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George Washington and Julius Caesar, living 2,000 years apart, received information in exactly the same way: slowly, as it traveled via messenger on horse or on foot over hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles. This had an impact on the nature of war, and the nature of peace.
The invention of the telegraph in 1838 changed all that.
Arguably, the telegraph is the invention that changed human life more than any other has before or since.
I suppose many might argue the Internet is the more influential invention or development, since it more or less makes information reception instantaneous. I would say no: There’s always a refractory period between receiving information and acting on it, so it doesn’t really matter whether you receive that information now or an hour from now.
Something else about the Internet… Something about the nature of the medium tricks people into believing that Internet information is afferent information, information culled from their own sensory organs. Many have written about the peculiarly subjective quality of Internet information, how it seems more real in some essential way than information you read; how it seems so personal, like voices in your head – a recent survey found that most adults would actually rather text to someone than talk to that person in a room. Internet information feels qualitatively like something you see with your own eyes or hear with your own ears. Internet information is perceived rather than observed, and that, of course, is what makes it so seductive, and so dangerous: Your inherent bias is the message…
###
So, I have been sick. Caught a cold – either from Jeanna on the phone or from Rutger, the cat, who is still unsocialized and after a month still hisses at me at least half the time whenever I go near him. He came back from the ASPCA after being neutered and vaccinated quite ill with some kind of respiratory thingy, that’s progressed to deep wheezes in his chest. He’s quite miserable and I’m worried about him, but don’t have the money to take him to the vet. Today I’m going to go to PetSmart and score some of the tetracycline they sell for cleaning reptile cages and figure out the correct dosage for a cat and feed it to him.
Do viruses jump species? All I know is I woke up two days ago and I was miserable. Doubly miserable because the evil dentist still hasn’t made the referral to the oral surgeon. You can kind of view poverty as an amusing game when you’re healthy, but when you’re not, you begin to understand what a victim you are…
###
Also, sordid goings on at the neighbors next door. I wish they’d move. A few days ago, Craig came stumbling out to my car in the rain as I was pulling out of the driveway, off on some errands. It was 10 in the morning and he was shit-faced, open can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in his fist. “Can you give me a ride over to Lower Creek Road?” he drawled. “Janice won’t let me use the car.”
Janice isn’t as stupid as she looks, I thought.
“I can’t drive with an open can of alcohol in the car,” I said.
“I’ll get a cup.”
I could have said, No, of course. Instead I said, Yes because Lower Creek Road was on my way, because I borrow flour from Janice occasionally and she once brought me over a quarter of a lasagna.
“Talked to my wife on the phone,” Craig said in the car. “Thought I didn’t love her anymore. But now I know I still love her. I mean, we spent 30 years together. Thirty years! And four kids. That don’t go away. Her boyfriend just went to prison for robbing a bank so she ain’t with him anymore. I think I still love her, man. I mean, I love Janice too but I still love my wife.”
Sort of amazes me that Craig naturally believes this story is interesting and compelling to other people. Is Jerry Springer a cause or an effect? Craig is in his early 50s and looks like he was run over by a tractor. I can’t look at him and even see what he looked like 30, 20 or 10 years ago but he has the ebullience, swagger and natural self-confidence of a guy who used to be good looking so I suppose he was. A Florida redneck, a good ole boy. Not stupid. But totally racist, ignorant and drug and alcohol addled.
I drop him off at his designated assignation, do my errands, return home.
Hesitate for a couple of seconds.
Knock on Craig and Janice’s door.
Janice, when she answers, has obviously had the shit beaten out of her. Recently. Her right eye is blackened, she has bruises all face and arms.
“Um – Janice, I just wanted to let you know that I took Craig where he was going because, you know, it was raining and he was drunk and I thought he might get hit by a car – did he do that to you?”
“This? Oh, no. I was drunk. I fell.”
“I see,” I said.
And I did.
What do you do in a situation like that? I knew damn well that she was lying but I also knew that I didn’t really like her well enough to intervene further. Maybe if she’d started crying, said, Yes, he beat me up. But not if she was denying it.
“Well, okay, then,” I said brightly.
“What? You think he hit me?”
“It’s an obvious question, Janice,” I said with that big, bright smile. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
I go about my life for the next 23 hours and then the next morning, there’s Craig in more or less the same condition, waiting for another ride to the same place.
“Okay,” I said wearily. “The beer needs to go in a can though.”
“Sure! No problem. Want one?”
“No.”
The story had gotten even more sordid. His buddy Clay’s girlfriend had confided in Craig that Clay didn’t like to eat pussy. “And you know, if there’s one thing I like to do, it’s eat pussy! I love to eat pussy! And Clay, man, he won’t go near pussy. He don’t even like to touch it! So Shanti’s shoving up against me, and man, what can I say? I mean, the chick’s coming on to me! So we drive two hours to Locke to score an eightball, Clay’s driving, and I’m going down on his chick, I got my fingers up her ass. And Clay just takes off. Moves right back in with his parents –“
“Do I turn here?” I ask.
