Information and Opinion

I was a rather tardy entrant into the world of intelligent cellular technology. By the time I got my first smartphone, many of my friends had already disposed of a few of their own. As a matter of fact, I can only think of one friend who still did not have a smartphone when I purchased my almighty iPhone 4(no S), and I'm about 97% sure that she is now a hippie and that the immediate predecessor to her phone (which she still uses) belonged to Zach Morris.

One of the pillars upon which I propped up my opposition to smartphones (besides my penultimate decision-making factor in life, convenience) was phone addiction. Already having a penchant for people and communication, I did not want to risk undue attachment to my cellphone (people). I did not want to become a person whose palm slowly morphed into an amoled touch screen.

Of course, once I actually did have my own iPhone, I soon realized that in order to become the aforementioned cyborg, I needed at least some semblance of popularity (which I freely admit I did/do/will not have). Regardless, I found myself becoming slowly addicted. However, my drug was not, as I had previously feared, people; it was information. More specifically, I was addicted to updates. The simultaneous buzz of minute novelties and the reprieve from the weight and responsibility of my own thoughts tickled my blood stream with endorphins.

Through this addiction, I've come to realize that the media is an all-inclusive crutch for the brain. I don't mean media in the traditional sense: newspapers, television, magazines. Rather, I mean it as any ways through which information is passed from one party to another. Now, when faced with a problem, one just needs to google "how to tie a tie," "what is my ip," to figure out meticulously detailed, well thought out instructions to questions.

This accessibility is certainly helpful when in a bind, but when it is time to form opinions, it provides a lazy way out for people. There are now people who can eloquently sum up the opinions of the great minds of today, but cannot or are afraid to form their own. Informed opinion is dropping its inefficient, antiquated caboose and becoming, simply, informed.

And then there I am, lying lazily in the midst of all this, in bed, oblivious to the happenings of the world outside my social media networks.

46 Days

"he was a slave to his own moods and he felt that though he was capable of recklessness and audacity, he possessed neither courage, perseverance, nor self-respect"

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

One of my favorite aspects of reading is finding textual reflections of my thoughts or emotions. However, when a couple lines of text manage to encapsulate the essence of my nature in such a way that even I pause to say, "Damn, there I am," it's a bit disheartening. While relieved to be absolved of that particular burden, I'm daunted by my inability to verbalize my own angst and my reliance on the genius of a man with whom I have absolutely no relation, familial or otherwise.

edit: On second thought, I decided that F. Scott and I are kindred spirits.