“18 hours a day and I am certainly not addicted…
Maybe there is some confusion though for the parent generation after all. The second article I read included an interview with, not a teenager, but with a young middle aged professional, a business man, who is temporarily out of work. This particular man alleges that he often plays computer games up to 18 hours a day, usually Second Life where he creates an existence more successful and therefore more personally satisfying than his first life. He maintains he can stop at any time. It is not like being addicted to cigarettes or alcohol, he affirmed. He claims to have several acquaintances with similar time allocations. But he has time for friends, partner, family. On 18 hours a day? Plus sleeping?
Imho url8 ttyl
Professional educators discuss at conferences trends they notice in the students over the recent years which coincide with the regular and frequent use of some of these technologies. This was happening at the ECIS conference in Nice before Christmas, too. They discuss the role of MSN and SMS with their ‘mobile speak code’ where letters or symbols replace fully spelt words and syntax, deliberate misspellings to shorten the time needed to write (‘imho ur l8 ttyl’). They note dwindling attention spans, the need for instant information and entertainment, the ability to process only sound bites with confidence, inability to process extended pieces of text, huge distractibility, the need for very short activities, minimal expressive vocabulary.
The first oil painting is no masterpiece
There are key issues here and they are being discussed in many a forum. Whether individuals are in denial of the power of these windows and how to combat this. Achieving a balance of recreational activities that includes regular reality checks. How to make attractive to the young face-to-face communication that is caring and sincere. How to inject more passion into real life for a growing section of the community. How to react to passive and made-by-others activities which for a small but growing section of society are threatening to replace the personal, creative hobby. Sounds old fashioned. Grumpy Old Man on a rant.Hobbies!But that is where passion is, and individuality, and creating and risking and being challenged. This is the home of Homo Faber, and through it bunches of pure pleasure. Even if the first oil painting is no masterpiece.
Monday, 20 April 2009
Dean’s Blog ‘If I were a crocus…’
Dean’s Blog ‘If I were a crocus…’
If I were a crocus I would give up too. Snow, sun, wind, frost, fog, on-the-terrace sunshine, rain, snow, sunburn etc etc. And that is before lunchtime. So the swathes of Cerulean blue and Cadmium yellow croci, or crocuses for non classical scholars, that edged the lawn, finally capitulated. Under this onslaught of the elements they have packed up and retired into their bulbs deep in the earth until next year. So? The point of a long, hard and unexpectedly winterish winter is to move on, into spring, and get practising and into the mood for summer. A few April showers are ok – Chaucer approved of them, too. ‘When that April and its showers sweet The drought of March hath pierced to the root’ he wrote with his English obsession with the weather. Interestingly enough, T.S.Eliot having soaked up the English climatic culture after 25 years in the US and anxious to fit into the local culture of his adopted home, also ranted on about ‘April is the cruellest month’.
Tropical shortie pyjamas
But enough is enough. You can overdo capricious and warmth makes the kids get ants-in-their-pants edgy. So that at the first spark of sun in the morning they decide to reduce to a sartorial minimum that can look like a set of tropical shortie pyjamas and then in the ‘Bise’-driven snow with wind-chill of minus 7 at break time, get boiling hot dashing about on the Red Top playing Killer Ball or soccer or something. After this they return panting to the classroom where it is 21 degrees centigrade min. Period 3 my G9 English class sounds like the understaffed casualty ward in Grey’s Anatomy, with full sensory sneezes, professional and comprehensive coughs, wide ranging throat clearing and methodical nostril renovation exercises taking the edge off the pathos of Juliet’s final goodbye to Romeo as he descends from her balcony. Iambic pentameters don’t have a chance. Romeo, I might add, is meanwhile dressed in warm woolly tights, a linen shirt and a sensibly baggy and lined, heavy weight velvet blouson jacket. And he could always unlace the removable sleeves when the sun came out. Dead practical and not a designer label in sight.
Withering teenage looks
So I’m outside on duty at lunchtime dressed in enough warm woollies that if I stand still I resemble an Oxfam jumble sale collection point and a kid in a skinny T shirt skids by as a colleague asks me if we are allowed to send him in to get more clothes on. And I think what a sensible duty companion I have. We don’t because I am too cold to be in the mood for one more of those withering teenage looks that says, ‘Duh! Like, you what?’
Meteorological myth
Later on in the week you can bet that many of these same kids have felt mildly unwell in class and even missed school for a day or even two with a bad cold or hacking cough or a painfully sore throat. And when that happens and I am feeling just fine, I register no Schadenfreude of course, but I do feel a little more morally justified in teasing the scantily dressed for being a zombie to convention and fashion and the meteorological myth that the sun is durable and hot.vv
If I were a crocus I would give up too. Snow, sun, wind, frost, fog, on-the-terrace sunshine, rain, snow, sunburn etc etc. And that is before lunchtime. So the swathes of Cerulean blue and Cadmium yellow croci, or crocuses for non classical scholars, that edged the lawn, finally capitulated. Under this onslaught of the elements they have packed up and retired into their bulbs deep in the earth until next year. So? The point of a long, hard and unexpectedly winterish winter is to move on, into spring, and get practising and into the mood for summer. A few April showers are ok – Chaucer approved of them, too. ‘When that April and its showers sweet The drought of March hath pierced to the root’ he wrote with his English obsession with the weather. Interestingly enough, T.S.Eliot having soaked up the English climatic culture after 25 years in the US and anxious to fit into the local culture of his adopted home, also ranted on about ‘April is the cruellest month’.
Tropical shortie pyjamas
But enough is enough. You can overdo capricious and warmth makes the kids get ants-in-their-pants edgy. So that at the first spark of sun in the morning they decide to reduce to a sartorial minimum that can look like a set of tropical shortie pyjamas and then in the ‘Bise’-driven snow with wind-chill of minus 7 at break time, get boiling hot dashing about on the Red Top playing Killer Ball or soccer or something. After this they return panting to the classroom where it is 21 degrees centigrade min. Period 3 my G9 English class sounds like the understaffed casualty ward in Grey’s Anatomy, with full sensory sneezes, professional and comprehensive coughs, wide ranging throat clearing and methodical nostril renovation exercises taking the edge off the pathos of Juliet’s final goodbye to Romeo as he descends from her balcony. Iambic pentameters don’t have a chance. Romeo, I might add, is meanwhile dressed in warm woolly tights, a linen shirt and a sensibly baggy and lined, heavy weight velvet blouson jacket. And he could always unlace the removable sleeves when the sun came out. Dead practical and not a designer label in sight.
Withering teenage looks
So I’m outside on duty at lunchtime dressed in enough warm woollies that if I stand still I resemble an Oxfam jumble sale collection point and a kid in a skinny T shirt skids by as a colleague asks me if we are allowed to send him in to get more clothes on. And I think what a sensible duty companion I have. We don’t because I am too cold to be in the mood for one more of those withering teenage looks that says, ‘Duh! Like, you what?’
Meteorological myth
Later on in the week you can bet that many of these same kids have felt mildly unwell in class and even missed school for a day or even two with a bad cold or hacking cough or a painfully sore throat. And when that happens and I am feeling just fine, I register no Schadenfreude of course, but I do feel a little more morally justified in teasing the scantily dressed for being a zombie to convention and fashion and the meteorological myth that the sun is durable and hot.vv
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