Perspective

A tangled Web we achieve when in texting we believe

By ARLEEN SPENCELEY, Times Staff Writer
Published August 26, 2007

New Year's Day, 2006. Bzzz, bzzz. Bzzz, bzzz.

In the middle of a crowded Fashion Bug, my purse began to vibrate as I shopped with my mom. I rummaged through receipts and pens, gum wrappers and change. Finally I found my cell phone.

One new text.

"Hey you," it said.

Greetings from a guy who always said more when he could say it on screen. Thoughts of our instantly messaged conversations and our plethora of MySpace messages swirled inside my head as the phone buzzed with another new text.

"We should just be friends."

Dumped.

Worse, dumped by text message. It was the final cyber straw. Sick of seeing screens instead of faces, I started to back out of the technoworld.

Long before I started struggling to accept the technological advancements we young people are supposed to adore, I loved them as much as anyone.

And I still remember when my now fading fondness for technology began.

It was 1992, and I was big into Barbies. I was also big on riding my bike, playing with Play-Doh and being the cop in "cops and robbers."

But things changed when my dad brought home the computer.

There it sat, atop a desk. Elevated, a little revered even though now, there's a good chance your cell phone is more powerful.

We stuck it where it would fit: in the pantry. Surrounded by boxes of Rice-A-Roni and cans of tuna, I learned my way around the keys. I played Oregon Trail, then Zookeeper. I wrote stories and poems and eventually, an entire newspaper. Not bad for a first-grader.

In sixth grade, I welcomed the World Wide Web. Still in the company of nonperishables, I sent my first e-mail. Quite the magical moment. Many other moments of magic followed.

I learned to instant message on ICQ (if you don't get it, say it out loud) during middle school, got my first cell phone in 10th grade and discovered text messaging not long after.

But then, I met MySpace.

It's an online social network; "a place for friends," as its creators call it, and a place for anyone from anywhere to connect with anyone else. To use it, you sign up, sign in and plaster snippets of you all over your profile. Then, add friends to your network. I covered my profile with my favorite this, my favorite that and a whole bunch of the best pictures I could take of myself.

College came, and technologically savvy undergraduates were tethered to iPods and laptops and cell phones. Everyone had a MySpace.

I quickly came to realize many of us were up until 2 every night browsing profiles. We all took pictures of ourselves on good hair days and got a little too excited when a new day brought a new friend request.

And for the first time, we could control communication. Don't feel like talking? Text. Want to ask an awkward question? Instant message. Curious about a classmate? Find his or her MySpace.

It was easy, entertaining and - not gonna lie - a little weird.

But I went with it because I could, because my generation made this virtual world into something as good as the real one.

And I loved it. At least, until one new text taught me the truth about technology, until I watched the things I thought kept me connected start to disconnect me.

Tools designed to simplify communication were complicating it severely. A whole new breed of anxiety bore its way through my generation. Sarcasm too easily taken seriously, words too easily thrown around. People were angry if so-and-so signed off instant messenger without saying bye, jealous if bumped from a MySpace "top eight." (Top eight was the MySpace excuse to rank your friends. Now, it's something like top 12, from what I hear.)

I slept with my cell phone. I knew too much about strangers, and talked to them too little. I knew that I knew my friends well because I'd read their profiles.

But when I was dumped by text message, I realized I needed to start removing myself from it all.

I deleted my MySpace profile for good, and quit using instant messenger for a while. I stopped using most computer-mediated communication, and encouraged others to do the same. For most people I met, that wasn't a bridge they were willing to jump.

One afternoon, I walked into the library on campus and counted nine out of 14 students, standing silent, side by side, at computers browsing MySpace profiles.

Shocking? Not very. But catching that glimpse got me thinking more about it.

We're human. Naturally, we like to relate to other people. And we also like to be comfortable. Things like smiling at strangers, acting on eye contact and sparking up conversation have always been uncomfortable, at first. But I remember when losing comfort was an easy risk to take, which was long before MySpace, instant messaging and texts made taking that risk seem obsolete.

It's why nine living, breathing people with literal instant access to each other opted to browse a virtual world of profiles of people they already knew, or of people they'll probably never meet.

We are so much more than the censored selves we place on profiles. We have a heck of a lot more to say than can be clicked and tapped out on keyboards or keypads, and way more to see than what can be seen on a screen.

But now I'm 21, it's 2007, and it's hard to avoid the cyberworld altogether. So I've made some choices. Instant messenger? A given for my friends, so I still sign on now and then. MySpace? Even presidential candidates use it. And so do most of my friends. But not me. While snippets of me won't be making their way back to MySpace, I do have a profile on Facebook, an online social network similar to MySpace. (But for that, I use a pseudonym. Hey, you can't be too safe.)

Is it peer pressure? Maybe boredom? I still don't know.

But last month, I did something radical: I had text messaging shut off on my cell phone. Already free from most of the technology I once loved to use, I warned a few of my friends before I had the service canceled.

One responded with something that epitomized my generation's cyberworld view. "I don't get you," he said. "Why are you trying to shut yourself out from the world?"

I'm not. I've just decided not to be all (texting) thumbs when it comes to communication. I'm stepping out of a virtual world, and back into the real one.

Arleen Spenceley can be reached at (813) 269-5301 or aspenceley@sptimes.com She'd prefer a call, of course, but she won't be mad if you e-mail.

[Last modified August 25, 2007, 22:07:48]