Idealism, Pragmatism, and Evolution (or, Grappling with Academia.edu)

I confess I joined Academia.edu for the same reason I joined Facebook:  my friends pressured me into it. There are also, of course, professional and philosophical arguments to be made in the scholarly online community’s favor:  it’s a great way to network and share ideas outside of one’s particular department or the (to say the least) fraught world of peer review and academic publishing.

Intrinsically, idealistically, I love the idea of Academia.edu. It is a lovely idea to use a social networking model for furthering academic discovery and sharing. It builds on the essential freedoms offered by the web—free publication, a broad reach, a curated community—and enacts a model I have no philosophical quibble with, one of openness, generosity, and sharing.

All of these lovely ideals, though, come up against the more worrying reality of the academic world and our careers in the material world. I can’t be alone in feeling reluctant to share my work online, disseminating it among people who might be less than scrupulous about citation and attribution. Furthermore, many academic presses and journals will (understandably) only take on previously unpublished work, and our careers are highly dependent on publication by reputable presses and journals. The counterpoint to these concerns is stories like this one, where someone used Academia.edu precisely for its intended purpose:  to share research and gain recognition beyond her institution’s own politics and perceived limitations.

These questions only highlight for me the importance of Academia.edu. Like other social media platforms, it doesn’t cause the problems of transitioning into new professional, communicative, and economic modalities, but rather illustrates some of the defining tensions of this transition. I remain reluctant to share my ideas, but this is a consequence of living in the world as it is, where fear of plagiarism and the cutthroat system of peer review and academic publication can stifle creative, original research and a generous, collaborative culture. I hope that Academia.edu is a an indication of where things are going, although at the moment professional pragmatism may still trump a full engagement in this evolution.

Do Communication-Intensive Methods Improve Science Learning?

In January, I blogged about the collaboration between the Bernard L. Schwartz Communication Institute and Professor David Gruber, who is teaching Environmental Science 1020.  Both last semester and this semester, students in Professor Gruber’s class were assigned to lab groups and each group produced a Digital Lab Report for one lab.  The assignments we created were specific to the different learning goals of the labs; however, all required students to use at least one (often more) form of media and incorporate writing and critical reflection into the process.  Each group goes through a series of collaborative and creative steps.  These include: free-writing soon after the lab is complete; brainstorming; research to pull in other relevant material; posting raw footage, audio, and pictures on the class blog; and creating a rough draft of a Digital Lab Report (which might be a video, a podcast of a radio show, a timeline, or a Prezi depending on the assignment).  Then, groups present their rough drafts to the class and receive feedback on the communication, critical thinking, and content components of their DLRs.  Students have the opportunity to revise their Digital Lab Reports over the next couple of weeks before presenting their final versions.  For a timeline of this process for last semester’s Mutualism lab, click here.

There are many obvious benefits to having students create Digital Lab Reports.   They compel students to collaborate and converse more about their lab work.  They encourage critical thinking, as students are expected to articulate reflections on their work through the various stages.  They are fun – students often use humor.  They improve students’ media and communication skills because students get feedback on these aspects of their creations as well.  But the one main question at the back of my mind when we embarked on this project was whether communication intensive pedagogy actually helps students to learn science.

After almost a year of observation, I feel confident answering yes. In class last Wednesday students presented their drafts.  Their introductions to their Digital Lab Reports and the DLRs themselves gave us a great deal of insight into how they were understanding (or not understanding) scientific concepts in ways traditional lab reports might never reveal.  This is partially because the DLRs require students to consider their audience and speak to their audience.  This means re-phrasing scientific language to make it accessible.  To do this, students must take in information, analyze it, and reformulate it in their own way.  Furthermore, the accuracy or inaccuracy of the external information and images they brought in as examples gave Professor Gruber insight into how they had remembered and interpreted the concepts he had explicated, as well as what they were considering “real world” connections.  The collaborative aspects of the DLRs means that students have to hash out these ideas and arrive at a shared understanding.  After each draft presentation, groups were asked questions and received feedback from their peers, Professor Gruber, and me.   Through the process of revising their labs, they will have to address the inaccuracies or gaps in their understanding of scientific concepts.  Their next round of presentation drafts will let us know if and how their scientific thinking has changed.

For me, this reveals that communication and technology-intensive methods are particularly beneficial for science courses and have great potential to enhance student learning.

Be Interested?

