August, despite its heat and humidity, isn't cruel like April, but it taps deeper into melancholy. The days grow shorter, sunlight becomes less intense, and shadows lengthen, shading the edges of experience. Summer begins to feel like Sunday night.
I'm sitting on a park bench in Woods Hole, Mass., watching strollers, runners and bicyclists on a narrow public path bordered with leafy green and wildflowers. The sky is blue, and the clouds tease the imagination with fanciful white puffs. But many of the passersby, young and old, see neither the lavender nor the green and blue. They never hear the song of a bluebird or the croak of a bullfrog. How can they? Their ears are plugged with the paraphernalia of cellphones, shutting out the sounds of late summer in exchange for music, media, and bits and pieces of information from the wired world.
The digital distractions alter the way we see and hear the world around us, and this is especially true in the great outdoors. For those of a certain age, a well of memory sustains, and we're like Marcel Proust at the seaside, flooded with childhood memories of laughter and conversation over dripping ice cream cones. Our children and grandchildren are growing up in a different sphere, not necessarily narrower, but certainly altered, where the high-tech machines create what will be remembered. This gives new meaning to Marshall McLuhan's idea that "the media is the message." The wired connections disconnect us from our immediate surroundings.
"The most important thing in our culture-sphere isn't change but the fact that reality itself is dwindling," observes Henry Allen in The Wall Street Journal. "Is some sort of cultural entropy homogenizing us?" Allen, a Pulitzer medalist, knows the zeitgeist and wrote a book about the flavor of each decade of the 20th century. Some decades were tastier than others.
It's not that the good old days were better, but they were alive in different ways, separating everybody into their private worlds, but always bringing them together again with the pleasurable reminiscences of what had passed. We played board games face to face, not on a screen, arguing between moves, relishing the human contact. The arguments over the rules, who was right and who was wrong, were part of the game. Now the arguments are quickly settled when someone looks at a tiny instrument in the palm of his hand and announces the cold fact.
After Being Voted Down By The Senate, Cop Killer Advocate Officially Withdraws Obama's Nomination for DOJ Post | Katie Pavlich