Invasion of the Metaphor

On Robots' Imitation Lips: You Are So Human!

2011-06-13T17:45:00.001-05:00

When did it become a compliment to describe someone as a machine?

What I am talking about are those times when someone might say to another person, "You are a machine!" or "He/She is a machine!" Typically I hear these kinds of kinds of comments in the context of some athletic competition or some other kind of grueling physical labor. The suggestion seems to be that the person is acting in a manner that displays valuable machine like qualities such as an unrelenting effort to complete some task in an efficient and precise manner.

Why don't we ever compliment someone with the expression, "You are a human!" or "He/She is a human!"?

Granted, such a compliment lacks a certain specificity, but it does point to an interesting curiosity in comparing a person to a machine.

If I were to see a robot running in a fluid and relentless fashion, I would be considerably less impressed than seeing a human, world class, marathon runner near the end of a stunning race. It is precisely because someone is a finite human being and is performing some grueling physical labor in a determined, efficient, and precise manner that we are so often impressed and feel the need to compliment and acknowledge his or her admirable efforts. But such a performance only becomes significant to us against the backdrop of a finite creature that could and often does not perform so well. That is, it is precisely because we know that humans so often do stumble, trip, fall, and tire from exhaustion that when they do not, we look twice and admire.

Depending on where we choose to place the emphasis we are left with the choice of "He/She is a machine!" or "He/She is a human being!"

Increasingly, I think there is a place for acknowledging and affirming the human dimension of excellent performances.

Perhaps someday there will be advanced robots that compliment one another by saying "You are a human!" In the strangeness of such an expression on robots imitation lips, we may begin to ponder what our own finite, humanity means.

Advice to Independent Programmers: Stay young, Stay Small, Go Dancing

2011-06-11T09:00:00.006-05:00

With the massive popularity of "apps" (short for computer applications) these days, chances are many of us have benefitted from the work of independent computer programmers operating on a small scale (either alone or in small groups). Such work is in contrast to that of mega corporations like Microsoft, Google, Facebook, Apple, etc., that employ armies of computer programmers to create and sustain flagship products (i.e. Microsoft Office, iLife, etc.). While I do appreciate the work of these larger companies, and have benefitted considerably from their "apps," I am increasingly impressed by what a single programmer or small group of programmers are able to accomplish (i.e. YummySoup by Ken Humbard, or Instapaper by Marco Arment).

It is not that the apps of independent programmers are without their glitches or that they demonstrate a perfectly complete and beautifully functional product (as we all know, even major software programs like Word fall short in that respect). Instead, what impresses me is the tremendous responsiveness and candidness I have often observed amongst many independent, small scale, computer programmers. Their apps are living creations undergoing frequent updates as new problems are discovered and new features added. Often these programmers maintain blogs or release statements explaining new updates that display a candidness that is lacking in the bureaucratic officialdom of many (though, not all) larger tech companies.

I do not doubt that there are many considerate, thoughtful, and helpful people working on app development at the larger companies, but I increasingly believe that the size of those companies combined with the intricate layers of process and procedure that becomes mandated in those environments often dampens a certain ability to meet with the users of any given app in a refreshingly smart, useful, candid, agile, and caring manner.

More and more, I want to say to small scale, independent programmers: "Stay small, you are growing too fast, enjoy your youth. Or better yet, as Death Cab for Cutie extols on their recent album (Code and Keys), 'Stay young, go dancing.'"

Am I selfish in wanting independent programmers to maintain small-scale operations? Does my advice amount to a call to refuse substantial economic profit by growing larger?

At the heart of my reflection here is this thought, how do we measure meaningful and valuable growth? Does the economic bottom line indeed capture all of the relevant variables for a good product or a good organization, in which case growing in size and profit is a sign of success. Or does growth involve something more?

Is small in fact beautiful as E.F. Shumacher proclaimed? Or can small organizations with excellent products and services in fact be giants as Bo Burlingham argues?

Remembering to Remember in an E-Book World

2011-06-08T08:00:00.102-05:00

Over at Wired Magazine, John Abell has an article offering five reasons why E-books aren't there yet. The "there" he is referring to is being a replacement for the printed book. Of his reasons, I found his first the most interesting:

"An unfinished e-book is not a constant reminder to finish it."

