On Friends

The days of summer have kept me from writing much of late. Who wants to sit and write when daylight lasts so long and it’s dry in the Northwest? A word processor seems a poor friend when compared to evening strolls and ice-cream in the park with my wife. Lately there, miraculously, is always a good excuse to be away from my desk. I love summers.

This last weekend reminded me of how much I love summers. Even more, it reminded me of how much I love friends. It is easy these days to forget the value of friends. I mean there is so much busyness and noise in a man’s life that it is easy to be friendless. It’s easy to look at the forest and miss the trees. It’s easy be distracted by all the responsibilities and worries of life; it’s easy to by distracted by the toys. It’s easy to think friends are what you check on Facebook.

This last weekend was different. A long time friend asked me to go fishing with him. This might not seem much but you lack the back story. I grew up in Alaska and the Northwest. My childhood was formed by rivers and lakes; Zebcos and hip boots. There was the time I almost fell head first into the white water rapids that would have swept me under a log jam to surely drown, and that time when dad almost walked right into a brown bear. I grew up outdoors and I remember landing my first fish while everyone believed it to be a snag; I still think I am right when everyone doubts me.  That fish might have made me the resilient man I am today. Sadly though, I have not fished in many years prior to last weekend. Life got in the way. I had jobs to do, money to worry about, toys to distract. If not for my friend, fishing would still be something that I used to do.  That is the value of a friend. They can remind you of who you are.

They can also remind you of who you want to be. The same friend joined me for a guy’s night out to watch Inception. It was surprising to me how quickly we fell into long debates about the meaning of a good story; of who were the good guys and who were the bad. Sci-fi is a shared passion, not because we are enamored with technology or we like the action. No, we both want to be inspired by a story. A good story can inspire you to be a better soul. A friend can help you be one.

It has been my experience when a person faces hard times or succumbs to the easy path of rebellion, the first thing to go is their dependability. They don’t show up for events and they stop caring about others. They become the centers of their own universe and friends become people they used to hang out with. I know this has been true of me; I am guilty of it. It is easy for me to become a slave to the grind of life. There is always one more paycheck to worry about or one more thing I must do. The simple peace of walking a river out in the middle of nowhere—the peace of silence becomes a luxury and unimportant. Friends become just people I see on the weekends in passing.

This weekend was different though; I was reminded of the true value of a friend by a friend

On Print

I have learned many valuable lessons in life from watching Monday Night Football. I learned about team, dedication, vanity, and defeat. I rooted for underdogs and hopeless cases; I had to because I was a Seahawks and Bills fan. One lesson has resonated with me stronger than most. One night, game and teams forgotten, I remember an announcer quoting Murray Kempton, “A critic is someone who enters the battlefield after the war is over and shoots the wounded.” After hearing those words I knew I did not want to be a critic. I never wanted to be the man who puffed himself up by lowering those around him. I wanted to be the guy on the battlefield—I have been the guy on the battlefield.

Times change, my battlefield days are at a close and my family days are just beginning. I too must change with the times. I am, with the help of academia and professors, changing my intellect from reaction to critical reasoning. I am learning to be a critical thinker. It is in this light that I write a criticism of the Clackamas Print. Not as someone shooting the wounded for kicks, but as someone who sees that the paper could be much more than it is.

My complaint starts in the year 1791, December 15^th to be exact. It is the date the first ten amendments to the US Constitution were ratified. It was the birth date of the Bill of Rights. It is also where any discussion on modern American journalism must start. The famous First Amendment is very unique: “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of the speech, or the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” The amendment protects only one industry out of the entire vast American economy, the press.

The founding statesmen of our country did not protect the press on a whim, nor did they do it out of a corrupt self interest. No, they did it because of complex philosophical and legal reasoning. Alexis De Tocqueville, a French observer of the American experiment, wrote about his nine month journey across America in 1831. His understanding of the importance of free press is very noteworthy. He wrote, “In a country where the doctrine of the sovereignty of people obviously holds, censorship is not simply a danger; even more it is an enormous absurdity.” The free press, like voting, private property, and market economics is fundamental to a republic; take one away and you are no longer in a free republic. Again Tocqueville explains:

In certain nations who claim to be free, any agents of the government may violate the laws with impunity and the constitution of the country gives no power of judicial redress to the victims. In such a nation the independence of the press must not be considered one of the guarantees but the only guarantee remaining for the freedom and safety of their citizens.

