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The Problem of Exemplarity

One of my biggest academic pet peeves is the extent to which Athens is overrepresented in textbooks, lectures, and scholarship. An example of this phenomenon (and not a particularly egregious example at that) is that in one textbook the entire chapter on Western Greeks before the fifth century comprised six pages, while the chapter on reforms to the Athenian Constitution in the Archaic period was close to thirty.

There are several reasons for this infatuation, including the availability of written sources for Athens, a perceived connection with the “birthplace of democracy,” and (more importantly, I think) the juxtaposition of “Athens” with “Greece” that took place in Greece while under Roman rule. Thus there is a long tradition of promoting Athens as legitimately Greek while other Greek states were judged by the Athenian “norm.”

I dream of teaching a Greek history survey that does not talk about Athens except as an outsider to the other Greek people and places that are focused on in the course. In order to assuage concerns that I will simply erase Athens from Greek history, I would then teach a second course that is a survey of Athenian history as distinct from Greek history.

This structure could work, but I also run the risk of exemplifying Athens too far in the other direction. Simply by making Athens abnormal for Greek history and then turning around and teaching another course on Athens, I make Athens appear unique. The problem is that it doesn’t fit. Athens does not conform to any of the rules and doesn’t fit into the Greek paradigm. It is like trying to teach a course on the history of cities in the United States and then predominantly teaching about New York City, only in this scenario, New York is producing most of the political, cultural, and rhetorical documents, is hailed as the center of learning in America, and people two hundred years from now look back upon it wistfully as the American standard. Athens, like New York, is the city that is so grotesquely magnified beyond all recognition that you can’t ignore it, but also can’t really normalize it with the other examples.

That is my problem. The only way I can see to give Athens a fair shake, but also to keep it from entirely overshadowing the other areas, is to excise it entirely from the course. In turn, this magnifies Athens more while inaccurately representing much of Greek culture. At least I have identified the problem.

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2012 02 01 JP Education
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When to Read

Rarely have I had an English class that I enjoyed. I liked the teachers, I liked many of the classmates and some of the activities and assignments, but I did not enjoy the class. This is perhaps because there was one assigned book (Shakespeare aside) that I truly enjoyed reading (and another two that I got to choose from a lengthy list). In part this could be the contrarian in me, but I see two larger systemic reasons.

The first is that I don’t like structurally analyzing literature. I’m sure that it has value and it is good to understand what a climax is, but I also steadfastly maintain that literature broken down into constituent parts loses something. Literature is story telling and is about drawing the audience in, so while breaking the story down some ways can help understand it better, other divisions end up leaving it empty. I want to experience my literature. In just one example, one of the reasons that I love 1984 as much as I do is that I have a visceral reaction to the story each and every time I read it. Few other books do that for me.

The second is a larger issue with teaching classic literature in high schools at all. While I do believe that there are great books, whether canonical or not, that everyone ought to read, I am becoming more and more convinced that high school is the wrong time to read them. However hard my teachers tried there were certain messages and certain elements in the books we read that I was only capable of understanding or absorbing in a shallow way. For some books that is still the case, and for others I will never really be ready (though accepting this as a basic truth actually helps make me able to read those books anyway). My point is that now, in my third year of graduate school (which is to say my fourth year out of college), I am realizing that I have more of an affinity for absorbing classic literature than I did ten years ago. Perhaps, then, English programs in high school would be better served finding creative ways to get children to read books of any stripe and let classic literature stand upon its own merit in the years to come rather than forcing people to read those books at a young age and thereby leave a bitter taste in their mouths.

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2011 12 26 JP Education
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Reflections on The Heart of Darkness: Racism and Audience

One of the books I read last summer after finishing up my Thesis was Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness. I had not read it before, but I found that I enjoyed it quite a bit. While I browsed around for more Conrad books to read (eventually settling on The Secret Agent), I came across some reviews The Heart of Darkness. There were two prevalent critiques: racism and difficulty of reading, particularly in regard to the verbiage. I understand both complaints, but find both to be invalid.

