
in preparations for (yet another) cross-country move, i was at my parents' house rearranging some stuff i had there for storage. most of the stuff was college textbooks and other heavy items that i didn't want to move before. the problem with books is that they are so heavy, and unless you are constantly rereading them, you can exert an awful lot of effort and cost trucking them back and forth with you everywhere you go. even moving within the same city, a single box of books can easily weigh 40kg and piss you off by the tenth or twentieth box. that is why i came up with the moving rule of buying digital versions of whatever book i needed from hereonin.
but then i found my box of records from my childhood in the garage. the albums and singles had been lingering in the garage for well over a decade, continuously visited by rain and snow and thaw and cold and mold and mice. i brought the box to my apartment and surveyed the damage. the cardboard of most of the covers had become warped and soiled for the most part, but the vinyl seems to be fine. looking over the curious and antiquated media brought back all kinds of memories and recollections from my past for which i was frankly unprepared.
i have 46.2 days worth of continuous music in my iTunes library. 13,441 items which would fit on approximately 1,344 albums. but the emotional impact of leafing through that collection, compared to the 40 - 50 albums in my crusty cardboard box, was a fraction of that amount. even with coverflow. so i wonder what young people who grew up with purely digital media will have to look forward to 20 - 30 years from now. will they scroll through a window of files in a directory and think, "wow, i remember when i listened to these downloads over and over on my iPod nano" and smile inside?
to me, the issue is not one of audio quality or convenience or availability, but of quality of experience. there is something inherently ritualistic about pulling out a great big 12" square record album, looking at the big high-definition printed cover art/photography, reading the cleverly designed liner notes, placing the disc on the turntable and setting the needle to the record that is lost in the replacement task of double-clicking a file or a song title in a playlist.
or how about movies? i used to go to the cinema all the time, as recently as a few years ago. now, i can almost barely be bothered to go and see the climax of the Harry Potter series on the big screen. again, the ritual of taking the bus to the theatre, buying a ticket, getting a bag of popcorn, and struggling to find the best available seat, has been replaced by shlumping onto the couch and renting "Hanna" online from iTunes on demand. I can stop the film, go to the bathroom, write and email, make dinner, go to work, and come back to the film, totally breaking its demand for the suspension of disbelief. how can that possibly do justice to the artist's vision?
the same goes for books. i used to revere books and care about them dearly, personalizing them ever so carefully with annotations and dogears only where absolutely necessary or critical - because books, unlike eBooks, have no "undo" feature, and a page once folded, can never be made smooth again. so how is it that i've come full circle and sold and abandoned so many cherished books in favour of their back-lit imposters?
i even have digital versions of my entire "Sandman" comic book collection, now sitting in the dank crawlspace between my parents' main floor and basement. i only read "Wired" magazine on my iPad, although i used to buy every issue from the very first issue that was ever printed religiously. i haven't had a newspaper subscription since the internet began.
i've come to enjoy the consumption of every type of medium digitally - i depend on it with my lifestyle and workload. but now that i have given myself completely to the digital age, i have to look back and wonder just what the heck i've been reading/listening to/watching/loving in that entire time. it's a completely unfathomable mystery to me now, because all i can see is a stack of perpetually inadequate storage devices on my desk that hold the three terabytes of data that represents my life for the past 15 years.
i need a better way to appreciate and reminisce about the things i've experienced than what the current digital experience allows me. maybe Facebook timeline will help with that - LOL!
- g
ps. i fear that this post indicates the completion of my transformation into an emo-hipster. sigh.
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