Sunday, July 25, 2010

Privacy, Anyone?

An article in today's New York Times got me thinking about identity, the various roles we play, who we are and what's on our minds. "The Web Means the End of Forgetting" offers a look at where we came from, how we evolved technologically and our near-addictive fascination with offering our selves up to the world for scrutiny. How many people do you know who do not have a Facebook or MySpace page, Twitter account or other social-networking site? Maybe you can count them on two hands. Narrowing the field further, who among your friends and co-workers doesn't own a cellular, iPhone or iTouch? Know anybody without a desktop, laptop, Kindle, Notebook or iPad? Now we're down to one hand, I'll bet. Younger readers probably have no acquaintance with such a Luddite.

The most oft-cited reference to our desire to be known by the public for our accomplishments, position, education or sex appeal is Andy Warhol's prophetic observation, "In the future everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes." It runs the gamut from YouTube covers to Balloon Boy and the unfortunate victim of media-run-amok, Shirley Sharrod. It's all out there-- someone's cellphone footage, the cameras descending, your embarrassing admission in a weak moment status update or this blog entry: our need to make an imprint on the collective consciousness. My baby is beautiful, here's a feat worth filming, I was quoted out of context, he threw the first punch. Whatever the fodder, the mill is always running.

At what point did we cross this threshold and plunge boldly in where man heretofore had never gone before? How eager we are, in general, to expose ourselves, report our activities, political slant, spiritual point of view or tag the latest digital photo. The expression, "She's a very private person," has little currency in the new millennium, not when she's broadcasting details of her personal life for the Internet to gobble and forever enshrine. True, some eschew instant-access machines in favor of subtlety or subterfuge. But by and large, we as a nation have become consumers of tidbits barely worth our consumption, let alone hours basking in the glow of an animated screen.

I joined Facebook because a old friend "invited" me to, which simply meant the engine scanned his email list and sent out the word. Into Face Forum I leaped, contacting people I hadn't seen or spoken to in decades, "friending" strangers and fending off pseudo-stalkers. Pictures of me in my prime went up, as did my opinions on everything from food to fascists. Like a child with its new toy I took quizzes asking absurd questions with misspellings aplenty, reported important and insignificant events, took sides and sought advice. Above all, I solicited attention. When some guy speaking Farsi begged me to watch his music video I hit delete and "defriended."

Sure, it's fun, I'm connected, in touch and aware but at what cost? I have a mobile phone that dates back to the Stone Age and prefer to read the written word on paper. I'm irritated when the bank can't reply to a simple query because of C. A. D. : Computers Are Down. Is it old-fashioned, to use an antiquated phrase, not to jump on the bandwagon and ride into infinity with notoriety nipping at my heels? Once you put it into our spinning sphere it ain't gonna boomerang. Call it second thoughts or abject regret, but I'm wishing I could retrieve a whole lotta data.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Mel's Madness

With the latest Mel Gibson implosion currently fueling office cooler commentary, it seemed an appropriate time to reflect on public displays of bad behavior. Or private ones, for that matter. Mel is apparently guilty of both, having made a series of offensive remarks during his drunk driving arrest four years ago and now, caught on audio tape by his girlfriend, dishing out a litany of abuse. The first incident could be chalked up to drunken nonsense, or so his publicist might say. But it had to be obvious to even Mel's fans that calling a female police officer "sugar tits" and tirades against Jews revealed his sexist, anti-Semitic side. There were rumors of this before, during promotion for his film "The Passion of the Christ," which reportedly depicted Jews in a stereotypical and historically inaccurate fashion. Not surprising, since the star's father is a Holocaust denier.

Mel's wife of 28 years and seven children, Robyn, divorced him in April of last year. That left him with a girlfriend and a "love child." Listening to the the tape of Oksana Grigorieva getting lambasted by Gibson is gut-wrenching. One thinks of all the victims of partner abuse and domestic violence who don't have a public forum to air their grievances. Gibson's verbal evisceration of Oksana goes so far beyond the pale it sounds like a B-grade horror film. Mel comes across like a killer in a slasher reel, complete with heavy breathing, endless threats and unbridled profanity. It's also clear he's a raving bigot. The agency that used to represent him has cut him loose. It's hard to imagine anyone willing to touch him after this exposure. He's a candidate for the Hollywood loony bin, far from the golden boy clutching Oscars for "Braveheart."

Similarly, parents reacted with disdain to the audio clip of Alec Baldwin's argument with his then-eleven-year-old daughter. Baldwin is not even in the ballpark with Mel on this one. He's just a tired, irritated father having a bad day, railing against his child for her thoughtless approach to their pre-arranged phone calls. He calls her mother, his ex-wife Kim Basinger, "an ass" which is tame compared to the gamut of expletives Mel rains down on his mistress.

If we are being honest with ourselves, if someone taped us at our worst we'd have a lot to account for. There is no defense for the loathsome Mad Mel, but the contemptible diatribe touched on some visceral elements found in many relationships. At one point Mel says, "You make my life so f---ing difficult." At another he tells her she has no soul, that they share "no spiritual common ground." I can relate to that one. I'm just not threatening to kill my husband over it. It was scary for my spouse to hear it too, for he also recognized the desperation in Gibson's screeching voice. It's an object lesson in the primal side of human behavior, a glimpse of the moral abyss, the car wreck you can't help rubbernecking. And sadly, it's another piece of entertainment on our info-driven radar screens.