A few weeks ago, at the SUNY Council on Writing Conference, I heard Richard E. Miller give a fascinating keynote called “Who’s this for?: Audience in the Classroom without Walls.” What I found most exciting about his remarks was his description of an assignment he gave a creative nonfiction class: Be Interested. My understanding of what this means is that Miller  asked his students to “produce a research project that others would read willingly.” My first reaction was of the “I want to steal that assignment” variety.  But as I thought more about the prompt, I began to wonder if a student would be as excited as I was. Miller mentioned that he had students who grappled with questions like “How do you become interested in anything?” and struggled with finding a way to experience curiosity in a moment when information is “superabundant.”

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The more I toyed with this kind of assignment, the more I found myself wondering more about what I’d actually be asking students to do, what it actually means to genuinely be interested in something, and what that might look like in writing. A cursory glance at the OED shows that the word “interest” is defined using terms like “concern,” “curiosity,” and “sympathy.” But, interestingly, one definition also lists “to share in something.”

The idea of “sharing” seems central to composing, at least to me. But, often, I think it is this component–that of engaging and collaborating with an audience outside of the “teacher”–that I think might be lacking for many students (and here I’m thinking specifically of the freshmen I work with). To return to Miller’s prompt–I suppose the “assignment” is really to be interested and to be interesting. And, I also suppose that in an environment where students are perpetually in some kind of rubric quest, this probably feels very very scary.

But, on the flip side, this kind of opportunity is one that we should hope students encounter more and more. As Gardner Campbell points out:

We might begin with a curriculum that brings students into creative, challenging contact with the history and dreams of the digital age, perhaps in a first-year experience that asks them to reflect critically on their own digital lives as well as begin to shape and share their own digital creations, both intramurally and publicly. Research into the neurobiology of learning, building on decades of educational research, has shown that students learn deeply when they are asked to narrate their learning, curate their creations within the learning environment, and share what they have curated with a wide and, when appropriate, a public audience. As students understand that they are not simply completing an assignment at a professor’s behest, but in fact beginning their life’s work, they will necessarily become more engaged and produce more authentic work reflective of their own growing interests.

This excerpt is from part 4 of Gardner Campbell’s excellent series of posts on “The Road to Digital Citizenship,” this one subtitled, “Fluency, Curriculum, Development.” Campbell connects student investment in their own work with developing a pedagogy that allows for rigorous reflection on what it means to live a digital life. Campbell also makes the important connection between “sharing” and “publicness,” an important link where the truly interesting might occur through the kinds of conversation digital compositions enable.

Asking students to approach this kind of inquiry marks an important shift in the definition of what it means to write an “academic essay.” I wonder if what is actually happening is a return to Montaigne’s sense of the essay as a “series of attempts,” or Francis Bacon’s “dispersed meditations.” By encouraging students to “be interested” and “curate their creations,” the usual chore of the “paper” becomes more of an experiment in invention or “making.”

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It is no coincidence that “Composition as Explanation,” Gertrude Stein’s sonic exploration of what it means to “create a composition,” employs the verb “to make” as one of its central repeated words. For example: “This makes the thing we are looking at very different and this makes what those who describe it make of it, it makes a composition, it confuses, it shows, it is, it looks, it likes it as it is, and this makes what is seen as it is seen.” This work is also the first time that Stein refers to her sense of a “continuous present” which was crucial to how she thought of her own process.

steintokEducation writer Audrey Watters lists “The Maker Movement” as one of the “Top Ed-Tech Trends of 2012″ and describes the importance of this kind of pedagogical approach as, “we need more learning by making, through projects and inquiry and hands-on experimentation.” When we actually ask students to physically invent something, to take objects and turn them into something that did not exist ten minutes earlier, this is a very different kind of learning from writing a 3-5 page paper. It marks a return to the kind of “learning by doing” that John Dewey advocated for–“Give the pupils something to do, not something to learn; and the doing is of such a nature as to demand thinking; learning naturally results.” In other words, when we are engaged in the act of “making” or “doing,” that is when real learning occurs, and that is also when I think the sensation of “being interested” is rediscovered.

In many ways this post feels like its own experiment in what Stein might describe as “beginning again and again is a natural thing…”–I wanted to think about this idea of “being interested,” which consequently was so interesting to me that only now have I realized what the connection is to my own recent experiences in the classroom. Meechal recently wrote about one of my latest forays into technology in the classroom, one that I am still processing. When given the chance to use the MaKey MaKey with my 2 composition 2 sections (thanks to Mikhail & BLSCI), I jumped at the chance, trusting a gut feeling that “making” something physically might teach us something about what happens when we “make” academic essays.

