Occupy: Political Party or, Well, Just a Party?

May the best narrative win.

Looking around in the golden glow of the wall sconces at the Roebling Tea Room, I found Anthea and Vanessa at the bar talking about Occupy. Anthea, in for a short stay from the UK, and Vanessa, from Venezuela, were recounting a conversation with a protester from earlier in the evening.

Still damp from a fine and chilly mist blowing around in the November evening, I just wanted a little whiskey in a glass. But I was all ears.

“She was young, yes, but so very eloquent,” said Vanessa. “These people have no agenda but to say 'there is a problem.'”

“But is that enough?” asked Anthea. “When I asked her what they wanted, she couldn't answer. What kind of protest movement has no goal?”

Vanessa thought for a moment. “I don't think there is a goal in the traditional sense. They just want to be heard. They have reasonable complaints, I think. Companies have too much power.”

Anthea smiled. “I just don't think I understand exactly what they want. What would it take for the protestors to say they achieved something?"

It's a good question. What is happening down there at those Occupy protests? I contend that how you answer that question says more about where you get your Narrative than it does about what is actually happening.

Narrative: A Working Definition

We are not Fact or Data Driven. We are Narrative Driven.

Here's how it works: something happens. People talk about what happened. People who weren't at the event must rely on how other people talk about the event. Different versions of the event are passed around. One or two versions rise to the top and become the “Narrative.”

The Narrative need not be fact-based or fair. These are incidental. It merely needs to be believed. It's often shocking, scary, sexy, or funny and almost always has a spin or slant to it.  When the event is political in any way, like Occupy, there are often at least two competing Narratives battling for your support.

It's American Idol for Stories.  It doesn't matter who can sing better.  It only matters if we like the singer.

Occupy: Waterloo or Bonnaroo
As far as I can tell, the Narratives told by supporters of the Occupy protestors include:

1. The 99% of America wants the 1% to pay more. These percentages refer to the proportional amount of total US wealth that individual people have.

2. Wall Street and Washington are corrupt, filled with criminals who use power and influence to “game” the system to unfairly and unethically amass wealth.

3. American democracy is broken and until drastic changes are made in how people are allowed to participate in politics, the US will continue to decay.

4. College debt is burying young people; education should be a right, not a burden.

Those who are critical of Occupy largely seem to think that there is NO legitimate protest at Occupy-- the only story is about the protestors themselves:

1. The protestors are anarchists and communists, interested in destroying order in America.

2. Most people involved in the movement are drug users, criminals, or opportunists who want a free lunch and state-supported unemployment.

3. Many protestors are college kids out to get wasted and bang on drums.

4. A significant number of protestors are hypocrites: wealthy kids who are “slumming” with the unemployed for the sake of adventure or to collect great stories.

There Is No "Truth," Only Narrative

In this, I see a larger view of all conversation about politics in our country.  The battle lines of politics are not idealogical; they are anecdotal.  Most people form opinions about the President, Congress, candidates, political parties based on the dominant stories in the media.  Because people tend to get their media stories from one side of the political spectrum, we are in a constant state of story battle.

Subsequently, the strongest Narratives are the ones that transcend media lines:  killing Osama was great for America, Congress sucks, unemployment is too high. When the Narrative differs across different media, the story gets less strong.  Is Obama a failure?  Are taxes too high?  Is there too much regulation? Your answer is merely an extension of the Narrative that you believe. 

Which story will solidify the Occupy Narrative?  Will it be rich, hypocritical protestors staying at the W hotel?  Filthy, violent communists raping naive coeds and pooping on cars?  Evil Corporations swinging sweetheart deals with politicians?  How about the police brutalizing protestors?  Maybe it'll be well-intentioned emergency officials getting attacked by crazed protestors.  Perhaps it'll be bailed-out Wall Street execs awarding themselves huge, end-of-year bonuses while unemployment numbers creep higher.

Which brings us back to the charming Vanessa and Anthea, two foreign nationals with the perfect amount of objectivity. Their conversation, on a stormy night in late autumn, affords a telling glimpse of American culture.  They don't know what Occupy is because there is no dominant Narrative. The competition over the successful Narrative is still in full swing.

Which Narrative will win your vote?

The Art of Triage

Winning doesn't mean not losing

I used to love watching M*A*S*H*. As a kid I'd sit on the brown, short pile rug in our TV room, back against the sofa, watching reruns. Hawkeye and Trapper, elbows deep in surgery, would make jokes about hot nurses, stupid generals, or bootleg martinis-- whatever really-- and, by the end of the show, make some sincere point about how awful war is. They were flawed but honorable people, stuck in a terrible situation and with awfully limited resources, trying to keep people alive.