“No, next road, next road. Don’t go telling Janice none of this –“
“I won’t,” I said.
“Shit. I don’t know what to do. I love Janice but I love my wife. She wants me to come back to her in Florida. But I love Janice. And now there’s Shanti, I went down on her for two hours –“
“Here we are!” I say gaily.
Our destination is a trailer home. An elderly woman whose trailer is planted all around with bright purple zinnias stares at me suspiciously as I maneuver my car into the narrow turn-around.
Shanti – at least I assume it’s Shanti – is waiting for Craig’s arrival with her hands on her hips. She’s a large, lusty looking lady who would not be out of place in a R. Crumb comic.
Well, that is that, I think, driving away. I will never give him a ride anywhere every again, and I won’t eat Janice’s lasagna. I will say, “Hello, how are you?” and that will be the extent of my communications with my next door neighbors.
Except that night there is a knock on my door, and it is Craig, drunker than ever.
“What do you want, Craig?” I say wearily.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Well, I wanna say, I didn’t beat up Janice, I would never beat up Janice –“
“Right. That’s what she said.”
“But fuckin Lee, man –“ Lee being the psoriasis-afflicted neighbor who was recently stalking me, “fuckin’ Lee comes over and sees her and calls the state troopers!”
“Lee did?”
“Well. They said they got an anonymous tip but it was fuckin’ Lee.”
“Well, if you have issues with Lee, maybe you ought to talk to him about it,” I said. “Listen, Craig, I don’t feel well, I really have to go –“
“I did talk to him about it! I called him, got his fuckin’ answering machine. Called him again. He told me Janice told him I hit her! I told the motherfucker he could come over here and say that lie to my face while I was holding my shotgun –“
Oh, great, I thought. Guns are involved.
“Wait, Craig?” I said. “You have a shotgun?”
“Well, he don’t know if I have a shotgun or not. So I come over here to tell you – I know you’re friends with the guy –“
“I’m not friends with the guy,” I said. “He’s a nice guy, and I know him.”
“Well, if he comes around here and I see him, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Just saying.”
“Taken under advisement. I need to go –“
“Fuckin’ State Troopers come around twice –“
Good for Lee, I think. At least when the homicide occurs, all this will be a matter of public record and Janice’s daughter, a struggling local chiropractor, can sue the State of New York for the big bucks.
“Craig, I really need to go,” I say. “Have a great evening.” And I close the door in his face.
That was three days ago. Fortunately I haven’t had to talk to them since, though I do see Janice out in the backyard walking her dog.
I suspect they will be moving soon.
The invention of the telegraph in 1838 changed all that.
Arguably, the telegraph is the invention that changed human life more than any other has before or since.
I suppose many might argue the Internet is the more influential invention or development, since it more or less makes information reception instantaneous. I would say no: There’s always a refractory period between receiving information and acting on it, so it doesn’t really matter whether you receive that information now or an hour from now.
Something else about the Internet… Something about the nature of the medium tricks people into believing that Internet information is afferent information, information culled from their own sensory organs. Many have written about the peculiarly subjective quality of Internet information, how it seems more real in some essential way than information you read; how it seems so personal, like voices in your head – a recent survey found that most adults would actually rather text to someone than talk to that person in a room. Internet information feels qualitatively like something you see with your own eyes or hear with your own ears. Internet information is perceived rather than observed, and that, of course, is what makes it so seductive, and so dangerous: Your inherent bias is the message…
So, I have been sick. Caught a cold – either from Jeanna on the phone or from Rutger, the cat, who is still unsocialized and after a month still hisses at me at least half the time whenever I go near him. He came back from the ASPCA after being neutered and vaccinated quite ill with some kind of respiratory thingy, that’s progressed to deep wheezes in his chest. He’s quite miserable and I’m worried about him, but don’t have the money to take him to the vet. Today I’m going to go to PetSmart and score some of the tetracycline they sell for cleaning reptile cages and figure out the correct dosage for a cat and feed it to him.
Do viruses jump species? All I know is I woke up two days ago and I was miserable. Doubly miserable because the evil dentist still hasn’t made the referral to the oral surgeon. You can kind of view poverty as an amusing game when you’re healthy, but when you’re not, you begin to understand what a victim you are…
Also, sordid goings on at the neighbors next door. I wish they’d move. A few days ago, Craig came stumbling out to my car in the rain as I was pulling out of the driveway, off on some errands. It was 10 in the morning and he was shit-faced, open can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in his fist. “Can you give me a ride over to Lower Creek Road?” he drawled. “Janice won’t let me use the car.”
Janice isn’t as stupid as she looks, I thought.
“I can’t drive with an open can of alcohol in the car,” I said.
“I’ll get a cup.”
I could have said, No, of course. Instead I said, Yes because Lower Creek Road was on my way, because I borrow flour from Janice occasionally and she once brought me over a quarter of a lasagna.
