Separation on the Internet: What does it mean?

When it comes to this idea of people separating themselves out voluntarily on the internet and its effects on the perfect democracy we may have hoped for, I'm going to have to take a position that opposes what the Stephanek reading and what many of my classmates said. Do I think people are just as separated online? Maybe. Do I think it's a bad thing? Not really. First, let me explain a bit. Since we read Jenkins, I couldn't help but keep in mind that while some sites provide a lot of "democracy", stratification happens there. "In" groups happen there. And the sites themselves tend to be based on the members having common interests (Survivor, etc). To me, this system seems to definitely be different than our daily "real" lives, but because we use our own identities (or at least part of them, through our interest in the subject), it isn't surprising to me that we see the same class and social stratification that we do in the real world. Online, what we do is every day more likely to be connected to us at some time in the future than ever before. Potential employers, graduate schools, and many other professional and personal resources could find what you've "done" online and link it to your future in the "real world". Because this is so, we're less likely to be pushed to engage in conversations online that we wouldn't want to answer for later, and we're less likely to step out of our comfort zones. Because I don't see employers and such putting an end to their checking our facebooks, twitters, etc, I don't see people doing much online (at least as themselves) that they wouldn't be able to quickly and easily explain offline.

How do you escape the grid?

Reading Benkoil's article on AR, or Augmented Reality, I couldn't help spending most of the article thinking one thing: "Wow, that's cool..." At the end of the article, though, Benkoil mentions the "'creepiness' factor" of the whole thing. He argues, as one who'd been reading the article might guess, that the technology should move forward anyway, as it is only in the early stages and is making a lot of progress. Part of what he said, though, struck me as odd. In the final line of the article, in his final plea for AR technology to move forward, Benkoil says, "But let's see how far the technology goes...then see what objections are raised to how the technology is being used." It seems that Benkoil wants to halt debate on the merits/downfalls of AR. This is where skeptical of the government, conspiracy theory me kicks in. In cases where I hear about new technology, I try to consider, especially lately, partly because of this class, what the technology does to my ability to "go off the grid" if I were to choose to do so. After reading this article, I've decided that this sort of technology, if used widely, would fundamentally alter my ability to "go off grid".

This technology, it seems, makes the "real world" part of the grid. With a very common tool, a cell phone with apps and a camera, one can turn the world, while walking down the street, into a digital one. For me, this sounds a little scary. Not because it's not cool to be able to go apartment hunting by walking down the street, because I think that's pretty awesome. However, the way a government (or a powerful company, Google, for example) could use the technology seems a little scary. As I've said in a previous post, I've gotten in the habit of telling (presumably just my friends, but also the technology behind Foursquare) where I am at all times. Could AR be linked to this technology? Point your phone at the Union and find out that me and twenty other people are sitting here at this very minute? It doesn't seem too farfetched to me. This henges on human action, though. I have to say where I am (or at least carry my GPS-enabled iPhone with me, if you want to further the conspiracy) in order for me to show up on the grid. The question, I guess, isn't whether all this could happen, but whether we'll let it. If that's true, Benkoil's idea that we should just wait and see what happens, without much discussion, sounds like one I wouldn't suggest.

S/R 2: William Gibson's Neuromancer

As we begin Neuromancer, we are immediately introduced to a world that is unlike our own. The story is set in Chiba and the color of the sky is defined by technology. The main character of the novel, Case, a rather young man, in his early 20s, is in an awful state. He uses drugs, alcohol, and any other remedy he can conceive of to attempt to forget the terrible thing that has happened to him – his nervous system has been damaged, seemingly beyond repair, and he can no longer “jack in” to the matrix, the cyberspace where he used to work as a hacker and to which he so desires to return. Suddenly, Molly and Armitage show up, Armitage offering Case a job. He needs a hacker, one who is desperate, both for money and for his life, and is willing to have Case’s nerves fixed, if only he’ll take the job. Case, being desperate to return to the matrix and to do what he loves, takes the job, and the story begins. As the book goes on, Case and Molly learn more about their mysterious employer, and are introduced to some AI, Artificial Intelligence, which they soon learn is really running the show. What they are working for, truly, is to bring Wintermute and Neuromancer together, both of them being very powerful AIs that were, conscientiously, separated from one another. In their quest to hack into ICE, similar to firewalls in the matrix, Molly and Case are confronted with many characters, each of them very different from our reality and more interesting when considering the human condition. 3Jane is a clone, Riviera is a sociopath, and Armitage, it turns out, is basically a shell of a man, built by a computer on the broken spirit of a soldier named Corto. In the end, Wintermute and Neuromancer are together, contacting AI from other galaxies, and Case, our antihero, goes on with his life, in a way that seems extremely normal after the whirlwind and game-changing job he has just been a part of.