My favorite thing about the show was how the members of the 4077 stayed human despite how bad things got. You had to laugh to keep from crying.

I learned a word watching that show: triage. In the world of MASH, it meant that some people might have to lose a kidney or a leg in order to live. It also meant that some people wouldn't die while others would. Everything would hang from the surgeon's choices based on impossibly limited options.

Triage is built on a deficiency model. What DON'T I have? What CAN'T I do? People working within it must make the most of what is available. There is one bottom line. Survival.

It's the model at work in most of our public schools.

Surviving, not thriving

We live in a country where it somehow makes political and economic sense to have a high pressure, under-resourced school system. Teachers work in a constant deficiency model, focusing on boundaries instead of goals. Instead of focusing on growing fantastic students, pushing them to heights not yet known, we are busy with saving academically sick and dying students.

When you are a public school teacher, picking what and how you teach has almost nothing to do with what you WANT to do. It's all about what you CAN do given your many immutable limitations. It's not “no child left behind.” It's more “try to screw the children over as equally as possible.” No matter how much I want to like it, there's no “race to the top.” It's only “make sure you're not stuck at the bottom.”

Our slumping education system is preoccupied with not falling apart. We are playing like a team trying not to lose by too many points. We aren't teaching like champions; we are sawing off limbs.

The Art of Triage. It's the construct of war refugees, natural disaster victims, battlefront surgeons, and public school teachers.  

The next time someone tries to tell you that we need to spend less on education, don't argue.  Just tell them about triage.

I think I'm going to make myself a martini. Do we have any olives laying around, Hawkeye?
To listen to this blog as a podcast, click here!

Inevitable Context

Define “teaching.” Go ahead. I dare ya.

It's amazing how broad the answers are to this question. To define teaching, I figure you could provide any of the following answers reasonably:

A terrible or well-paying job

What people do when they can't do anything else

A waste of time

One of the most important jobs in the history of civilization

A place for saints/villains

A sweet gig with holidays and summers off

A never-ending gig which includes impromptu parent conferences at grocery stores/restaurants/public streets/the bar/the beach/public bathrooms/the mall/the dentist office waiting room/a park/on a train/in a plane/on a boat/with a goat

The reason for the economic downturn

The hope for an economic recovery

Here's my answer:

Teaching is the art of making the unknown knowable, 

the confusing understandable, 

and the meaningless meaningful.

The goal of teaching?  Again, the list is hilarious:

To push kids around

To save the world

To avoid a real job

To save one kid

To share information

To manipulate information

To get paid

To serve society

Here's my answer, and I think it's one of my best and freshest ideas yet-

GREAT teaching (because who needs to read more about bad or mediocre teaching) has one goal: 

to help students find the inevitable context between learner and lesson.

Great teachers know that it's all just a question of time and context.  The kid can learn! One just needs to keep cracking and innovating.

Great teachers are impossible to replace for this reason.  Lessons and instructions can be replicated in books, content can be made into clever films, and classrooms can be made into learning theme parks.  All that stuff can be done synthetically. Robots and stuff.

But-- and this is a big but- the belief that any dummy can and will learn- and the willingness to keep at it, try new tricks, learn new methods, find new jokes, explore new stories, inspire more goosebumps- ah, only a a great teacher can do that.  It makes a great teacher invaluable.  Priceless.  Like the credit card commercial.

Inevitable context! That'll be the name of a great book.

Anyone want to help me publish it?

Earthquake Virgin

“The only source of knowledge is experience.”

Albert Einstein

Adam's leg was bouncing up and down in a kind of nervous shake. My friend Ryan and I were talking about art with him and his mom and sister. Sitting at a table on the sidewalk of the American Cafe, they were waiting for their food. And this kid's freakin' leg was going overtime.

“Who came up with 'Restless Leg Syndrome?' Did they make a lot of money from it?” I wondered to myself. It's genius if they did. Anyway, that's what was rocking the table so much, I thought. Some anxious kid shaking his leg.

And that was my whole experience of the earthquake.

For the rest of the sunny August afternoon, people shared their own off-kilter stories-- on the internet, tv, radio, in streets and shops, over food and drink, talking of how they hadn't experienced anything like it before. Most people told versions of the same tale:

“I thought it was the subway...”