“Talked to my wife on the phone,” Craig said in the car. “Thought I didn’t love her anymore. But now I know I still love her. I mean, we spent 30 years together. Thirty years! And four kids. That don’t go away. Her boyfriend just went to prison for robbing a bank so she ain’t with him anymore. I think I still love her, man. I mean, I love Janice too but I still love my wife.”
Sort of amazes me that Craig naturally believes this story is interesting and compelling to other people. Is Jerry Springer a cause or an effect? Craig is in his early 50s and looks like he was run over by a tractor. I can’t look at him and even see what he looked like 30, 20 or 10 years ago but he has the ebullience, swagger and natural self-confidence of a guy who used to be good looking so I suppose he was. A Florida redneck, a good ole boy. Not stupid. But totally racist, ignorant and drug and alcohol addled.
I drop him off at his designated assignation, do my errands, return home.
Hesitate for a couple of seconds.
Knock on Craig and Janice’s door.
Janice, when she answers, has obviously had the shit beaten out of her. Recently. Her right eye is blackened, she has bruises all face and arms.
“Um – Janice, I just wanted to let you know that I took Craig where he was going because, you know, it was raining and he was drunk and I thought he might get hit by a car – did he do that to you?”
“This? Oh, no. I was drunk. I fell.”
“I see,” I said.
And I did.
What do you do in a situation like that? I knew damn well that she was lying but I also knew that I didn’t really like her well enough to intervene further. Maybe if she’d started crying, said, Yes, he beat me up. But not if she was denying it.
“Well, okay, then,” I said brightly.
“What? You think he hit me?”
“It’s an obvious question, Janice,” I said with that big, bright smile. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
I go about my life for the next 23 hours and then the next morning, there’s Craig in more or less the same condition, waiting for another ride to the same place.
“Okay,” I said wearily. “The beer needs to go in a can though.”
“Sure! No problem. Want one?”
“No.”
The story had gotten even more sordid. His buddy Clay’s girlfriend had confided in Craig that Clay didn’t like to eat pussy. “And you know, if there’s one thing I like to do, it’s eat pussy! I love to eat pussy! And Clay, man, he won’t go near pussy. He don’t even like to touch it! So Shanti’s shoving up against me, and man, what can I say? I mean, the chick’s coming on to me! So we drive two hours to Locke to score an eightball, Clay’s driving, and I’m going down on his chick, I got my fingers up her ass. And Clay just takes off. Moves right back in with his parents –“
“Do I turn here?” I ask.
“No, next road, next road. Don’t go telling Janice none of this –“
“I won’t,” I said.
“Shit. I don’t know what to do. I love Janice but I love my wife. She wants me to come back to her in Florida. But I love Janice. And now there’s Shanti, I went down on her for two hours –“
“Here we are!” I say gaily.
Our destination is a trailer home. An elderly woman whose trailer is planted all around with bright purple zinnias stares at me suspiciously as I maneuver my car into the narrow turn-around.
Shanti – at least I assume it’s Shanti – is waiting for Craig’s arrival with her hands on her hips. She’s a large, lusty looking lady who would not be out of place in a R. Crumb comic.
Well, that is that, I think, driving away. I will never give him a ride anywhere every again, and I won’t eat Janice’s lasagna. I will say, “Hello, how are you?” and that will be the extent of my communications with my next door neighbors.
Except that night there is a knock on my door, and it is Craig, drunker than ever.
“What do you want, Craig?” I say wearily.
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Well, I wanna say, I didn’t beat up Janice, I would never beat up Janice –“
“Right. That’s what she said.”
“But fuckin Lee, man –“ Lee being the psoriasis-afflicted neighbor who was recently stalking me, “fuckin’ Lee comes over and sees her and calls the state troopers!”
“Lee did?”
“Well. They said they got an anonymous tip but it was fuckin’ Lee.”
“Well, if you have issues with Lee, maybe you ought to talk to him about it,” I said. “Listen, Craig, I don’t feel well, I really have to go –“
“I did talk to him about it! I called him, got his fuckin’ answering machine. Called him again. He told me Janice told him I hit her! I told the motherfucker he could come over here and say that lie to my face while I was holding my shotgun –“
Oh, great, I thought. Guns are involved.
“Wait, Craig?” I said. “You have a shotgun?”
“Well, he don’t know if I have a shotgun or not. So I come over here to tell you – I know you’re friends with the guy –“
“I’m not friends with the guy,” I said. “He’s a nice guy, and I know him.”
“Well, if he comes around here and I see him, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Just saying.”
“Taken under advisement. I need to go –“
“Fuckin’ State Troopers come around twice –“
Good for Lee, I think. At least when the homicide occurs, all this will be a matter of public record and Janice’s daughter, a struggling local chiropractor, can sue the State of New York for the big bucks.
“Craig, I really need to go,” I say. “Have a great evening.” And I close the door in his face.
That was three days ago. Fortunately I haven’t had to talk to them since, though I do see Janice out in the backyard walking her dog.
I suspect they will be moving soon.
