"I worry that some day we will lose our ability to talk to one another."
Someone spoke those words to me today, and I completely understood them. You're probably wondering why, Jim Cook Jr., master of the text-crazed world, would ever stop texting. And the reason is simple—
It's none of your damn business.
Neither is what I'm doing right now, so don't expect me to tell you when you ask me "what's up," or "whatcha doin'?"
The only two people who deserve a direct answer to that question are my parents since I still live with them, and my employer, since they provide me with salary/benefits/insurance, and I represent them.
But I can honestly say that I did not come to this conclusion overnight. However, a string of overnight annoyances did drive the nail in the coffin. But I won't even attempt to open that can of worms agains (thank you Facebook).
Lets get to what's really important here— my opinion.
When you send someone a text message, you're sending them a piece of data that you've constructed in your mind. It's not your response to a message someone sent to you. It's your carefully crafted, carefully disguised commentary on the previous message.
Texting is the most uninspiring thing ever known to man.
In fact, I thought it would be a great idea to rant about this via a Facebook note, but I'm hardly able to draw inspiration from anything. Nothing. Except for the fact that when I was a teenager, I called people. I would stay on the phone for hours with close friends discussing our lives, our plans for the week, new music, our favorite games, gossip around school, who we liked, who we hated, what we wanted to change in our school, what we were learning in school. We'd debate something we disagreed on and we heard each other instead of creating some arduous inarguable response. We put ourselves out there. We were not afraid of each other and we spoke up and let our voices be heard, even if it was to an ear of the same age on the end of the receiving landline.
And it's deadly if I have it in my grasp, since I'm a writer. If I'm angry and I have a keyboard in front of me and your name on the receiving end, beware. I can use words in ways most people couldn't imagine. And I thank many great professors and teachers and writers of the past for instructing me in that little talent. So if I can use texting to my benefit, if wouldn't be fair for non-writers.
But after reading a few texts, you'd be surprised how many great unknown writers there are out there.
Texting, however, ultimately is a sign of our willingness as a society to be openly dishonest with one another. When was the last genuine honest text message you sent? Meaning, the last time you didn't immediately take a second to think how to respond, or hesitate by placing an "LOL" or "Haha" at the end as insurance that you're not completely serious or offensive.
Speaking on the phone (or god forbid, face-to-face) is honest. You can imagine (or see) the person's face. You can hear their voice, their breathing, their thinking, their humanity, and their reason for being treated with honesty. No matter how you look at it, we're still human beings, and there is nothing different about us as compared to ancients, crusaders, colonists, slaves, rebels, or many other generations of people who made this country before leaving it to us. The only difference is our knowledge and our technology and how we use it. And a couple other things.
We're still humans. We're precious people inheriting an Earth for only a few years. Only a small time to make our mark and say who we were and leave an example.
My point in all of this, is that the more we stare at a screen, the less time we are looking at the beauty (or the ugly) in the world. And from that, we become incredibly less inspired than Mozart or Beethoven, Franklin or Jefferson, Lee or Grant, Kerouac or Salinger, Warhol or O'Keeffe, Murrow or Bradlee, or any great that came before us.
Instead, I'm stuck this week with Rebecca Black and the song Friday, which espouses such lyrics as "Tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes after...wards. I don't want this weekend to end." None of that rhymes. And her vocals are so auto-corrected/auto-tuned it's scary. It's a song about nothing. About partying. I can tell you right now that there is nothing inspiring about a party full of 13-year-olds. Especially when you're that age. All I remember is getting teased and ridiculed— something Ms. Black is experiencing after posting her dissimulate and nearly illiterate videosong-about-nothing on Youtube.
But apparently she used her own friends in the video. Take a look at the scene where they all pick her up in the car. Look at their faces. None of them want to be there. None of them are friends with each other or her. They have that artificial awkward smiles and deep set squint in their eyes that says they're thinking only one thing.
"I'd rather be texting these people then actually hanging out with them."