The idea that the press is more than just an industry, that it is in fact a protector of freedom—even more, a protector of the citizen—is at the heart of my complaint and disappointment with the Clackamas Print. The Print has forgotten why it is protected by the US Constitution.

The federal government cannot censor the Print, but the Print, whether intentionally or unintentionally, has in essence censored itself. An example of this is the article “Tuition Increase Predicted to Turn Away Returning Students,” by Brain Baldwin. Again, I write this not as an attack on the work of Mr. Baldwin but as a necessary complaint. The article deals with the raise in tuition voted on by the school board. It is almost fatalistic in its acceptance of the decision to increase tuition. The article reports that the board was forced to raise tuition because of a drop in state funding, propounding a view of the situation as given by members of the school board and members of the ASG. This is classic run-to-authority reporting. You should ask yourself if you are getting the whole story.

The opinion article by Annemarie Schulte entitled “Rising Tuition Costs Continue to Cause Anxiety for Students” takes us one step further down the slippery slope. The article starts nicely by saying that knowledge is power, but then Schulte somehow spends the rest of the article bemoaning the cost of tuition without ever offering any fix or even knowledge of the causes. The article vaguely blames the economy and asks the question why tuition always seems to go up but gives no answers. Schulte even goes so far as to say that fewer students are being admitted, which is factually not true. But the real blunder is this: why doesn’t either article ask the obvious question? How is the school spending all the money and why does it always seem to need more?

I did a quick and simple Google search to find the Schools proposed budget for 2010-2011. It is a treasure trove of financial foolishness and overspending. One graph clearly illustrates how Clackamas has continually overspent the state average for community college to educate students. Another telling section of the budget shows that the school is one hundred and twenty three million dollars in debt. A little investigative journalism on my part and you have a very different picture than the one the school board wants you to see, or consequently, what you find in the Print. I don’t share Schulte’s anxiety from feeling at the mercy of forces I can’t control or understand. It’s all there in black and white and red, mostly red. The current budget crisis has as much to do with a history of fiscal irresponsibility as it does with the current funding shortage. We are only short because we overspend and overgrow. This is the story the Print completely missed.

The tuition debate was the best chance for the Print to stand and defend its readers, to cry out against the tuition increase by promulgating the real facts of the matter; sadly the opportunity was lost. Some might argue that the Print should be objective and not take sides, but this is easily refuted. Objectivity in the face of injustice is no virtue. An objective industry needs no special protection in the Constitution. The press is not privileged without reason; it has a moral responsibility to its readers. It must be the champion of justice and truth for it readers. The Print, unintentionally or intentionally, did end up choosing sides in the debate. It did so by reporting only the words of the board members or others working for the school. It chose the school’s view at the expense of the students. Where was the Print when we needed its voice? It was justifying the tuition raise by censoring out important bits of the truth when it failed to report them. The battle was lost; the tuition went up.

The battle may have been lost but the struggle remains. There are other stories to write, and other injustices to right. If anything needs a good looking over, it is the ASG. Why do the ASG students never take a class on governing and then get a trip to Washington? Why does someone running on a “green” platform plaster every flat surface on campus with posters, thus destroying the natural beauty of the school? Just who gets those scholarships and how? The Print needs to remember why the press is so important to a healthy society. It needs to get its hands dirty and kick over some rocks.

I started this post not wanting to be a critic, and end with the same intention. No one admires the man that sits on the sidelines while there’s work to be done. This fall I plan to add my pen to the Clackamas Print. I want to be protected by the First Amendment as I challenge injustice. They say the pen is mightier than the sword. I have used the sword and found it lacking. It is time I use a pen, not to shoot the wounded, but to help fight for the common good. After all, Murray Kempton—he was a journalist.

On Joy

Joy is timeless. Joy is Freedom. Joy is future proof and starting for around thirty-six thousand dollars and quickly moving north. Bayerische Motoren Werke, or in English, Bavarian Motor Works will sell you joy—it is about time.

In the world around us, blood is dumped out in sand for oil, and oil is dumped out into the sea. Men work for mastery of their labors but never know the masters of their labor. The employer-employee relationship is a broken marriage, but that is no surprise in the land of no-fault divorce. What was once a family is quickly being replaced by “two income providers.” I am very glad someone will sell me joy because it is such a rare commodity in our declining culture.

