's delightful. It's literate. It's a case I'd be proud to have you read and admire for the beauty of its language. I bought it. It's sitting on the kitchen table.

Empty.

The iPhone 5S is currently sold out.

Life on Deadline

"Death is always on the way, but the fact that you don’t know when it will arrive seems to take away from the finiteness of life. It’s that terrible precision that we hate so much. But because we don’t know, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that's so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless."

 --Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

Thank god for deadlines.

Seriously. Where would we be without them?

A looming deadline may have been the final push to prompt our elected representatives (Am I the only one finding that word uncomfortable of late? Representative? Um, whatever. Just saying.) to pull their collective heads out of whatever dark place in which they have shoved them. It’s hours before the literal 11^th hour as I write, so it does remain to be seen, I suppose.

Clearly though, the deadline is something in which we place our faith. A government shutdown. A looming debt crisis. And yet, the markets continue to function with no significant indication of impending catastrophe. Most of the commentators acknowledge that things will get done “at the deadline.” “They always do.”

America is indeed a deadline-based culture. “What’s your deadline?” “Tell me your absolute latest…” “When do you gotta have it?” Because… you’re sure as hell not getting it five minutes before then. The deadline. For even the most cautious among us, it’s the edge we live on.

I remember a job interview from my younger days. The old guy in the room was asking about deadlines, and how I would deal with the staff in that regard. Certainly there would be special accommodations, he seemed to suggest. I smiled and talked about the difference between “deadlines” and “drop deadlines.” One I could control, one I could not. It must have been a good enough answer. I got the job, and we were pals my three years there.

At times, I can’t imagine what we would get done without deadlines. I’ve laughed and called myself a deadline girl for years. As far back as college, the deadline needed to be in my face before it had much effect. It’s not for two days, and you’re asking me about it now? The hell? On occasion I’ll open a file and find that I’ve taken care of something way in advance, far, far from the deadline. It always surprises me.

Looking at the productivity that bursts forth at the deadline, I wonder what we might do if life had a deadline.

It does of course. Death is always looming. As the economist John Maynard Keynes said, “In the long run, we are all dead.” But we sure don’t live that way. There’s a lot more Scarlett O’Hara in us. “I’ll think of it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

I’ve never had the urge to jump on the DNA testing bandwagon. Surprise me, I thought. I don’t need to know what’s next. It always seemed there was something about knowing what was looming in the distance that might sully the blissfully ignorant present.

But what if we lived life with that deadline clearly articulated before us? The randomness of life might catch a few by surprise, but what of the rest? Some would try to cheat fate. Note to those few. Hubris fails. Don’t believe me? Read Oedipus. Some would never pay attention, perhaps never really believe the truth in front of them. But what of the rest?

How much better would we live our truly brief lives if the deadline were before us? You have two birthdays left. Two summers. One fall. Would our lives be more full? Would our procrastination be less? Or would the final, epic, spectacular burst come right before the deadline?

Because, of course, that’s what we live for.

10 Things I Learned From Fan Fiction

Over the past couple of years, I took a creative leap into the world of fan fiction. (To be honest, it was a second leap, but the first for an audience. In the sixth grade, I embarked upon a sequel to Gone With The Wind. I made it to about 24 pages before putting it aside. That said, I still have it.) Still never pegging myself as creative enough for fiction writing, fan fiction provided the perfect opportunity to toe-dip into the kiddie pool. 

Characters. Check.

Backstory. Check.

The delightful crutch of a built-in audience intimately engaged with both items above… check.

With that, on Jan. 1, 2012, into the shallow water I went. With two years only a short distance on the horizon, the original project continues, complemented by some one-shot stories along the way. More than 100,000 words in, I’m astounded to be 100,000 words in. Seriously, 100,000 words, strung together and still making sense… with people out there who want to read them… Blows. My. Mind.

During these past two years, I’ve learned some things about myself, some about writing, some about reading in my fan fic world that I had never anticipated on Jan. 1, 2012.

