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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2013-01-24, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, JANUARY 24, 2013. PAGE 5. You are sitting at a table – sweating, distracted and more than a little edgy – in a slightly skungy downtown San Francisco lounge called Jones. You are with a gaggle of people you’ve never met before. You are not here for the cocktails or the floor show or to listen to stand-up comedian hopefuls. You are here for the same reason the others are and none of you is laughing or bantering or looking very happy. In fact you’re probably wringing your hands and looking at your shoes right now. You are there because of one simple, ugly truth: you are an addict, a junkie and you are finally ready to acknowledge that you need help. And when your turn comes to speak you hope you will have the courage to stand up and say in a clear, loud voice: “Hi, everybody. My name is Art and I am a.....a...A nomophobic” Relax, buddy. Everybody at the club tonight is wallowing in exactly the same leaky boat. They are here because, like you, they are addicted – wired, actually – and they’re finally ready to admit that their addiction is wrecking their lives. That’s what this get-together is all about. It’s billed as a Device-Free Drinks event. The idea is to teach people how to survive without a WMD in their pocket or purse. That doesn’t stand for Weapon of Mass Destruction; it stands for Wireless Mobile Device. These people are going to attempt to spend the next few hours separated from their iPhones, iPads, iTouches, BlackBerrys, Androids, smart phones or other digital leg iron of choice. Sounds absurd but it’s real enough. An estimated 13 million Brits suffer from ‘nomophobia’ – the fear of being separated from their mobile phone device. It’s even worse on this side of the Atlantic. The average American mobile user is online 122 more hours per year than the average Brit. (That’s the best part of a week wasted staring at a little box in your hands.) A bad habit for sure – but an addiction? Absolutely, according to the experts. A report in a recent issue of Newsweek magazine claims that overindulgence in cell phone use, not to mention texting, tweeting and web surfing, can quite literally rewire human brain circuits. Brain scans of adults deemed nomophobic – which is to say people who use their devices more than 38 hours a week – display symptoms that are eerily similar to those found in the brains of cocaine addicts and hard-core alcoholics. Those symptoms range from serious anxiety to clinical depression – even rage or acute psychosis. This particular Device-Free Drinks get- together at the lounge has attracted about 250 digital junkies and they are offered a variety of diversionary pastimes to help wean them from their toys. There’s a glass jar labelled Digital Detalks that’s full of strips of paper, each one bearing a slightly-off-the-wall conversational opener, such as “What’s the best sound effect you can make?” and “What does your grandmother smell like?” The idea is to derail your digital brain and re-wire it to think outside the WMD box. To help in the weaning process there are a half dozen 20th century digital devices available. Typewriters by Smith-Corona. The manual kind. Does it work? One participant says if you can make it through the first 20 minutes without running back to reclaim your checked- in cell phone or iPad, then you’ve got a chance of reclaiming your life. But really, it’s too early to tell. Will there be more Digital Detox gatherings like this one in the lounge? You can count on it. Might even be one near you. If and when it happens, you know how you’re going to find out about it, right? Somebody’s bound to post it on Facebook. Arthur Black Other Views Weapons of mass distraction If anything, the scumbags detailed in last week’s news owe a debt to one another. It felt like every unbelievable story last week was bumped the next day. First, of course, there was the news of disgraced cyclist Lance Armstrong who finally, after years of vehemently denying the use of performance-enhancing drugs, came clean to Oprah about his sophisticated doping program. Armstrong’s journey is one that has been woven into the fabric of millions over the years. He touched sports fans with his superhuman performance winning seven Tour de France titles, but with his victory over cancer, he touched everyone, as it is hard to find someone who has not been touched by cancer is one way or another. And with the Livestrong Foundation, Armstrong founded an entity that would go on to help thousands in their battle with cancer. The foundation, however, was built on a lie. There are people who say it’s important to distinguish the two sides of Armstrong from one another. Saying that on one hand we have a man who beat cancer and with his celebrity started a foundation to help plenty of others do the same. On the other hand, of course, we have a seven-time Tour de France winner who achieved every one of those titles thanks in large part to a cocktail of performance- enhancing drugs and illegal blood transfusions. Along his path to “success” Armstrong left a string of bodies in his wake. He trashed, discredited and embarrassed former teammates and their wives when they dared to speak out against him and he sued everyone and anyone who said anything negative about him. He ruined lives and reputations and bankrupted dozens along the way. Now with his confession, Armstrong has been proven to be one of the biggest liars I’ve encountered in my lifetime. However, he was bumped off the front page just days after news of his explosive interview was leaked to the press for another bizarre case of lying, deception and a lot of unanswered questions. Manti Te’o, a star defender and Heisman Trophy candidate from the University of Notre Dame, recently came clean about a relationship that never “really” happened, much to his surprise. Te’o says he’s embarrassed to admit that he was the victim of a “Catfish” hoax. His girlfriend Lennay Kekua apparently never really existed, meaning that when she “died” of leukemia just hours after Te’o’s real-life grandmother died, clearly Kekua never died, because she never really lived. The term “Catfish” refers to a 2010 documentary of the same name in which a man was duped by an online girlfriend who turned out to be an attention-seeking housewife who had crafted dozens of online