I sent my proposal for my radio show to Public Radio International (PRI) on February 10, 2004. Since I sent it by 2-day Priority Mail, there's a pretty good chance that they received it on February 12, 2004. By the testimony of their website, their goal is to "respond to each proposal within two months of receipt." So far, in my case anyway, they are off by a factor of four.
Now, I'm more than happy to wait as long as it takes them to make their decision, but I have to tell you that the acid in my stomach has started percolating to a Latin rhythm. It's like waiting to hear whether or not you've won the lottery, but they just haven't gotten around to picking the last number yet. This is something I walk around with, wearing it like a lead-lined necktie. I wish I didn't, but I have to. And as much as I try to tell myself that each day brings me one day closer to hearing, the strain of having spent eight months in anticipation is quite tiring.
Now, don't get me wrong. I like PRI. I think we could have a beautiful partnership and that, together, we could make a nice dollar. I am not withdrawing my proposal or even beginning to think about considering withdrawing it. I'm just impatient to get the deal done and the contracts signed. There's much to be done and a good thing to be brought into the broadcast world. Let's just do it!
And I'd tell you about the shambles that has become of the schedule I did on Microsoft Project, but it's just too difficult to think about. No, no (sniff), I'm fine. That's just a fiber of asbestos in my eye. And I always get misty on anniversaries.
8 comments:
Robert--
Fortunately, I took the precaution of actually calling the program manager at PRI when a response was only a month overdue and was assured that they had received it and that it was still "in the works." They may have farmed out consideration of it to either or both of the groups you mentioned, just out of a sense of camaraderie, something along the lines of my theory that everyone named Leonard should try to stick together.
I'm flattered by and grateful for your suggestion. It's going now into the Atomic Pressure Cooker. We'll see what comes out.
Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, there is one set of episodes I haven't gotten to yet that is a satire of current electoral politics. And then in the second series (should I be fortunate enough to get there) one of the storylines will be set in ancient Rome and another in Ancient Egypt. Then there's also a short story I wrote years ago that's about a Neaderthal who's having a midlife crisis. That's definitely in line for adaptation. Ah, history! Where would we be without it?
My best friend's father was named Leonard Cohen, so that's who I always think of first when I hear that name, not the well known Canadian poet and folk singer. I will check out that poem when I have a chance.
The theme of how people interact with technology is a central one with me. I've been trying to figure out how to write something that has to do with people and the Internet, a very strange phenomenon. The manual typewriter makes a small appearance in the first episode of "Plant Your Wagon," but doing something more extensive is an interesting thought.
Since I often meditate on these ideas for decades, it might take a while, but I'll get there.
I tried posting a comment earlier, but it has disappeared somewhere into the mists of cyberspace. ("In cyberspace, no one can hear your post scream.") This, again, is not a problem that we used to have back in the olden days. Maybe that post will appear, perhaps not. Perhaps it is a kind of digital Flying Dutchman, condemned to wander eternally.
I'd repost it, but I forgot what I said. However, in thinking further on the subject of manual typewriters and radio broadcasting, I've decided to use that as the subject of my next major post, which should be written either tonight or tomorrow.
One of the interesting things about the Internet to me is that while it can often seem as though it is facilitating communication between two people, it quite often serves to separate them instead. It poses the illusion that I am speaking to you, but, in fact, I am talking to a machine that is talking to a machine that is talking to a machine that is talking to a machine that is talking to you. As a result of this separation, messages are often misinterpreted and meanings are muddled.
Of course, the rise of the ubiquitous smiley face is an attempt to combat this. "Hello.:-) I'm fine.:-) How are you?:-)" It's the waving of a white flag to a conflict that has yet to begin. And why? Because it is extremely easy to fly off the handle about an e-mail, a post, an IM message.
It's at once distant and immediate, which seems to be a dangerous proposition.