Let’s take some time to deconstruct the new market campaign by BMW. At its heart is the idea it can sell us joy. But how? To get anywhere it is helpful to know who created the idea to sell joy. It is the brainchild of GSD&M Idea City, an advertisement company based out of Texas. You might recognize some of their other work. They are the creators of the US Air Force’s slick modern recruitment ads. Another client of theirs is good old John Deere. It strikes my curiosity whether a company that sells war can also sell joy and not be in a conflict of interest. I am not a pacifist, so the question is not as simplistic as it seems on the surface. It does give one pause though. Come to think of it, BMW was a company born of war.

Back to joy: the ads themselves are well crafted. I particularly like the “jump for joy” commercial that pokes fun at Audi in a clever way and make one want to jump from Audi to BMW. The ads overall are very positive and upbeat. They appeal to both the young and the young at heart. The cars are a status symbol but also address the concerns of those sensitive about the environment.

Owning a BMW also promises the owner a bright and safe future. One ad claimed Joy is future proof. What an odd statement that joy, or in this case owning a BMW, is future proof. It scared me when I understood the ad’s underlining assumption. It tells us the future is bad and you must guard against it; the future does not have joy. You need a BMW for that. You need a BMW to be future proof.

This seems to be a trend in ads of late. No longer is a product faster, stronger, better. They are spiritual. By buying a widget or gadget you can fill your social and spiritual needs. Spaces once filled by church and family and friends can be replaced by an object or so we are lead to believe. Joy is BMW.

The thing is, I really like BMWs. They are beautifully crafted cars. I also enjoy driving across the American landscape. A country drive is a joyful pastime for me. The ads really do resonate with me as a viewer, but yet I question how healthy is it to call an expensive man made object, Joy? Being media literate means we question meanings and read past the slogans. BMWs are joyful to drive but they are not the driving joy of my life. BMW is not joy the way joy should be understood. This is just another case of false advertisement.

On Bookstores

At this very moment do you want a glass of wine or a glass of water? Don’t answer straight away! Take a moment and think about your personal tastes. Maybe the situation will play a bigger factor than your tastes. If you are at work, it might not be the best time for a glass of wine. If you are eating a well prepared, succulent rack of lamb, maybe water is not the best choice. Mark Twain once quipped, “My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. (Fortunately) everybody drinks water.”

The experience of choosing a bookstore contains fundamentally the same question; it’s a matter of tastes and circumstances. I am going to compare a big chain book store with my favorite small independent “Mom and Pop” book store. I think each has its own place and value but they are fundamentally different experiences, much like water and wine.

I will start the comparison with my impressions of the Barnes & Noble at my local mall. Walking in, you are immediately hit with marketing, and lots of it. This is the lease attractive aspect of one of my favorite pastimes. I am already a fan of spending time in book stores so I don’t really need the extra sell. Walking in the door, one almost trips over the “Nook” help desk. They really, really—really— want you to buy one. E-book readers are the new front lines for big corporate booksellers. It is a sign of the changing times.

Once past the e-book stand you see a few tables set up to catch your eye. Unmistakably, they are placed smack dab in the middle of the walkway. There is no chance to get where you were headed without walking around a table. This was most definitely planned, but I don’t want to imply it was done so by some unseen evil mogul intent on my downfall. The table I walked around was neatly stacked with books about money, markets, and finances, one of my favorite subjects. I was happy to see many of the newest books written on the subject. It was as easy to find a book that would occupy my time as it is to find a refreshing glass of water.

For a completely different experience I will share with you another bookstore. If you travel north to the town of Auburn, Washington you find my home town and my favorite book store, Comstock’s Bindery and Book Store. It is a cozy little store on Main St. owned by a husband and wife pair. When you open the door, be sure not to let the cats out. This will likely not be much of a problem as they most often just stare at you somewhat lazily. The first impression you get, caused by the narrow walkways crowded with high bookshelves, is one of near claustrophobia. A strong feeling of history also permeates the quiet atmosphere; it is actually hard to find a new book in the store.

I enjoy this uniqueness and as I came of age in this town, I loved finding books no longer in print to add to my library. The sections on science fiction and military history were vast expanses of literary adventure for a young man eager to grow up. The bookstore not only taught me history, it became a part of my history.

At the end of the agonizing chore of choosing out only the books I could afford and replacing the rest on the shelves, I always enjoyed good conversation with the owner as he (or more often his wife) operated the old cash register. The outgoing books they logged in a paper notebook that somehow kept order to the flow of their inventory. A fair warning though: when you walked up to the counter, you often had to cough or make some other ruckus, as the owner was often oblivious to your presence, absorbed in the work of repairing old bindings and unloved books. Like old wine refined by time, Comstock’s is an acquired taste for a well developed palette.