Picture1In small groups, the students were given MaKey MaKeys, a number of different materials that conducted electricity, and access to a laptop and told to “make” and “invent.” As a teacher, what was interesting to me was to watch the groups’ progress–many began by seeming a little confused, admittedly not knowing what to “invent,” and feeling at a loss for ideas (or “interest”). But, I also got to watch each group work collaboratively and experientially and ultimate discover the spectrum of things they  might do.

And, after the class session, students blogged about what they experienced through “making.” A few sample responses:

  • “If we just looked at the surface of today’s session, we would see that we were just playing around with the Makey Makey and doing things that are totally unrelated to our English class. However, if we think more deeply, we will see many similarities, especially with the process of writing. At first, we need some ideas to invent something amazing with Makey Makey; if not, we will just be playing and there will not be any creation. It is like writing our essays; we need a specific thesis to write a good essay based on the thesis.”
  • “Making something with the Makey Makeys very musch resembled the writing process. In class on Monday we were supposed to “outline” our plans and ideas for what we wanted to make today in class. An outline plays an important role in essay writing so that the writer has their thoughts and ideas organized and ready to be written down and explained. Each invention also required several “revisions” and “rewrites” in order for it to reach its “final draft” stage. I know that my group changed plans, inventions, and strategies a few times throughout the class period.”
  • “For a good portion of our time we were bouncing back and forth between these questions and sitting there thinking about what we should do. I felt frustrated at the fact that with all these tools we were just stuck, it was like our creativity was at a standstill. However after revisiting the objectives of using the Makey Makey and playing around with it, things made a turn for the better. With developing a greater understanding and applying that understanding to ideas we had, we were able to center on one idea and go with it…Relating to writing, when have that moment where you know the message you want to communicate and gather all your information; everything comes together and flows. Centralizing your idea and making attempts towards it can assist in your creativity. Whether is be the next groundbreaking IT program or your final paper, the initial beginning may prove to be the most difficult; but after you overcome that, you will have your masterpiece.”

More on Mettā

Last week, Sarah contributed a review of a NY Times op-ed by Barbara L. Fredrickson on the Buddhist practice of Mettā (Loving-Kindness) and its physiological benefits on your vagal tone, “a subconscious process that controls [your] heart rate.”  The post was especially interesting to me as a four-year practitioner of Vipassana meditation and Mettā.  To say these practices have been hugely beneficial for me would be an understatement, and certainly I feel their interpersonal, mental, and physical effects.  When I am actively practicing I am less prone to anger or irritation, my mind is sharper, my muscles are less tense, and I don’t take things as personally.  That research might point to a tangible connection between “physical health” and “mental well-being” validates my own experience.  However, as Sarah also points out, Fredrickson takes a leap when she suggests that electronic devices might “take a toll” on our “biological capacity to connect.”  Here, Fredrickson doesn’t have data to back her up but is alluding to potential results of research in process.

Actually, I don’t doubt that there are biological (and not just social) effects of the widespread use of electronic devices — anything we do with our minds and bodies also transforms our minds and bodies in ways big and small.  So my dubiousness about Fredrickson’s assertion differs a bit from Sarah’s.  Here’s the thing: I don’t know how useful such research questions are.  First, they restate what we already know — in other words they prove the obvious (there’s a mind-body connection!) — as so many scientific studies these days seem to do.  Second, they take as a given (rather than as something to be analyzed) that the spiritual is a pristine realm within us that must be protected from the other parts of ourselves.

The notion that something can “take a toll” on our capacity to connect assumes this capacity is ideal and autonomous rather than ever shifting and embedded within the context of a differentiated and power-laden social world and multi-faceted personal life.  Life is a complex process of loss and gain.  As modes of communication change, so do our skills and physiologies.  Humans are social beings by our very definition; I think it’s impossible for us to lose our biological ability to connect.  It’s a different thing to recognize that we can make choices about how we want to connect, how we want to develop our capacities to communicate, and how we can do that in a manner that prioritizes social justice.  Because that’s the other thing we humans have going for us: we’re conscious beings.

