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