Showing posts with label magical thinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label magical thinking. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

The Long View: Where Was I?

Just to hit refresh on the argument of the last two posts in this series (one and two):

1. Access to the Internet is treated as if it’s magic.
2. We’re all doomed.

Get it? (Got it.) Good.

Now then. The fact that I haven’t been able to continue posting in this series during the last three weeks (thank you, Ava) brings up an aspect of the Internet which seems to be yet another unrecognized given. And that is, the more time you spend relating your experiences on the ‘Net, the less time you have to live them.

Seems obvious, right? But think about it. It takes me on a good day one to two hours of cumulative time to come up with a few hundred words on a particular subject. And because I have no blog access through my job, I have to wait till I get home to post it. Which means I’ll probably tweak it from my apartment before I upload it. Say that’s three hours. Three hours for me is 12 pages of a novel I didn’t write that day. And that’s just one post. Say I do three a week. That’s ten hours. That’s forty pages. That’s the first act of a play. What’s ten hours to you? Five movies? Ten trips to the gym? Three dinners with friends? And that's not counting Facebook updates, e-mail exchanges, and Twits Tweets.

See where I’m going with this? The question I ask myself as I consider this is, “How did we get to the point where relating what we’ve done takes more time than actually doing something?” And doesn’t this mean that everything from your Facebook update to this very post is part of an offshoot of reality, and not reality itself? Aren’t we already jacked in to virtual reality on a primitive, let's-you-and-me-play-Zork level?

West of House
You are standing in an open field west of a white house, with a boarded front door.
There is a small mailbox here.


It's enough to make me feel 28 again. It's also enough to make me feel that we are currently living part of our lives in a sub-basement version of Neal Stephenson’s Metaverse.

I’ll leave you with a quote and an observation. The quote is from Andrei Codrescu’s The Posthuman Dada Guide:Tzara and Lenin Play Chess. (Highly recommended)

“Today, the ‘world’ is a pseudonym that stands, maybe, for the world. ‘Reality’ is doubtlessly a pseudonym for reality. All words are in fact pseudonyms of themselves, and if they are sufficiently pseudonymous, they become symbols.”

Observation: reality has become not just a pseudonym, but an identity thief.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Long View - Entropy, Class War, and the Death of Newspapers

So here’s the premise:

The Internet runs on a non-renewable resource called electricity.

Assume for the moment that it’s a valid premise. (We’ll assume the opposite in a second.) If you put all the people who use electricity to access the Internet in one room, what will happen? What always happens in a closed system: entropy.

Hexagram 23. Things fall apart. That is the nature of things. And man-made things fall apart even quicker. That is the nature of planned obsolescence. Given the pressures of capitalism (not so much a premise as a given), three separate things are going to happen in The Room. Sophisticated Internet-based toys will get replaced by even more sophisticated toys. Access to Internet sites will become pay-based. And the power to access these sites will start disappearing.

So the people in The Room will have to shell out more and more money for site subscription increases, upgraded access devices, and the power to run them. Those who can’t afford these costs will have to leave The Room. (See Class War below.) Eventually, as prices increase, The Room will contain an increasingly smaller number of people who are willing to pay whatever it costs to access the Internet. And these people, given the nature of Capitalism, will eventually become the target audience for all Internet content. (See Requiescat in Pace, below.)

In other words, eventually the Internet will become the electronic equivalent of a high-priced specialty store which caters to the interests of the few people who can afford it, reflecting their values and their vision of the world like a mirror. Specifically, a mirror in Versailles circa 1789.

And in the end, The Room will eventually run out of power. (See Fossil Fuels, Coal, and Oil, Dwindling Supplies Of.) Which means that everything housed on the Internet will vanish like the smallpox virus, and the medieval Dark Ages will look like a fireworks display by comparison.

(Oh yeah—penmanship will disappear too, as people rely more and more on either keyboards or voice-recognition typing software.)

Hexagram 24. But let’s say I’m wrong. Let’s say everything keeps expanding and never deteriorates, everything keeps growing and never dies, everything keeps going on the way it has for the millions and millions of minutes the Internet has been in existence.

We’ve still got people in The Room, and people outside The Room. And as the gap widens between what the insiders have and the outsiders don’t, I can think of a few possible scenarios, none of which are pretty.

Class War. For one thing, the outsiders will resent the insiders. This resentment will increase as the Internet becomes the single-source subscriber-based delivery system for news and entertainment. I can see the have-nots on the outside of The Room flaunting their lack of information access as a badge of honor; I can see them turning to religion, or any political movement that promises them the right to access what they’re missing. (Insert pictures of Russian serfs circa 1917 here.)

Will there be violence? Quite possibly. Why? Because of the other thing besides news that the Internet is keeping from the outsiders: entertainment. Given that entertainment distracts the masses from social injustice, class inequities, and personal hardship, with the removal of entertainment as a distraction from the have-not life, they’ll have nothing to make them forget their anger, and all hell will break loose.