Also, context matters.  To put it anecdotally: earlier this year I was texting on the elevator at Hunter College and a professor made a comment to her student – in a slightly derogatory tone — about how “people’s elevator behavior” would be good to study.  I guess I seemed like one of those folks who had lost my capacity for human connection.  In reality I had just finished teaching and was reaching out to a friend who was in the midst of a painful medical procedure and was feeling really down.  So maybe I’m not such a lost soul after all?

If being an anthropology doctoral student has taught me anything, it is the value of asking research questions that get at the lived realities and nuances of social life and moving beyond polarizing discourses of good/bad and hurt/protect.  In this case, it might mean asking how our minds, bodies, and relationships change with different modes of communication — for different groups of people in a diversity of social/economic/geographic settings — and with what effects.

Impolite Thank Yous

The New York Times published an article the other day (“Disruptions: Digital Era Redefining Etiquette”) about changes in acceptable communication in the digital age. The article discusses changes in appropriate communication and standards of etiquette due to the enormous quantity of digital communications, like emails and text messages, which people receive nowadays.

The author, Nick Bilton, expressed his disdain for receiving emails with the sole purpose of a “thank you” and calls the senders of such impolite. Saying thank you is impolite?

No thank you

Has communication evolved to a point in which it is considered improper to express appreciation, because the email itself might be considered bothersome to the person you are thanking? Now, I’ve certainly been guilty of sending an email for the sole purpose of saying “thank you.” I always felt that this was a necessary kindness and my mama raised me right! Or did she? Bilton would think me discourteous for expressing my sentiments via email with no other purpose. Granted, I’ve never expected a response from a “thank you” email, but I never considered not sending it. I’m also guilty of another offense: saying “Hello” in my emails. Am I the only one? Am I unknowingly part of an “older” generation that is no longer tech savvy? (Please say no, as I am currently on the cusp of turning 30 and in the midst of an existential crisis about the significance of my age. It’s just a number right? Right?).

Bilton also mentions other newly unacceptable forms of communication, the voicemail. Here is a point that Bilton and I agree on. Voicemail, I ain’t got time for that (insert meme here). How about asking about the weather, calling a business to ask their location or store hours, all unacceptable! In an age of “Google It,” is it truly considered impolite and uncivilized to ask someone these questions? Apparently so! This are all questions that waste the time of the person you are asking because we can easily find out the answers ourselves using our iPhones and Blackberries. Is this the general consensus? Should I just Google it instead of posing the question here?

It seems to me that these standards for communication are very stark and don’t foster relationships between people. If I receive an email without a “hello” I often think the person was in a rush or didn’t feel it necessary to express common courtesies. However, it seems they may have been trying to save me time and dropping the unnecessary social niceties to engage in this new, proper and polite “cut to the chase” philosophy of communication.

I wonder if the next generation will just communicate in binary code… why bother with all these letters and full sentences?

Sincerely,

Whoops, guess I’ll never learn.

3D Research Writing

On November 15, 2012, as part of “The Seminar on Innovative Teaching” series, the Bernard L. Schwartz Communication Institute hosted a talk by Tim Owens titled “3D Printing and Making Across the Curriculum.” Owens, Instructional Technology Specialist at the University of Mary Washington, invited us to join him in an exploration of how the ability to use 3D printers to create real physical objects impacts the way students (of any level in many disciplines) come to understand their own agency, particularly the agency of producing. I was particularly interested in Owens’ Makerbots and Mashups course, a freshman seminar style course where students were immersed in the process of “making” (on a number of levels), and even more interested in the self-reflective blog his class kept chronicling their collaborations, experiments, and valuable missteps.

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I left that seminar feeling particularly charged about the possibilities that 3D printing presents for the first year writing class. I kept thinking about the way that Owens spoke about using the process of 3D printing as a way to “problem solve”—to enable students to explore what it might mean (and look like) to actually create something that could “represent a solution.”

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For the past few years I’ve assigned a “digital essay” project that parallels the 7-10 page research paper students in Composition I and II write. My logic behind adding in the mysteriously vague digital component was that I was curious if student writing would noticeably change when the somewhat traditional research/argument driven paper joined hands with something visual and much more abstract. And, student writing did change—thesis statements were articulated through the process of creating the digital project and overall, the research papers were/are noticeably better. Students were/are excited by and invested in their own work in a way they hadn’t been before, or at least I hadn’t seen this level of enthusiasm in previous papers.