Unlike a printed book that sits on your nightstand or on a desk, e-books lurk in the ether of the digital world pressed between computer circuits obscured by the shell of an e-book reader. As a result, it is often easier to forget about a half-read e-book compared to a half-read printed book.

What I find interesting about this insight is the way in which the physical presence of the book- its weight, its length and width, the colors on its cover, the texture of its binding, the shade of white of its pages- is often vital to the act of remembering.

Certainly, we can take deliberate steps to remember unfinished e-books (perhaps an electronic alert system when we first turn on the e-book reader), but such effort is of a decidedly different kind than the several books that I keep at the edge of my vision on my desk.

An astute reader at this point will ask, though, but how is it different and why is that significant?

Efficiency is perhaps the most obvious answer, the energy required to set a book on the edge of my desk as a reminder is decidedly less than setting up an alert system on an electronic device and then also remembering to occasionally turn on the device. In the world of electronic reminders we need reminders to check our reminders. And therein perhaps we begin to grasp at something significant.

A physical book establishes a presence in my environment, my home, my workspace. I might be able to hide that book away, but somewhere in the course of my day or weeks, or year, I am likely to stumble upon its rude physicality, as it dimensions and quality exact a certain amount of attention and response from me.

Alternatively, an e-book always threatens to disappear into the digital void that I do not inhabit, nor ever will. I will not stumble upon an e-book in the midst of moving or sorting through old books, rather, with the ease with which an e-book comes into my world, so it also disappears.

Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, half-read books or e-books are not so alarming as to favor one style of remembering over the other. But I wonder, what about people? As we carry out more of our interactions with other people online, how does our remembering change? What kind of presence does an embodied person occupy in my life versus the electronic profile of some individual on Facebook or the name of some person on an email in by digital inbox? Are electronic relationships more ephemeral than the relationship with a flesh and blood person that has decided to stop by for a cup of coffee? If so, to what effect? Put dramatically, do we leave the acknowledged existence of other persons in our lives up to the chance circumstances of whether the power is on and the internet working?

Deliberately choosing a slow technology

2011-06-06T12:56:00.000-05:00

Often the promise of new technologies hinges on the faster speeds that they offer to the user. But should we be so quick to always adopt those technological implements that get the job done faster?

Certainly, there is the questionable assumption that time is money. If time is money then the argument goes that we maximize our economic profit by decreasing the amount of time that it takes us to perform any given task.

While I do not doubt that we can benefit from performing many tasks faster, I sometimes wonder if there is something also to be gained by slowing down.

In particular, I think about when I was much younger and we still used a dial up internet connection. All those familiar with that process will remember the characteristic dial tone over the computer speakers, the warble and static of a connection being made, a dramatic pause, and then, hopefully, success with the accompanied feeling of "I am now on the internet."

What was significant about that process was that in the space between clicking "Connect" and waiting for the dial up connection to work its magic, I had some time to think. I had time to think about what precisely I wanted to see or do on the internet, I had time to think about homework that still needed to be done, or if the dial up connection was being particularly slow to begin, I had time to think about whether I even wanted to go on the internet.

Today, with my always on internet connection, I do not have the space for such thoughts. Sure, I can think about these things before I sit down to my computer. But my point is that the nature of the technology no longer creates (even accidentally) a space in which to think deliberately about the task ahead.

This makes me wonder, in an effort to think more intentionally about my use of the internet and what I see or do on the internet, would I benefit from deliberately choosing a slower internet connection? Or more generally, do I stand to gain from technologies that actually move at a slower pace, and thereby create a space in which I can think about my use of that technology?

Why I still read a paper newspaper in an increasingly digital world

2010-08-25T09:33:00.000-05:00

In a world where I can aggregate hundreds of digital news sources in a single application on my computer or iPod, or dart from one news site to the next on the web, why do I still read a physical newspaper published by one news company?

Economically it is dramatically cheaper to subscribe to free or low cost digital news sources than it is to subscribe to a physical newspaper, and yet, year after year I renew my subscription. As a student on a low budget, such choices are not insignificant.

My reasons for reading a physical newspaper seem to accumulate with time. Here are some of those that come to mind.

-I grew up always seeing my dad reading a paper newspaper. Role models are a powerful thing.

