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With a smile I have to admit that I’m starting to become the old goof I’ve spent my life hating. You know who I’m talking about; A person who says, “I don’t understand what people do these days.”
Well, I don’t.
The other day I was photographing myself and in the middle of a particularly spectacular sunset (as if they weren’t all!), some people came into the frame in the most remote part of the world. No sweat. i like people They add to my paintings like little dots of energy dancing across this big ol’ mama’s body.
And then, sitting together in perfect frame position for a shot of the sun beating down on the sea above their heads, each pulled a cell phone from their pocket and dialed a few moments elsewhere.
One of my quests in life is to be more here, more present in each moment. As if insulting a lifetime of discovery, there are now people everywhere I go! On the street, in their car, in your driveway, at your neighborhood restaurant, leaving the break room, in the middle of a conversation! Wherever you go, whatever you do, you are surrounded by people whose bodies are in front of you, but whose presence is elsewhere.
Not that this was new to me. Somehow, this felt like a whole new insult. Where you surrender your cares to the richness of the moment–one of the few places where you can share your solitude with another human being–the intruder lives.
I was living in an intentional community in Oregon when this cell phone thing first started leaving the cities and becoming more rural. It was a (surprisingly select group) of about 30 adults and 8 children living on 87 acres and conducting personal growth workshops and publishing a magazine. We were known as a community that wanted to work from an angle of interconnectedness in the everyday (and terrible!) tasks of living as examples of sustainability.
As you can imagine, although not on the radical “tree-sitter” side, the ex-Navy intelligence officers in our community were also clearly oriented toward a value system of action, presence at a distance.
But then, in my fifth year there, more and more “guests” (people coming to the conference and spending the weekend with us) were waving their cell phones and roaming (of course within the confines of the “live” spots or whatever they’re called) the property — the trails, the creeks. , Kuran — Chatting with Ether.
We used to have business meetings every week. At one such meeting, where we set policy and such, only thinking twice about it, I proposed to agree to set aside a certain area for people to use their cell phones.
Hell, there was an example. A few years ago, society did the same to smokers. There was a small area on the property near the conference center classrooms where one could smoke. The truth is that it was a lean type shed with a poor chair for boots and an ugly, open coffee can sitting on a concrete walk. If I had come into that community a smoker, I would have quit out of sheer embarrassment. Since this area was in full view of the paths leading to the center, it always looked zoo-ish, with dunce caps not the only thing for the less than 1%.
I hoped that society would feel that this kind of confiscation would help individuals to face themselves more directly. Hopefully, which seems to be true for smokers, eventually enough people will feel uncomfortable so that the word gets out that of course we’re tolerant, but if you smoke or use a cell phone on this piece of nature, you’re in trouble. Sounds like a fool.
I thought getting this would be a slam-dunk but boy, was I wrong! As the words “I’m sick of seeing ugly little shiny bastards everywhere I turn,” came out of my mouth, I noticed three or four hands from the table of about 18 people reflexively reaching for their portion. Clothing or anatomy to make sure they have their cell phone.
It reminded me of when I was a paramedic and went to a tough-ass bar across the tracks when we — me and my partner being the only white guys around — would grab a little metal flash of knives and guns. Created out of the corner of our eyes.
And these were my fellow communitarians. That’s when I knew life was over.
Back to the beach. My first thought was, “What am I going to do with this shot?” But then I realized, “Crap, they’re all like that!!”
I took many intimate primo shots of nature with people and cell phones so that I could build my entire portfolio of cellular phone-promoting spreads and foldouts and brochures to create images of the Marlboro Man. I ended up chucking some money off the damn photo because this unnatural thing is happening.
And now, it’s rapidly deteriorating as cell phones take photos.
On beach photographic projects, even as recently as May (2005) I could work at sunset and shoot people celebrating it and not once worry about the outcome. Today (September) and in any shot with five or more people in it, one of them is pointing their phone either to their ear or to someone else. Some of my pictures look like a Quentin Tarantino stand-off with multiple gunslingers in one shot (actually, several!).
How arrogant I am!
I claim that being the all balanced person that I am, I am here denying the experience of other human beings, needing to die in a world that is familiar to me rather than my own understanding.
Perhaps ten years from now, photos taken in the 1950s will be as commonplace for photos of people loaded with cellular phones as it is for men on the street to see handkerchiefs in their pockets (suit pockets, no less!).
Why does that voice sound terrible to me?
Besides, if I had spent a little more time observing and less time on the bluff, I would have found that every one of them was giving pictures of that happy sunset to their target callers. How sweet — sharing this glorious moment with friends under four feet of water in Louisiana!
It’s hard enough being in a rotten mood and listening to that bubbly idiot on the other end of any phone. But getting the full picture of that happiness is troubling. That moment becomes a series of thumbscrews, “Look how happy I am? What’s wrong with your miserable existence?”
You are so busy resenting the happiness of callers that you can’t even appreciate the beauty around you, that’s the soul that cellphones take out of you.
What will happen to our anonymity and privacy? “Come on honey, I know you’re pathetic but turn on the camera so I can actually see!”
No, I won’t get a cellphone. I don’t have The last time my motorcycle and I broke down on the road, for example, I jumped into the middle of the highway, put my pinky finger to my mouth and thumb to my ear and side-swiped in and around four cars, someone pulled over and let me use his cell phone to call for help. .
Like any red-blooded American, of course I have the right to be hypocritical. But still, because I’m an American, I shouldn’t have to give up my inalienable right to conceal. There are fewer and fewer places to hide, and in the meantime, in the final analysis, there’s my dog with a cell phone and their spawn.
Now, Privileged Drive SUVs come with systems that put you in touch with the central command instantly in case of an emergency. Like, if one of the kids in the back seat says, “I have to pee,” you know a voice will come from the sky and say, “Take the next left, go two blocks and go to McDonald’s…oh, and while you’re at it, Don’t forget to oversize the fries, the extra salt will help the kids hold their bladders longer, and Mr. Mandel, please don’t run a red light like you did three blocks ago.”
While I personally have nothing against him, when Gary Coleman tells me (in commercials on TV, the Internet, and movies!) that “someone should know” where I am every minute of my life, I can’t help but prepare for Armageddon. .
I know that people like Gary started by showing me up to prepare me for the path of life. I know the same technology that will allow you to see and talk to me will also allow “them” to see and hear me, and frankly, I want no part of it.
Unless, of course, I got stuck.
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