The next week and a half will wind up the class I'm taking that involves Second Life. The last project: A paper that explores how Second Life could address (or, I suppose, compound) a technical communication problem/situation I've encountered in real life. At this point, I'm not sure where my paper will go (a draft is due Thursday, help). But I keep thinking back to this Dutch Kit-Kat commercial, and former FCC Chairman Newton N. Minow's "vast wasteland" speech concerning television in 1961:
When television is good, nothing -- not the theater, not the magazines or newspapers -- nothing is better. But when television is bad, nothing is worse. I invite you to sit down in front of your television set when your station goes on the air and stay there for a day without a book, magazine, newspaper, profit-and-loss sheet or rating book to distract you -- and keep your eyes glued to that set until the station signs off. I can assure you that you will observe a vast wasteland.
The same, I'm afraid, can be said for Second Life, except that the programming is more varied -- extremely good or extremely poor -- and it never shuts off. So if I don't know the direction the paper will go, at least I know the tone. Which, in retrospect, won't be as grim as this sounds. When Mr. Minow gave his speech, people (likely with the help of journalists) latched on to the "vast wasteland" sound bite, rather than focusing on the "public interest" he hoped to convey in his speech. He was vilified in the industry for making fun of the quality of television -- Sherwood Schwartz, producer of Gilligan's Island, named the S.S. Minnow after Minow as a comment on his perceived elitist trash talking. But Minow really did want people to remember the public interst portion of his speech more than anything else:
The television industry then, Minow said, “possesses the most powerful voice in America. It has an inescapable duty to make that voice ring with intelligence and with leadership. In a few years, this exciting industry has grown from a novelty to an instrument of overwhelming impact on the American people. It should be making ready for the kind of leadership that newspapers and magazines assumed years ago, to make your people aware of the world.”
He wanted television to take that power and use a portion of it to claim the high ground. That, in some ways, has happened. In many ways, it has not.
The same can be said now of the Internet, which wields the same kind of power television once weilded, as Minow outlines. On the Net, we see both the highbrow and the lowbrow. I think he'd agree today that the public interest versus the vast wasteland of the Internet is being ignored, much as it was in television's era.
Indy and Harry
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Christmas Box Miracle, The; by Richard Paul Evans. 261 pages.
Morbid Tase for Bones, A; by Ellis Peters. 265 pages.
Peanuts by the Decade, the 1970s; by Charles Schulz. 490 pages
Rakkety Tam, by Brian Jacques. 372 pages.
Rickover Effect, The, by Theodore Rockwell. 411 pages.
Road to Freedom, The; by Shawn Pollock. 212 pages.
There's Treasure Everywhere, by Bill Watterson. 173 pages.
Trolls of Wall Street, The; by Nathaniel Popper, 339 pages.
Undaunted Courage, by Stephen E. Ambrose. 521 pages.
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Ze Page Total: 217.
The Best Part
Catch You Later, Traitor, by Avi
“Pete,” said Mr. Ordson, “we live in a time of great mistrust. This is not always a bad thing. People should question things. However, in my experience, too much suspicion undermines reason.”
I shook my head, only to remember he couldn’t see me.
“There’s a big difference,” he went on, “between suspicion and paranoia.”
“What’s . . . paranoia?”
“An unreasonable beliefe that you are being persecuted. For example,” Mr. Ordson went on,” I’m willing to guess you’ve even considered me to be the informer. After all, you told me you were going to follow your father. Perhaps I told the FBI.”
Startled, I stared at him. His blank eyes showed nothing. Neither did his expression. It was as if he had his mask on again.
“Have you considered that?” he pushed.
“No,” I said. But his question made me realize how much I’d shared with him. Trusted him. How he’d become my only friend. And he was the only one I hoad told I was going to follow my dad. Maybe he did tell the FBI.
He said, “I hope you get my point.”
Silcence settled around us. Loki looked around, puzzled.
Mr. Ordson must have sensed what I was thinking because he said, “Now, Pete, you don’t really have any qualms about me, do you?”
Yes, perlious times then. Who to trust? And perlious times now, with paranoia running even deeper than during the Red Scare . . .
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