I’m bracing myself for a deep dive into this book, which is billed as an unflinching look at the dangers tech leviathans Apple, Google, Facebook and Amazon pose to human freedom and self-determination. Author Franklin Foer is the former editor of the liberal New Republic magazine. He was hired in that role shortly after the magazine was bought by Facebook co-founder Chris Hughes in 2012. It was a time when clickbait was ascendant and few people understood (or cared about) the extent of personal data collection taking place. The book has its defenders and detractors. Bouncing around the various reviews of the book, pro and con, is not unlike wading through a contentious Facebook comment thread. I’m looking forward to reading it myself so I can form my own opinion 🤔📖
When it comes to drugs, the most powerful one I’ve ever tried, by far, is morphine. I’ve tried others; there’s no honor in pretending otherwise. But it was morphine that helped me understand the true allure — and consequence — of humanity’s long, thorny love affair with mind-altering substances.
Before my experience with morphine, I thought that different kinds of mind-altering substances had different purposes: alcohol to relax; marijuana to alter perspective; tobacco to ease stress; pain-killers to, well, kill the pain. After my experience with morphine, I came to understand that mind-altering substances actually have only one true purpose, which they never achieve: to kill pain. So many different kinds of pain. Physical pain, emotional pain, psychological pain, social pain. The human condition is defined by pain. We are born with it, we live with it, and it lives on in our loved ones after we are gone.
With morphine, I learned that it is not possible to kill pain. One can prevent it, or failing that, delay it — but eventually we all must endure it. What morphine does frighteningly well is put the pain on a very long, very distant, and very soothing layaway. And when it comes due, it comes with a substantial amount of interest.
I wouldn’t be alive today without the modern anesthetics and pharmaceuticals that made it possible for neurosurgeons to slice open my head, vaporize a section of my skull using an insanely fast surgical drill, cut through the labyrinth of my inner ear to expose the nerve bundle behind it, and delicately resect (cut out) the strawberry-sized tumor that had grown around the nerve bundle the way an old tree grows around the wires of a chain link fence. I would have died from the intense pain; I would have died from the trauma; I would have died from infection. There are a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t be alive today, but here I am. And one of my biggest heroes of the whole painful and terrifying affair, besides my wife, my children, my parents and extended family, my friends, my employer, my health insurance, and my amazing, god-like surgical team, was morphine.
The full force of a massive and thunderous waterfall falling directly onto the right side of my head, which is pinned against a rock at the bottom. A hydraulic press bearing down with four tons of force, merciless and unrelenting. A thousand watts of microwave energy screaming pain and emanating inward from the furthest reaches of space, yet outward at the same time. I felt magnitudes of pain after my surgery. I never forgot for a moment it was there. I could see it and touch it in my mind, painfully and viscerally, and I didn’t care. The morphine drip took care of it. The morphine didn’t erase the pain. The pain was still vivid, torrential, devastating. The pain was shredding me into millions of jagged strips that I would never put together in the same way ever again. I just didn’t care about it at the moment.
Drip… drip… drip.
I tell myself that I am a lucky person, because I have figured out the key to my life: F-sharp, or sometimes G-flat, depending on my mood. It’s the tone that accompanies my day, every moment of my waking life, and deep into the hours I spend asleep.
Ten years ago, the living mechanism that transmits sounds from my right ear to my brain was purposefully destroyed. What may be most surprising about this violent and irreversible act is that when it happened and I lost my hearing on one side forever, I was more grateful than I ever have been in my life. This is because it quite literally saved my life.
But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still feel the loss. I feel it every day, some days to the point of tears, because I’m reminded of it every day, every second of my life — loudly.
Press play to hear what tinnitus sounds like. Remember to turn up the sound on your device. Be careful – the sound can be loud and irritating. This audio is the best approximation I could find of the constant ringing sound I personally “hear.” My personal volume is set between six and seven. Audio file courtesy of American Tinnitus Association
It’s true that the mechanism of my inner ear, called the labyrinth, cannot transmit any sound to my brain — not even a nuclear blast would register even the tiniest audio signal in my right ear because my labyrinth on that side doesn’t function. Still, the brain is nothing if not inscrutable at times, and often responds to signal changes in unpredictable ways.
The day my right ear went deaf to external sounds, I began to “hear” a new sound from within. I began to hear, quite clearly and loudly, the sound of F-sharp (or G-flat), ringing true and high above a constant haze of static noise. So far my brain has held that note uninterrupted for ten years. I’m placing my bet that it will hold for the rest of my life. I hope it lasts a long, long time.