There's also the question of anonymity, but maybe we'll touch on that another time.:=)
Robert--
I appreciate your helping me think through this. Since it is certainly possible to maintain a civilized exchange of ideas (as these posts on my blog and so much of the posting on The Blog of the Unknown attest), I'd saying that what I'm trying to get at is more of tendency than a rule. And believe me, I wade into this post with white flag waving.
Now, I'll try to clarify my ideas without, I hope, distorting any of yours.
I think there are differences between communicating through the string of machines and other means of human interaction. First, of course, is face-to-face discussions, or as it is sometimes known, conversation.
When we converse, we not only communicate with our words but also in a number of other ways: by vocal inflection and emphasis, intonation, volume, facial expression, and gesture. Even in phone conversations (a person communicating with a machine that communicates with a machine that communicates with a person), we are left with vocal cues with which to interpret the words. (However, I would argue that miscommunication is more likely to occur over the phone than it is in person for precisely the same reasons that it does on the Internet. Having worked both in retail and as a CSR at a call center, I can assure you that the distance and anonimity that people achieve by having the separation of machines affects their behavior significantly and makes them more prone to fits of temper and general unpleasantness.)
When it comes to writing letters, I think a lot of different factors come into play. In a handwritten letter, we give visual cues to compliment the words. Out handwriting takes on different tones depending on whether we are happy, angry, lustful, or peevish. I've had my head handed back to me on a couple of occasions because of a letter I've written by hand, but I can say without fear of contradiction that on each occasion I richly deserved it. My meaning had been clear and the meaning of the reply had been, too.
Now, the typewritten letter is something I am intimately acquainted with. I prefer to type my letters, not because I am trying to hide (I don't think), but because 1) I think I write better on a keyboard than I do with a pen and 2) I hate my handwriting. (This is not because it is illegible. It's not. I hate it because it is plain.)
There are two gradations of typewritten letter: manual and electric. I've had both and used both. With manual typewriters, there's something very human about them. The way the letters are not always in a neat line, the typeovers, the mistakes, the handwritten corrections and the signature. Electric typewriters are colder and more business like, less of a personal expression and more of an expression of the machine.
All versions of letters (as opposed to e-mails) have certasin common traits as well. For example, there is the question of time. Reading a letter is a leisurely activity and an intimate one. People give litrtle bits of themselves to us in a number of small ways: their handwriting, the way they fold the paper, the kind of paper they use. Writing a letter is a very personal act, one that can take days. E-mails tend to be written quickly, read quickly, and either replied to quickly or ignored.
It is difficult to flame someone who has written you a letter. The composition of the reply is apt to be precise and judicious, acid or servile as the need may be. With an e-mail or the post on a messageboard, however, the process is usually lightning quick: Read, fume, reply. I think that flaming is a phenomenon akin to road rage. In both cases, we are represented by our machines, and the rage is directed not so much at the person as the object.
This is getting closer to the nub of the problem, I think. There is something in communicating through a string of machines that tends to objectify the participants, that tends to make them less knowable even as they attempt to bridge that gap through the medium of the word.
I hadn't intended to write a doctoral thesis on this, but there you go.
Sorry about the typos in the above entry, but it is now out of my hands.
Also, I have been assured by my wife that my handwriting is not plain and that I am insane. She's probably right on both counts.
Provoked. I was definitely provoked. Which is a good thing, although all of this thinking is hard work. I can understand why the President avoids it.
Sleepwalking through life might be appropriate. For "life is but a dream," as Stephen "The Buddha" Foster put it. But I know exactly what you mean. I see the trance in the eyes of my fellow commuters and understand their trance as a reflection of mine.
And, for the record, if you're interested in a more traditional type of correspondence, just contact me by using the e-mail link on my profile and we'll work something out.
After considering the current election and the mass of stupidity that gets catalogued in the papers and the evening news, I'm afraid that the dream continues. And I'm not just using the word "afraid" rhetorically. Although, as one of my favorite songwriters said, "Nothing is real/There's nothing to get hung about."
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