Sunday, September 24, 2006
Brief Encounters
There are no words in the English language unsullied by judgmental connotations. These are observations, not judgments.
In Britain, the problem was the death of society. Nobody talked to each other over the back wall any more. Divided communities, people afraid to go onto the streets, united only by shared viewing of Big Brother and the latest scandal on Coronation Street. Then even TV viewing lost its certainty, as we flicked aimlessly through hundreds of channels, failing to find a single thing to capture our attention.
Then, community came back. Starting, as with all societies, in the marketplace, eBay drew in hundreds, millions of new entrepeneurs and we discovered, oh joy, that we could shop without even leaving the house. Our shiny cars could be stationary for longer.
Meanwhile one generation discovered that it was no longer forbidden to dress in a skimpy outfit and drink, drink, flirt and dance after 30. Another found that the traditional rites of passage were blocked to them, as it became impossible to buy drink without proving you were at least 30. While the 25s to 50s turned the night-time city centre streets of the North of England into no-go zones, the feral children took the strips in between. The rest, the housebound, turned to virtual communities. Myspace, Friendster, Bibo, all places where making friends becomes displacement activitiy and a game of numbers. Friendships conducted in text, forming quickly and dissipating just as suddenly.
The online conversations may have been stunted by lack of punctuation, grammar their vocabulary was wide compared to the cloned bars frequented by the grown-ups. Shouting over loud music, impaired by drink, coupling decisions made on the basis of skirt length or unwillingness to say no to anything at all. Physical connections making the money spent on hair straighteners worthwhile, lives lived in the hope of 'living the dream' like Chantelle or Nikki and being able to go to more expensive bars in more glamorous locations which all look the same at 3am anyway.
A web of meaningless connection, perhaps. But a spark of hope. An accepting society, whose TV heroes can as easily be transexual, black, white or disabled. Perhaps fear of generalised groups, resentment over the high prices we have ourselves fuelled in our demands for housing profits and enormous government responsibility, but a greater level of integration than nearly all countries in the world. The question 'is muliticulturalism working' only asked as pointless rhetoric while the rest of the country simply live it, mixed-race children and teenagers from all backgrounds merging their accents and their words into something unique, a brand new language.
And was the meeting in the station tearoom in Brief Encounter fleeting, depressing and pointless, or romantic, daring and new? Do our transient, ever-changing connections make us shallow, like magpies, or dynamic and swift?
In Britain, the problem was the death of society. Nobody talked to each other over the back wall any more. Divided communities, people afraid to go onto the streets, united only by shared viewing of Big Brother and the latest scandal on Coronation Street. Then even TV viewing lost its certainty, as we flicked aimlessly through hundreds of channels, failing to find a single thing to capture our attention.
Then, community came back. Starting, as with all societies, in the marketplace, eBay drew in hundreds, millions of new entrepeneurs and we discovered, oh joy, that we could shop without even leaving the house. Our shiny cars could be stationary for longer.
Meanwhile one generation discovered that it was no longer forbidden to dress in a skimpy outfit and drink, drink, flirt and dance after 30. Another found that the traditional rites of passage were blocked to them, as it became impossible to buy drink without proving you were at least 30. While the 25s to 50s turned the night-time city centre streets of the North of England into no-go zones, the feral children took the strips in between. The rest, the housebound, turned to virtual communities. Myspace, Friendster, Bibo, all places where making friends becomes displacement activitiy and a game of numbers. Friendships conducted in text, forming quickly and dissipating just as suddenly.
The online conversations may have been stunted by lack of punctuation, grammar their vocabulary was wide compared to the cloned bars frequented by the grown-ups. Shouting over loud music, impaired by drink, coupling decisions made on the basis of skirt length or unwillingness to say no to anything at all. Physical connections making the money spent on hair straighteners worthwhile, lives lived in the hope of 'living the dream' like Chantelle or Nikki and being able to go to more expensive bars in more glamorous locations which all look the same at 3am anyway.
A web of meaningless connection, perhaps. But a spark of hope. An accepting society, whose TV heroes can as easily be transexual, black, white or disabled. Perhaps fear of generalised groups, resentment over the high prices we have ourselves fuelled in our demands for housing profits and enormous government responsibility, but a greater level of integration than nearly all countries in the world. The question 'is muliticulturalism working' only asked as pointless rhetoric while the rest of the country simply live it, mixed-race children and teenagers from all backgrounds merging their accents and their words into something unique, a brand new language.
And was the meeting in the station tearoom in Brief Encounter fleeting, depressing and pointless, or romantic, daring and new? Do our transient, ever-changing connections make us shallow, like magpies, or dynamic and swift?
