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  American Midol

American Midol: Down with R.I.P.? Rippers Holla, "No, Not Me!"

For communicators, these are heady, heady times.

Every nanosecond the Gods of Technology throw at us new and scintillating ways to express ourselves however we see fit.

THEN – like seasoned pushers hell-bent on proliferating the fix – they offer up countless cyberducts to hurl our fabrications out to the faceless, ravenous, and insatiable masses.

Text messaging, IM-ing, blogging, video blogging, podcasts, video conferencing, telepresence, streaming audio, iMovies, photo-journaling, satellite radio…

JEEZUM B. CROWFISH, but the possibilities are SOOPAH-FLY!

Create - click – share – show – blast – multitask – simulcast – crash-n-BURN-BURN-BURN, baby! This is a life in which the pop and sap of our souls are mass-produced and introduced to friends and strangers whether they care to receive it or not.

With Nostradamus-like precision, Dr. Suess outlined our present indie-media surfeit in his 1975 hoot, Oh, the Thinks You Can Think!, which The New York Times said "Contains one of Dr. Seuss's solid-gold morals, the joy of letting one's imagination rip."

Yes – JOY, for sure. Ecstasy, even! But there's a little problem for us communicating junkies. Our imaginations aren't just ripping.

They're damn near ripping apart.

Our brains are racing to exist and record our existences in tandem. We've been told so many times that "These ARE the Days" (10,000 Maniacs), and "These ARE the Good Ol' Days" (Carly Simon), and "Those WERE the Days" (Archie and Edith Bunker) that we're more hyper-aware of the human dilemma known as DEATH than ever before.

The upshot? We're trying to get it all down before we wake up from a catnap on the front stoop of our inevitable well-groomed adult community. In essence, we're breaking our backs trying to become the documentarians of our own posterities.

But what do we document? What's real? What's sacred? What's authentic? Are we living la vida loca for our own sakes, or for the benefit of our preferred recording devices?

Everyday get-togethers become a time-stamped folder on somebody's computer. No sooner are snapshots taken than we're all gathering around and looking nostalgically at those "good ol' days" – the ones that occurred mere moments ago.

I can't keep up anymore.

Can you?


Enjoyed this American Midol column? Or diabolically incensed by its uselessness? Either way, you're invited to check out all of Lani Voivod's Midol spasms right here. Wanna sound off on this subject? Send your feedback to comments@deadbrain.com!

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