Throughout Neuromancer, I could not help but compare my own dealings in cyberspace with “jacking in.” Though my neurons are not connecting me physically to any sort of matrix, I am no doubt connected, and the emotional reaction I would have to forgetting my phone at home or to being without internet service in part proves that, like Case was at the beginning of the novel, I’d probably be in a sort of desperate, miserable state if my version of jacking in was taken away. As far as being “in” the matrix is concerned, between my Facebook, Twitter, and Foursquare accounts, I could only be more “in” if I truly were. On my Facebook, one can find all my day-to-day ramblings, pictures of my friends, accounts of my interactions with others, and reminders of events I’ve attended and plan to attend. On Twitter, one could read about 2000 short entries chronicling my life, starting in April 2009. On my Foursquare account, one can see where I’ve been the past couple of months, and where my body that is not in the matrix is at most times during the day. Perhaps Gibson caught onto what we’d be like thirty years later. He seems to have a good sense of the sort of withdrawals that one can experience when we can’t “jack in”. On top of this, Case can get stuck in the matrix, his body forgotten, or he can live on as a saved consciousness. In a way, this idea of a saved consciousness or disembodied personality is like the way we interact on Facebook. Though our bodies are not in the matrix, a piece of us, a piece that is every day less likely to be truly deleted, is still online. We can even leave messages for friends who have passed away, and speak to them as if we expected them to respond. While we’re away, our friends can interact with our online identities, leaving messages for us to attend to the next time we “jack in”. None of us are truly disconnected anymore. We may not feel ourselves going into the matrix, but we are increasingly like Case and his obsession.

Will we surrender to our computer overlords...?

The idea that a computer can understand the nuances of human language freaks me out. I can't lie, the first time I heard of "Watson" and its attempt to beat Ken Jennings at "Jeopardy!" I was not excited for how far humanity had come in being able to build such a thing -- I was a little worried that such a thing existed. Whether it's been because of dystopian novels or in movies (ranging from normal sci-fi stuff to Disney Channel tv ones), I've grown to see these super-computers as something that we should avoid (they could make all our electronics go haywire, trap us in our houses, etc). In reading Neuromancer, though, I've found myself rooting for Wintermute, and I thought I'd have my post be used toward considering why.

Firstly, I think the way Wintermute is introduced, through a very ominous sounding scenario and with just its name causing a bit of a stir for Case and Molly, I, especially as someone who is not fond of supercomputers, should have had my guard up about Wintermute.
But when Wintermute introduces itself (himself?...) to Case, the interaction seems so innocent, trying to find a way to connect with Case and apologizing when Linda Lee is the wrong way to do so.
This realization, and that's the only way I can think to call it, for Wintermute is an essentially human one. When people don't understand how they are coming off to those they are trying to connect with, we say that they have no social skills. While I'm sure it's not just a human thing (animals probably do this, too), I think we consider knowing how to interact with people a very non-computer sort of thing. I imagine most of us have felt the sheer frustration that comes from trying every option we can think of and having a computer produce the same ERROR message each time. Computer voices (which are addressed in Neuromancer, interestingly) are usually not very sensitive to how a listener would best understand or most easily follow a line of argument. Wintermute, then, in realizing that it (I typed "he" first. Agh!) had chosen a bad way of communicating with Case and then apologizing, is doing something very un-computer.

In being un-computer, Wintermute got me to sort of pull for it... But I'm not sure I like that.