In keeping with the frugalist theme, my 1999 Toyota Corolla has no CD or MP3 player, but only a cassette player. When I went to Shawano on Labor Day weekend, I went to Goodwill to pick up some new tapes. Since almost no one has a cassette player anymore, the only non-country title was Celine Dion's Falling Into You. Kind of the soundtrack of the white middle-class experience. I've actually kind of taken a perverse liking to it. In one song, "I Don't Know," Dion sings "Brutal machines machines machines" and it never fails to crack a smile. It's my favorite kind of fun: low-tech and campy.
In the fifteen years since the album's release, the white middle-class experience--along with that of the rest of the industrialized world--has been increasingly mediated by electronic communications. To my mind, what distinguishes the white middle-class adoption of these communications is the vociferousness with which we make them all-important. Heck, I'm sure one reason--whether conscious or subconscious--for my starting this blog was to address feelings of awkwardness I had over many years of coffeehouse transactions. I remember that in 1995--as I recall, the year I also sent my first e-mail--a serious girlfriend showed me a printed e-mail from an e-argument she was having with a friend, who also happened to be a work colleague and ex-roommate.
As a 38-year-old, I find the pace of online change occasionally maddening. My e-mail interface refuses to be the same two days in a row, it seems. Opportunities for intentional or accidental disclosure abound. How do they make me feel? I think I'm making a choice about how I will feel about it: I'm not going to worry about it. The amount of of self-disclosure on my blogs and other public online activities might be excessive, but I also think it makes a powerful statement: I am a normal and acceptable person and I have nothing to hide. Even if, you know, my every naughty online venture causes lolcats to pop up on my parents' computer screen saying "Meow meow ur son downloadz teh pr0n meow meow," that doesn't need to fill me with a feeling of dread. That doesn't need to be on my mind at all.