-I enjoy the fact that I can find myself relative to the paper newspaper. That is, as a physical object, my body is in spatial relationship to the paper. I am not sure where I am supposed to imagine my body being when reading electronic news sources. At best, I might position myself relative to a computer, but the webpages themselves seem to come from a non-place without perspective and depth; they just are. As such, when I read my newspaper in the morning at the table or in one of our reading chairs, I experience myself in a place that has a certain tactile feel and sensory routine that is sprawled across and arranged by the physical space. The internet provides me with a much more ambiguous experience.

-I think that the mediums that we write and read in do shape how we think. As such, I am not ready to see the end of print journalism. I think that something significant would be lost. So I will do my small part to give some revenue to maintain that industry.

-Serendipity. In a world where so much is available for customization, I appreciate the fact that I don't choose the stories that I will encounter in my morning newspaper. Therein, I maintain an ability to still be genuinely surprised and excited sometimes by what I come across in the newspaper.

These are some of my reasons for why I still read a physical newspaper.

The Metaphors of Digital Experience

2010-08-19T09:25:00.001-05:00

Desktops, docks, windows, folders, pages, toolboxes, galleries, surfing, maps, browsing, scrolling...

These, and more, are the metaphors and labels that we use to make sense of our digital experience. I am struck by the fact that were I to select a few of the terms (desktop, windows, pages, toolbox, maps, scrolling, gallery), I might be well on my way to describing an author's writing corner, or a mapmakers workshop, or a craftsman's tool space, or an artist's exhibition. As high tech and cutting edge as computers, smartphones, and the internet are, they still retain the images of life grounded in concrete practices and traditions that have been practiced for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

Is this a failure of our language to develop new terminology? Or, is it an intentional, though collective, move on our part to maintain a connection with the past? If it is the latter, do we or should we have a commitment to maintain and cultivate those concrete practices of writing, mapmaking, artistry, and craftsmanship that provide the dominant metaphors of our digital experience? If we fail to maintain these practices, what will become of our metaphors? And if our metaphors change, how will our digital experience change?

iPad Commandments in the High Church of Technology

2010-04-08T11:30:00.002-05:00

When I first watched the Matrix films, I thought it was strange how much religious imagery and practice was brought to bear on and synthesized with the machines and high technology of the Matrix world. But increasingly I have realized that it was not strange at all in the sense that technological gadgetry and innovation constitutes the image of the good life that many people in our current society have (think Ray Kurzweil as an extreme example). As James K.A. Smith observes in his recent book, Desiring the Kingdom, whatever makes up our picture of the good life, the flourishing life, is what we cannot help but worship to some degree. This does not entail that such things are always worthy of worship, but nonetheless, they are the profound ends to which our most basic desires yearn for and seek to bring about through daily endeavors.

This was underscored with the recent release of the iPad, to which the above "iPad commandments" allude. In reading the media stories leading up to the iPad release, one might have thought that some kind of savior was arriving to rescue us from our fallen state of digital existence brought on by wrongly choosing and using technologies we should not have. Perhaps I exaggerate, but if so, not by much. In a world of so much tragedy (wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, AIDS crisis in Africa, insufficient food and clean water for children throughout the world, earthquakes that kill hundreds of thousands of people, and the list goes on) we are desperate for something to mark signs of progress out of the tragic and towards our vision of the good life, the flourishing life.

I am skeptical of faith in and worship of the promise of technology, though. Whatever solutions technology might offer, the constant peril is that they often fail to require any transformation of the behavior on our part that led to the problem in the first place. Perhaps this is why the church of high technology is so popular, it gives us everything we want without demanding confession, repentance, or atonement.

End of Publishing?

2010-04-08T11:14:00.006-05:00

Got tuned into this video over on David Rothman's blog. It is a phenomenal illustration, be sure to watch the whole video.

The Beginnings of a Digital Ecology

2010-04-07T10:07:00.000-05:00

Voices in the modern ecology movement have called for us to reconnect in deep and meaningful ways with our environments. One articulate proponent of such reform has been Michael Pollan, a journalist that wrote The Omnivore's Dilemma and An Eater's Manifesto. His particular efforts have been to help us re-discover precisely what it is we are all eating on a regular basis, how it was found, cooked, manufactured,synthesized, shipped, etc. Bill McKibben, another prominent voice in the modern ecology movement, calls for deep economies conditioned by an intimate attunement to one's neighborhood and surroundings on a local level in contrast to broad economies that expand ever outwards but never deeper.

