"That Deaf, Dumb, and Blind Kid...."

I work in a small-scale downtown area now. I commute to and from work on a bus. I see a lot of people every day, scurrying from place to place. Everyone seems to have earbuds jammed into their ears, with ubiquitous white cords dangling down to connect them to "their music", the soundtrack to their lives that makes them the individual they are - along with the millions of others making identical choices. So many of them are simultaneously scrolling through e-mail messages on their iPhone or Blackberry or Android, furiously tapping out a text message, or browsing something on the web.

They're completely cut off from their surroundings, any random contact with people around them, snug in a digital cocoon.

The ear buds and extreme focus make me think of that 60s rock opera "Tommy":

He ain't got no distractions
Can't hear those buzzers and bells
Don't see lights a flashin'
Plays by sense of smell
Always gets a replay
Never tilts at all
That deaf, dumb and blind kid
Sure plays a mean pinball

It drives me crazy to see someone on a bicycle with ear buds in. Hearing what's going on around me is a key component of keeping myself safe when I ride.

It's always someone else that's interesting in this cocoon: the person you could be talking to. Anyone within reach is fair game to be ignored or interrupted in favor of the next incoming packet of stimulation.

All this technology is re-wiring us and re-writing the rules of etiquette for social interaction. Sometimes it's good, but not always.

First Competition

I took the next step in my Toastmasters competition last night after winning our club contest: the area contest. I was up against two winners from other local clubs. The prize? The chance to move on to the district competition and, perhaps, the international.

Contests are run very much like regular weekly meetings. Everything is very formal. I've been an observer at AA meetings for years. Toastmasters meetings remind me of them. They're structured and formal, with lots of applause and encouragement. The contests have judges and rules, prizes and protocols. There are two competitions: one for tall tales, where contestants speak for 3-5 minutes about the wildest imaginary stories they can think of, and another for international, which require 5-7 minutes talks on more serious topics.

I was one of three contestants in the international competition. I came in third, but I was happy with that. The other two speakers were both far more experienced that I am, and it showed. Their writing, rehearsal, and delivery were top-shelf. I had heard (and evaluated) the winner's speech a month ago, so I knew what I was up against going in. She didn't disappoint. It was a most impressive performance. I would have voted for her as the winner if I were a judge.

The second-place finisher at my club entered the tall tales battle and won, hands down. He's an incredibly accomplished guy and a great speaker. He has an instrument-level pilot's license. He went to the Caribbean on vacation with his family, piloting a 40 foot sailboat. His story described how he tied up the boat and went with his family to head into town on a windy day. They were strolling along the beach when they saw their $750,000 chartered boat had torn free of its mooring and was gliding into the harbor without a pilot. My friend jumped into a motorboat, climbed aboard, and stopped the vessel just a few feet short of shoals and a wall. He would have had an embarrassing call to a charter company and their insurance company if he hadn't acted so quickly.

The name of the boat? "Vela Via", Italian for "Sail Away". Delicious irony!

I enjoyed the competition very much, but it tells me that I can do much, much better. I have to work harder at improving my writing, rehearsal, and delivery. My inclination towards procrastination will be the death of me.

Blackberries

Yesterday I went to a meeting room and found myself alone - I was the first to arrive. One of my teammates arrived, then another. Both sat down and, without a word, became engrossed in their Blackberries. There were e-mails to check, missed calls to note, games to play.

I'll admit that I didn't engage them, either. When I was younger nerves would sometimes goad me into starting conversations that weren't comfortable. Now I make silence my friend on occasion and let others make the first move. This was one of those times.

The three of us sat in silence for about five minutes until the rest of the meeting attendees arrived.

I found it odd that the people you could be talking to were more enticing than the person who was right there in the room. I've had conversations with people who could not stop checking their e-mail while I spoke. It was all I could to do stop myself from calling them out on it. Perhaps I need to re-think that policy.

I'm a late adopter, but I'm not a Luddite. The electronic devices we've invented are fantastic. I'm very happy with the cell phone that I carry with me, even though it's old and functional, without bells and whistles. I have never wanted a Blackberry, and I hope I'm never forced to carry one. I don't want to be that connected.

I've evolved a new policy: Communicate in the most direct way possible. I don't call if I can talk face-to-face; I don't e-mail if I can call. Evolution has made our brains terrific pattern recognition machines with inputs from sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. Thankfully I'm not using those last three in a business context much, but those first two are key. So much communication happens via facial expressions, gestures, tone of voice, and cues that we're not always aware of. Electronic communication filters too many of these out.

On the other hand, I had an experience this week that would have been hard to imagine at any other time of my life. I have a younger brother who passed away in 1995. One of his high school friends who moved away to Minnesota after graduation was looking for high school acquaintances on Facebook. She came across one high school mate's page that one of my sisters had posted to. She contacted my sister to ask what my brother was up to. It must have been a shock to hear that this young man has been gone for almost fourteen years, but the sympathetic response she sent back was touching. How would this have been possible without the Internet and Facebook?