Long live Ira Glass

This American Life covers a pretty broad spectrum in its Mapping episode–establishing a relationship to the world through each of the five senses.

Denis Wood seemed like the most interesting boring guy ever–who knew mapping the neighborhood could be so inspiring. No doubt an intelligent guy, Wood describes his visual mapping of the individual elements of his neighborhood as the “poetics of cartography,” sharing his dream of maps that give his world a spatial character. At one point during their conversation, host Ira Glass seems to take a step back, realizing the seeming absurdity of Wood’s desire to map items throughout the neighborhood as specific as pumpkins. But to counter Wood romanticizes his meticulous mapmaking in the form of an epic quest for the holy grail–a map to end all maps that will “realize the potential of the whole thing.” While I initially thought the idea of Wood’s maps was humorous, I eventually found myself entirely convinced that he is justified in that quest. Prehaps its because of one of the points that comes up in the interview: maybe the map does more than just indicate something about the existing world. It transcends, somewhere along the line, its symbolic nature and becomes a reality in itself. Though I’m not into video games as much as I used to be, I feel like I can relate to the visual map from the perspective of the gamer–a relationship whose integrity in the virtual world is a matter of life or death.

Indeed, from the bird’s-eye-view world of The Legend of Zelda for NES, to the all-important radar map of Goldeneye for N64, to the togglable 3d maps of some first person shooters, video games are all about maps. While these virtual scenarios seem trivial,  research has shown that video games can actually increase spatial awareness in the real world, at least in women. Which would seem to go back to the idea of the map (and isn’t a video game just a complex, interactive map?) becoming, or offering something more than just indication to something in the real world. Interesting.

Kerouac reads on the Steve Allen Show

Contemporary Museum

Checked out the Contemporary Museum today on Centre St. Among the flickering tv screens and radio buzz of “Broadcast,” I was most struck by TVTV, a sort of Guerilla news station back in the 70s (or was it 60s?).

At the republican national convention, the TVTV newsdude (a bearded guy who occassional busts out a harmonica) was, ironically, interviewing other newscasters. The TVTV guy’s relaxed honesty was a strange contrast to the sometimes contrived personalities of the formal newscasters who, even in these backstage interviews, couldn’t quite shake their tv voices. Some of the network newscasters seemed to relax, though, offering a fairly interesting perspective. A few of them just seemed bored, while others felt overshadowed by other newscasters, which brings to mind some sort of Anchorman (movie) competitive newscaster humor.

One of the most hilarious moments of the interview occurred when TVTV interviewer asked the question: “what would you generally define as news?” The anonymous interviewee’s answer? “Things that happen.” I’m not sure why but the deadpan delivery of both the question and answer of this little dialogue only added to its humor.

On the other hand, the TVTV idea is an interesting one–an honest (if opinionated) voice that gives us a backstage look at not only the “things that happen,” but the news stations that cover them.

Ivan Illich

Ivan Illich’s words, which were on first read a little unclear, began to make sense as I pieced together the greater analogy of his statement. Indeed, the transformation from commons–be they literal or figurative–to resources poses some unsettling questions. I certainly agree that the right to commons for their own means, as well as the right to ones own individual silence should be protected, and “unpoliced.” (Illich seems to have a particularly strange distrust of police.) However, I’m not completely sold on all of his fears, probably because I live in the society about which he was prophesizing, and am currently enacting what seems to have been the worst of his fears–speaking through “the machines.”

Oh those ubiquitous machines! If only Ivan were here now. I’m assuming that if there is enough space in his grave to be rolling about, he is currently doing so unaided by any technological assistance.

To be sure, I would contend that Illich completely overlooks, at least in this sample, the extraordinary extent to which these machines have empowered human beings, despite all the negative aspects of their presence in our world. This empowerment can be spoken of in many ways, but serves to counter Illich’s sentiments particularly in the notion of communication.

Indeed, computers have more than anything enabled communication. To critics who argue that computer-aided communication does nothing more than alienate and distance us, I would provide as evidence the vast majority of computer users who live normal, healthy social lives that are only enhanced by this social outlet. One need not sacrifice verbal communication for internet, or become dependent, as Illich warns, on machines for communication.

On the other hand, I do follow Illich’s line of reasoning to some extent, and am, like him, wary of too much dependence on technology as a means of fulfulling those things that form the foundation of human experience. I am also concerned with preserving the ability to move around and communicate in the world without worrying about either technological or governmental confines. For those reasons, I agree with certain aspects of Illich’s skepticism. I just think there is a middle-ground to be reached.

Koyaanisqatsi

Whether or not we can fully trust an artist’s verbally stated intention, I don’t think Godfrey Reggio’s reflections regarding his Qatsi trilogy should be overlooked. Indeed, technology has increasingly become the universal platform upon which social change occurs. This phenomenon–the pervasive but often unnoticed role of technology in our lives–emerges as a dominant motif in Reggio’s Koyannisqatsi. Beachgoers sprawled against the backdrop of an enormous power plant, drivers hurtling through rush hour traffic in time-lapse, or laborers picking mechanically at an assembly line–the multitude of humans laboring through these dramatic scenes suggest a certain unawareness, a languor. Perhaps Reggio’s critics’ most compelling evidence for a “negative” Koyannisqatsi are the multitudes of worn faces that skate like zombies through the frame. However, a great number of them appear happy, and a particular few, such as a the fighter pilot, stand beside technology heroically, not to be dominated by the machines that are so essential to their lives. Overall though, the human attitude toward technology in Koyannisqatsi seems ambivalent. That neutrality would coincide with the notion that most people view technology much more as a passive medium than an autonomous being. However, Reggio’s emphasis on the machine gives it character, and a range of emotions on par with that of the humans in the movie.