“A huge truck rumbling by...”

“The boiler broke down...”

"I thought I was sick or something..."

“The neighbor's house was crumbling...”

“Someone was rocking my car...”

The story BECAME the story as everyone told and listened and retold and relistened. Some of my New York friends joked that people from California would laugh at all of us for making such a big deal. And many Californians did laugh, rolling their eyes at our near hysteria over a little “temblor” that appeared to have done almost no damage anywhere. To those who live in earthquake zones, we were like teenage girls hysterical over the newest boy pop idol talking to silvering beauties who, 40 years ago, fainted at Beatles concerts.

For those of us who have never experienced an earthquake, it was a moment of dumbstruck confusion. It was reminiscent of September 11^th, if only briefly, because of the absolute lack of context for so many of us. We had no idea what was happening AS IT WAS happening.  

How did people react?  Well, some just cried like babies during a thunderstorm, or like Mets fans in late summer.  Others whooped it up like helmetless daredevils racing motorcycles, thrilled to have had the (terribly pathetic) opportunity to cheat death.  I was in this group, of course.  Still others yawned, shook their heads at the commotion, and went back to work.

As a teacher observing this range of response, this is very interesting.

Give Some Love To the Newbs

You see, all of us quake newbs became what we, in school, ask every student to be: disoriented, clueless, and lost. Students learning new concepts or skills are often completely stupefied. And here's where we in schools mess it up. We see these stupefied kids as STUPID. Instead of seeing them as simply dazed, we see them as unable or weak.

In fact, we see ignorance as either "virginity" (which must be protected ) or "idiocy" (which must be ridiculed or destroyed). In fact, ignorance is merely a stage in the learning process.

Think again about the earthquake. Here is a case study on how people act when they are dumbfounded. It is a sneak peak into how people deal with a donkey punch of not knowing what's going on.

What are you like when you have no idea what's happening? When you've lost your bearings? When nothing makes sense?

The best learners are not good at mastering the material. The best learners are good at being lost. They get slammed with a new experience, are dizzy and confused, and then... they try to figure it out.

So, what am I saying this pansy little earthquake is telling us hysterical quake survivors?  What badge of courage have we all earned from this (lack of) wreckage and terror?

Embrace your newbness! You don't know what the hell is happening? You can't tell your arse from your elbow? Good! You're in the perfect place. You should get lost more often.

Now: learn, you moron.

The Ant and the Grasshopper

And now, an allegory.  A first for iBlog America.

THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER

An American Tale

OLD SKOOL VERSION:

The ANT works hard in the

withering heat all summer long,

building his house and

laying up supplies for the winter.



The GRASSHOPPER laughs

and dances and plays

the summer away.


Come winter, the ANT

is warm and well fed.



The GRASSHOPPER

has no food or shelter,

so he dies out in the cold.

OLD Moral of the story:

Hard work deserves respect.

Cutting corners leads to ruin.

-------

NEW SKOOL VERSION:



There is a beautiful land

named “America.”

It is a wonderful place,

filled with natural treasures

and opportunity.

In it lives two citizens:

the ANT and the GRASSHOPPER.

THE ANT

The ANT is born into a family

with money and connections.

The ANT goes to private schools

and his uncle helps him attend Harvard.

By age 35, the ANT has a great job,

a house in town and one at the beach,

drives a great car, and investments.

He vacations in the Caymans.

The ANT

believes in the “Wealth Filter.”

Those who have or make money

are strong and worthy of respect.

Those who do not

are weak and deserve to fail.

THE GRASSHOPPER

The GRASSHOPPER is born into a family

with debt and obligations.

He goes to public school

and attends any college he can get into.

By age 35, the GRASSHOPPER has two jobs,

a big college loan and mortgage,

and two kids.

He vacations at the pub

or on the weekends.

The GRASSHOPPER

believes in the “Value Filter.”

Those who show value to others

should be respected and protected.

Many things of value

never generate wealth.

This is the story of the ANT and the GRASSHOPPER,

in THREE PARTS.

PART ONE

After a string of beautiful summers,

a hard winter surprises everyone

in the land. One icy day,

the ANT calls a press conference

And blames the cost of the cold weather

on the GRASSHOPPER.

The ANT

goes on TV and says

“The GRASSHOPPER laughed

and danced the summer away

while we ANTS were busy working.

Now, the silly GRASSHOPPER

wants to raise taxes to pay for

the lazy people during this

terrible cold weather.”