So back to my original question: do you want water or wine? Do you want the easy convenience of a quick-stop bookshop, stylishly packed with every new thing, or do you want to spend some time exploring the deep rich and somewhat dusty history of literature? Both stores have their places; both serve a purpose. Water or wine, man needs to drink.

On Media

If you look out across the American social landscape, one distinction is clear—we are consumers. Consumption has replaced the old American dream. In 1865 a Frenchman named Jules Verne accurately predicted America would be the first nation to put men on the moon because, as he said, “The Yankees, the world’s best mechanics, are engineers the way Italians are musicians and Germans are metaphysicians: by birth.” Sadly, our dreams are no longer of putting men on the moon, and boldly going where no man has gone before; no, our dreams are filled with who Tiger Woods shagged and Team Edward vs Team Jacob.

If one consumes massive amounts of alcohol, we call them a drunk. If one consumes massive amounts of indiscriminate sex, we call them a deviant. If one consumes massive amounts of drugs, we call them an addict. If one consumes massive amounts of media, what do we call them? Informed, relevant, hip, popular? Like the eighteen year old who has never been taught how to drink responsibly, we consume our mass media and then get behind the wheel and expect the car to drive itself. It’s not surprising then we find our beloved America in a ditch and, make no mistake, it is we who have crashed the car. Just because we are too drunk to feel the effects now does not mean the consciences won’t be there tomorrow.

The last two days I have compiled a media log of all my personal consumption in the realm of mass media. While I don’t consider myself a drunk yet, there is definitely some bingeing I am not so proud of. Of late, I have been giving much thought to how, economically, I can move from a consumer to a producer. My internet usage reflects this quite accurately. On April 12^th I checked my stocks three times, and my wife’s book ranking four times; all during a twelve hour school day. At first glance I could say I spend most of my time working on the internet and be proud of myself; I am afraid you might be smarter then that. Is it really a productive use of my time to check my stocks three times a day? Would not my time be best spent reading a book that could teach me better ways to invests in stocks? What about checking book sales that I have no control over? Above my desk sits a sign that reads, “Don’t waste time.” It has proven a flimsy dam against the currents of mass media entertainment and only I am to blame.

Checking stock prices and book ranking is a form of entertainment to me; as boring as that sounds, it’s true. Ironically, the more conventional entertainment listed on my log—watching “Chuck” on Hulu—I am more proud of than I am of my work. When I watched “Chuck” it was with my wife. I watched the show not simply for the merits of the show but because it was an event to share with my wife. Thinking long term, we are both adamant that our children will not be raised by television, Wii, or i-anything. It is not that they are bad in and of themselves (I love my iPhone), it is more that we desire our entertainment to be a family event, something that brings us together as a whole. We will teach our children how to drink responsibly when they come of age, just as we will teach them how to watch TV responsibly. We might even read a book or two to them.

In conclusion, I have found keeping a media log very helpful and a bit damning at the same time. Just like when my wife made me start keeping a budget, I found I am not as well off as my pride leads me to believe. I sit here as a consumer. This consumer though has started to swim against the current. I am no longer floating by on a river of ignorance believing that what I consume does not matter; don’t look for me to partake in that drunken revelry.

Media Log

April 12^th – April 13^th.

April 12^th

7:05-7:15am Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ news, on personal computer.

8:04-8:37am Printed Oregon Constitution/ checked stocks/ e-mail/ book rankings at Vet Center.

11:20-11:50am Checked stocks/ e-mail/ read Oregonian online at Vet Center.

1:30-2:00pm Read the Wall St. Journal before class in class room.

7:35-7:42pm Checked e-mail on iPhone while waiting for ride home from classes.

7:46-8:00pm Listened to radio in the car on ride home.

8:55-9:12pm Checked book rankings/ Facebook on home computer.

April 13^th

6:30-6:48am Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ news, on personal computer.

7:43-8:23am Listened to radio in the car on ride to school/ read Wall St. Journal in

car.

11:30-12:22am Listened to radio in the car on ride home.

1:31-2:20pm Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ searched for book blogs on

personal computer.

4:03-5:30pm Listened to radio on Pandora (internet radio) at home/ read text book.