It strikes me that in this high tech age, where so many of us spend countless hours each day working on our computers we need a kind of digital ecology movement. How many of us if pressed could explain in any significant detail how our computers function, what they are made of, how software works with hardware, how all of the hardware fits together, etc? Yet, we are remarkably dependent on these machines that we do not know; we use them to store our photos, our documents, our music, to communicate with clients, customers, friends, and family, to create blogs and magazine layouts and films. Computers represent a significant investment of ourselves, they are the means by which we often think, remember, and communicate. And yet, while we reap all of the benefits of these devices, we are out of touch with precisely what makes it all possible. Is this irresponsible? Do we set ourselves up for disaster by trusting something so much that we do not understand in any significant degree? To be sure, we often invest ourselves in and trust other people with aspects of ourselves, but even there when we may not know the other person completely we at least share with them a common humanity, whereby we imagine that they have a similar kind of interior thought life to our own, that is, we do not imagine that we are merely interacting with zombies. And yet, we do not have this connection to computers, they have aura of the mysterious about them, shrouded and cloaked in an opaque container.

This is not an invitation to get rid of our computers, but rather to connect with them on a deeper level. That is, to attempt to understand how they function, why they function that way, what the limits are on what they can do because of their particular configurations, and accordingly how software and hardware ultimately interacts with us, the users.

With My Head in the Cloud of Information

2010-03-26T11:43:00.000-05:00

A recent issue of The Economist had a feature story on the information deluge that characterizes these modern times. While it has been said for a long time that we are living in the information age, our understanding of what that means continues to be reconfigured by the massive amounts of data that are currently being generated, processed, stored, and utilized around the world. In that article from The Economist, the writer observes that when the Sloan Digital Sky Survey started work in 2000, its telescope in New Mexico collected more data in its first few weeks than had been amassed in the entire history of astronomy.

But as has now been observed in several sectors, just because we are able to collect massive amounts of data does not mean that we know how to utilize all of the data. In some ways it seems human beings in a modern age have resigned themselves to a pack rat mentality of collecting things simply for the sake of collecting without any clear sense that the items will have value or utility now or in the future.

So it is that I find myself standing at the edge of the proverbial hard drive looking into the great cloud of information and data that pervades digital existence. I am at once so aware of so many things, yet unable to effectively engage with any of them. Information is supposed to empower, but in the face of its sheer volume it has a strangely dis-empowering effect.

I do not mean to sound hopelessly despairing about the current information age. I think there is reason to maintain a sense of hope, and will explore that conviction in future posts. But what I do want to underscore is the need for something beyond the data or information alone. Data alone simply cannot sustain and help us to create the kinds of lives, I think, we would like to live as human beings.

Beyond the Status Update, Rediscovering our Humanity amidst Social Networking Technologies

2010-03-25T12:16:00.001-05:00

It seems to me that to be human is to experience some degree of suffering and anguish. Though, obviously this will vary from one life to another, it would be the almost inconceivable exception that a person never experienced physical and psychological pain regarding their own circumstances or the circumstances of others. Yet, it strikes me that many of our social networking technologies fail to allow for the adequate and effective presentation of suffering and anguish. Within the limited text field of a status update on Facebook or Twitter, can we ever express the depths of human feeling? It seems perverse that we might write something like "Having a bad day" when in fact, given specific circumstances (losing a job, death in the family, being mugged, etc.), our suffering and anguish extends far deeper, or at least should extend deeper. And this raises the question, do our limited status updates on applications like Twitter and Facebook function as merely shorthand that beg a question from a caring friend which would involve a much more substantial discussion and expression of our suffering and anguish? Or, do we allow the parameters of a technological application to set the boundaries on what we feel, or at least come to terms with? That is, do we fail to probe the depths of our suffering and anguish because the status update application exhibits a certain kind of authority in its mandate of succinctness? Does succinctness become the ideal, by which we then must deny the tremendous range and profundity of our feelings?

I am not sure what the answers to these questions may be, although I have some intuitions, but it is worth considering why the questions are so terribly significant. If it is part of the human experience to undergo suffering and anguish to some degree or another, and yet our technologies (particularly those technologies that claim to foster community and a sense of connection) do not offer any means by which to significantly share that experience of suffering and anguish, then we should draw into question the precise value and usefulness of the technologies. This is not to say that applications like Facebook and Twitter would not have some value, but under the aspect of what human experience involves, we would have to reconfigure and limit our beliefs about what the technologies can offer us. Although social networking technologies have brought us into far greater connection with greater numbers of people than ever before, it is not immediately clear that they have allowed us to connect with one another as human beings, that is, as individuals that experience joy and pain, pleasure and anguish, peace and suffering.