1. Fanfic.net will not accept stories written in screenplay format. Seriously, Fanfic.net, what the hell? Are you snobbishly rejecting all of the writing on television, in movies, on theatrical stages because it’s incompatible with your site? Really? Fail. 
2.  Fanfic.net notwithstanding, if you write about characters people love and are invested in, your audience is guaranteed, you need only find the right fan board.
3.  If you write well, readers will come. There are some amazingly good writers out there with day jobs far from the world of writing.
4. If you write poorly, readers will come. Never underestimate the hunger of readers for ever more stories revolving around the characters they love. Subject/verb agreement… it’s your friend, I swear. Try it.
5. There are some fairly bad writers out there with interesting and creative story ideas. In collaboration with a better writer, they might make magic.
6.  If you write smut, your audience will increase exponentially. I haven’t yet dipped my toes into that much deeper pool. Sometimes I wonder how the water is though. Seems like it must be warm, right?
7.  I’m a view whore. Seriously, the number of times I’ll check to see who is reading after I’ve posted a new chapter is borderline embarrassing. I have to almost physically restrain myself from playing games that I know will make that number increase. (Restraining oneself physically is an all but impossible task. Just saying.)
8. See number 6. My view whorishness has not yet overcome some latent Puritan sensibility that keeps me and my writing out of the Smut Hut.
9. I will never, ever cease to be delighted in the fact that someone might choose to read something I’ve written, and even better, to ask for more. Again. Blows. My. Mind.
10. That you’ve made it to number 10 on this list delights me as well. Thank you.

Life Lessons in the Crosswalk

With Higher Education under fire from all sides, experiential learning has become a buzzword for teaching students real world skills that reach beyond standard classroom fare. Faculty and administrators are working to enhance the education of students before they leave the Ivory Tower. Internships, Study Abroad, Service Learning projects, all are part of our experiential learning toolkit. 

But a week of observing the migration of undergraduates along our residence hall to academic campus corridor suggests ample life lessons within easy reach in the course of a normal day.

Situated smack dab in the middle of the Midwest where we dearly love our cars, the University planners envision a campus that is pedestrian-friendly. In their wildest imaginings, all parking facilities would move to the perimeter of campus, and all students and employees would reach the center of campus on foot or in buses. In my wildest imaginings, I would be safely retired before such inconvenience came to fruition.

Still, in pursuit of a pedestrian-friendly campus, the University added well-marked crosswalks to the campus a couple of years ago. It may be the most cost-effective teaching space we have with so much to learn there.

Crossing Guards: The University, in its infinite wisdom, employs upperclass students to don reflective vests and dutifully escort a new class of freshman across the street for their first couple of weeks of classes. Life Lesson: The real world doesn’t come with crossing guards, not even when you are just starting out. You will be responsible for your own safety. Common sense will serve you enormously well in this regard.

Drivers Must Yield to Pedestrians in Crosswalk: If you are in the crosswalk, you have the right-of-way. However, if the car is there first, you do not. It is not in your best interest to walk lemming-like across the street with earbuds in or reading your phone. Life Lesson: The presence of a painted crosswalk does not mean that you shouldn’t stop before stepping off the curb. Do not walk in front of traffic. What you learned in kindergarten still applies.

Just Smile and Wave: Every driver is also a pedestrian at times. We feel your pain. If it’s raining or freezing, I’ll always stop to let you cross. If you acknowledge that you noticed, I am even more likely to stop for you when it’s sunny and 70 degrees. Life Lesson: Do not take anything for granted. Recognize every kindness. You might make someone’s day; it might even make your own when you realize that.

Bicycles are Vehicles, Too: If you have chosen to ride to class rather than to walk, respect the wheels under you. Pedestrian status no longer applies. Life Lesson: If you are moving through life on wheels, follow the rules. Traffic laws are designed to safely move us collectively from one place to the next. Your personal convenience is not greater than the common good. Do not mistakenly think it is.

The Magic Zone: When you step into a marked crosswalk, you are not magically safe. Even if you are following the rules, chances are someone else is not. Life Lesson: The thing that’s completely predictable can still surprise you. Always watch for cars.

Technology Fail or User Error?

Technology. 