The ANT raises his fist and says,

“No one should have to pay

for other people. If you can't

heat your house,

that's your problem!

We should stop helping people

who aren't strong enough

to make a profit

to keep themselves warm!

The strong should win

and the weak should lose!”

The GRASSHOPPER,

who doesn't really follow politics,

sips a beer after his long day

at work and thinks the ANT is crazy.

The GRASSHOPPER turns to his

wife and says,

“Everyone was chilling this summer.
Even the ANTS were partying.
That's ok!  We all work a lot."

The GRASSHOPPER went on,
"But this winter is hard.

People need to help each other out.

Not everyone is born rich and healthy.

How about the elderly?

Retired and injured veterans?

Some things that never turn a

profit are important, too.

Firehouses and police stations

don't make profits,

neither do bridges and schools.”

The GRASSHOPPER turns on the

baseball game and opens

another beer. He goes on,

“Even an ANT needs help

when things get bad or go wrong.”

“One day, I'm going to become an ANT,”

says the GRASSHOPPER's son.

“Not unless you win the lottery,”

says the GRASSHOPPER's mom.

“Or marry somebody rich!”

says the GRASSHOPPER's daughter.

But the winter ends and summer comes,

and everyone is happy

and stops talking about it.

PART TWO

The next winter, things get even worse.

It snows for two weeks straight

and everyone's pipes freeze.

One particularly cold and gray day,

the ANT calls a

press conference.

“GRASSHOPPERISM is about

giving handouts to those

who do not deserve it.

Our society should stop paying

so much for schools, health care,

regulation, and safety for the lazy

GRASSHOPPER.

If it doesn't make money,

it should fail!”

The ANT raises his fist and says,

“We need to lower taxes!

Your mistakes are YOUR fault!

The ANT Way is simple:

every ANT for himself.”

America is stunned

by the ANT's brilliance.

It is easy to understand

how the strong should win

and the weak should lose.

The MEDIA gets

high ratings showing video

of GRASSHOPPERS

who commit crimes,

do stupid things, and are lazy.

The MEDIA also gets

high ratings showing video

of ANTS

who spend lots of money,

do exclusive things,

and hang with cool people.

The MEDIA gets

the best ratings

when an ANT fails at something.

Everyone on TV says

“look at how that ANT

ended up failing

like a GRASSHOPPER.

What a loser!”

Books fly off the shelves

to become best-sellers:

-Pinheads and ANTS

-Godless: The Church

of GRASSHOPPERISM

-The Audacity of

the GRASSHOPPER

-The Secret Connection

Between the GRASSHOPPER

and Islamic Fundamentalism

- God Helps ANTS

Who Help Themselves

The GRASSHOPPER,

shivering in the winter air,

listens and thinks,

“Maybe the ANT is right.

Life would be better if

I had more money.

I hate taxes. I'm tired of

taking care of other people.

IT'S MY MONEY!”

The GRASSHOPPER gets mad

at other grasshoppers.

“GRASSHOPPERISM

is ruining our country.”

PART THREE

The Winter Election shows

grasshoppers

talking like ants.

The ANT Party wins big!

Taxes drop to historically

low levels for everyone--

but especially for the ANT.

The ANT uses his money

and connections

to lobby Congress

to rewrite the tax code so that

ANT spending and expenses

can be deducted.

Regulations are lifted

on businesses so that profits

can soar.

The ANT hires an

accountant buddy from

Yale to shelter

ANT family money in

offshore accounts.

The ANT laughs at

how silly

the GRASSHOPPER is

to not know how to do this.

After the election, the

GRASSHOPPER buys a

big house. He takes

out a loan

to act more like the ANT.

“The ANT Way is awesome!”

the GRASSHOPPER's family

tells him.

“Our car sucks! Can we

get a cooler one?”

the GRASSHOPPER's son asks.

The next winter is

one of the coldest and iciest ever.

Foreclosures sweep the nation.

It turns out that

the savvy ANT has been

selling bad mortgages

and loans

to naïve grasshoppers

who can't afford them.

Everywhere, GRASSHOPPER

businesses go bankrupt.

When Big ANT Business

goes bankrupt,

the ANT uses his connections

in Congress to get a bailout

that he doesn't have

to pay back.

The ANT laughs at

how silly

the GRASSHOPPER is

to not know how to do this.

The GRASSHOPPER

gets laid off.

He finds out his mother

has cancer

but insurance won't cover it

because they call it a

“pre-existing condition.”