The doctor called me the morning after my MRI scan. Her voice was calm and soothing but purposeful. “I’d like you to come in so we can review the results of your MRI together. Does 2:30 this afternoon work for you and your wife to come in? Very good, I’ll see you then.” She said more than just these words during the call. But of all her carefully framed expressions, these left the most vivid and indelible impressions on the canvas of my memory. We immediately made arrangements for my parents to watch our children, and made the journey to the doctor’s office that afternoon.
They’re passé now, but there was a time when everyone wanted a flip-phone. They were the ultimate in hip and sleekness, a major upgrade from the old “brick” phones. Being able to call people up whenever you wanted, from wherever you were in any given moment — that was an awesome new freedom. And flipping it open and shut was such a cool feeling, like having a Star Trek communicator (if you’re into that), or like being an international jet-setter closing million dollar deals from the deck of your yacht (if you’re into that).
Back in those days, I mainly used my flip-phone to take photos of my children and to talk to my wife while I commuted long miles home from work. My boys were very young at the time, and talking to my wife about the events of their day was by far the best part of my long, slow evening drive across the bridge over San Francisco Bay. Back then, there were no “hands-free” driving laws. In bumper-to-bumper traffic, every other driver had a phone stuck to the side of their face, myself included. It was awesome, and more dangerous than anyone knew at the time.
The other awesome (and dangerous) thing about flip-phones was the camera. I loved being able to take as many pictures as I wanted without developing every shot. Plus, I could upload and share pictures with others — that was a completely new and amazing freedom back then. I started my Facebook account for the sole purpose of uploading photos of my kids, because it was the easiest way to get the photos out of my flip-phone and onto a computer.
Some people think that cell phones can cause brain tumors. Others have gone to great lengths to assure us that they don’t. I personally don’t think that modern cell phones pose a significant risk of brain tumors. To be honest, I wonder but don’t know how much risk there was ten or twelve years ago, back in the wild-and-woolly days of flip-phones.
One thing I remember very clearly is the warm sensation I would feel deep inside my ear after talking on my flip-phone for a long time. But that may simply have been because the phone was warm, and my ear was warm, and two warm things tend to warm each other up even more, when they’re held closely to each other.
Cell phones are a truly great and revolutionary human invention. There seems to be no limit to the technological advancement the human race is capable of achieving. I hope and believe in my heart that this statement is true. I hope that it stays true, and comes true. If within my lifetime the next great human invention is an actual working time machine, one of the first things I’d use it for would be to go back in time to 2005 and tell past-me to never put a flip-phone to my ear ever again. Just to be safe.
“This is an impressive room,” I blurted out through a murky yet uniquely crisp haze of hospital-grade sedative. The operating room gave me the impression of a space capsule’s cockpit, with densely arranged lights and stainless steel instruments and complicated gauges and monitors crowding the walls and suspended from the ceiling all around, except this rocket ship’s cockpit was the size of a living room and everything was focused on a large white operating bed in the center. The room was filled with at least a dozen surgeons in blue surgical gear and masks, standing elbow-to-elbow each at his or her respective station and instruments. They all turned their heads and faced the doorway when I entered the room clothed in a hospital gown and uttered my comment. They paused for only a fraction of a second before turning their backs to their preparations.
Hayward’s new library is taking shape. Crews have begun installing massive glass panels for the three story front window. Primarily built of steel, concrete, glass, and terracotta and powered by solar energy produced onsite, the 21st Century Library is the most environmentally sustainable public building ever to begin construction in Hayward. I feel incredibly fortunate to have a front row seat to its construction – from the window of my office in the old library across the street.
Technology can do so many things, but lest we get carried away, we should always remember that paper is good, and it’s definitely here to stay. Here’s thirty seconds of brilliant advertising which illustrates that perfectly:
Did you know that people who read books in their free time are also more likely to attend a sports event? And readers are over two-and-a-half times more likely to volunteer in their community. Reading books is good not just for the reader, but for the community and the economy. So today, put down your smartphone and close your laptop for one hour, and put your face in a book.
(Data source: “Reading on the Rise: A New Chapter in American Literacy,” a 2009 report by the National Endowment for the Arts.)
The latest issue of Rotary International’s monthly magazine The Rotarian features a cover story on the allure of books by “negative-styled humorist” and Wall Street Journal columnist Joe Queenan. Of particular note are the accompanying photo illustrations, which I found to be as intriguing and thought-provoking as the article itself.