It is readily apparent in The Heart of Darkness that Conrad is a product of his times and certainly has many of the same prejudices of his time. He is no more racist than his contemporaries and considerably less so than many. So, yes, there are racist elements in The Heart of Darkness, but that does not discredit him. The descriptions in the book, without yet broaching Conrad’s messages about human nature and “civilization,” are incredibly vivid and are critical of colonial exploitation. Keeping in mind that the entire story is told as a reminiscence of Marlow, a man who was employed by a colonial company Conrad depicts “the whites” as the active characters juxtaposed by the more or less passive “blacks.” Even if he did not intend fore there to be an overarching critique of the white behavior (which I think he did intend), and disturbing (though accurate) descriptions of behavior in much the same way as Mark Twain created, The Heart of Darkness still serves as an insight into the conscience of a generation. Was Conrad a racist? Perhaps, but he is also clearly uncomfortable with exploitation and provides a scathing critique of civilization and imperialism–even if there is also an admission that lawlessness is worse.

For what it is worth, I have not read what Edward Said has written about Conrad (though I would like to).

Conrad’s writing is beautiful, direct, and honest. I had few problems with the verbiage and syntax, though I can see why some people may struggle. Frankly, school systems in this country ill prepare people for the humanities in general and particularly history and English. Though I love reading and have a good vocabulary, I hated assigned books and most of the accompanying exercises. Most of the vocabulary and syntax knowledge people get is through their independent reading. Books are widely available, but many of those that are widely read have easier structure and vocabulary. For the most part this is to make them accessible. Many classics of literature were not meant to be as widely read simply because the literate stratum of society was not as large. Conrad uses “big” words, but I suspect that those people who read it upon release would have had no difficulties. In order for a work to survive it has to be read immediately, so I doubt any author attempts to predict what writing would make his work readable in perpetuity. Yes, Conrad provides a challenge to read, but in The Heart of Darkness it is well worth the effort.

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2011 12 25 JP Education
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A Sign of the Times or The Problem with Moral Judgements*

I have a problem with labeling something good or bad. Or progressive or regressive, or evil. Then again, I also have to restrain myself when I hear anyone say “I am doing good,” so this may be a personal issue. But beyond even the simple imprecision and ambiguity (if not outright inaccuracies) inherent in such statements, moral judgements are more indicative of the speaker than of what is being spoken and, in reference to history, tend to change with time.

This is hardly a revelation for me. I wrote a college entrance essay on good and evil people, arguing that there was “evil” in the best person and “good” in the worst. Claiming that there was “good” in Hitler is neither an easy nor a popular stance, but I pointed out the likelihood of “good”–I mean, Luke Skywalker succeeded in redeeming Darth Vader (though he never bothered trying with Palpatine). My point is merely that reality exists outside the human moral categories and to realize this you do not even need to resort to semantics. Since the perception of the world is relative, what is bad or inappropriate (the mild forms of evil) to one person, is good or even necessary to another. After all, the truths we cling to depend a great deal on our points of view. And here I am deliberately invoking Star Wars rather than bringing about explicit examples since (for the moment) I would rather not get mired in any sort of political debate.

None of this is comfortable for my students. Much as when I was younger I wanted to know whether the Chechens or the Russians were the good guys, they want to know the hero and the villain at each point. We are hard-wired to find the easy answer preferable even though it is rarely the right one. For one thing, have a simple good-bad dichotomy provides an easy answer to understand who to like and who not to like. Why that person is good or why that person is bad is almost secondary. These same students harbor an intriguing combination of American exceptionalism and white guilt. When presented with Mary Rowlandson, they call her an arrogant bigot who should use her time in captivity to learn about the native culture, but when asked what they would do in the same situation, they maintain that they would not do that because they are American.1 Rowlandson was the most glaring example of this thought process, but it was far from the only one. As a rule, my students did not like any of the white founders of America, then sided with the founding fathers in their revolt against England. Slavery is not something they like, however the slave owners among the founding fathers are alright. For those keeping track at home: slavery, Mary Rowlandson, England, and White colonists (besides the founding fathers and Thomas Paine), bad; founding fathers, Thomas Paine, Native Americans, good.

