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=Excerpts=
=Excerpts=


Douglas Rushkoff:
Under embargo until March 20.
 
 
==From the Preface:==
 
“Our society has reoriented itself to the present moment. Everything
is live, real time, and always on. It’s not a mere speeding up,
however much our lifestyles and technologies have accelerated the
rate at which we attempt to do things. It’s more of a diminishment
of anything that isn’t happening right now— and the onslaught of
everything that supposedly is.
 
It’s why the world’s leading search engine is evolving into a live,
customized, and predictive fl ow of data branded “Google Now”;
why email is giving way to txting, and why blogs are being superseded
by Twitter feeds. It’s why kids in school can no longer engage
in linear arguments; why narrative structure collapsed into reality
TV; and why we can’t engage in meaningful dialogue about last
month’s books and music, much less long- term global issues. It’s
why an economy once based on long- term investment and interest-bearing
currency can no longer provide capital to those who plan to
put it to work for future rewards. It’s why so many long for a “singularity”
or a 2012 apocalypse to end linear time altogether, and
throw us into a posthistoric eternal present— no matter the cost to
human agency or civilization itself.
 
But it’s also how we find out what’s happening on the streets of
Iran before CNN can assemble a camera crew. It’s what enables
an unsatisfied but upwardly mobile executive to quit his job and
move with his family to Vermont to make kayaks— which he
thought he’d get to do only once he retired. It’s how millions of
young people can choose to embody a new activism based in patient
consensus instead of contentious debate. It’s what enables companies
like H& M or Zara to fabricate clothes in real time, based on
the instantaneous data coming from scanned tags at checkout counters
five thousand miles away. It’s how a president can run for office
and win by breaking from the seeming tyranny of the past and its
false hope, and tell voters that “we are the thing we have been waiting
for.”
 
Well, the waiting is over. Here we are.
 
If the end of the twentieth century can be characterized by futurism,
the twenty-first can be defined by presentism.
 
The looking forward so prevalent in the late 1990s was bound
to end once the new millennium began. Like some others of that
era, I predicted a new focus on the moment, on real experience, and
on what things are actually worth right now. Then 9/ 11 magnified
this sensibility, forcing America as a nation to contend with its own
impermanence. People had babies in droves,1 and even filed for divorces,
2 in what was at least an unconscious awareness that none of
us lives forever and accompanying reluctance to postpone things indefinitely.
 
Add real- time technologies, from the iPhone to Twitter;
a disposable consumer economy where 1-Click ordering is more important
than the actual product being purchased; a multitasking
brain actually incapable of storage or sustained argument; and an
economy based on spending now what one may or may not earn in
a lifetime, and you can’t help but become temporally disoriented.
 
It’s akin to the onslaught of changing rules and circumstances that
1970s futurist Alvin Toffl er dubbed “future shock.”
 
Only, in our era it’s more of a present shock. And while this phenomenon
is clearly “of the moment,” it’s not quite as in the moment
as we may have expected.
 
For while many of us were correct about the way all this presentism
would affect investments and finance, even technology and
media, we were utterly wrong about how living in the “now” would
end up impacting us as people. Our focus on the present may have
liberated us from the twentieth century’s dangerously compelling
ideological narratives. No one — well, hardly anyone — can still be
convinced that brutal means are justified by mythological ends.
 
And people are less likely to believe employers’ and corporations’
false promises of future rewards for years of loyalty now. But it has
not actually brought us into greater awareness of what is going on
around us. We are not approaching some Zen state of an infi nite moment,
completely at one with our surroundings, connected to others,
and aware of ourselves on any fundamental level.
 
Rather, we tend to exist in a distracted present, where forces on
the periphery are magnifi ed and those immediately before us are ignored.
 
Our ability to create a plan — much less follow through on
it— is undermined by our need to be able to improvise our way
through any number of external impacts that stand to derail us at
any moment. Instead of finding a stable foothold in the here and
now, we end up reacting to the ever- present assault of simultaneous
impulses and commands.
 
In some senses, this was the goal of those who developed the
computers and networks on which we depend today. Mid-twentieth-century
computing visionaries Vannevar Bush and J. C. R. Licklider
dreamed of developing machines that could do our remembering for
us. Computers would free us from the tyranny of the past — as well
as the horrors of World War II — allowing us to forget everything and
devote our minds to solving the problems of today. The information
would still be there; it would simply be stored out of body, in a machine.
 
It’s a tribute to both their designs on the future and their devotion
to the past that they succeeded in their quest to free up the
present of the burden of memory. We have, in a sense, been allowed
to dedicate much more of our cognitive resources to active RAM
than to maintaining our cerebral- storage hard drives. But we are
also in danger of squandering this cognitive surplus on the trivial
pursuit of the immediately relevant over any continuance of the innovation
that got us to this point.
 
Behavioral economists exploit the growing disparity between
our understanding of the present and that of the future, helping us
see future debts as less relevant than current costs and leading us to
make financial decisions against our own better interests. As these
ways of understanding debt and lending trickle up to those making
decisions about banking and macrofinance— such as the Federal
Reserve or the European Central Bank— our greater economies end
up suffering from the same sorts of logical traps as those of individual
mortgage holders and credit card users.
 
Neuroscientists, mostly at the service of corporations looking to
develop more compliant employees and consumers, are homing in
on the way people make choices. But no matter how many subjects
they put in their MRI machines, the focus of this research is decision
making in the moment, the impulsive choices made in the
blink of an eye, rather than those made by the lobes responsible for
rational thought or consideration. By implementing their wares solely
on the impulsive— while diminishing or altogether disregarding the
considered— they push us toward acting in what is thought of as an
instinctual, reptilian fashion.
 