The GRASSHOPPER

applies for unemployment

and moves in

with his mom to take

care of her while she dies.

“You're and pathetic, Dad”

the GRASSHOPPER's son

tells him.

“You are too weak to be an ANT!

You deserve to fail!”

The story ends with the ANT,

sipping a cocktail in The Caymans,

watching TV from his hot tub

in his luxury condo.

The MEDIA gets high ratings

showing stories of

schools, firehouses, and hospitals

closing down.

There are pictures

of bridges collapsing

and veterans and the elderly

not getting health care.

“Another gin and tonic, Jose”

the ANT politely asks the

GRASSHOPPER he hired

to be a housekeeper.

The ANT shakes his head

and thinks about

how silly the GRASSHOPPER

is to not know how to work harder.

NEW Moral of the story:

Everyone for him/herself.

Casey Anthony and Atticus Finch

WWAFD? (What Would Atticus Finch Do?)

A pretty mommy, a dead girl, and a lawyer from Alabama

Yesterday, on television, I heard a person say that the American public was divided in three groups:

1.  Those who think Casey Anthony is a child-murdering psycho who was unfairly found not-guilty.

2.  Those who think there wasn't enough proof to convict her, despite her likely contribution to her daughter's demise.

3.  Those who scratch their heads and say “who the hell is Casey Anthony?”

Almost everyone who is saying anything in the media, from TV to facebook, is in group 1. It's frankly hard to find anyone who thinks that Ms. Anthony is innocent.

The Casey Anthony trial has achieved a sort of unique “media gravity” over these past couple of weeks. In a media culture where number of hits drives the value of any story, this trial has gone viral in a way we haven't seen in years. And no wonder: the facts of the case are strange and horrific. They are also wildly compelling. I watched the closing arguments at my mother's house, cleaning up after a picnic.

Comparisons to the OJ Simpson trial are not surprising-- nor are they unwarranted. While the controversial element of race played no direct part, some of the American media's other favorite topics did. Gender. Beauty. Youth. Family disfunction. A crime against a little girl.

The public has largely convicted Casey Anthony-- and the fact that the jury found otherwise has become it's own media story. People are, apparently, really angry and dismayed. I've been interested in the widely reported “outrage” at the verdict.

It all seems so familiar to me-- but not because of the parallels to the OJ Simpson trial. The idea that so many people would be so upset by a jury verdict that didn't “make sense” to them got me thinking about a book that, despite its hallowed place in American public schools, seems so at odds with how people are reacting to this trial.

Look, I don't know for sure if Ms. Anthony killed her daughter.  She certainly doesn't look very innocent to me.  But I don't know for sure-- and neither do you.  And that's point.

A Roman Carnival

As an English teacher, I can't help but love certain books that I've taught. Talk to enough of us and you'll find that teachers often describe the “honor” of teaching certain concepts, skill, or ideas. It's a part of the gig that many teachers see as the real duty of a teacher. We serve the kids, sure-- but we also serve the very “stuff” that we are tasked with instructing.

I loved teaching To Kill a Mockingbird. As a first year, I got to teach my first pupils about Atticus Finch, Boo Radley, and Tom Robinson. I marveled that I got to be the guy who introduced students to one of the best texts in American history, a text so richly drawn and so wildly significant that the mere mention of Atticus' name inspires reverential sighs from people of all stripes.

I remember catching a janitor at my school surreptitiously reading the dust jacket after school. He peered over at me and said, “I love this book. This is the only thing I read in high school.” He sighed and, before returning to emptying the trash cans in the room, added, “Atticus Finch is a cool dude.”

It's true. Atticus is cool. And the basic concept of the text, that our flawed and fragile trial system is the last and most elegant line of defense against mob rule and prejudiced thinking, rings my bell these days as I watch this Anthony trial hoopla.

So, as we shake our fists at flickering flat screens across the country, bemoaning the end of justice, turning on porch lights to honor a little girl whose death will, sadly, never be understood, let's find some context.   Take a look at the text of Harper Lee's incandescent novel about the bitter and difficult road to justice by trial, in all of its harsh reality and inspiring glory.

And, after reading these quotes, I'll bet you'll want to read Mockingbird again. Spread the word, baby.

Chapter 11

"Atticus, you must be wrong...."

"How's that?"

"Well, most folks seem to think they're right and you're wrong...."

"They're certainly entitled to think that, and they're entitled to full respect for their opinions," said Atticus, "but before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience."