Objective history is a fallacy, but writing viewing history in moral terms is problematic. The context in which the events happened is generally not the same one in which it is being studied, and it cannot be understood without that context. Moreover, villainizing or heroizing events automatically twists what actually happened. History classes have come a long way, but in order to convey the importance of various events there is still a tendency to use exemplary models and reveal certain events and peoples favorably. Though I often find myself playing devil’s advocate in class, I often do not need to make an intellectual stretch to find arguments in favor of the unpopular side during class, since that is often the side I support. The big issue I am encountering is that there are the two divergent beliefs that my students hold: a certain superiority on account of being here in college in America, and the condemnation of all evil, but only in the most superficial way.2 The two are apparently mutually exclusive, since very often the students will condemn things their ancestors did to produce the society of which they are so proud, and entirely overlook the ways in which they are no different.

I have no solution.

* This post has a large number of currents running through it, so rather than having any particular foundation, it (to me) seems to simply emerge partially formed from the swirling thoughts inside my head. Influences on it include teaching nearly 80 freshmen, literary theory, personal anecdotes, and the present political and paedogogical mileiu. If it seems disjointed, I apologize in advance.
1 I actually did this during class and the exact response I got was “Of course not. I’m American.”
2 This is something I refer to as the Beauty Pageant approach. You know the answer you should say (e.g. “World Peace”), but not how to accomplish that goal or anything beyond how it is a good thing.

2011 11 27 JP Uncategorized Comments (0) Permalink

There are even fewer edges than there were before

It is the price of civilization and, perhaps, safety. Some people would even characterize this as “good.” I would rather get lost in a strange place where I do not speak the language. Provided, anyway that I see a very small number of guns and those that I do see are being responsibly handled and not pointed at me.1 Sure, getting dropped off at a stoplight in the middle of nowhere in August in Greece is a little bit nerve-wracking (particularly if you had already spent hours lost and aren’t sure how to get back onto a bus), but there is also something exhilarating about it. The same goes for sitting in a rural town square surrounded by children on bicycles, or sleeping beneath the Blue Mosque, or on a bench in Delphi where you learn about the multiple uses for your towel. Wandering in forests holds much of the same thrill, but city parks where the nature is “tamed” hardly counts.

According to Stephen Pinker organized violence is at an all-time low (based on percentages), though individual homicide may be up. I would hope, anyway, that the latter is largely preventable. I have not read Pinker’s latest book, but I do understand the logic behind his argument.2 The idea is the civilization limits people. In theory the government will regulate businesses so that the rich and powerful do not prey upon the weak. The rule of law, and the law for the people seems to be spreading around the world as technology brings people closer together and brings people closer together than ever before. Imagine. Anne Frank’s diary run through multiple routers to mask her location and the tribulations of being a Jew in Europe during world broadcast daily via a blog or twitter. Photos posted to Facebook, and a series of innocuous cameras broadcasting Nazi activity from Paris, Brussels, and Munich around the clock. A contraband cellphone into Auschwitz. It is likely a false hope, but I would hope this would stir the world to outrage.

In no way do I want a repeat of World War Two. I reflect on it now in large part because of the historians (in particular) who fought and died during the war. Marc Bloch fought in both World Wars and after joining the French Resistance was caught, tortured, and killed. Nicholas Hammond served as a commando in Greece. War is terrible and it certainly cannot make someone into something he is not. Nonetheless there is no motivation like necessity. People have phenomenal capacity, but I feel that many are not tested. When they are, the tests are muted.

