(no subject)
one of the most beautiful nights i ever had in irvine occurred in junior year - i was driving home after the christmas journalism party. it was not cold enough to be crisp but not warm enough to be balmy, just a mild cottony softness that hung in the air. at the intersection, there was one car in each turn lane from each direction (back then, i was big on chance -- as long as it didn't involve my own life -- and i loved the coincidental perfection of that moment). one of them was me. i watched the car across from me, its turn light blinking in a steady steady rhythm. i waited. it was a favorite game of mine, to watch the turn lights in different cars gradually flash themselves into sync.
i waited.
---
i was sitting on the train last monday, in a window seat by my favorite side (i dont know why i always favor the left side over the right) with stacks of curriculum spread out in front of me. i was sorting through them, separating the potential "yes"-es to be used from the "hell no"-s. with a start, i realized i forgot my flashdrive at the office, and quickly texted jen to see if she could take it home for me.
two things before i continue -- one, my phone is one of those that likes to make noises for each key when i text. some people find it musical and fun, some annoying.
two, the trains home are usually packed. nearly every seat is filled, and nearly everyone on the train is of the older generation, no-nonsense suits who sport gold rolexes and silver blackberry-s. they are i-bankers and fund managers, lawyers and the occasional doctor from the glossy highrises of downtown LA. they are the type to cast sidelong, disapproving glances -- so akin to the ones my parents give me -- for working somewhere where jeans and a polo shirt are okay, where people do the same work they do but get paid a sixth their salary (it's called public interest, people), where people hold radically anarchic views and work to advance them (for us, it's called being left wing -- or in my case, libertarian :).
so one of these guys is sitting next to me, and after i finish texting he turns to me and says, "i couldn't help noticing how fast you are. how many do you send a month?"
"oh .." i pause to think. "300 or so, maybe?"
i scrutinize him. he seems harmless enough: older, a little paunchy, with a wiry brown beard grazing his jowls. he looked stern, with deep lines forming crevices, canals, in between the peaking landmarks of his face, yet he possessed the soft awkwardness older white men have, a tinge of shy uncertainty amidst the sharper, assertive exterior.
i figured he probably wanted to ask about plans, or the different texting languages on a phone. people did that sometimes, chatting with me on the train about everything from my future to rapid globalization to the latest iphone version (finally, reading "wired" comes in handy!). yet as i was busy trying to remember how much unlimited monthly texts were, he was moving on. it wasn't until he mentioned his granddaughter, however, that i smelled something fishy.
as i give my answer of "300," he begins to frown. "you send 300 texts a month?" he says, an edge of warning creeping into his voice. suddenly i feel apprehensive, uncomfortable, like a naughty child caught stealing cookies under his scrutinizing look.
"no," i respond, slightly nervously. "they bill both incoming and outgoing texts. 300 both ways .."
"did you know there was an article out recently saying people send 400 texts on average a month? 400! my granddaughter is on her phone all the time, just texting away. she doesn't even bother to talk anymore. just texts, all the time." he frowns some more.
indignation begins to boil inside me. so what if i text a lot? it's not even up to his quoted average. and texting is convenient! i'm not a big phone person, damn it. i begin trying to explain the nuances of cell phone communication to him:
"see, sometimes if you don't want to bother someone with a direct phone call, you can text them. it makes things easier and it's less bother--"
"i dont see why phone calls are a bother. i don't always pick up the phone? why should you?" he interrupts.
"well," i begin again. "if it's something important, you can call them, you know? and if it's something that can wait, a text message is more appropriate."
"i don't always pick up the phone," he reiterates. "if i'm reading or doing something else, i just let it ring. so what?"
i look at him in exasperation. because, you nincompoop, MY generation values being connected to each other via technology all the time and just because you find yourself thwarted by new gadgets like mccain doesn't mean you can shit on our ways i yell in my head. not to him, and not out loud, of course.
but in the meantime, he has begun an informal survey of the over-40 crowd around us. maybe he sensed my frustration, my disinclination to buy his words.
