Technology Dark Ages

After the appropriately named Generation X, the title of the following generation appeared to stump demographic specialists. I’ve seen various labels pop up from the somewhat anti-climatic Generation Y, the corny Generation Next, to the intriguing Echo Generation. My personal favourite is the I-generation or more streamlined, i-gen. They are the first generation to grow up with the technology for instantaneous connection to news, friends, entertainment, and knowledge through a touch of a computer keyboard, the flip of a phone, or the push of a half a dozen ‘On’ buttons.

When I pressed that ‘On’ button on my laptop this week and nothing happened, my instantaneous world came crashing down. As an international student and an i-gen enthusiasts, my life is literally digital.

I maintain contact with a global network of friends through e-mail, social networking sites, and chat services. I do all my research online from scanning Google scholar and Google books to see if a source would actually to helpful to pulling articles from Informaworld and Interconnect. I don’t even know where the academic journals are kept in the school’s library. Even with real books, I take all my notes electronically so that they are easier to organize for writing papers. Of course, I stupidly saved the notes on my desktop and not the school's network so now I have no access to them.

I don’t own a television or a radio. Why would I when I can use I-tunes and YouTube or stream music live from my favourite independent radio station in Akron, Ohio USA over the Internet. I read half a dozen newspapers a day, all online (not counting of course my slight addiction to the gossipy free papers in the subway). Even my pictures are digital and shared through sites like Picasso, Snapfish, and Facebook.

As I wait for the replacement part from America, I spend my days in the computer lab at the library. I’ve formed a kind of kindred with the students who spend six hours at a time in the warm dungeon of the academic fortress. While other students flutter in and out, checking their mail quickly before heading to class, the lifers stake out our territory. We each have one computer that we use every day. We spread our stuff out across the table and even leave everything there when going on those inconvenient food runs or bathroom breaks; the others will make sure none of our stuff is stolen.

When I reached home this evening, I was at a loss as to what to do. I couldn’t work on one of the three papers due in a month. I couldn’t order those books I needed for my dissertation on Amazon or through the library catalogue. I couldn’t even look up on Wikipedia what the third language was on the Rosetta Stone. That quandary bothered me on my commute home, and I couldn’t think of the answer. (Turns out it’s Greek and TWO scripts of ancient Egyptian.) Instead, I’m writing a blog entry LONG hand to transcribe online on my return to my electronic lair tomorrow.

This i-gen’er cannot wait until a certain piece of snail mail arrives.

Parliament Parable

One of the major pitfalls of having such distinguished professors is that they are always cancelling class to attend highly confidential debriefings of returning British soldiers from Iraq or are invited by the Chechen President to the opening of a new mosque in Grozny. When one of my professors cancelled class because Parliament’s Foreign Affairs Committee requested him to provide testimony on Afghanistan, my classmates and I were already in the eye-rolling and thinking “again” stage of our education. However, this time, we were invited to come along (since British Committee meetings are open to the public not because we were special).

We became giddy with our academic fortune…again.

In our excitement we reached Parliament two hours early because we were afraid it would fill up, and we wouldn’t get sits. It turns out other than some frantically scribbling journalists and a school group, few people were quite as enthusiastic about Parliamentary proceedings.

Since we had just a tad bit of time to kill, a friend and I wandered around the grandiose halls of Parliament. We were both shocked on the amount of freedom we were given to explore. We kept expecting a burly security guard or Kevin Costner look-alike to jump out and escort us off the property, but it never happened.

We were only stopped once while we strolled down one of the oak-panelled Committee room corridors. Expecting the wrath of latent British Imperial might to smite us for our American presumptuousness, we were taken back by the immaculate politeness of a ridiculously unflustered staffer. “Pardon me ladies, are you members are the Corn Lobby?”

My first unfiltered thought was, “How could he possibly know that I’m from Ohio.”

My friend was a little more logical. “No. We are not”

The staffer apologized and simply stepped out of our way to let us continue snooping.

The actually Committee meeting was very interesting for what is was and for what it was not. Although sitting less than a foot behind my professor, I felt like I was in the mist of a hostile Congressional inquiry rather than an informational session. Of course, that sensation could also be because I wasn’t used to staring at the back of my professor’s head as he shared his vast amount of knowledge since typically he’s looking at the class.

The experience was definitely worth the pre-giddiness though I mercifully wasn’t the most over-eager of my classmates. This time I wasn’t the one who burst into a private Committee meeting and sternly told to leave by the less-than-amused Chair. Of course, I’ve already done that in America. I still can’t hear Congressional Appropriations Committee without cringing slightly on the inside.