I do not mean to insult anyone with this statement. People need to find their own way in life and do what is fulfilling for them. Raising children is a monumental task and one that (at the moment) I do not wish to undertake. That is because I can and want to do more. Yet we are trained to be interchangeable parts in a factory or business setting. Slaves to the clock, move with the bell, travel in a pack largely passive to the leadership figure at the front. Sometimes this is for the best. In a factory, or a business meeting, or the military. Survival in many instances requires knowing how to follow the leader. It also requires knowing how and when to take control and that is not something that schools teach. In fairness to the schools, though, leadership is not something that can be taught–only encouraged. Certain aspects, techniques, and ideas can be taught, but when it comes to actual leadership, the only way to teach it is to experience it. The opportunities to lead need to be provided, the same way as opportunities to think, problem solve, and, yes, memorize. The validity of the sole authority figure does need to be challenged to some extent, at least. I don’t think revolution is the answer, but placing more responsibility on the pack is a must.

Of course the problem with this demand is that the institution is designed to turn out a particular model of human being–a trained, if not entirely mindless, automaton. And by making it a requirement for people to attend school, there is an institutional imperative to make sure that people will not, ultimately, fail. Nor do I want them to. Not truly. The problem with edges is that sometimes you fall off. You may not ever reach your full potential without them, without the push, the adrenaline, the challenge. Edges still exist, they are just harder to find. So go, find one. Look down.

There is always that danger, the chance of falling. Depending on translation for both Suleiman and Ivan, their honorific may mean “terrible” or “great.” Awesome and Awful may as well mean the same thing. Mr. Kurz did not reach his full ability until he was loosed of the bounds of civilization, but simultaneously lost everything. Civilization is supposed to be safety, and perhaps it is. But there is a price.3

1 When I was in Istanbul and lost in a neighborhood I did see a kid with a gun, but he was using it for target practice under the supervision, it seemed, of adult relatives.
2 My only logical quibble is that if the percentage overall is down, the population has risen exponentially in the last century, while the crowded nature of the world makes it easier to kill the same total number of people. Furthermore, technology makes genocide ever more possible in limited situations. I suppose I could add to this that it may be the calm before the storm as we are beginning to see more and more unrest with governments around the world and more people scrambling for dwindling resources. If people are willing to literally fight for an x-box on special, what will they do for the last bag of flour? But it has not come to that yet. Not here, anyway.
3 This post serves no real purpose. It is collected thoughts about an issue that is very, very old. For my part, I find myself needing to find some more edges. I can do more, I know it, but only by breaking free of the institutional restraints, even just a little and for a little while. Periodically I made a few unnamed references. They include: Patrick Rothfuss’ The Name of the Wind, Joseph Conrad’s The Heart of Darkness, and one episode of Aaron Sorkin’s The West Wing.

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2011 11 26 JP Eclectica Comments (0) Permalink

Hand-writing

What is the impact of digitization on the quality of writing?

This has been a pet issue of mine for some time now and will continue to be for some time to come given my current career path. I believe that digitization, particularly the advances in word processing programs, has a detrimental effect on writing. Microsoft Word is amazing. Its dictionary of Greek names and terms is a little light, but thankfully there is a feature that allows me to add those words myself. Moreover, it knows all the grammatical, syntactical, and spelling rules that I cannot ever keep straight. But it is a crutch, and a crutch that, in the long run, negatively impacts writing.

Every rule and every word that the computer knows, but the author does not (and subsequently decides not to learn) provides a crutch that authors rely upon more and more. I am no different. I have little training in grammar and syntax, and it shows. I have for years relied upon world processing, but there came a time when I realized that the blank screen and lettered keyboard stifled the creative process of writing (yes, it is happening to me right now). Since then I have hand written most of my papers and essays, as well as taking notes by hand. Some papers, particularly the last minute review/response paper and some blog posts like this one, emerge directly from my head to the screen, but these are the exception not the rule. Further, any paper that I care about (and many that I do not) are printed for editing. Other than using the tools available on word processing programs, I rarely edit on the screen.