 

I can’t say that I was surprised by these results. I expected student work to change, and I keep working on this project because I love watching how writing grows and changes. Cynthia Selfe discusses the “use-value” of the “digital story” as “we’re not going to teach students to be Spielbergs or anyone like that. We’re going to teach them to be good rhetoricians who can deploy any number of modes of expression and media to make meaning. We’re going to teach them to use all available means to accomplish responsible rhetorical ends.” And, by encouraging students to be proficient in these multiple modes of expression, we are also opening up a space for the digital to speak to the written and vice versa.

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Much of the writing about pedagogy and 3D printing focuses either on engineering majors or art/design students, although it is clear that the process of creating, designing, editing, and actually making an object mirrors many of the talents we want to foster in first year writing courses. As Angela Chen points out, “nearly every discipline could benefit from the ability to easily create objects from customized designs.”

So, when I learned that there was a Makerbot on campus, I felt certain that even if I didn’t fully understand what 3D printing meant, it would present students with another tool that might change their relationship to writing. And, after Tim Owens’ talk, I felt even more sure that 3D printing should be a crucial part of Composition I because the creation of an object seemed to parallel the research paper composing process in a way that I’m still not sure I can fully articulate.

My research paper assignments are always quite scaffolded, with the idea that the assignment can be hugely broad and that students can discover their own research questions along the way. I was curious to see if the process of drafting a physical object would influence the discovery and development of the research focus, or vice versa.

Some Student Work:

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The above is a student’s “first draft” of his project. Once he realized that he needed to “scrap” this idea, he also realized a number of things about his paper (and thesis statement)–mainly that his argument could be more specific and that he actually wanted to take some more risks with his analysis of the relationship between cognition and physical identity.

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This image is a snapshot of this student’s process presentation–he decided to teach himself how to really “sculpt” and alter the original brain model he was working with. The process of carving symbols into a brain ended up mirroring his writing process–he had a solid first draft, and ended up realizing that he needed to really explode that draft–carve into it more specific analysis, focus on one case study related to his larger topic, etc.

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The above is a series of images of another student project, which he describes as: “Iron Man’s arc reactor is a symbol of his life and ability to stay alive. I wanted to take the arc reactor and see what would happen if I built a virus that envelopes it. What originally happened was I got something that looked like a globe. So, I flattened out the virus and now you can look through the virus and see the center of the arc reactor…” This student’s paper began as an extremely vague meditation on technology and evolution. But, he was also very interested in learning the software to create his own 3D designs. What happened was that this student became very interested in creating his own original virus–which then led to the realization that his paper might really specifically focus on the current influenza situation–the way the virus overcomes the vaccine and the implications of that.

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This post is meant to just be a snapshot of what happened last semester, as I begin to prepare for the coming semester’s classes, where I want to do more with 3D printing and am trying to figure out how to revise my approach. Any ideas, experiences, suggestions would be helpful and appreciated!

Dispatch from Nicaragua: How I Was Converted to an E-Book Reader

First let me say, I prefer books. Still.  Paper books.  The kind you rifle through, write notes in the margins of, file letters or business cards in.  You know, the kind with pages that smell like all the places they’ve been shelved.  The kind that spray dust in your face when you pull them off the shelf as if to punish you for the neglect.  That kind of book.  Yeah. While I doubt this love of mine will ever diminish, it comes — like all loves that don’t start and end on the Hollywood screen or a high school dance floor – with its share of annoyances and burdens. In this case: books weigh a lot.  And the more you have, the more they weigh. I loved Gabriel Garcia Marquez until I moved for the third time in two years; then our relationship became more “complicado.” As a doctoral student who is doing fieldwork abroad and as someone who can’t live in New York for longer than six months before having to relieve that pesky traveler’s itch, I’ve grown accustomed to lugging half my weight across the world.  Literally. And my posture is a testament to that fact.

So a few months ago after I’d scheduled my Second Exam for the beginning of the coming semester I came across an inexpensive ticket to the Sandinista stronghold of Nicaragua.  It took about ten minutes of intense deliberation to book the flight.  As long as I had to spend January reading 100 books and articles, why not wake up each morning of the month to the sound of roosters?  But when I mentioned my plan to friends over dinner a few days later one of them said, “But how are you going to bring ALL those books?” My jaw dropped.  For some reason, the thought had not crossed my mind.