"let me ask you, for those of us over 40 -- not that you look over 40, of course," he begins saying to the woman across from us (who was clearly over said age). "do you ever feel the need to pick up the phone just because it rings?"
after quickly glancing at me, she says, "well for one, yes, i am over 40. and no, i don't. especially if i'm with my family, because then i know nothing really bad can go wrong, they're all with me."
others in the nearby area nod their agreement (except for one very nice balding man across the aisle who smiled sympathetically at me throughout this exchange). with a satisfied smile, he nods to me in acknowledgment (of his victory?) and turns back to his newspaper.
---
maybe it's because we grew up with computers and internet. maybe the jump from "treasure mountain!" to gmail to ubiquitous text messaging was simply a natural, logical progression. after all, from a young age, we were used to interacting and communicating with nothing more than a screen and some input devices. from a young age, we could traverse vast distances with a simple point and click.
it's a far cry from the days of the telegraph, the television, the landline phone. maybe it's our childhood, shaped by this new technology, that has bred in us this need to be connected, to feel connected, all the time. i know i, personally, feel naked without my cell phone. it's devastating whenever the low battery sign beeps, and i refuse to drive long distances without it fully charged and at my side, a trusty sidekick always ready to look up directions or call triple A. i'm an e-mail nazi, reading and responding and categorizing mail within minutes of receipt. and i love text messaging.
it begs the question, though, or at least the thought -- if this need to be connected has been bred within us, if this need to feel at least the option of connecting with others via wires and waves within moments has developed, is there a corresponding loneliness that arises when this communication fails? when we call and the other end chooses not to pick up? when systems are down and physical distance again becomes a limitation, cutting us off from those beyond driving distance?
it's been almost four years, and i am still infatuated with chance, coincidence. there is none of that in the cold calculation, the precise science of technology, of course. but i'd like to think that there is still some semblance of human interaction, that feelings can be moved and minds challenged and people compelled, even if we are once-removed from each other, reduced to mere letters and numbers in a criss-crossing network of wires. i'd still like to think that maybe -- in another moment of coincidental perfection -- somewhere on the other side of this screen, your heart -- like a car's blinking turn signal -- just might eventually beat itself into sync with mine.
i can wait.
i waited.
---
i was sitting on the train last monday, in a window seat by my favorite side (i dont know why i always favor the left side over the right) with stacks of curriculum spread out in front of me. i was sorting through them, separating the potential "yes"-es to be used from the "hell no"-s. with a start, i realized i forgot my flashdrive at the office, and quickly texted jen to see if she could take it home for me.
two things before i continue -- one, my phone is one of those that likes to make noises for each key when i text. some people find it musical and fun, some annoying.
two, the trains home are usually packed. nearly every seat is filled, and nearly everyone on the train is of the older generation, no-nonsense suits who sport gold rolexes and silver blackberry-s. they are i-bankers and fund managers, lawyers and the occasional doctor from the glossy highrises of downtown LA. they are the type to cast sidelong, disapproving glances -- so akin to the ones my parents give me -- for working somewhere where jeans and a polo shirt are okay, where people do the same work they do but get paid a sixth their salary (it's called public interest, people), where people hold radically anarchic views and work to advance them (for us, it's called being left wing -- or in my case, libertarian :).
so one of these guys is sitting next to me, and after i finish texting he turns to me and says, "i couldn't help noticing how fast you are. how many do you send a month?"
"oh .." i pause to think. "300 or so, maybe?"
i scrutinize him. he seems harmless enough: older, a little paunchy, with a wiry brown beard grazing his jowls. he looked stern, with deep lines forming crevices, canals, in between the peaking landmarks of his face, yet he possessed the soft awkwardness older white men have, a tinge of shy uncertainty amidst the sharper, assertive exterior.
i figured he probably wanted to ask about plans, or the different texting languages on a phone. people did that sometimes, chatting with me on the train about everything from my future to rapid globalization to the latest iphone version (finally, reading "wired" comes in handy!). yet as i was busy trying to remember how much unlimited monthly texts were, he was moving on. it wasn't until he mentioned his granddaughter, however, that i smelled something fishy.
as i give my answer of "300," he begins to frown. "you send 300 texts a month?" he says, an edge of warning creeping into his voice. suddenly i feel apprehensive, uncomfortable, like a naughty child caught stealing cookies under his scrutinizing look.