I realize that other authors have their own modus operandi, however one common denominator among good authors is that they have a preexisting grasp of grammatical rules–and a good editor. Perhaps more people write first on the computer these days. I do not know. I would be curious to know how much preparation, whether on paper or on the computer, goes into the writing process, particularly in regard to short bursts of inspiration (the odd paragraph and what have you).

What I intend here is a first foray into collected thoughts on the link between good writing and handwriting in at least some form. I intend to stick a flag in this post and revisit it, as it were. The impetus for writing it now, though, is somewhat different. Recently there was a scholarly article that investigated literacy and handwriting. Their most immediate finding was that writing by hand focused the attention of the author, while digital writing removed the focus from the haptic input (i.e. the physical act of hitting the keys). Too, they stressed faster speed of digital writing. I will not regurgitate their findings word for word, but the study resonated with me. By linking motor and tactile processes and writing, they demonstrated that there is concrete evidence for changes in the neural processes of writing with the ubiquity of digital production. Moreover, they challenge the education system to find ways to accommodate the findings that the hand and, by extension hand writing, are at the nexus of human learning and development.

“the hand is not merely a metaphor or an icon for humanness, but often the real-life focal point – the lever or the launching pad – of a successful and genuinely fulfilling life”

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2011 09 20 JP Education Comments (3) Permalink

Reflections on The Master and Margarita

The first published edition of The Master and Margarita appeared, censored, twenty-six years after Bulgakov died in 1940. The full translation appeared years later. It is a magnificent book, reworking the stories of Faust and Pontius Pilate into a powerful account of life (particularly for authors) in 1930′s Russia. Only in reading the afterward did I learn that Bulgakov himself had been criticized for being anti-Soviet and in a display of impressive intestinal fortitude, he wrote a letter to the government in 1930, defending his right to satirize them. In this letter he asked to emigrate if they continued to bar him from writing. Stalin answered the letter with a call and, in effect, gave him permission to continue. Obviously there were still limitations on his craft.

The Master and Margarita is an incredible book, and the Burgin and O’Connor translation provides commentary, an afterward, and some biography after the text of the novel. I highly recommend reading it all, but there was one particular glaring ommission in the analysis and commentary.

Repeatedly throughout the text there is a line that says “cowardice is the most grave vice.” In a story where the active characters are Satan and his servants, most people are terrified of what is happening, or otherwise oblivious to the nature of the chaos taking place. Those few people who perceive what is happening and confront it without fear (even when conversing with Satan) are the most successful. In a retelling of Faust and satirizing a totalitarian regime, that is an incredible message to propagate and, given Bulgakov’s own experiences, it is both autobiographical and correct. Yet, somehow, there was not even a single note about this seminal theme.

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2011 08 21 JP Literature Comments (0) Permalink

Ivory Tower

I recently heard the opinion that ancient history (and possibly even Classics more generally) should only be taught at a graduate level at a select few universities across the country. Schools not in that elite core (e.g. the Ivy League, most Big 10 schools, Berkeley, Stanford, Duke, UNC, etc) should offer programs for undergraduates, but should not offer graduate degrees. Though I heard this opinion third hand, it originated from an ancient history professor. I agree to a limited extent with the sentiment about the necessity of standards, but wholeheartedly disagree with the actual opinion–not least of which is because I have thrice failed to gain acceptance into those elite programs and am therefore at another school.

I have three qualms with the opinion:

  1. There are too many deserving applicants for too few spots at those top programs
  2. There are too many quality advisors who, for one reason or another, are not at those universities
  3. The notion that those are the programs that can produce doctorates and none other can is a cause of stagnation in the profession. It is not only possible, but also necessary for “tier-2″ schools to build viable programs.1

    1For the moment overlook the increasingly vocal proponents of reducing the number of people who get advanced degrees in the humanities.