Shattered Glass and Digital Information

2010-03-19T18:42:00.000-05:00

I recently knocked down a glass picture frame, and accordingly the glass in the frame shattered and spilled everywhere on the floor. Outside of disappointment about the picture and frame, the clean up was tedious. Glass shatters in a wildly unpredictable pattern without any respect for the human capability to find each piece of glass. At first the going is easy, one picks up the biggest shards of glass and throws them away, but at some point you find yourself on the floor straining your eyes to see the small, small shards of glass that you missed previously. Inevitably you find a few slivers of glass, sometimes the hard way when they cut you, and this only leads you to question yourself, "have I found them all," "did I miss one," "will I ever find all of the pieces?"

I suppose this is why the shattering of glass is such a frequently invoked metaphor during life crises. There come those times in life when the rule book of daily living is thrown out, and we find ourselves facing what we had never really anticipated, and accordingly we find aspects of our lives strewn about amidst places and people in ways that shock, horrify, shame, and anger us. In the end we are left wondering, can I ever account for all the pieces and put them together again?

It strikes me that digital information is also a bit like glass, and accordingly when it is mismanaged it has the characteristic quality of shattering and dispersing in ways that make it difficult to put together again. Though many of us put an abundant information on the Internet, we still do so with certain expectations that it will not be used in ways that hurt us. In this manner, while we do not maintain an expansive zone of privacy, we nonetheless maintain a standard of confidentiality. This standard of confidentiality implies a degree of trust for those we invite to know aspects of ourselves. When this trust is violated, and aspects of our digital identities are exploited, stolen, slandered, or otherwise maimed in significant ways, we find ourselves forced to pick up the pieces. But pulling together all of the bits and bytes of information about ourselves that may be strewn about on websites, blogs, twitter, or other applications, is as difficult as finding those small, small slivers of glass that we strain our eyes to see when picking up shattered glass. In the end, we are left wondering, can I ever find all all the pieces to put back together again?

I think the metaphor works, but it does strike me that digital information can sometimes be even more difficult to work with then shards of glass. For instance, data can be quickly replicated and shared in ways that finite glass cannot. Additionally, digital information often has an inscrutable character to the typical web consumer, that is, it exists on multiple levels of digital existence (one that is apparent to the public, and another that involves the underlying code and the world of programmers). Similarly, digital data is constantly being archived, backed up, and funneled into every corner of the Internet and computer world, and thus quickly extends beyond the finite control of the finite web user located here and now.

Categories and Applications: Living by the Rhythm of our iPhones

2010-03-16T09:34:00.000-05:00

If the iPhone has done nothing else, it has introduced us to the incredible power of simple applications running in a portable electronic environment that we can access immediately and efficiently throughout our days for almost any task we can imagine (although Verizon would certainly like to problematize the issue of access, but that is another discussion). The app store on iTunes has become a phenomenon, with hundreds of millions of downloads taking place and new, innovative applications being added everyday.

But maybe I said it wrong. I implied that we choose applications for almost any task we can imagine. But this suggests that we first decide what we want to do, and then we choose an application that might help us. Indeed if the applications are actually applications, then they would seem to function this way necessarily. But sometimes it seems that we first choose an "application" and then let that dictate what we do. In this way, the applications are no longer applications at all, but instead categories that govern the boundaries of our imaginations, and accordingly our actions. This seems to underscore the peculiar challenges of living in a high tech age. We both dictate the rhythms of our machines and software applications, but then we also live by those rhythms. The problem is that the people that are designing the technologies are not necessarily the people living in response to the technologies. We often seem to live lives that appear to be so much in our control, but in fact are subject to unquestioned norms that are dictated to us.

Going to concerts when genius playlists are not enough

2010-03-15T09:52:00.000-05:00

I was recently reading a short article by the founder of Pandora.com, Tim Westergren, in the Wall Street Journal Magazine, and I was struck by his observation that in an age of massive digital music libraries and personalized playlists online or within iTunes, live concerts are becoming more popular. Several months ago, I read an article that observed that more and more artists were looking to concerts to generate their revenue stream, a trend that aligns with Westergren's observation. Westergreen speculates, and I agree with him, that while many of our technologies promise us increased connection with one another, the frequent experience often seems to be more akin to isolation and a profound disconnect. In turn, we look to live music concerts as a way to reconnect with the physicality and culture surrounding any given piece of music.