And this mode of behavior is then justified as somehow more
connected to the organic, emotional, and more relevant moment
in which human beings actually live. Of course, this depiction of
consciousness may help sell the services of neurotechnicians to advertisers,
but it does not accurately represent how the human brain
actually relates to the moment in which the organism exists.
 
No matter the technologies at their disposal, marketers and
pollsters are never looking at people actually choosing their products
or candidates; they are looking at what people just bought or
thought, and making calculations based on that after-the-fact data.
 
The “now” they seek to understand tells them nothing about desire,
reasons, or context. It is simply an effort to key off what we have
just done in order to manipulate our decisions in the future. Their
campaigns encourage the kinds of impulsive behavior that fool us
into thinking we are living in the now, while actually just making
us better targets for their techniques.
 
That is because there is no now—not the one they’re talking
about, anyway. It is necessarily and essentially trivial. The minute the
“now” is apprehended, it has already passed. Like they used to say
about getting one’s picture on a Time magazine cover: the moment
something is realized, it is over. And like the diminishing beauty returns
for a Botox addict, the more forcefully we attempt to stop the
passage of time, the less available we are to the very moment we seek
to preserve.
 
As a result, our culture becomes an entropic static hum of everybody
trying to capture the slipping moment. Narrativity and goals
are surrendered to a skewed notion of the real and the immediate; the
Tweet; the status update. What we are doing at any given moment
becomes all- important— which is behavioristically doomed. For this
desperate approach to time is at once fl awed and narcissistic. Which
“now” is important: the now I just lived or the now I’m in right now?
 
In the following chapters, we will explore present shock as it
manifests in a variety of ways, on a myriad of levels. We will look
at how it changes the way we make and experience culture, run our
businesses, invest our money, conduct our politics, understand science,
and make sense of our world. In doing so, we will consider
panic reactions to present shock right alongside more successful approaches
to living outside what we have always thought of as time.”
 


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[[Category:P2P Theory]]
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[[Category:Books]]
[[Category:Books]]

Revision as of 07:38, 4 March 2013

* Book: PRESENT SHOCK: When Everything Happens Now. By Douglas Rushkoff. Penguin, 2013.

URL =


Review

Publishers Weekly:

"“Whether or not readers are familiar with the concept of presentism—the theory that society is more focused on the immediacy of the moment in front of them (actually more specifically on the moment that just passed) than the moment before or, perhaps more importantly, the future—they’ve certainly felt the increasing pressure of keeping up with various methods of communication, be it texting, Web surfing, live interactions, or a litany of other media for staying “connected.” Using Alvin Toffler’s concept of “future shock” as a jumping-off point, media theorist Douglas Rushkoff (Cyberia; Get Back in the Box; Media Virus; etc.) deftly weaves in a number of disparate concepts (the Home Shopping Network, zombies, Kurzweil’s Law of Accelerating Returns, Internet mashups, hipsters’ approximation of historical ephemera as irony, etc.) to examine the challenge of keeping up with technological advances as well as their ensuing impact on culture and human relations in a world that’s always “on.” By highlighting five areas (the rise of moronic reality TV; our need to be omnipresent; the need to compress time in order to achieve our goals; the compulsion to connect unrelated concepts in an effort to make better sense of them; and a gnawing sense of one’s obsolescence), Rushkoff gives readers a healthy dose of perspective, insight, and critical analysis that’s sure to get minds spinning and tongues wagging.”


Excerpts

Contents

Douglas Ruskoff:

“The book is divided into five sections, corresponding to the fi ve main ways that present shock manifests for us. We begin with the collapse of narrative. How do we tell stories and convey values without the time required to tell a linear story? How does pop culture continue to function without traditional storylines, and how does politics communicate without grand narratives? We move on to “Digiphrenia”—the way our media and technologies encourage us to be in more than one place at the same time. We’ll see that our relationship to time has always been defi ned by the technologies we use to measure it, and that digital time presents particular challenges we haven’t had to contend with before. In “Overwinding,” we look at the effort to squish really big timescales into much smaller ones. It’s the effort to make the passing moment responsible for the sorts of effects that actually take real time to occur. In particular, what does this do to business and fi nance, which are relying on increasingly derivative forms of investment? Next we look at what happens when we try to make sense of our world entirely in the present tense. Without a timeline through which to parse causes and effects, we instead attempt to draw connections from one thing to another in the frozen moment, even when such connections are forced or imaginary. It’s a desperate grasp for real- time pattern recognition I’ll call “Fractalnoia.” Finally, we face “Apocalypto”—the way a seemingly infi nite present makes us long for endings, by almost any means necessary.

We will encounter drone pilots contending with the stress of dropping bombs on a distant war zone by remote control before driving home to the suburbs for supper an hour later. We will see the way the physical real estate of Manhattan is being optimized for the functioning of the ultrafast trading algorithms now running the stock market— as well as what this means for the human traders left in the wake. We will encounter doomsday “preppers” who stock up on silver coins and ready-to-eat meals while dismissing climate change as a conspiracy theory hatched by Al Gore and since exposed in an email scandal. 3 We will consider the “singularity”—as well as our scientifi c community’s response to present shock— especially for the ways it mirrors the religious extremism accompanying other great social shifts throughout history.

Most important, we will consider what we human beings can do to pace ourselves and our expectations when there’s no temporal backdrop against which to measure our progress, no narrative through which to make sense of our actions, no future toward which we may strive, and seemingly no time to fi gure any of this out.

I suggest we intervene on our own behalf— and that we do it right now, in the present moment. When things begin accelerating wildly out of control, sometimes patience is the only answer. Press pause.

We have time for this."

Excerpts

Under embargo until March 20.