    Let me examine each of these in somewhat more depth. Despite the overall trend wherein a lower percentage of the population attains a college degree than in recent history, there has been record application and acceptance rates at most, if not all colleges. A college degree is seen as necessary for advancement or employment in many jobs and though I have strong objections to both this and the claim that college is a place to learn jobs skills and the the movement to turn colleges into money making machines, the perception is transformed into a reality because businesses actually put it into practice. So, with enrollment at record highs, and the job market remaining spare, particularly at those jobs that college does prepare students for, the rates (and the percentages, I think) of application to advanced degrees has gone up. For some students this is a dodge on student loan payments or an extension on college in the same way they received extensions on papers, and in these cases the academic world only serves to further coddle them. But for others, graduate school or other post-Baccalaureate programs are the right fit and it stands to reason that these numbers are also at an all-time high. Lump these numbers together and combine it with funding cuts across the academic world, and there simply are not enough spots at the top universities for all deserving applicants. The rejects, as they may be, then go to other schools where classics and ancient history are taught, and they may join the other rejects to study the field they love, build a program, and so on. Note that reject here is not a negative term and applies to all graduate students in the field not at these universities–you can not succeed if you do not try, so not applying is not an excuse (unless you are pointing out how much money you saved).

    A second issue is that many, if not most, potential advisors are not at those top universities. The best programs have larger staffs, more students, and more opportunities. These are all boons to graduate work, however if none of the programs have a potential advisor for your interests, then it may behoove you to cast a wider net. There are scores of excellent teachers, advisors, and scholars whose careers, for any number of reasons, bring them to schools that are not among the traditional academic factories. Slowly, the field is moving into a time when production counts for as much or more than the name. It is not yet, nor will it likely ever be a true meritocracy, but it is moving in that direction. Would I like the name to bolster my ego and look impressive on my wall? Yes, but the truth is that the name often has little bearing on the formal apprenticeship of graduate school.

    Third, and perhaps most important, is that Classics and ancient history are very old fields. Livy, one of our great historians, wrote about events 700 years before his birth, which could easily be considered ancient even in his own day. Gibbon, Napoleon, Collingwood, and all of the founding fathers were at the very least amateur ancient historians, and some of the chairs of Classics at UK universities are themselves hundreds of years old. The field is old, and the only way to keep it relevant is to innovate and change, something best achieved by building new programs to see what can happen. Keeping just a few in their ivory tower will lead to stagnation. In no way am I claiming this is a novel stance–Who Killed Homer first came out in 1998, and there has seemingly always been a tension between tradition and innovation.

    The point I have to emphasize is that the only time in which so-called elite universities hold a mystical status is when professors and students at the “lesser” universities accept the status quo. The top programs may remain elite and coveted, but they also work to remain at that level by actively recruiting top scholars and prospective scholars. Yet the position is not guaranteed or divinely mandated. In fact, competition for the services of scholars from a more diverse set of institutions, with a larger number of talented writers and thinkers involved in the process would be good for the field. Scholarship in its own right would advance, and at no point would elite programs be able to take their status for granted. Of course I want to study and teach at premier schools, but until such time as I am seen as Ivy League material, I want to do whatever I can do make the school I am at be the best it can be and, as much as it can be, I want that to be my fault.

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2011 08 09 JP Education Comments (0) Permalink

Midnight in Paris

This week I attended the latest Woody Allen film, Midnight in Paris. The main character, Gil (Owen Wilson), is a screenwriter in Hollywood whose ambition is to give up his career as a “Hollywood hack” so that he can live in a small apartment in Paris and write novels. His fiance, Inez (Rachel McAdams), is the daughter of a successful businessman whose plan for life is to live in a house in Malibu. The happy couple join Inez’ parents on a business (and sightseeing) trip to Paris, and while Gil falls in love with the city (all the while pining to see it in 1920), Inez becomes ever more convinced that Paris is not for them.

