TBA

DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-SEVEN: The Pauper Turns Off the Power

Most people who know me know my aversion to technology.  My cell phone still flips open and only functions as a means to send text messages and make the occasional phone call.  When I take a screenshot, you can usually see the "How to take a screenshot" tab open on my window.  And when I received an ipad for Christmas, I went to the Apple Store for a free seminar and was the only person in attendance who has never seen a standing president shot in the head (Lincoln included).

So it should come as no surprise that I have decided to take a stance against something I have termed "Technological Brain Atrophy."

I'm about to make a revelatory statement: Our reliance on technology is rotting our society.

*Pauses for shock and awe to cease.*

Remember the good old days when you asked your parents or grandparents a question?  "Are tomatoes a fruit or vegetable?" and they would simply respond, "Go look it up."

This used to mean searching through an encyclopedia.  Scanning for the correct letter volume, finding the word "tomato" alphabetically, and then reading the passage until your answer presents itself.  Now it means, Google "tomato vegetable fruit?"  Question mark optional.

Sure, this seems insanely easier.  And in our fast-paced lives, why should we bother to look things up in books?  We have much more important things to accomplish.  Like binge-watching Orange Is the New Black on Netflix.*

But the fact is, the less we use our brains, the less our brains become useful to us.  Our brains are muscles.  If we don't exercise their incredible talents every once in away, they will get fat and lazy and start binge-watching Orange Is the New Black on Netflix.

So I have taken a break from Googling for the time being.  For instance, today I tried to remember the names of all the Starks' direwolves on Game of Thrones; Ghost, Summer, Nymeria, Lady... Beebo?  Tupac?  I drew blanks on the last two.  But I refused to Google it.  If I really want to remember what dumb little name Rickon came up with, I will have to search my brain to figure it out.

Because there's also a beautiful reward in finding something on your own.  When Netflix took Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind off their instant play, I was devastated.  Genuinely.  When I'm going through a rough time, that movie is my Cherry Garcia.  So I decided to buy it.  I went to Amazon, and I put it in my shopping cart.  But then I stopped myself.  No.  Not like this.  If I want this movie, I will go out into the real world and find it.

If I recall correctly, the greatest relationship of my life happened because I explored a world outside of the Internet.  I was 18 and had just moved to Chicago for college.  I knew very few people, and more so, I knew even less about the city I newly inhabited.  But I knew the Mag Mile!  And one fateful day in September, I stumbled into Virgin Records (RIP) on Michigan Avenue.

It was that day that I happened upon the wall of new releases.  I walked over to this album with what appeared to be a pea pod on the cover.  I recognized the name, so I slipped the headphones on and gave it a listen.  The first song, so simple, so beautiful.  It grabbed me immediately.  I knew I had to have it.

And from that moment on, Fiona Apple changed my life.

Am I saying that I would have never discovered Fiona Apple on the Internet?  Absolutely not.  But there's no way that moment would resonate as powerfully if I was simply clicking away at YouTube videos on my computer.

We are a society that complains about the blistering cold and having to stay indoors for months on end because it's so awful outside, but then we spend our summers staring at our gadgets and gizmos a plenty.

So I ask for a call to arms.  To join me in the fight against TBA.  Let's pledge to function more as humans and less as drones.  Let's open our eyes and our brains.  Let's not become sheeple.  For we cannot let the machines win!

And now, I'm going to play brain games on Lumosity.... GOD DAMMIT!

*I plan on doing this soon.  So please understand the hypocrisy oozing out of every word in this post.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO: The Pauper Slows Down

As I look back on this blog from inception until this post, I notice a trend.  A trend that gets me down a bit.

I haven't been doing a good job keeping up with this blog.

In 2013, words were coming both fast and furiously.  It was as if Vin Diesel was at the helm of my fingertips.  Rushes of emotions and experiences flooded my purview.  I sat on the train and got an idea for a post that I just had to jot down in my notebook.  I'd be sitting on my porch with a glass of wine and suddenly leap up and rush to my computer.

But that's not the case anymore.

And it wasn't until recently that I understood why.  It's not because I have no words left to write.  It's not because I don't care.  It's not because I'm not a good writer.  It's simply because I've settled into my new life.

When change occurs, it's a deluge of experience.  You make a decision to leave your job to pursue your creative dreams; it's an emotional adrenaline rush.  Like jumping out of an airplane knowing that one of the parachutes in the pile is a dud.  Every moment feels like a new experience.  Everything was worth commenting on.  Whether it was going to the Starbucks across from my apartment at 11:20 a.m. on a Tuesday.  Or waking up without obligation.  Or having actual time to sit my ass down and write.  It was all new.  And it was beautiful.

But even for the risky skydiver, at some point, you determine whether you grabbed the dud parachute or not.  And once I opened it up and started gliding towards the ground, my grand experiences settled into routine.

So although the thoughts are no longer pouring out of me in a way that change mandates, I'm not going to believe that's any kind of a slight on me.  It's just human nature.  Much like it's easy to be happy when things are going well, it's easy to miss the nuances of life when life runs at a steady pace.