OK, perhaps this is a confusing beginning to an otherwise post-surgical-Vicodin-riddled post. Perhaps I've also been reading a Young Adult Novel entitled Feed by M.T. Anderson, which has pretty much blown my mind. (Yes, even despite the painkillers.)
The novel takes place in a futuristic America, where teens are able to take spring breaks to the moon, or underwater vacations, or even the family trip to Mars. 73% of the population receives a "feed" through a computer microchip implanted directly into their heads. Although the book was written in 2002, I pretty much equate it to having an iPad soldered directly to your cerebellum. Participants of the "feed" have a Google- or Bing-esque access to information, like it or not. They receive media and news updates; see banners of products, prices, and shopping suggestions when they're out and about; and they're able to send private mental chats to any other person in on the "feed." The devastating effect that the young characters experience is the densensitization to everything real happening in the world around them, ranging from environmental degradation (one of the last forests was cut down in order to build an "air factory"), to the elimination of intricate wording and even spoken conversation, to corporate greed and infiltration into everything. Corporations have taken over the schools; in fact, "School" is trademarked throughout the book, since the term is no longer public domain, but privately owned. Consequently, students didn't learn facts in "School (TM)" anymore, since any sort of information was available instantaneously through the feed. Students learned what was hip, what jobs would make them the most money in the future (no doubt corporatized), and the best way to decorate their bedrooms.
I'm on the verge of finishing this quick read tonight, and I haven't yet decided whether I like the book yet. I guess, since the general idea is so theoretically possible since the advent of contraptions like SmartPhones and iPads, I'm too scared by the concept to actually enjoy the book. I realized today that, although an extreme hyperbole, the general ideas that M.T. Anderson presses throughout his book have already happened.
I had nose surgery last Wednesday, and have been "taking it easy," as the saying goes, for the past four days. I've barely been out-of-commission for 100 hours, with the freedom to lay on the couch wearing as little clothing as I want, watching horrible TV shows, and eating a pretzels-n-vicodin mix all day long. I've been away from work for four days, and have another four days off. Starting on Friday, I started to go stir-crazy. I had been antsy, but on Friday afternoon, my mood notably shifted to agitated and irritable as I realized I missed being out and about. It didn't even matter where I was, just so I wasn't confined to my box of a condo anymore. It took four days.
On Saturday, I finally broke loose and drove myself to Jimmy John's for lunch, and then proceeded to Barnes and Noble (perhaps subconsciously to find a follow-up book to Feed to continue scaring the crap out of me?), and the simple task of driving to some of my favorite establishments and spending money brought me back to a normal state-of-mind. An $8 combo of a Beach Club, bag of Jimmy Chips and regular-sized Cherry Coke put me in a better mood, and after wandering through Barnes and Noble for an hour, and downing a $25 gift card on two new books, I was smiling and singing with the windows down on my way back home. That's all it took.
I couldn't help but think of our society's concept of conspicuous consumption and how our values system is based on what you have, and how much you spend. I felt good spending money. The books I bought were unnecessary; I've got various towers of unread books scattered throughout my condo, about 50 in total, yet it made me feel better to purchase more. The truth is we've all been programmed, in one way or another, to buy things we don't need, whether in the form of food, booze, books, media, computers, video games, clothes, whatever, to give our lives value. Deny it all you want, but every single person I know falls victim to this statement.
In the summer of 2002, I experienced "The Summer of Enlightenment" with very close amigo Dan Mirman. We read a few books on Buddhism and (yes, admittedly, how dorky is this) would take walks through Schmeeckle Reserve in Stevens Point, where we were living for the summer between college semesters, and discuss our new findings and how incredible we thought they were. We were 21 and living the dream with perfect summer schedules; it just felt right I guess. But the main idea that I took away from Buddhism is that attachment breeds jealousy (which must be true, since Master Yoda exudes a similar quotation in Star Wars Episode II) and attachment is suffering. Physical objects will give you nothing in life.
Pulling all of this full-circle, I realize how badly I want to detatch myself from physical possessions, money, and, well, for the lack of a better word, "things." But the absolute truth is that our society has carved us into these machines to consume; to spend; to use; to own. Without these virtues, you're viewed as out-of-touch. Uncool. Irrelevant. And that really bothers me, which is why I guess I'm really struggling to accept the fact that I like this book. It's too true, and simply dichotomizes our society to a "T."
M. T. Anderson, you win this round.
