The World At My Fingertips

There is something to be said for having the world at my fingertips. In a word, immediacy.

Courtesy of an incredible network of wires and fiber-optic cables more commonly known as the Internet, I can look up the capital of Mozambique (Maputo, incidentally), the lyrics to that Steely Dan song stuck in my head, and a recipe for Bavarian-style Kaesespaetzle. Simultaneously, I can also email my brother in Manhattan, Google chat with my boyfriend across Adelphi Road while he finishes (or attempts to finish) his Capstone homework, and Skype my friend studying abroad in Rome.

Timezones, interstates, oceans-- be damned!

It's absurd-- with just one mouseclick on the Mozilla button on my computer's taskbar, I can interact, participate, and experience life on all continents, in all languages, and from so many different vantage points without my passport. Indeed, the world at my fingertips is flat; more flat than Columbus and company ever imagined.

This infinite ability to access the world is not only absurd, but it's so incredible and advantageous... Maybe too incredible? Too advantageous? Is there such a thing? (There usually is, right?) I have to ask myself-- where's the catch?

I have to admit, I'm pretty old-school. I prefer listening to music played from a turntable than from earbuds-- that same Steely Dan song sounds ten times better, at least, on vinyl than it does coming out of my computer. I read books, real books, not scanned editions found on Amazon's new Kindle, whatever that is-- Victor Hugo did not write Les Miserables to be read on a screen! The Baltimore Sun and the Baltimore Examiner both disappoint, a lot, but there's something to be said for the smell of fresh ink and the touch of gritty paper.

I like things real, as they were intended. (Of course, this begs the question, why am I writing a blog instead of a column. I direct you to my professor... it's the best excuse I have. Besides, my printer is out of ink and I don't have access to a Gutenberg printing press.)

Like I said, though, I like things real. I can figure out the lyrics to that Steely Dan song by listening to it-- and isn't that more enjoyable anyway? Looking up that German recipe online is easy, but reading about the origins of the recipe in my neighbor's twenty-year-old cookbook is much more fascinating. And while emailing, Google chatting, and Skyping my friends and family online might be quick, cheap, and practical, a real conversation, whether face-to-face or over the phone, is so much more personal and significant.

Having the world at my fingertips, well, technology, might offer me an immediacy that real things can't, but at a great cost-- intimacy.

So what's an oldschool girl like me to do? Compromise, I guess. I will Skype my friend in Rome (who wouldn't, it's free), but I will pay the 42 cents postage to write my grandmother who prefers my cursive to the computer's Helvetica.

Oh the joys of democracy and modernity-- I've got choices and I intend to use them. (I am woman, here me roar? No, not quite.)



(Seriously, though, I implore that you read real books; masterpieces weren't meant for 3x3 inch screens. Go check out Amazon's predecessor, the local library.)