"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.

High Tech

I left a meeting this afternoon and headed towards the elevator to go back to my desk. I had the small Moleskine pocket notebook that I carry with me to jot down notes and reminders in my hand.

I suddenly flashed back to the memory of one of my all-time favorite co-workers, a brilliant guy who got a 4.0 GPA in computer science from St. John's University and currently works for Microsoft. Throughout my engineering career I made it a habit to keep a notebook/daily journal in which I scribbled technical details, derivations, sketches, handy tidbits, etc. I would date and index them for "easier" cross-reference, but being paper my ability to recall things was limited.

I'd write small personal notes in the margins. For example, each time my wife called with news that we were expecting one of our daughters I made a note of it.

After abandoning engineering and embarking on my software development adventure I tossed them all out.

I might have thrown away the now-useless notes when I stopped being an engineer, but I kept the habit. When I met my friend at the employer we had in common for a year, he gushed about the fact that I carried a notebook and wrote stuff down. He told his wife about it, who said it sounded like a great thing to do. I felt "cool" and high-tech, pleased and a little embarrassed by his effusive praise.

Flash forward twelve years. I still have my Moleskine in my hand, but now that I'm surrounded by young bucks with iPhones I don't feel very high-tech or cool anymore.

I felt quaint today. How quickly things change.