I did not sleep well that night. Maybe I should explain that I don’t own an IPad or smartphone and intensely dislike having a keyboard between me and a text.

Still, in the wee hours one thing became clear: not going was not an option. The question was how.

I got out of bed and did a mad search to see how many of the books I planned to read were available as e-books through the Graduate Center library and MARLI. I entered something like “PDF kindle” into a Google search to see if it was possible to read downloaded articles on such a device.   I scoured web pages for the most book-like frill-less e-book reader, which was thankfully also the cheapest.

By 11:00 a.m. the revised plan was hatched.  I would read 100 e-books and electronic articles over a month in Nicaragua.

So how has the conversion gone? Surprisingly painless.  I have fallen in love with my little, lightweight, electronic device and it will accompany me on many more travels.  When I finish reading one piece, I can tap on the menu and have a library from which to choose.  And at the same time, I’m traveling lighter than I think I ever have for a trip this long. For once,  I could have checked in all my luggage.

If I  had the “real” books and articles in front of me here, which would I choose?  No question. The print versions, hands down.  But I can’t complain. Getting an e-book reader  might have been the smartest decision I made in 2012. Well, the second smartest.  The first was to begin the New Year by heading south into the strikingly beautiful unknown to study for my Exam.

MUTUALISM- A Lab in Parts

A few months ago I posted a brief interview with with Professor David Gruber, with whom I’ve been collaborating as a Writing Fellow at the Institute.  So, for those curious about this communication intensive science “experiment,” below is a timeline documenting the semester’s trajectory for one of the labs, including the final video the students created.  Even if you’re not so interested in the process, you might want to take a peek at the video (skip to the second to last entry) — it might be the best use of Lionel Richie I’ve ever seen!

Happy 2013 to all.

An Audience for Shenzhen: part four, revisions and continuations

(I swear this will be my last entry on this topic)

Since my last post, even more has been added to the Mike Daisey and Foxconn story. This is the topic that just won’t die. Mike Daisey returned to the Woolly Mammoth to present a revised version of The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs. Apple released a new flagship phone. And stories of labor practices in electronics factories continue to shock readers (for at least a few seconds).

iPhone 5… “Assembled in China” Creative Commons License photo credit: Sean MacEntee

Last time, I discussed how the character of “Mike Daisey” is different from the actual Mike Daisey.
I must admit, I was taking a rather academic approach. I was arguing from the defensive position of a theatre scholar finding theatre under attack. Of course I will argue that a monologue broadcast on the radio is different from the same words spoken in a theatre. My academic career depends on that difference existing. However, with Mike Daisey’s The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs, the difference is more than merely academic.

When Daisey defended himself from accusations over his This American Life episode, he argued that people seeing his show in a theatre know this is a performance. For the final production in New York after the scandal, Daisey even added an opening prologue to his monologue that (almost condescendingly) responds to the criticism by reminding audience memebers that this is a performance:

When the lights go down here, I will go backstage. When I come back out, the lights will come back on and I will be telling you a story – and that’s the oldest form of theater, you know. When the light comes onto the stage, I assume that role where I am speaking.

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This prologue was not for anyone in the theatre that afternoon. Anyone who watched the show could tell he was performing a character. While the monologue is delivered sitting in a chair at a desk with yellow legal pad and glass of water, Daisey almost never stops moving for the whole performance. And when he does stop, it is a calculated stillness that dramatically emphasizes his speech. This is almost a dance. On the radio, this element is lost. The dance-like aspect to the performance is lost, and all we hear is the voice.

The performances, however, have extended beyond Daisey himself. Regional and college theatres, Fringe Festival productions (including the mother of all Fringe festivals, the Edinburgh Festival Fringe), and even a Twitter “production” that sends out the monologue in less than 140 characters at a time. There is something strange about a Twitter production of a show by a monologist who heretofore never wrote out his scripts. When Daisey performs the monologue, the text is an outline on a yellow legal pad. But when @AgonyEcstasy “performs” it, all we have are the words. Even more than on the radio.

These worldwide productions were possible because of how Daisey distributed his first written script. The scripts are released under a modified “Open Source”-like license. Performers are allowed to download, edit, expand, and produce the show royalty-free. Daisey recently posted “version 2.0″ of the script on his website, which includes a section in the middle about the controversy surrounding his This American Life appearance. Version 1.0 is still available, since, as every computer geek knows, version control is important.