I happen to love Josh Ritter's music, and enjoy listening to his albums on my computer. But I have now attended several of his concerts, and they truly are one of a kind. The energy he brings to the stage is palpable, and he inevitably offers the audience something new in his music that his recorded albums have not yet captured. It strikes me that it is concerts like these that inspire me to listen to his recorded albums, and continue listening to them. It is that amazing experience, afforded by a great concert, that sustains the listening experience. The act of attending a concert, being in physical proximity to the artist and other fans seems to be fundamental to the technologies of music, it props up something as remarkable a program like iTunes. Perhaps things have always been this way, perhaps this a growing symptom of the digital age, where we find ourselves yearning for a physicality that no amount of photographic or audio realism on our computers can offer. Either way, we would all do well to attend a few more concerts, and therein reconnect with why we listen to the music in the first place, a sense of shared human experience.

The Barber Shop

2010-03-12T17:12:00.001-06:00

One of the simple pleasures in my life is visiting a neighborhood barber for a haircut from time to time. Part of why I enjoy visiting this particular barber is the decidedly low-tech nature of the place; there are no TV screens, a radio station is barely audible in the background. Instead the most noticeable feature is the smell of shaving cream, as this barber is one of the few that still uses a straight razor blade to shave the back of the neck. As I sat in the barber's chair, I listened to the scratching sounds of the razor against my skin, the short snips of the scissors, the low buzz of clippers, and I realized that in an electronic age, it is this kind of low tech experience that I am often craving. At the end of my haircut, I found myself giving the barber a larger tip not because he was particularly fast and efficient, or he used the latest hair cutting technologies, but rather for exactly the opposite reasons. It was because in an age of the always on and immediate responsiveness measured by the monotonous digital hum of electronic connections, my barber slows life down a bit (something more than a byte) and reminds me of the sounds, textures, and smells of physical existence.

Where is the Undo Button?

2009-10-01T20:04:00.000-05:00

As someone that is frequently editing and creating various projects on a computer, I have become committed to the presence of the "Edit--> Undo" button. Undoubtedly, many of us have had the experience of editing some photo or text and making an accidental or intended change that leaves the image or composition slightly askew or more considerably, a disaster. But stop the heart attack, because a simple flick of the mouse to the edit menu and the "undo" selection restores everything to its previous bliss and harmony.

So when I was recently discovering my inner handyman at home by putting up some window blinds, I found my self at a loss when I unfortunately snapped off the head of a screw midway through screwing it into the window frame. With no way to remove the screw or continue screwing it into the wood, and already committed to placing the window blind in that precise position, I looked for the "Edit-->Undo" button, but as anyone could expect, it was nowhere to be found. I don't mean to say I wished that there was an "Edit-undo" button, although I did, but rather, more significantly, I expected there to be an "Edit-->Undo" button on some level of my being. At that moment I realized how much a product of the digital age I have become.

So many of my digital projects occur inside a programming artifice that includes fail safes like the "Edit-->Undo" function that allow me to make mistakes and return to a prior state in its exact representation without any difficulty, but daily offline, physical existence offers me no such fail safes. In a profound way, offline, physical existence requires a degree of commitment that is not required in the digital world. My offline, physical projects occur inside a stream of time that is always moving forward, and as such I can never return to a previous state. In the digital world, though, time is malleable, and clever programming allows a computer user to move between past and present within the timeline of a project with relative ease.

I am not here trying to make a value judgment about one type of existence versus another (digital versus physical), but rather I am expressing the struggle that results from growing up and living in a world that offers us both types of existence. While our culture is rife with metaphors that play on the analogy between digital/technological existence and physical existence (i.e. "the human brain is a computer," "I'll scan over that," "you're like a broken record") there is also a disconnect that occurs between living digitally and living physically. In the rupture between online and offline existence, we are faced with the tremendous task of discovering what it means to be human in this world that offers us remarkably diverse ways of acting and living. What follows in this blog are my musings about the conflicts and struggles that arise between the different modes of existing (digital/technological and offline/physical). In this way, I hope to shed light on the deeper nature of our human endeavors.