Attack of the E-Mail

Right now, I'm opening my e-mail inbox for the first time since mid-May, and it's...daunting. I think that's maybe an effective word for what I'm feeling, my feelings about technological communication in general. It's not that I find anything inherently (if I had a dollar for every time I misused that word...) wrong with technology as a means of communication, but it's not at all my preferred mode of interacting with others. There's something cold and impersonal about reading text on a liquid-crystal screen, free of vocal intonation or personal handwriting flourish. It may be the convenient norm to type an instant message to a friend, but I have faith that good ol' face-to-face interpersonal interaction will prevail in the end.

I still use technology way more than most people, I am sure, and do not pretend to transcend these habits of the time. I sometimes listen to my MP3 player through my car's auxiliary port; I make cell phone calls; I play N64 when I'm not at school. I write academic papers on my hardy little Acer computer. I shoot digital photos. I'm hardly a picture of neo-Ludditism. But I still feel enough unease with a lot of technology that I keep its presence at arms' length when I can. Perhaps, like anything else, technology just needs to be implemented with a healthy crop of understanding and moderation.

But understanding and moderation are two completely different conceptual animals from (than?) technology, things my young and naive mind is too feeble to yet comprehend, so I conclude this here, before I further embarrass myself in front of the faceless void of the Internet.

Here is a delightful little bit of music for your weekend; it's called "'Cello Song" by Nick Drake.

Strange face with your eyes so pale and sincere
Underneath you know well you have nothing to fear
For the dreams that came to you when so young
Told of a life where spring is sprung.

You would seem so frail in the cold of the night
When the armies of emotion go out to fight
But while the earth sinks to its grave
You sail to the sky on the crest of a wave.

So forget this cruel world where I belong
I'll just sit and wait and sing my song
And if one day you should see me in the crowd
Lend a hand and lift me to your place in the cloud.

-From Five Leaves Left (1969)