5:30-6:15pm Watched “Chuck” on Hulu.com on personal computer.

6:12-9:09pm Listened to radio on Pandora on personal computer.

9:09-10:00pm. Posted Media Log on personal blog/ checked email.

On 061020

061020—that is the numerical expression of modern democracy.

The other night I bravely ignored my growing backlog of homework and left the comforts of my wife’s company to witness our American democracy in action. Senator Jeff Merkley was holding a town hall meeting at Clackamas Community College. I eagerly journeyed across town unsure of what to expect. I have taken every class available to me on the subject of politics, but I have rarely been an actor in the process myself. It was exciting to be taking the next step. It was exciting to be part of a bigger conversation.

I arrived early and started signing the guest log. It was the old habits of a combat veteran that made me case the room. I first noticed the security guard standing prominently by the way. He looked in good shape to run about seven or eight paces before his heart burst from the effort. He looked about as bloated as our national debt. If I were a more devious soul, I knew I would be safe from any consequences. The guard would never catch me or any other without at least a year of Dr. Atkins’ help.

It was easy to see the guard was just a show piece, but that made me really start thinking; why is our democracy’s first impression one of force? Was I really in any danger? Did a simple town hall meeting need a guard? I was not even halfway through signing my name and I already had a sinking feeling about the evening and the health of our democracy.

The next surprise came as I was asked if I wanted to ask any questions of the Senator. I was a bit taken back--I had not really thought of any great questions yet, having just only signed my name to the guest log. I had naively assumed I would sit and listened before deciding if I wanted to voice any questions. Not that night; I was pleasantly informed by a man in a suit that questions were by lottery. If I wanted to ask a question, I would have to have a raffle ticket. I was given the sage advice of, “Better safe than sorry, might as well take a ticket.” My raffle number was 061020.

I took my seat early and was rewarded with a good view halfway up and in the middle. The setting was absolutely Shakespearean. The meeting was being held in the school’s theater of all places. The soft lighting, raised seating, and modern stage, all silently witnessed to the fact I was about to watch theatrics, not democracy. The smooth jazz playing even set a relaxing mood as we waited.

I looked around the room as a slow trickle of participants filtered in. The most disheartening fact of the whole evening was the sea of gray hair. I could have counted the people under thirty with out using any toes. The majority of the crowd looked over fifty and a handful looked like they had flown with Eddie Rickenbacker. Where was my generation? Do they even care? Modern Warfare 2 has a pause button I think. I did, in the end, recognize a few of my fellow students of politics. The reason was not extra credit but they, like me, have been shocked into concern by a slightly combative political science teacher who, to his credit, is a voice that breaks through the clutter and make one actually think in college.

To get on with the evening though, Sen. Merkley was nicely introduced by our town mayor. I must admit I enjoyed watching him speak. It was the same feeling as watching a great ballplayer hit it out of the park or seeing Pete Townshend windmill on his guitar. I was watching a professional in action; he only misquoted the US Constitution once. He worked the crowed with a soft delivery and easy smile. He deflected anger smoothly and turned every question into a speaking point for his cause. He was the most articulate person in the room; the poor souls who went up to ask questions never really stood a chance no matter how upset they were.

True to my family’s luck, my number was never called. I had thought up many questions to ask while Sen. Merkley talked, but my chance never came. 061020 was just an unlucky number I guess. My evening started out with excitement, but ended being more like a crap shoot. What I witnessed of democracy made me think more of the time my dad took me to a casino than anything else. It only lacked a good Elvis impersonator. Democracy was reduced to a Powerball ticket. I left that evening thinking more and more about how my teacher describes our democracy as having a cancer. I also thought a lot about my desire to become a surgeon.

On Captain Kirk

As a boy I was always inspired by heroes; one of my favorite heroes was Captain James T. Kirk of Star Trek. He saved not only the world and our galaxy but even the space-time continuum and humpback whales. My love of adventure and science fiction grew from watching Captain Kirk in classic films like the Wrath of Khan or the 1967 TV episode the “Arena.” There is nothing like a good mix of adventure and futuristic Sci-Fi technology.

One thing that always amazed me about Captain Kirk was his communicator. If you watch the early episodes from the sixties, you will see his communicator looked and acted exactly like a cell phone. I would even argue we have cell phones today because of Star Trek. The communicator was exactly like a cell phone in all but one aspect. It never seemed to go off at the wrong moment. It never, ever started blasting “Who let the dogs out?” and Captain Kirk never told his arch-enemy Kahn, “Hold on a sec, I have to get this.”

