Tiny dog is, yet again, back.
I kinda decided to return to the blog world somewhat ironically after spending some time at the library this afternoon, and watching dead-eyed tween-bots sit in front of product-placement-plagued virtual realm style games for two hours in the middle of the school day.
This morning there was an article in the paper that cemented my obsolescence in the universe, and it was this one. As I read the first few lines, I wasn't even entirely sure I understood what the article was about. Because there could be no possible way that we are raising a generation of people who will gladly part with cash in exchange for things that do not exist. But my friends, this is exactly what is happening. Could Madison Avenue be any more ecstatic than they are at this moment of heretofore unprecedented consumer susceptibility to stupid suggestions?
Every kid in the library between seven and 19 was glued, unmoving, to a screen, playing games, posting inappropriate personal details on social networking sites, furtively glancing at free samples of waxed corporate-porn product, or, ostensibly, charging pixelized avatars of consumer products to their PayPal accounts. I sat there for a minute, stunned to realize that such activities were the central goal of all these kids' waking hours, all across this country and beyond. It seemed so unbelievable that I just stood there for a few minutes, surrounded by tin shelves of unopened books, not knowing what to do.
I walked outside and watched a certain toddler who had accompanied me that day scamper off to the small outdoor ampitheater behind the library. It was the day after heavy rains, and the sun was almost down. She skittered over to the side of the building, shouting "Rocks!" and holding up some mossy white stones, which she then ferried down to a certain bench of her choosing, leaving them there to go fetch more. She brought sticks. She brought more rocks. The pile grew. It was wet and misty and the sun was now completely down. Her nose was red as she picked her way up the slimy hillside in search of yet another rock. "It's time to go home," I said. I wasn't convincing. She kept working on the pile. She already likes computers, of course. But she also thinks rocks are worth sorting in the cold, dark gloom of a weekday winter afternoon. Peer pressure and depressing, ubiquitous virtual compu-product hasn't yet staked its entire claim of her brain pan, the way it had every other kid inside the library at that very moment. I felt grateful to have that moment, at least.
This morning there was an article in the paper that cemented my obsolescence in the universe, and it was this one. As I read the first few lines, I wasn't even entirely sure I understood what the article was about. Because there could be no possible way that we are raising a generation of people who will gladly part with cash in exchange for things that do not exist. But my friends, this is exactly what is happening. Could Madison Avenue be any more ecstatic than they are at this moment of heretofore unprecedented consumer susceptibility to stupid suggestions?
Every kid in the library between seven and 19 was glued, unmoving, to a screen, playing games, posting inappropriate personal details on social networking sites, furtively glancing at free samples of waxed corporate-porn product, or, ostensibly, charging pixelized avatars of consumer products to their PayPal accounts. I sat there for a minute, stunned to realize that such activities were the central goal of all these kids' waking hours, all across this country and beyond. It seemed so unbelievable that I just stood there for a few minutes, surrounded by tin shelves of unopened books, not knowing what to do.
I walked outside and watched a certain toddler who had accompanied me that day scamper off to the small outdoor ampitheater behind the library. It was the day after heavy rains, and the sun was almost down. She skittered over to the side of the building, shouting "Rocks!" and holding up some mossy white stones, which she then ferried down to a certain bench of her choosing, leaving them there to go fetch more. She brought sticks. She brought more rocks. The pile grew. It was wet and misty and the sun was now completely down. Her nose was red as she picked her way up the slimy hillside in search of yet another rock. "It's time to go home," I said. I wasn't convincing. She kept working on the pile. She already likes computers, of course. But she also thinks rocks are worth sorting in the cold, dark gloom of a weekday winter afternoon. Peer pressure and depressing, ubiquitous virtual compu-product hasn't yet staked its entire claim of her brain pan, the way it had every other kid inside the library at that very moment. I felt grateful to have that moment, at least.
posted by Strikethru at
4:58 PM
1 Comments:
Eh, this doesn't surprise me. People spend money on all manner of stupid things. Tchotchkes are tchotchkes, regardless of whether they're gathering dust on your shelf or in your computer.
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