Foxconn Creative Commons License photo credit: Ged Carroll

Since the end of The Agony and the Ecstasy‘s second run at the Woolly Mammoth this summer, the story continues. Apple released a new iPhone. Student “interns” at Foxconn assembled iPhones, but don’t worry, the students were “free to leave at any time,” provided they didn’t care about their future educational or professional opportunities. Samsung, Nokia, and basically every other electronics company uses similar practices.

Foxconn workers in Taiyuan (who make iPhone parts) were not paid their promised wages and went on strike (or riot, depending on which source you read). Armed military guards were called in to quell the dissent. Workers were killed. The factory threatened to shutdown, destroying the livelihood of thousands of workers–but in actuality, it only closed for a few days. Never worry, though, Apple iPhone 5s were shipped with only a slight delay.

Perhaps most tellingly, the influence of Mike Daisey’s monologue and the coverage of his radio scandal managed to provoke not only news coverage, but mainstream satire. This past weekend, Saturday Night Live even poked fun at the tech reviewers’ willful blindness to the conditions in factories–in a mind-blowing bit of “yellow face” racial stereotype, complete with glasses out of Mickey Rooney’s performance in Breakfast at Tiffany’s:

When an issue is well-known enough to be used in Saturday Night Live, people can no longer feign ignorance.

You always knew. Just like I knew, before I went, before I read the reports lit up in the glass of my laptop. We’ve always known.
And that’s the lie.
–Mike Daisey, The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs (v2.0)

Technophobic Anxieties

Working in the park, with the suspiciously “stupid” object as the only way to reach me. Note the paper planner in the left hand corner–another anachronism.

I had a technology epiphany a few weeks ago.  A series of email misunderstandings led me to the conclusion that I can’t hide any longer: I need a smart phone. I’ve joked for several years now that my cell phone is exceedingly stupid, and I’ve even felt, upon laboriously punching out a five-word text message, absurdly anachronistic, as though I’d pulled a car phone circa 1995 out of my pocket.

I felt a little thrill accompanied by a sinking feeling.  It’s difficult to admit, especially on this communication-intensive platform, but I’m slightly technophobic.  As much as I believe in the potentially democratizing and liberating capabilities of many new communication technologies, my gut instinct apprises them as more of a burden.  In many respects, this is unwarranted.  I recognize that new technologies stand on their own as neutral entities—it is what we choose to do with them that determines their impact on our lives.

But I also think it’s important to consider the implications of the technological changes we welcome into our routines.  The technologies I engage with determine how I spend my time—and time is probably the most valuable resource I possess.  Spending time in a new way usually means letting go of something else.  For example, when I consider the benefits of spending time communicating on social networking sites, I ask myself what I will be not doing in order to make room for this new activity.  Usually it seems that the activity I’ll end up cutting out will be something introspective.

Incorporating a smart phone into my life might not have quite this same dynamic.  Arguably, it’s not a new activity, but rather a device that will allow me to do the internet-based activities I’m already reliant on, on the go.  Most importantly, I’ll be able to check and respond to email all the time.  This is both what I most need the device for, and what I’m most wary of.  I find that our current expectations for instant communication brush up awkwardly against my tendency toward slow, methodical, almost meditative forays into one task at a time.  Interrupting a reading, writing, grading or planning session every 20 minutes to respond to an email, for example, seems like it could threaten my ability to get anything of significance accomplished at all—ever.

Constant email flow makes physical proximity less necessary for accomplishing group tasks, and enables people to collaborate despite non-synchronous schedules.  In my analysis, it also seems to challenge a linear model of accomplishing a task. Each new mini-task can easily take precedence over the previous mini-task, or even over the larger task at hand.

The answer here probably lies in my own ability to control how I use this device (which I don’t actually have yet).  Having constant web access will mean I’ll have to double up my anti-procrastination efforts.  Based on casual reading I’ve done over the last few years, efficiency experts seem to recommend designating specific parts of the day as email response time, rather than letting this process interrupt you throughout the day.  But if this is the goal, is it really necessary to have that smart phone at all?

Truthfully, my more deep-seated reservations about giving in to this new technology are more existential.  The part of me that finds comfort in going “off the map” on occasion balks at the notion of being constantly accessible through virtually every existing media 24/7.

What strategies have you found useful in making new communication technologies work for you?  How have they shifted your allotment of time?  Have you given anything up in order to reap their benefits?