5.27.09 / 11:43am
On the Abbreviation of Communication
I've been thinking a lot about time lately. Or rather, speed. The speed at which time goes by. The speed that I assign to certain tasks and deny to others. Why do I spend so much time doing certain things and almost no time doing others? Why does it seem like I keep cutting the amount of time I allot to writing and listening to music to almost nothing? Why am I whittling that time away to almost nothing?
I've decided that it's all Twitter's fault.
I have a Twitter account, but I rarely use it, and when I do, it's mostly to inflict terrible jokes on the people unlucky enough to be following me.
Jeremy Clarkson, writer and gearhead host of the BBC's Top Gear program, wrote about music several years ago in his column. He was wondering why people no longer have the patience for songs that last over 3 or 4 minutes. Let me quote:
"Yes, a supermarket is convenient and a Big Mac hits the spot when you're in a hurry but why does music have to be this way? Why is three minutes acceptable and twenty minutes pretentious? Would "Stairway to Heaven" be improved if they cut out the bustle in its hedgerows? I think not.
Maybe it's an attention-span thing. Music is now the backdrop to our lives rather than an event in itself. We put on a CD while we're doing something else. I can't remember the last time I put on an album and listened to it in a chair with my eyes closed."
I can't remember the last time I did that, either. All I seem to have time for now is making mixes from singles I download from music blogs.
Same thing with writing - it's increasingly rare that I'll "have the time" to sit down and just spend an hour plugging away at something I need to get off my chest. It's a sort of instant gratification disease. I used to complain that I couldn't blog very often because it took time away from writing my book. The simple act of blogging about whatever it was that was on my mind satisfied the itch for me to write, which left my book in the lurch. Now I can scratch that itch by writing less than 140 characters in a Twitter update, or updating my Facebook status.
What the hell? Am I that easily distracted, or that easily satisfied? I tell myself that it's because I'm so busy with other things, like photography. And while that's true to a certain extent, in that I DO spend a lot of time doing photo-related things, it's just not an acceptable excuse. Why can't I carve out 30 minutes here and there to actually spend some time on things that aren't photography?
At the risk of sounding like an old codger shaking his fist at whippersnappers, I think the reason for this is the increasing abbreviation of our lives. Instead of picking up the phone to talk to someone, we send a text. Instead of blogging about what we're doing, we send pithy Twitter updates into the ether. And we listen to 4 minute songs because we just don't have time for The Dark Side of the Moon anymore.
I've decided that it's all Twitter's fault.
I have a Twitter account, but I rarely use it, and when I do, it's mostly to inflict terrible jokes on the people unlucky enough to be following me.
Jeremy Clarkson, writer and gearhead host of the BBC's Top Gear program, wrote about music several years ago in his column. He was wondering why people no longer have the patience for songs that last over 3 or 4 minutes. Let me quote:
"Yes, a supermarket is convenient and a Big Mac hits the spot when you're in a hurry but why does music have to be this way? Why is three minutes acceptable and twenty minutes pretentious? Would "Stairway to Heaven" be improved if they cut out the bustle in its hedgerows? I think not.
Maybe it's an attention-span thing. Music is now the backdrop to our lives rather than an event in itself. We put on a CD while we're doing something else. I can't remember the last time I put on an album and listened to it in a chair with my eyes closed."
I can't remember the last time I did that, either. All I seem to have time for now is making mixes from singles I download from music blogs.
Same thing with writing - it's increasingly rare that I'll "have the time" to sit down and just spend an hour plugging away at something I need to get off my chest. It's a sort of instant gratification disease. I used to complain that I couldn't blog very often because it took time away from writing my book. The simple act of blogging about whatever it was that was on my mind satisfied the itch for me to write, which left my book in the lurch. Now I can scratch that itch by writing less than 140 characters in a Twitter update, or updating my Facebook status.
What the hell? Am I that easily distracted, or that easily satisfied? I tell myself that it's because I'm so busy with other things, like photography. And while that's true to a certain extent, in that I DO spend a lot of time doing photo-related things, it's just not an acceptable excuse. Why can't I carve out 30 minutes here and there to actually spend some time on things that aren't photography?
At the risk of sounding like an old codger shaking his fist at whippersnappers, I think the reason for this is the increasing abbreviation of our lives. Instead of picking up the phone to talk to someone, we send a text. Instead of blogging about what we're doing, we send pithy Twitter updates into the ether. And we listen to 4 minute songs because we just don't have time for The Dark Side of the Moon anymore.
Considering how invisible we've both been on the interwebs, I'm always happy to see a RSS window pop up with my Hobo. Godspeed. You mentioned some of this over at my palace and I've been thinking about it too. I recall once reading an article bemoaning the lack of "true geniuses" that blamed, essentially, the multiplicity and staggering variety of the world we live in. The idea was basically: Mozart didn't have a radio or a TV or really anything to distract him from his craft.And while I think this is reductive, there's something to be said. Of course, you can physically choose to block out the noise. Still, while I was writing last night, I got five text messages, my roommate's cat attacked my feet, and I felt the braintarded need to check the basketball score a dozen times. The point is: willpower. I could use some more. If only I could get it really, really, really fast without any work at all.
LMFAO C-YA L8R
I vote for more hobo blogging. Purely selfish on my part because I'm always entertained by your words.And the idea of a hobo book? Very exciting.Now, there. Surely you feel spurred on by a complete internet stranger.
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