Some days it makes my life so much easier I could hug on my computer. The manual typewriter I learned on—mercifully banished. The tether of a corded telephone—a distant memory. Spellcheck. Cut and Paste. Autocomplete. Score. Score. (Mostly) Score.

But some days, the server is down, cell phone service is spotty, and the “spinning ball of death” (the high-tech term used by our IT staff) squeezes countless minutes from my day. 

Whose fault is it anyway? Of late, there seems to be enough blame to pass around.

***

I’ve gone quiet in this space over the past few weeks in part because of an amped up schedule with the beginning of the school year. But before that, my absence was the result of Microsoft Word effectively disappearing from my laptop.

I don’t know why it left. And frankly, it would have been easier if it had actually left me. Instead, one evening, I turned on the computer, doubled clicked Word… and got a Program Failed to Load notice. Program Failed to Load? The hell? The program in question has been on my computer for over a year. Why would it choose a bright August day to forsake me? Technology Fail.

After repeated attempts to start the program and restarting the computer several times, it was game on. Mano a Keyboard. I paid for that program, and I wasn’t walking away until it worked again. I’m smarter than a computer. If Word wouldn’t work, I’d just Uninstall it. Except… it wouldn’t uninstall. No matter how many times I tried, that process failed. Over a handful of days, I attempted the Uninstall several times to no avail. 

So I turned to the Internet, where the solutions to all the world’s problems reside. I found a Microsoft patch to repair the program. No luck. I returned to the website where I purchased it to download the program anew. No luck. I had downloaded it once, and since it remained on my computer (albeit non-functioning) I couldn’t download it again.

Finally, sometime during week two, I found a different fix, one to allow for the program Uninstall (although I did not know definitively that I would be able to Reinstall.) Regardless, it wasn’t working, and inaction isn’t my style, so I downloaded the fix. Within 15 minutes, the program was Uninstalled. A handful of clicks and after retyping the software key, I was back in business. Microsoft Word was once again my bitch. Score.

***

There are many hallmarks of a University town, among them a simultaneous increased awareness of the world around us and an utter lack of regard for anything outside our own tiny bubble. There lives the Toyota Prius.

Really, the Prius is a delightful little car. We rented one a couple of years ago over spring break and found it perfectly serviceable and rather fun. Any car that turns like a ZTR mower is a hoot. Comfortable, it boasts an appropriate amount of power to drive on any public road one might encounter. The dashboard display is reminiscent of a video game, with its details regarding battery charge and gas mileage. It is wonderfully environmentally friendly, particularly in locales where the traffic spends as much time stationary as in motion. That is not where I live. Still, there are more than a few Priuses on the road here.

There seems, however, to be a fair segment of the Prius-owning population who are more entranced with playing the battery-only game than actually driving like a lucid person to their destination. User Error.

Folks, newsflash, if you are driving on a public roadway, the point is not to keep your speed so low that the gas engine of your Prius never turns on and traffic backs up behind you. Some of us have places to be and would like to drive 30MPH to get there. If you can’t manage to drive with the flow of traffic, may I suggest the bike lane as an appropriate place for you to stick your Prius?

***

GPS.

There may be no greater gift to business travel. (My iPhone ALWAYS excepted, it is my special companion.) In many new cities for the first time over the past eight years, the GPS Lady has guided me safely to various locales. (With only the exception of a few rather frightening route choices—I’m still waiting for the Single Ladies Shouldn’t Drive Alone Here at Night option.)

She admonishes me a fair amount of the time, urging me to “Return to the Highlighted Route” and to “Make a Legal U-Turn.” Recently though, I gave her a run for her money.

A trip to the northern part of the state found me on a newly-completed highway that opened after our GPS was first removed from the box. As I embarked upon my drive, I was curious to see what the display would offer along the way.

It was less than half an hour into my trip when I turned right onto the new roadway. Almost immediately, it diverged from the path of its predecessor, much to the horror of the GPS Lady. In minutes, she was “Recalculating” and with increasing urgency directing me to “Return to the Highlighted Route,” quite certain that I was now plowing through acres of cornfields and not paved highway. 

Best of all, though, was the GPS display, captured here.

