Now You See Him, Now You Don't

Phillip Seymour Hoffman died in his apartment today, found with a needle sticking out of him.  A man with immense talent and--I thought--good brains to boot, he must have been haunted by demons and secret desires and ended up dying, utterly alone, in the end.  His death made me think of the warnings of an old book written by another smart man. 

In 1985, Neil Postman wrote "Amusing Ourselves to Death," an account that predicted television and its content would lead to society's demise.  I think "Facebook" or "Twitter" or "smartphones" could exchange places with "television" and Postman's ideas would still hold true.

It is ironic that in this, the most connected of all ages, so often, we are alone.  Alone with our devices which become vices which become crisis.

The other day, when I looked across the East library, I saw dozens of people, some sitting shoulder to shoulder.  Yet, virtually every one of them was alone, disconnected from the people sitting next to them, as they maniacally managed their digital selves.

I am not suggesting that these kids will move from smartphones to heroin; rather, I am trying to make sense of a society filled with so many disconnected, isolated people who so willingly give up the flesh for the promise of a few moments of fabricated amusement.

Certainly, I'm no better.  Here I sit, after all, on a sparkly, windless Sunday afternoon, staring into the screen of my laptop, lamenting this addiction to all things electronic.  Even my dog, Finn, knows not to pester me when my fingers dance across the keyboard.  Not that he doesn't try, repositioning himself under my legs, his ears perked up as he scans the backyard antics of the neighborhood squirrels.

Yet, I cannot be bothered with all of that.  Eventually, he slunks back to his dog bed, a long sigh of resignation as he mumbles something biting under his acrid breath.

It would do me good to wrap this thing up and throw on a coat right now.  To pull myself away from these thoughts, the nagging image of Phillip Seymour Hoffman, slumped against a chair, lifeless and alone-- and me, sitting by myself, staring into the screen of my computer.