Bradbury's revenge

Miss H gave me a newspaper clipping a couple of days ago. It contained an Associated Press feature on Ray Bradbury, the famed science fiction author (now a nonagenarian), and his seminal work, Fahrenheit 451. Bradbury, an outspoken foe of e-books, e-readers and the like, has finally consented to allow his magnum opus to be made available to readers in electronic form. It went on sale last week for $9.99, and has sold a great many copies.

The sweet irony of the situation is that Bradbury predicted the existence of the e-reader, or at least the technological trends which gave birth to it. In Fahrenheit 451, humans have become so distracted with newfangled mass media that books have declined sharply in popularity, to the point of being outlawed. The first part of his prediction, at least, has come true. Thanks to the Internet, music sharing, live-streaming video, and all the other myriad forms of media, humans are subject to a constant stream of information and entertainment every waking hour.

Some might consider Bradbury's surrender to the technological tidal wave a form of betrayal. There was a time when I would have reviled the man for his decision. I once loathed technology. I staunchly disavowed Facebook, iTunes, YouTube, Wikipedia, Skype, and cellular phones. Now, I use all of these digital creations on a regular or semi-regular basis. (E-readers are still right out, however.)

I resisted the urge to call myself a traitor—at first. I needed a cell phone. I got my first cellular device in college, when I had to drive for three days to get to school. What if I broke down in the middle of Nowhere, North Dakota?

Then the computer came, and that was good: with it, I could satisfy my epistemological quests on Wikipedia, get my schoolwork done, and pen short stories on the side.

Facebook was next. Bah, humbug, I snorted. I have a cell phone. Why should I get a Facebook account? Just call me, peeps. No such luck. After some persuasive rhetoric from my friends and a 30-day free trial, I was a die-hard Facebooker.

Then came iTunes. It was insidious. It sidled into my life as though it had been invited...which, in a way, it had. I was sick of trying to stuff a Walkman and two or three CDs into my coat pockets. My folks got me an iPod Nano for Christmas one year, and I downloaded iTunes the very same day...never once looked back. Me, an iTunes user! And me, the inveterate Beatles fan, the Led Zeppelin lover, Pink Floyd's top admirer! Do you know that Flo Rida is on my iTunes  playlist? FLO RIDA!

I upgraded from a regular run-of-the-mill cell phone to a smart phone earlier this fall (a 'Droid 3), and it promptly ate my life. Between texting, Facebook, Words With Friends, Fruit Ninja, and Angry Birds (damn you to Hell, Angry Birds!), hardly five minutes go by when I don't pull my phone out of my pocket on some pretense and start fiddling with it.

So it goes. Matters have worsened exponentially over the years, but at such a gradual pace that I hardly realized what was happening. Perhaps I didn't want to realize it. I was entranced by the Digital Seductress, her guile, her temptations, her tender charms. I failed to see the Electronic Dragon chained by her side, whose icy breath froze my ambitions, hobbies, and habits. I hardly ever find time for those long, introspective walks anymore (and when I do, the iPod comes with me). I used to check Facebook once every day or two; now I log on at least twice an hour. That huge stack of books in the corner hasn't gotten much shorter in the last few months; but around 300 Wikipedia pages have mysteriously shown up in my browsing history. My novel, going on three years old, still hasn't been edited fully. And here I sit, a twenty-something with the world at his fingertips, flat broke, living in his parents' house, all ambition and no salt.

Man, thank goodness for last-minute revelations.

I finally caught myself. I've realized what a hole I've sunk into. The digital age...what a honeypot! And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker. Well, no more. Tomorrow begins the new era. You are my witness. As I live and breathe, I am taking an e-hiatus. Thirty days, no more, no less. My Android is going on the nightstand; I shall not answer a text, play a game, check Facebook or read the news on it for thirty days. I shall answer phone calls and plug it into the charger, but otherwise I shall not touch it. The television (also neglected now that I have Mr. Internet) is getting switched off. I shall indulge myself in one hour's pleasure every Monday night when Terra Nova comes on. The computer shall be used for researching factual information for my novel, editing said novel, job-hunting and checking e-mail, nothing more. Facebook is officially forsaken. Video and computer games are verboten. Music shall be severely restricted; I've been overdosing on it lately and can feel a full-scale burnout coming on. I won't sit there for hours on my laptop, with my ears beneath my headphones and my glazed eyes on the screen. Those days are over. The ship has sailed. It's time to get back to basics.

I shall use this blissful respite from the e-demons to get some constructive work done: namely, finding a job, revising my manuscript (and other works-in-progress), devoting time to my relationship with Miss H, and ultimately figuring out what I want to do with my life. I hope that the perspective I gain during this hiatus will lend clarity and illumination to my next steps in life, and break the destructive cycle of stagnation and wastefulness which my headlong absorption in electronic media has begotten me.

One important exception to the rule will be, obviously, this blog.

I'm going to tell you, day-by-day, how this e-hiatus (as I shall hereafter refer to it) is going. It's been a long time coming, and I sense the chains will be hard to break. Hell, I know they will be. Earlier this evening I caught myself compulsively taking my phone out of my pocket for no reason at all, even after I'd promised to give up Angry Birds. I have it bad, folks. This upcoming interlude will likely resemble withdrawal rather than vacation time. Nonetheless, as always, I will bring you the unvarnished truth, as ugly as it may be. Stay tight, be true, and hang in there.

And for Pete's sake, wish me luck.

Day One begins tomorrow.