Have You Read?

 Last week, I proctored tests for three days straight.  This means hours of time when I can’t get work done because kids have questions and kids need tissues, but I also can’t possibly circulate purposefully for two hours straight without freaking the kids out.  These stretches of undirected time beg the perennial question: What did people do before Al Gore invented the internet? Were they more productive? Happier and more focused? Bored and less informed?  

After I binge on Facebook for a while, I get deep into internet territory—from the very lowbrow to the very highbrow.   At first I’m looking at a list of where to get the best fries in the city, then suddenly I’m reading up on controversial teacher evaluations, letting my favorite sites take me to other sites in a manic whirlwind of Tweets and hyperlinks. Part of me feels guilty.  My eyes scan across hundreds of pages, and my fingers scroll errantly, while my saturated brain tries to synthesize more information in less time. As a product of my generation, does my mind only function if I’m clicking fast and skimming as I scroll? Have I lost the ability to enjoy the long-form, the deliciously dull, the arduously good?  The way I obtain and process information is fast and schizophrenic.  I wonder if it’s really taking me higher, or if I’m just reveling in the cache of having “read”the right things.  And by read, of course I mean skimming quickly and then gchatting links to (non)interested friends in order to prove I've done my reading. But, would our grandparents call this reading?

   

One of the only Portlandia skits I liked was called “Have You Read?” The camera panned over a coffee shop conversation of three twenty-somethings competing over who’d read the most from a pre-approved list of pretentious publications. They don’t discuss ideas or news, but merely trade titles and names, ensuring a certain communal level of intellect while sipping Stumptown coffee.  But with the internet, the competition is endless and irrelevant; we can all read everything at warp speed with very little focus required.  Where is it getting us? 

While part of me feels guilty about my internet dependency, another part feels happy.  I’m amazed by the quantity and accessibility of high quality journalism, photos, news and jokes.  It’s only 8:45, and I’ve read an archived New Yorker expose about the LRA from 1998 and a funny piece by an unknown about the downfall of PBS’s much-loved pup, Wishbone. The internet makes the world feel smaller and more available.  It gives us every possible bit of information at the tips of our fingers.  The internet confirms good journalism, but also allows us guilty pleasures.  Last week, when I was bored stiff during proctoring, the internet was welcome relief.  I’ll suffer the consequences later in life, I’m sure, but for now: Bring on that delicious guilt.