Why Twitter?

14 03 2009

I deleted my Twitter account this morning. I just don’t get it.

Am I too old?

Too out of it?

Less narcisstic than I thought I was?

I simply don’t understand its functional use. But maybe it’s not about being functional at all. Maybe it’s about feeling connected in a disconnected way. Those tweets read like hopeful thoughts to me, like the people who write them are wishing for people to hear them in an ever-growing cacophony of voices. 

Monologuing. 

Somehow, being a part of Twitter made me feel like a machine, emitting meaningless radio broadcast signals into space and listening for a return. Trying to make contact, but without knowing why exactly. Is it just me?

I’m not exactly a technophobe. I love Facebook, and I don’t mind the status updates. Somehow, it feels more intimate – perhaps because in order to be connected, you actually have to know the other person. It’s less random. Or maybe it just feels like it.

I also like blogging – whenever I actually sit down to do it. 

It’s like journaling, only not for some future unknown reader. It’s for some present unknown reader, and I don’t have to wait until I die for someone to ‘discover’ me. Maybe that is the reason for Twitter – we all want someone to ‘discover’ us. Lost as we all are in the mulititude of humanity. It’s a way to feel important, special, heard. And since most of us don’t get that in ‘real’ life, I guess I understand the need for a ’second’ life.

Twitter, however, is just not for me.





Technology might be making us more rude.

16 10 2008

Or socially inept. 

Which might amount to the same thing.

It used to be that people actually called each other, sent letters and cards (the actual ones – not the e-ones), and hugged in person. Now, people hug me on Facebook and write on my ‘wall’ to exchange information. It’s gotten to the point where people aren’t even emailing each other real notes anymore. Outside of the confines of texting and messaging and instant updates – do we really know one another anymore?

The intimacy of the internet – and all forms of electronic exchange of information and data bits and bytes – has made us feel more connected. And yet, I don’t see many of my friends anymore. 

We don’t have dinner that much. We chat online.

I don’t meet them for drinks. I keep track of their comings and goings and innermost thoughts on blog posts and status comments. 

Sometimes, I manage to have coffee with someone.

Occasionally, someone actually hugs me.

But, it’s rare.

Recently, I’ve been ill. Or not feeling well. And although I have 124 Facebook friends (I had 125 until recently, when my lone quasi-famous friend dropped me the other day, which was a e-slap in the face), I feel isolated. 

My advisor is from Beijing, and when I told him I might have to have surgery, he lamented:

“In the past, the whole village would surround you, stop by your house, check in on you. But with modern life? No. We are all alone, isolated.”

Then, he offered to drink with me anytime I needed to – and it made me feel a little better.

The truth is, I don’t have 125 124 friends. I have about 20 – a handful of which are true gems. And for them, I feel grateful.

As life gets busier, and we e-connect more often with more people we barely know, I feel lucky to have at least a few friends that I can count on to know the old-timey social mores. Like back in the day, when people actually visited each other, talked on the phone for more than 5 minutes, and really knew the contents of each others’ hearts and minds.

When people actually responded to wedding invitations. When wedding invitations were on paper. (Damn you environmental consciousness and Evite!!!)

I miss those days.

And I don’t care if it makes me sound like an old lady to say so.





Procrastination, revisited: I am addicted to gaming

6 01 2008

I guess you could say that I’ve always been a gamer chick. Since the old days of Atari, Ms. Pac Man and Donkey Kong. When Tetris came out, I played it nonstop. Ditto for the original PS system.

My version of crack are RPGs (role-playing games for those who are not versed in gamer lingo), or first-person shooters. I think that I’ve played every version of Resident Evil since it came out ages ago, even though I am TERRIFIED of zombies. (Seriously, I used to have dreams at least twice a week that I was being attacked by zombies and I had to punch out their eyes with my bare thumbs. Gross.)

Right now, I’m on break from class. What am I doing with my time? Reading? Getting ahead on reading for class? Starting to devise my strategy for my first field statement? Organizing the conference panel session I’ll be co-hosting in July in China? Cleaning my house?

No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not exactly. Um, no.

I’ve been vigorously trying to beat the hidden dungeon in Dark Cloud 2 (an old classic), which is currently kicking my character’s butt all over the screen. I can spend three or four hours on this damn game at a time – upgrading weapons to see what they can transform into, getting extra goodies from treasure chests, figuring out the best way to kill moles. Lately, I’ve even been dreaming about it.

As a gamer, I’m always attuned to those ’scientific’ reports that tell you one of two things: gaming is good for you, gaming is bad for you.

Here’s an excerpt from the latter from CBS news:

Teens may think they’re just taking little breaks, but David Meyer, a psychologist who directs the Brain, Cognition, and Action Laboratory at the University of Michigan, says they have no idea how much time they’re really losing.

“I think there’s a lot of mythology out there about how great multitasking is and that it’s the sexy thing,” Meyer says. He compares the image of the teen who can simultaneously IM with five friends while doing his homework with the Marlboro Man of the mid 20th century. “It’s almost like smoking was in the ’50s and ’60s,” he says. “It’s a bunch of hype.”

That’s because multitaskers don’t just lose the minutes they spend on sites such as Facebook; they also lose time getting reoriented with each interruption, says Meyer, whose lab has conducted experiments on multitasking for more than a decade. That means the homework itself can take between 25 and 400 percent longer depending on the complexity and similarity of the tasks.

