The Answer?

I had to put down my copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," because the following passage struck me so forcefully:

"The real ugliness [of technology] lies in the relationship between the people who produce the technology and the things they produce...between the people who use the technology and the things they use...The way to solve the conflict between human values and technological needs is not to run away from technology. That's impossible. The way to resolve the conflict is to break down the barriers of dualistic thought that prevent a real understanding of what technology is-not an exploitation of nature, but a fusion of nature and the human spirit into a new kind of creation that transcends both. When this transcendence occurs in such events as the first airplane flight across the ocean or the first footstep on the moon, a kind of public recognition of the transcendent nature of technology occurs. But this transcendence should also occur at the individual level, on a personal basis, in one's own life."

Wow, wow, wow. My world has been rocked.

Generation Apathy?

So I just got back from voting for the BUSU election and referendum. As I was waiting in line at the polling table, I heard the following conversation between the girl running the polling station and the guy standing in front of me:

Guy: I have no idea who these people are. I'm just going to vote randomly. What's this reefer-endy thing?
Poll Operator: Uhhh...something about fees and how they're spent or something...I just voted no...

I facepalmed so hard.

Seriously? I know school elections probably don't seem like a big deal, but BUSU is spending quite a large amount of your money, and you're rejecting the one opportunity you have to get some say in how it's spent? And more importantly, the decisions made in this election are going to affect all of the 20,000 students at Brock, as well as faculty, staff, and other members of the Brock community, some in a very big way. Maybe you don't care about financial aid, health services, and club funding, but to some people, these are crucial issues that have a profound impact on their university experience.

As students we're all too quick to complain about the services at Brock: the horrible food services, the lack of quality clubs and activities, the transit system, and the library hours, and we're equally quick to demand that we get more for the massive amount of money we're spending to be here. But when it comes to making the tiny amount of effort required to check a ballot and drop it in a box in hopes of changing how these issues are addressed, some people just can't be bothered? Not even enough to know who the candidates are and what they plan to do with your money?

I just don't understand it.

But it seems like it's something that extends far beyond the BUSU election and Brock University. It seems almost like a cultural thing. And I'm left wondering, 'why?' Why doesn't my generation seem to care about anything? Why are we so content to complain about things, demand that we're entitled to more, but not care enough to get off the couch and do something about it? It's easy to get all generation-gap and start with the "this generation is lazy and spoiled, and in my day..." but I mean, there has to be some kind of reason for this pervading sense of apathy.

And I'll admit, I'm as much a part of it as anyone else. I'm not out changing the world, I'm sitting here talking about it. And honestly, it confuses the hell out of me. All I can do, I guess, is to start thinking, start questioning, start wondering why this generation doesn't seem to want a voice, why we don't seem to realize the tremendous amount of power at our disposal should we choose to use it. Why we don't choose to leave our mark on this world we're all living in.

Are we afraid that our voices don't matter? That we'll be ignored, drowned out in a sea of white noise? That we don't have anything worth saying?

Or do we genuinely not care?

Hello, Ghost Readers

The idea of blogging is profoundly weird to me.

I like the idea of being more introspective, of really taking some time to reflect on all the things that make up this human experience: the events that shape our lives, the questions that shape our actions, the ideas that shape our selves...I mean, I'm a lover of words, no arguments. The power of language is something that I am acutely aware of (and enthralled with), so the whole writing thing shouldn't be strange to me. I mean, after all, I've been keeping a journal of sorts for a while now; my handy little Moleskine notebook allows me the small luxury of being able to stow away the fleeting bursts of curiosity, inspiration, and realization that would otherwise get lost in the fray of daily life. In fact, there are few things that are as cathartic as pouring out all of your emotions onto a blank page. It makes the intangible, often fuzzy, internal goings-on somehow easier to wrestle with. More manageable.

And blogging should be the same, right? Same principal, different medium. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that blogging will never be the same for me as writing in the traditional sense. When I write, usually, I write for myself. It is a chance for me to quiet the noises of existential uncertainty long enough to get some real one-on-one time with myself. It's like life is so hectic sometimes that I lose track of myself, become a stranger, and I savor those few hours over tea and pen/paper to reconnect. To keep in touch with myself.

But blogging feels different. Even if no one's reading it, I can't shake the idea of a reader; every word I type takes on a different weight because of the public nature of a blog. There's a ghost of an audience, lurking behind my computer screen, nameless and faceless, but there, listening. And suddenly, my words don't have the same reassuring echo. I'm not shouting into an empty room any more.

But maybe that's just me.

On that note, this has got me thinking about an argument we've been having in class about whether or not technology is 'political.' I think I'm beginning to understand what Professor Joe has been saying. All of this thinking about digital text versus scribal text has made me realize: a book is never 'just a book.'

Take that, Aristotle?