I don't care much for sports bars. They’re usually loud and filled with obnoxious people who've had a few too many beers, and everyone's yelling at each other and at various television monitors mounted all over the room as their favorite (or least favorite) teams cavort onscreen, running around on a field doing various . . . uh, sports things.
Of course, I have (and almost always exercise) the option of simply avoiding sports bars; that way I can have a nice peaceful lunch or dinner, and the sports fanatics among us can scream spittle-flecked invective at the television, eat wings, and smear various sauces all over themselves while watching the Falcons, Penguins, Cardinals, Orioles, Seahawks or other such avian-themed sports teams. (In America, there seems to be a weird association between ornithology and sports teams. I suppose there's a Master's thesis in there someplace. Or maybe the Audubon Society would sponsor a grant.)
|Now, this is a bar. This is the Table Bluff hotel and saloon in Table|
Bluff, CA. The photo was taken in 1889, so it may have been
spruced up some since. But see? Not a television in sight! Image
courtesy of the Sonoma County Library.
But I'm not immune to the allure of sports, just sports bars. Why, only yesterday, I watched the Super Bowl. I don't remember which Super Bowl it was, maybe Super Bowl MMMMCMXCIX. But the Patriots and the Eagles (see?!) "gave it everything they had," "brought their A game," "played to win," and all of them "gave 110 percent." And to be honest, it was a good game, especially since I didn't really care who won. Also, we had enchiladas and beer.
But even when I go out to eat at a restaurant that's NOT a sports bar, I can't escape the television on the wall. These days, most restaurants have a television or two or twelve scattered about. Given that I am a child of the 60s, my eyes are unavoidably drawn to any flickering image in a box. (Perhaps students today would pay more attention to teachers if we found a way to flicker.) This is unfortunate when eating dinner with my wife and/or a group of friends. I may be paying close, even rapt attention to what is no doubt a very important discussion about . . . uh, something, but then out of the corner of my eye I can see that flickering, blue-tinged image beckoning. I always turn to look. I must turn to look. I've been conditioned to do so. The power of media compels me. And when Lesley draws my attention by coughing gently and touching me on the hand (perhaps with the business end of a fork), I have to pretend that I was not absent during the last 30 seconds or so of the conversation. I usually just smile and nod and try to look intrigued and amenable to whatever has just been said. (Sometimes this results in me accidentally agreeing to go hiking. I don't really see the point of hiking. I spent a lot of money on a very nice truck. It has air conditioning, soft leather seats, and XM radio. Hiking does not have those things.)
But it's not just television; non-electric media also compels us. Lesley and her mother enjoy putting together jigsaw puzzles. (God knows why. Perhaps it's some Episcopalian form of penance. Like flagellation, but more painful.) These puzzles are usually laid out on the dining room table, because it's the most convenient large, flat surface in the house. But I have to watch Mom and Lesley very closely during dinner. We'll be enjoying our food and talking, and I can see their eyes beginning to steal away, glancing surreptitiously at the puzzle, just a few inches from our plates. Eventually they desert our meal (and me) and enter into a full-fledged puzzle-solving frenzy. Like me watching a television image, they can't not do it. At first, they were sheepish about it, but now they don't even bother pretending that they think it's weird to work on a puzzle during dinner.
Media, it turns out, is media, and none of us (well, few of us) are immune.
I don't think that the kids we berate for spending their lives with their faces in Facebook or Instagram or Snapchat (or whatever is big these days—I may be a few weeks out of date) are really any different than any of the rest of us; they too are compelled by media, but I suppose it's a matter of degree. They are all about being connected, all the time. It's very difficult for them to disconnect. I saw this during the college classes I taught; asking students to put their phones away for an hour was almost physically painful for them. The thing about other forms of media is that they're there and then gone. We read the newspaper (remember those?) and then we were finished and perhaps we even (God forbid!) spoke to people about what we'd just read. We would connect intermittently to television (perhaps after school or in the evening), we might read a book or listen to the radio, but then we were finished, at least for the time being. These days, though, people (not all of them kids) are connected to other people all the time. It must be exhausting! Who would want to be connected to everyone 24/7?! I don't even like people that much! (But I love dogs. If we could connect to dogs, now, that would be different. I could definitely connect with dogs all day. I would most certainly sign up for DogBook or InstaPaw or PupChat or something.)
My granddaughter is going on a medical mission trip to Guatemala this summer, during which she and other scientifically-minded students will teach basic hygiene, measure villagers' blood pressure and glucose levels, and do other science-y things for a couple of weeks. (All of this will be covered in greater detail in my upcoming book, entitled My Grandchild is Smarter than Your Grandchild and All of Your Entire Family Put Together—and Better-Looking, Too.) But on this trip, she has to disconnect for an entire 10 days! No phone. No texting. No Instagram. No computer. For almost two weeks, she will be in a foreign country, forced to interact with actual people in real-time. I shudder to think what this might do to her. What if she accidentally reads a newspaper?