profiles to legitimize her story. Te’o had never met Kekua, but his school, and the nation, rallied around Te’o as he played through the football season with the weight of his lost love on his shoulders. Meanwhile, apparently multiple suspects were sitting back and laughing at what they had perpetrated and put Te’o through. Of course the liars are to blame here, but in the case of Armstrong, like Te’o, many are left feeling embarrassed. Nobody likes it when somebody “gets the better of them” especially when it comes to something like this. In an episode of HBO’s The Wire, Bunk Moreland proclaims “the bigger the lie, the more they believe.” As time goes on, the lies seems to be getting bigger and bigger because that’s what it takes to shock the world. Catching the catfish Shawn Loughlin Shawn’s Sense Let it never be said that I’m incapable of admitting when I’ve erred or put my money on the wrong race horse. Or, in this case, the wrong cyclist. Months ago, when rumours of Lance Armstrong’s doping came to light, I was among the (very few, it seemed) people who believed what he had said for years; that he used hard work and determination to get those awards. I guess, for me, with a family history that covers most variations of cancer, it was important for me to believe that, even if I did find myself facing cancer, there was someone I could look to who had not only overcome cancer but had then gone on to be a great athlete, a great inspiration and a celebrity who actually uses his celebrity to affect change in the world. So, this is me, admitting that when I believed him, I was wrong. I had been fooled. Like many people (not the majority, apparently, but many), I was ready to continue believing in him after the first allegations appeared, but I was wrong. It’s kind of funny, but that sentiment dovetailed nicely into another issue that I had to deal with last week. Last Wednesday, I sat at the Brussels, Morris, and Grey Community Centre hearing how the Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (OSPCA) had ruined the lives of farmers with heavy-handed tactics and a complete lack of oversight from the government. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The organization that has saved puppies and kitties (and, unfortunately for my allergies, provided said kitties to my fiancée) was responsible for causing so many problems for good farmers who followed the rules was just an idea that I couldn’t fathom at the time. Then I started reading. I like to do that; read. Look at the legal cases, look at the legal documentation, figure out where the whole thing is coming from and going to and then, in the end, make a judgement and try not to let it affect my writing. Unfortunately, I guess I only partially succeeded in that this week, because here I am writing about it. Speakers at the meeting stated that there was a great schism between the experiences urban dwellers have with the OSPCA and those that farmers have. To people in the city, the OSPCA is a place where you can rescue an animal. They are the people who stop the puppy mills and save the animals that are often forgotten. I’ll have to admit that, given my experiences, I was probably closer to the latter than to what I’ve found to be the actual truth. And before anyone jumps to conclusions about what the actual truth is, let me say that what I found was a scary piece of legislation; nothing more. The OSPCA Act contains information in it that (even according to some lawyer buddies of mine) should plain and simple not exist or should be changed dramatically. It’s against the Charter of Rights and Freedoms as it never clearly defines (as required by Section 7 of the charter, which prohibits vague wording in laws) what an animal in distress is. This has allowed the OSPCA to declare gingivitis and plaque on a dog’s teeth as distress. The act creates a police force that has all the powers but none of the limitations of the Police Services Act (Section 11.1 of the OSPCA Act) but never mentions any sort of review or judiciary body that has control over it. In short; it’s broken and it needs to be fixed. What does this have to do with Lance Armstrong? Well I guess the big thing to remember here is that I bet on the wrong cyclist to win the race with Armstrong and, up until I did my research for the work I was doing recently, I would’ve bet on the wrong horse with the OSPCA too. That’s not because I’m unlucky. I mean, I am unlucky, but the big reason I bet on the wrong horse in this situation, no pun intended, was because I wasn’t aware of the other side of the OSPCA. Sure I knew about the storefronts, about the group saving and providing animals to families, and all the good public relations acts it participates in. I knew that because I lived in Goderich, right down the street from the OSPCA storefront for quite a few years. However, I never saw the other side because, well, I’m not a farmer. I try to learn about farming, and I try to stay aware of trends, but, let’s face facts, I’m not a farmer. Sure, someday I may pick up enough that I won’t look like a sore thumb on a farm, but for the time being I’m content being aware that the only thing I know is I have a lot to learn. Anyway, back to betting on the wrong horse. I didn’t know that the OSPCA has the kind of power that they do. I wasn’t aware of the fact that they have considered dirty budgie cages and plaque on dog’s teeth to be situations where the animal is in distress. I didn’t know about the heavy-handed tactics that were explained, several times over during the meeting, so I would not have known to be wary of the OSPCA. Reflecting on the whole situation, it took me back to when I was first trying to decide what school to go to and which path to take. I had an interview where I was asked why I wanted to study journalism. My answer was that I had grown up in a small community and that I felt it was my duty to bring news of the big, bright outside world back to them. Suffice to say, I was a bit naive a decade ago. Had I known then what I know now, I would have said I want to learn for the next 10, 15 or 20 years and journalists are picking up something new every day. I also would have said that I want everyone to know about these problems and face them together. Back to the point; I may be wrong about things, but being wrong is a temporary state unless you refuse to allow your mind to be changed. Why I tend to avoid the horse track Denny Scott Denny’s Den