It seems absurd to imagine our heroes acting in such ways, but we ourselves don’t have any problem with it. We, as a society, need to rethink how we use communicators. Our cell phones interrupt in class, at work, and during church. I am as guilty as the next in having bad cell phone etiquette. What is worse, I never thought much of it, or if I did give it a second thought, I justified my actions. It is very easy to think a few interruptions are just the price we pay for progress. No one wants to be using strings and cans to communicate, and I am in no way an old curmudgeon who shuns technology. I love my iPhone. I have come to realize, however, how we use our cell phones reflects a bit about who we are. It is an ugly reflection.

To focus in on the problem, let us examine cell phone use in the classroom. We can use it as a microcosm of the bigger picture. On the surface the problem seems to be one of manners. Manners are a lost virtue in our society. They are the rules and customs we use to interact with each other and the medium for transferring respect. They are the visible manifestation of our ethics and values. Cell phones ringing out in class is a clear indicator that there is no longer a social norm forbidding interruptions in class. This in turn reflects how much we value education and our fellow students; we don’t respect either by the way we use our cell phones.

The simple do not see the value in manners. They only see the rules. “Don’t put your elbows on the table”, “Don’t wear your hat indoors”, “Don’t use your phone during class.” These rules become a random collection of archaic social restrictions; a bunch of rules made by old people who don’t want anyone to have fun. Peter Leithart says that, “Manners have a moral dimension but not all rules of manner are moral laws.” The simple understand the second part of his statement, but not the first. They don’t understand the moral dimension and only think of the rules.

There is a legitimate danger in one-for-one correlations of morals and manners, but that is not the ditch we find ourselves in. Manners, almost non-existent today, serve a deeper social purpose than the simple can understand. They are not a form of blind legalism enforced by the old. They guard us against fracturing important social bonds and allow us to think of others more than ourselves. They are, at the same time, both the window dressings and the steel girders of a healthy society.

The deeper we investigate the problem of cell phone use in class, the more we see it is not only about rudeness and manners. The heart of the problem is a much more dangerous unhealthy self-centeredness. I came to this conclusion not by any great deep revelation but by observing friends posting on Facebook while in class. Skip past how rude and distracting this is for the rest of the class, it was the messages they wrote that troubled me. The messages were all about how bad the class was and how the teacher was wrong about this or that. Do you see the danger?

The student has inverted the relationship with the teacher. The student, instead of respecting his own inferiority and having a humble thirst to learn, has become the judge and ruler over the class. It is no longer about learning what you can from a teacher; it is about telling all your friends about how un-entertained you are. A rude misuse of a cell phone and the ability to text allows everything to become about the student. They short circuit their own learning process even though “…it is the duty of the pupil to show himself teachable” according to Quintilian.

The classroom is not the only place this happens. I know of more than one friend who is constantly texting in all social occasions. Texting becomes more important than the people they are actually socializing with. This is because texting allows them to be the center of their own attention; a conversation with others does not. The text is addressed to them and them only; they always get to dominate the conversation. This is what I mean by an unhealthy self-centeredness, a simple inability to see past one’s own self and the consequences of actions. Our daily use of cell phones exposes both our aversion to manners and our deep rooted selfishness.

The old soldier in me has an easy fix. Outlaw all phones in class; simple, easy and effective. Enforce manners! If people cannot govern themselves the school should do it for them. Flog them all. We would be better off if the school had more backbone and the discipline to put an end to this rude behavior. I could learn more without interruptions, and students who text during class might be forced to pay attention.

The budding political scientist in me looks deeper and knows more rules will only cure the symptoms and not the root cause of our problem. Outlawing phones in class will not cause self-centered, simple minded people to think outside of their narrow horizons. The way to get people to expand their social consciousness is to be social with them. By building healthy relationships, we can teach people to look past themselves. By being good friends, we can teach the true worth of manners. The real fix is outside the class room.

How we use our cell phones is a reflection of our values. Changing our phone habits will improve our classrooms only slightly. If we take a deeper approach and strive to improve our social values, then we will see real benefits. The golden rule will not be like El Dorado, an unattainable dream. The gap between who we are and who our heroes are might not be as vast as we think. The future of Captain Kirk and communicators that don’t interrupt might not be so fantastic. So let’s turn off our cell phones and see what adventures the future might hold.