Seriously, that’s what it looked like when I played driving games in arcades as a kid just before the game ended and my quarter was spent. Technology Fail. But also, Score. 

Thanks for the laugh, GPS Lady.

Slogging Through A Summer Job

My worst summer job was noteworthy not in that it was uniquely awful but rather that it was ubiquitously awful.

If you grew up in an even semi-rural area of the Midwest in the 1970s, at the ripe age of 13, you had matured enough to spend part of your summer detasseling corn. I was enough of a city girl in my town of 13,000 not to know what a corn tassel was. I did, however, know that in 1978 the $2.65 an hour that detasseling paid far exceeded the 50 cents an hour I was paid for babysitting. That was a lot of 45rpm singles and Tiger Beats; so, when the opportunity arrived, I signed up.

It was perplexing that first day in the cornfield to hear the foreman talk about male and female corn, noting the rows that needed to be detasseled for maximum pollination and crop yield. Male and female corn? I saw none of the familiar markers of such distinction and snobbishly found the designations absurd.

Quickly I learned that the most painful aspect of detasseling was not the hard work, not the sunburn in the pre-SPF 50 days, it was not even the early morning walk to the pick-up point. No, the most painful part of detasseling is that corn hurts. Its leaves are stiff with sharp, cutting edges and a texture akin to a cat’s tongue. It cuts. It cuts your legs, your arms, your neck, your face. And where it cuts, those with sensitive skin such as mine were treated to a dose of “corn poisoning,” an itchy, painful red rash. Nothing ruined a good tan faster.

In the four summers I detassled, I learned to keep my arms covered with a light shirt and trudged on. Yet one day in the cornfield stands apart. We spent one 90-degree day working in a field beside which sat a massive mound of pig poo, that farmer’s fertilizer of choice. As large as a dump truck, it added a special odor to our day. It was the next day, however, that I remember most vividly.

Overnight, it rained. It poured. The skies opened up. And in that torrential downpour, the mound of poo was beaten flat. Flat and spread throughout the field. As we walked the rows that day, the wet, sticky, stinky pig excrement pulled our shoes from our feet with every step. Finally, we gave up, parked our shoes at the end of a row, and schlepped for the remainder of the day barefoot, slogging our way, literally, through crap for a day’s pay.

The Promise of No

We learn it before we toddle. No. It comes with a frown and sometimes a wag of the finger. It sounds sharper, louder. No. The fun stops here.

And so it goes, through childhood, adolescence, young adulthood. No. You can’t stay up late, you can’t go out tonight, you can’t drink yet. No. All that you want seems to live on the other side of ‘No.’ It is, by definition, negative, but I think it also gets a bad rap.

In the big, bad, scary real world, ‘No’ is the engine of progress. The route to the next big thing pauses, more often than not, on ‘No’ before moving forward. Does your boss like this design, this idea, this proposal? No? Don’t fret. 

For an adult, ‘No’ is transformed. The ‘No’ of work is in some cases a statement of belief. We can do better. You can do better. 

At work, I say ‘No’ a lot. It’s entirely possible that I have a reputation for being impossible as a result. I don't particularly care. There are times that ‘No’ wears me out as much as the people to whom I’m saying it. Often, it would be easier to say ‘Yes, let’s do it.’ But I know that on the other side of one more ‘No,’ there’s something bigger, better, faster, more effective. It’s where we need to be, so ‘No’ it is yet again.

Over the past handful of months, I’ve worked on a project that has been beset with many ‘No’s along the way. I have returned to the drawing board more times than I can count. It’s also been one of the most rewarding projects of my career. To work with people who care enough to say ‘No,’ who believe in what we are doing and our collective ability to do better has been challenging, empowering, and exciting. It has been a gift. We’re inching closer to the Promised Land of ‘Yes,’ but it’s all of the ‘No’s along the way that will make ‘Yes’ especially sweet.

So the next time your project merits a ‘No,’ sigh, curse under your breath (or out loud if that’s more your style), then take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and have at it again. Because that ‘No’ is really a promise of a great ‘Yes’ that’s lingering around the corner.