Each night Gil walks through the city and at midnight he is confronted with his artistic idols–literally. Gil’s wanders remind the audience, perhaps as well as any historical movie, that these larger than life figures were people too. Midnight in Paris broaches the topic of nostalgia for a past that never was, while pointing out that life ought to be lived in the present. Whimsical and clever, characters are paraded in front of Gil, whose action the audience follows. I repeatedly laughed aloud and emerged both with the message about living life in the present or pining for a bygone era, and an overwhelming desire to visit Paris–perhaps without a cell phone or iPod so that I may walk in the rain.

I highly recommend this movie and it will likely be the next DVD purchase I make.

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2011 07 22 JP Movies Comments (0) Permalink

Midnight musings: social media

When Google+ first released I resisted joining, adamant that I was more likely to quit social media altogether than to join yet another new craze. I was a freshman in college when Facebook first took off (along with the ill-fated i2hub), so of course I joined. Joining Facebook was almost a rite of passage that helped define the college crowd and enabled communication, interaction, planning, and, of course, procrastination. For similar reasons I had a blogger account, which quickly gave way to a Livejournal. I also joined Twitter, which removes much of the excess baggage from the other social media accounts and provides a platform for shorter statements. The stereotype that Twitter (much like the Facebook status update) is for announcing publicly that one has taken a shower or eaten dinner has some truth to it so I will not deny that, but I find that it is actually a good medium for some discussions that would not otherwise take place, commentary on shows, movies, games, and books, among other uses. By and large it is far less private or personal than even email or Facebook messaging, but it is meant as an immediate form of communication. So, since I have all these platforms, some of which are not actually actively used (even to the extent that I blog), why do I need Google+? Or, perhaps more to the point, why did I change my mind?

The short answer is that I do not and did not. I have two blogging platforms, six or seven emails, Facebook, Twitter, and probably a Myspace account out there somewhere, and now Google+, all with varying levels of (in)activity. I added Google+ for several reasons, not least of which because it still has limited membership and so, when the opportunity came, I took it. I was genuinely curious as to how it was set up, and did feel some drive to sign up for the new toy when it arrived. Moreover, I like the setup, and would like to have a social media platform finally live up to the promise of the bringing me closer together with people, if for no other reason than that it gets lonely in the middle of the country.

It seems logical that when I left my job managing a Quizno’s for a university some of the technological opportunities and impulses would grow rather than shrink. The reverse has been true, which I am reminded of each and every time I return to the east coast. While I was in New York I overheard a business meeting wherein a programmer made a pitch for a phone app that would help bring together fans of particular teams, which struck me as just one example of the way in which the application of technology is consistently commonplace in metropolitan areas (New York and Boston are the two with which I am familiar), while any application at all only trickles slowly to more rural parts of the country. I have also noticed a growing disconnect with these sites. In particular, I have made it a practice not to comment on birthdays or anniversaries on Facebook. This is a policy I may wish to reconsider, but it is borne of the thought that if a) I cannot otherwise remember a birthday or b) I would not otherwise wish that person a happy birthday, then my wishes are not really of any value. Of course, I do allow Facebook to remind me of birthdays, and then I will sometimes put in the extra effort to make a more direct birthday wish. Perhaps this is all semantic, but I find that social media (at least on my pages) is more often a silent acknowledgement of posts than active participation. Then, if there is no actual interaction, what is the point of social media?

Right now, in no small part because of various apps on my iPod that allow me to post directly, I mostly use Facebook to post links to articles that I find interesting. I will likely do something similar, but to a more limited extent, with Google+. The bulk of my intended audience remains on Facebook right now, but if that changes then the bulk of my post would also change. Otherwise the bulk of my thought, writing and activity remains in pen and paper. I hope to replace some of that pre-digital activity with a set of social and communal sites, but until I find a way to do this efficiently and with wider participation I suspect that it will remain nothing more than another of my idealistic, unrealistic ambitions.

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2011 07 22 JP Eclectica
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