As a proud member of my local Rotary club, I know how much Rotary supports reading and literacy in communities around the world. For example, here in Hayward the Rotary club raises over $20,000 each year to provide a children’s dictionary to every third grader in Hayward — all 2,200 of them. As a librarian, I know that studies show that children who have access to books in their home do better in school, go farther in their educations, and earn more in later life. But as a Rotarian, for me the best part of the dictionary project is simpler than that — it’s seeing these children’s faces light up when they first get their dictionaries and start leafing through the pages. These dictionaries are beautiful hardcover editions, filled with gorgeous full color photos and illustrations, almost like single-volume encyclopedias. And when we tell them that these books are theirs to keep, the looks of delight and amazement on their faces… well, it is a priceless moment. And when they ask, why is Rotary giving us these books?, the answer is equally priceless — because we care about you, we care about kids in our community, and we want you have everything you need to learn and grow and do your very best in school.
That connection, that passing of the torch of knowledge is one of the essential joys of reading. Learning is a lifelong adventure that deepens and enriches our lives in so many ways. And we all have a part to play in paying it forward to the next generation through the enduring power of books.
Rotary International has 1.2 million members in more than 34,000 clubs worldwide. Rotary members volunteer in communities in every corner of the globe, at home and abroad to support education and job training, provide clean water, combat hunger, improve health and sanitation, and eradicate polio. To learn more, and to find a Rotary club in your community, visit www.rotary.org.
Library Journal published a feature story on Hayward Public Library’s teen filmmaking project, Now We Can Dance: The Story of the Hayward Gay Prom. The film is a remarkable achievement–a moving and inspiring look into the history, meaning, importance, and impact of the Hayward Gay Prom, one of the longest-running LGBTQ youth events of its kind in the country. It features several past and present attendees and organizers of the prom, as well as local leaders who played key roles in forming and supporting the event. Eighteen months in the making, the film was produced by local Hayward youth under the guidance of Academy-Award winning documentarian Debra Chasnoff (Deadly Deception; Let’s Get Real) and library staff with a grant from CalHumanities and additional support provided by Friends of Hayward Public Library.As well as being a celebration of a very special and unique youth event, Now We Can Dance masterfully and unflinchingly examines the pool of hate and intolerance that has been directed toward LGBTQ youth from the Gay Prom’s inception in 1995 to the present day, embodied in the sickening protests that accompany the event, and it brilliantly captures how the community literally “bands together” to respond to and neutralize these hateful displays. The manner in which the event’s supporters counteract the poisonous viewpoints of the protesters is nothing short of triumphant. A bit rough around the edges production-wise, but otherwise flawless in its passion and grace, Now We Can Dance, is unquestionably a landmark achievement in the history of HPL, one that “takes the concept of a local history project to the next level,” to paraphrase the LJ article.
The next stop for the film will hopefully be acceptance to the upcoming Frameline film festival in San Francisco where the film has been submitted for consideration, and beyond that, possible distribution to a wider audience via DVD.
Kudos to my colleague Laurie Willis for her extraordinary work producing this film.
At the public library, our goal is to deliver equal opportunity in education to all. This is because we believe that education is the key to a stronger, brighter future for any community. Whether it’s through our early childhood education classes for young children and parents, after school homework support for students, literacy tutoring for adults who lack basic reading and writing proficiency, or English as Second Language training for non-native speakers of English, we place an emphasis on meeting the lifelong learning needs of every member of our diverse community. In this regard, the Library is truly the community’s learning center.
Books will always be the heart and soul of the library, but our educational mission extends far beyond books—and even beyond the four walls of our buildings. Through new partnerships and innovative programs, we continuously strive to meet our community’s changing educational needs.
For example, the City of Hayward opened a new afterschool homework center in September at Longwood Elementary School, in partnership with Hayward Unified School District. The new center provides customized one-to-one homework tutoring to students with the help of trained volunteers. Over 200 students received homework assistance in its first week of operation.
Longwood Center is also the home of Hayward’s first Public Library Book Vending Machine. It looks like a snack vending machine, but, instead of chips and candy, it’s stocked with Hayward Public Library books! The new homework center and book vending machine provide access to public library books and services where previously there was none.
Through partnership, innovation, technology, and the support of community volunteers like you, we can continue to build new educational opportunities and a brighter future for every Hayward resident—of every age. To learn more about how people can help make a positive difference in the community, visit the City’s website and its volunteering opportunities.