"no," i respond, slightly nervously. "they bill both incoming and outgoing texts. 300 both ways .."
"did you know there was an article out recently saying people send 400 texts on average a month? 400! my granddaughter is on her phone all the time, just texting away. she doesn't even bother to talk anymore. just texts, all the time." he frowns some more.
indignation begins to boil inside me. so what if i text a lot? it's not even up to his quoted average. and texting is convenient! i'm not a big phone person, damn it. i begin trying to explain the nuances of cell phone communication to him:
"see, sometimes if you don't want to bother someone with a direct phone call, you can text them. it makes things easier and it's less bother--"
"i dont see why phone calls are a bother. i don't always pick up the phone? why should you?" he interrupts.
"well," i begin again. "if it's something important, you can call them, you know? and if it's something that can wait, a text message is more appropriate."
"i don't always pick up the phone," he reiterates. "if i'm reading or doing something else, i just let it ring. so what?"
i look at him in exasperation. because, you nincompoop, MY generation values being connected to each other via technology all the time and just because you find yourself thwarted by new gadgets like mccain doesn't mean you can shit on our ways i yell in my head. not to him, and not out loud, of course.
but in the meantime, he has begun an informal survey of the over-40 crowd around us. maybe he sensed my frustration, my disinclination to buy his words.
"let me ask you, for those of us over 40 -- not that you look over 40, of course," he begins saying to the woman across from us (who was clearly over said age). "do you ever feel the need to pick up the phone just because it rings?"
after quickly glancing at me, she says, "well for one, yes, i am over 40. and no, i don't. especially if i'm with my family, because then i know nothing really bad can go wrong, they're all with me."
others in the nearby area nod their agreement (except for one very nice balding man across the aisle who smiled sympathetically at me throughout this exchange). with a satisfied smile, he nods to me in acknowledgment (of his victory?) and turns back to his newspaper.
---
maybe it's because we grew up with computers and internet. maybe the jump from "treasure mountain!" to gmail to ubiquitous text messaging was simply a natural, logical progression. after all, from a young age, we were used to interacting and communicating with nothing more than a screen and some input devices. from a young age, we could traverse vast distances with a simple point and click.
it's a far cry from the days of the telegraph, the television, the landline phone. maybe it's our childhood, shaped by this new technology, that has bred in us this need to be connected, to feel connected, all the time. i know i, personally, feel naked without my cell phone. it's devastating whenever the low battery sign beeps, and i refuse to drive long distances without it fully charged and at my side, a trusty sidekick always ready to look up directions or call triple A. i'm an e-mail nazi, reading and responding and categorizing mail within minutes of receipt. and i love text messaging.
it begs the question, though, or at least the thought -- if this need to be connected has been bred within us, if this need to feel at least the option of connecting with others via wires and waves within moments has developed, is there a corresponding loneliness that arises when this communication fails? when we call and the other end chooses not to pick up? when systems are down and physical distance again becomes a limitation, cutting us off from those beyond driving distance?
it's been almost four years, and i am still infatuated with chance, coincidence. there is none of that in the cold calculation, the precise science of technology, of course. but i'd like to think that there is still some semblance of human interaction, that feelings can be moved and minds challenged and people compelled, even if we are once-removed from each other, reduced to mere letters and numbers in a criss-crossing network of wires. i'd still like to think that maybe -- in another moment of coincidental perfection -- somewhere on the other side of this screen, your heart -- like a car's blinking turn signal -- just might eventually beat itself into sync with mine.
i can wait.