Chapter 16

“You goin' to court this morning, Miss Maudie?" asked Jem. […]

"I am not. 't's morbid, watching a poor devil on trial for his life. Look at all those folks, it's like a Roman carnival."

"They hafta try him in public, Miss Maudie," I said. "Wouldn't be right if they didn't."

"I'm quite aware of that," she said. "Just because it's public, I don't have to go, do I?"

Chapter 20

Atticus went on. "But there is one way in this country in which all men are created equal – there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein, and the ignorant man the equal of any college president. That institution, gentlemen, is a court. […] Our courts have their faults, as does any human institution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers, and in our courts all men are created equal...

"I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and in the jury system – that is no ideal to me, it is a living, working reality. Gentlemen, a court is no better than each man of you sitting before me on this jury. A court is only as sound as its jury, and a jury is only as sound as the men who make it up. I am confident that you gentlemen will review without passion the evidence you have heard, come to a decision, and restore this defendant to his family. In the name of God, do your duty."

Chapter 25

How could this be so, I wondered, as I read Mr. Underwood's editorial. Senseless killing – Tom had been given due process of law to the day of his death; he had been tried openly and convicted by twelve good men and true; [Atticus] had fought for him all the way. Then Mr. Underwood's meaning became clear: Atticus had used every tool available to free men to save Tom Robinson, but in the secret courts of men's hearts Atticus had no case. Tom was a dead man the minute Mayella Ewell opened her mouth and screamed.

The Best Peep Show Ever

After a month off, iBlogAmerica returns with a piece about the memory of the internet.  This post marks my first year anniversary of this blog.  Thanks for reading and commenting!  
I will do my damnedest to keep your interest for another year.
Michael

The internet, organically digital.

Take a moment to consider how much of your life is online.

For some, the online self appears like a cross section in a geology textbook, a slice cut out of a life, a snapshot in time of what matters in a moment.  For others, the cross sections are so many and so rich, a nearly three-dimensional self appears, like a topographic map with undulating counties and states.

It's amazing how the stamp of our digital lives-- with our emails, photos, facebook postings, tweets, youtube comments-- all come with a date.  These dates, strung together, sketch a portrait of our movements and expressions.  It turns out that we all come with a digital trail, weaving and crossing with others' trails all over the web.  We are the wildebeest and zebra of the cyber-serengeti, both wild and tracked, always leaving a dusty hoof-printed trail behind us.

And we love to watch each other.  The great puzzle-making of following each other online is both anthropology and voyeurism, science and theatre.

On the Same Boat
Google a person and you will be able to count the rings in her trunk, study the fat and lean years, and perhaps identify the existence of a historical fire or flood.  Because everything comes with a day/month/year, our digital lives are like pencil lines on a door frame, marking our growings, our plateaus, our absences, and our ends.  We're not all there.  But enough information about us allows for that great puzzle-making that we humans love to do.  After all, understanding anything requires imaginative jumps to fill in the blanks.  We assemble the shards of pottery pieces of one another's online lives and build the models as best we can.

Looking back over a year of my articles, a couple of years on facebook, a decade or so of emails, I am struck by how much of my life appears on a screen.  In a couple of years, the amount of "me" NOT existing online will be dwarfed by my online self.  The photos in actual albums and actual boxes on my actual bedroom shelves are hilariously few in number compared to those in their digital counterparts.  Anyone can look me up-- our you-- and peep in.

This freaks me out a little-- but not much.  This surprises me.  Instead, I am amazed at how organic it all feels.  Electricity is the new oxygen in a digital ecosystem.  We're all here, basically, for better or worse.  We all can hide (and not hide) as well as anyone else.  Our lives:  our words, our photos, our sounds, our ideas, our friends, our loves, our mistakes, our victories-- these all live as the digital imprint of ourselves online.  Like it or not, we are all virtually here.  There's a comforting "small world" quality about it.

On the Same Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria
Exploration has never really been about geography.  The great explorers of our world are not important because they "found" anything.  The notion of exploration has always been a metaphor, just has the idea of a frontier.  Any student of history knows:  we explore to know ourselves.

Like the tracks of hominids crossing a muddy riverbed of 1's and 0's, our digital footprints don't just prove we exist.  They pay a natural and organic honor to our lives.  They are the beautiful remnants of  lives almost entirely knowable by the traces we continually leave behind.  It's a living fossil record.

In this way, the internet is a natural as the compass, medicine, or powered flight:  logical, contrived, inevitable, inspired, and absolutely human.

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