Similarity? Yes. It turns out the worst kind of multitasking is between two related tasks, because they use the same parts of the brain. It’s better, Meyer says, to switch from math to piano than, say, history to English.

That’s why it’s possible to fold laundry while listening to the stock report on the radio, he says. “They’re relying on different kinds of information processing,” he says, noting that the folding is a more automated task.

So how about talking on a cell phone and driving? While these may seem like different tasks, they both use the “talking” areas of the brain, Meyer says. Say you’re driving in heavy traffic, he says. “You’re reading signs and thinking what to do next. All this is talking to yourself.”

Grafman, from the NIH, says his problem with multitasking goes beyond concerns about safety or inefficiency.

“If you’re constantly shifting around between tasks, then it’s likely you can actually get pretty good at learning visual motor requirements for that shifting,” he says. “But what does that cost you in terms of depth of knowledge?”

“These are frivolous, leisure time activities” he says, adding that he’d “love to compete against those kids for jobs or anything else they’re not going to have the knowledge.”

This is the alternate view, from an article in Discovery magazine:

Gee’s epiphany led him to the forefront of a wave of research into how video games affect cognition. Bolstered by the results of recent laboratory experiments, Gee and other researchers have dared to suggest that gaming might be mentally enriching. These scholars are the first to admit that games can be addictive, and indeed part of their research explores how games connect to the reward circuits of the human brain. But they are now beginning to recognize the cognitive benefits of playing video games: pattern recognition, system thinking, even patience. Lurking in this research is the idea that gaming can exercise the mind the way physical activity exercises the body: It may be addictive because it’s challenging.

All of this, of course, flies in the face of the classic stereotype of gamers as attention deficit–crazed stimulus junkies, easily distracted by flashy graphics and on-screen carnage. Instead, successful gamers must focus, have patience, develop a willingness to delay gratification, and prioritize scarce resources. In other words, they think.

One of the most popular video games ever created is called Tetris. It involves falling tile-like tetrominoes that a player must quickly maneuver so they fit into space at the bottom of the screen. In the early 1990s, Richard Haier, a professor of psychology at the University of California at Irvine, tracked cerebral glucose metabolic rates in the brains of Tetris players using PET scanners. The glucose rates show how much energy the brain is consuming, and thus serve as a rough estimate of how much work the brain is doing. Haier determined the glucose levels of novice Tetris players as their brains labored to usher the falling blocks into correct locations. Then he took levels again after a month of regular play. Even though the test subjects had improved their game performance by a factor of seven, Haier found that their glucose levels had decreased. It appeared that the escalating difficulty of the game trained the test subjects to mentally manipulate the Tetris blocks with such skill that they barely broke a cognitive sweat completing levels that would have utterly confounded them a month earlier.

Nearly a decade after Haier’s study, Gee hit upon an explanation. He found that even escapist fantasy games are embedded with one of the core principles of learning—students prosper when the subject matter challenges them right at the edge of their abilities. Make the lessons too difficult and the students get frustrated. Make them too easy and they get bored. Cognitive psychologists call this the “regime of competence” principle. Gee’s insight was to recognize that the principle is central to video games: As players progress, puzzles become more complex, enemies swifter and more numerous, underlying patterns more subtle. Most games don’t allow progress until you’ve reached a certain level of expertise.

This is exactly the model of how Tetris works: When you first launch the game, the blocks fall at a leisurely pace, giving you plenty of time to rearrange them as they descend so they’ll fit the spaces where they fall and gradually build up a wall that fills the screen. As you get better at manipulating the blocks, the game starts dropping them at increasing speeds.

To understand why games might be good for the mind, begin by shedding the cliché that they are about improving hand-eye coordination and firing virtual weapons. The majority of video games on the best-seller list contain no more bloodshed than a game of Risk. The most popular games are not simply difficult in the sense of challenging manual dexterity; they challenge mental dexterity as well. The best-selling game of all time, The Sims, involves almost no hand-eye coordination or quick reflexes. One manages a household of characters, each endowed with distinct drives and personality traits, each cycling through an endless series of short-term needs (companionship, say, or food), each enmeshed in a network of relationships with other characters. Playing the game is a nonstop balancing act: sending one character off to work, cleaning the kitchen with another, searching through the classifieds for work with another. Even a violent game like Grand Theft Auto involves networks of characters that the player must navigate and master, picking up clues and detecting patterns. The text walk-through for Grand Theft Auto III—a document that describes all the variables involved in playing the game through to the finish—is 53,000 words long, the length of a short novel. But despite the complexity of these environments, most gamers eschew reading manuals or walk-throughs altogether, preferring to feel their way through the game space.

Gee contends that the way gamers explore virtual worlds mirrors the way the brain processes multiple, but interconnected, streams of information in the real world. “Basically, how we think is through running perceptual simulations in our heads that prepare us for the actions we’re going to take,” he says. “By modeling those simulations, video games externs balize how the mind works.”

What to make of all this? The truth about gaming and the brain is probably somewhere in the middle. I’m not exactly claiming that gaming makes me smarter, but I do feel like my recall is better and I’m more alert after I’ve played. As long as I don’t get sucked into a 5-hour marathon session. Which I sometimes do.

This is my favorite brand of procrastination, actually. Why? Because it sometimes feels like I’m accomplishing something, and assuages my guilt that I’m not accomplishing enough in real life. A mind trick? Sure. But, mostly, I’m OK with that.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my game.