Unless of course somebody in the Have side is smart enough to keep TV (a) affordable and (b) separate from the Internet. In that case, everyone will be happy forever with what they do and do not have.

Until they aren’t.



But if that does happen, only the ones in The Room will know about it, because they’ll be the only ones with access to multiple news sources outside of, say TV news.

Requiescat in Paper.


Enjoy free access to online newspapers while you can; the day is fast approaching when they will be pay-only subscription sites, and there will be little or no paper copies as an alternative reading option. Why? Because the paper copies are a money pit. Why? Because everyone’s getting online access for free. I can't think of more perfect example of self-defeating corporate circular logic -- it's like your ass biting you in the ass.

Yes, there will be some organizations which will publish hard copies of the news, but their resemblance to current newspapers will be about the same as the relationship between Reader’s Digest condensed versions and an actual novel. For instance, I can definitely see the print version of the New York Times becoming a compendium of archive-worthy online pieces; what I can’t see is a print version of the Times that actually records, evaluates and delivers current events or opinion. All that will be done electronically.

So we will end up with the same people in The Room, paying for access to a content-delivery system which will become increasingly targeted to them as an audience. This means that news as well as entertainment will eventually become whatever makes the people in The Room feel knowledgeable and entertained. These people will become the info version of the Nouveau Riche. Call them the Infeau Riche.

Now even if there isn’t a class war between the Infeau Riche and the Infeau Poors -- even if the Poors have dial-up pay-as-you-go access to the Internet, say –- their presence will only be acknowledged, and their comments only allowed, if they say what the Riche want to hear.

Meaning censorship? You bet. And it’ll be incredibly easy. Currently, the Internet is a delivery system for critiques and comments aimed at the mainstream media. But when the mainstream media is coming into your laptop via the same delivery system as its critics, well, that’s like putting King Kong and a New York cop in the same room. Guess who walks out picking his teeth with a pine tree.

Point being, when the Internet becomes the primary delivery system for everything, there will be nothing it transmits which its content providers or paying audience do not want to receive.

ANSWER: E-talitarianism.

QUESTION: What do you call internet-based totalitarianism?

Next? The cranky old fart shaking his buggy whip as the nasty old Stanley Steamer leaves him in the dust looks at why Twitter is to e-mail as FaceBook is to MySpace, as this week's must-be-seen-there hot spot is to that-place-is-so-last-week, as cocaine is to marijuana.

(Hint: in all four cases? The Cool People think it makes them look cooler.)

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

The Long View - Magical Thinking


One of the big reasons I hated AI, that stupid Spielberg movie about the kid robot, was because not once did anyone ever mention the fact that (cover your ears now) ROBOTS NEED A POWER SOURCE, MORON. Did little Aryan boy have to be plugged in? Did he have an atomic reactor in his chest? Did he absorb the rays of the sun like a Kryptonian? Heavens no! He just magically lived forever because he’s a robot. Which is how Hollywood takes the science out of science fiction, and people just line up to take money out of their wallets to buy it, because it buys into a prevailing myth we all share about life on earth. What myth is that, you ask? Silly rabbit -– the one filed under M for Magical Thinking.

I am the exception to everything. Magical Thinking takes many forms. Here’s one from the movie Manhattan Melodrama:

MYRNA LOY: Don’t you ever figure ahead further than 15 minutes?

CLARK GABLE: Aw, sure –- I already got bets on the World Series in October.

And here’s one from the play I’ve been working on since this time last year:

HAMLET: I made my peace with death when I was your age. It will come when it comes, and what comes after will not concern me. It will happen when it happens, and nothing I can do will either stop it or prevent it.

PHYLLIDA: I don’t believe that.

HAMLET: Of course you don’t –- you’re twenty-three. Death is what happens to other people. Not you -- you can kick Death’s ass. And every time you do, every time you take a stupid risk and walk away unharmed, you will believe you are immortal. And Death will smile and say, “Just wait, just wait. One day you too will melt into a grave, and be a soup for worms.”

Change? What change? That’s the core of any kind of magical thinking, the sword in the stone that we all yank out like it’s stuck in butter and not a rock, because the writing on the stone says WHOSOEVER PULLETH THE SWORD FROM THIS STONE IS RIGHTWISE POSITIVE THINGS WILL GO ON FOREVER LIKE THEY ARE NOW.

And we do. We all think magically about everything from our own lives (“I am the one who will beat this death thing; you wait!”) to the state of the world (“The USA will be the first country to ever last forever; you wait!”) to sports rivalries ("The Red Sox have always had the Angels' number in the playoffs!"), and it only works because we ignore either the obvious or an unpleasant truth (people always die; empires always fall; team players change from season to season).

So what obvious, unpleasant truths are we all ignoring at the moment? Here’s a big one, and it’s directly related to the logical error underlying the plot of AI (you can uncover your ears now):

The Internet runs on a non-renewable resource called electricity.

(You all went "Whoa!" just now, didn't you? Come on--admit it.)

And what does that mean? Think about it and come back for tomorrow's post, entitled Entropy, Class War, and the Death of Newspapers.