Dear Neighbor,
I have a deep addiction. Probably – so do you! It’s to my screen. And yet it so often disappoints me, enrages me, saddens me. I’ve been exploring “digital fatigue,” and I think I have it—a different version of chronic fatigue syndrome. The classic definition of this is too much time staring at a screen, but that’s not what my fatigue is about.
First, let’s admit it: our post-pandemic addiction to screens (according to what I have read in a DeLoitte study) has more than doubled since before 2020. We just returned from a short vacation, and everywhere we went, people had their heads down, staring at screens.
My fatigue comes from current digital marketing practices that interrupt my experience at every turn: pop-ups that jump in front of an article I’m reading to invite me to join the email I have already subscribed to. It’s Googling a topic I need to learn about to operate my computer better. What do I get? Now three ads, not the former three seconds long, but a minute each, and then a You tube tutorial by someone who talks too fast for me to understand, 15 minutes long and a request to like and subscribe. All I wanted was an answer so I could get on with my task. I am lost again. Sometimes it’s being enticed by a sponsored Facebook ad to take a peek at what a trip to Greece might be like—after reading favorable reviews and gotten interested in their travel offer. So, I click, and a gatekeeper screen pops up demanding my email if I want the information I seek. Click! Bye-bye.
Sometimes there are forms to fill out before information is dispensed, and my email address is “required.” Too often a friendly chatbot pops in asking how he/she/it can help me. Then I start getting texts from that company continuing to ask what needs I might have. I ordered a supplement online yesterday, opting out of all emails--the next day they’ve sent 4. So I have to take the time to unsubscribe and sometimes not find the obscure means to do so.
Scrolling through my Facebook feed to bypass the glut of ads to see if I can find my friends, I am subjected to (for some reason I try to guess at) what they call “Reels,” of grossly overweight individuals doing obscene dances in tight clothes. How did they figure I might be interested? And another thing I am subjected to regularly is an ad for rat poison of some kind that depicts a dead rat lying in a pool of blue liquid that I can only guess is their esteemed product. In my life, I am lucky to have never actually seen a real rat. Every time, I ask Google to remove the ad; they’ll “try” not to show it anymore, and then it pops in again. So, instead of accomplishing the goal I set out to do, I find myself guessing—how do these things happen? I wrote a fun essay months ago about young women now being more focused on improving their posteriors than their bustlines these days, and my research for the essay led to my Googling “butt pads,” finding out they are a very real thing. Could that one search have kicked off the endless stream of big-butted people in tight clothes doing sensual dances? And a friend who lives in New York mentioned on a telephone conversation recently that he was seeing small pink creatures, what he guessed were baby rats on the streets of New York. Hence, the rat poison ad?
You see why I am fatigued? Neither the Reel of dancers nor the dead rat led my tired mind to any form of critical thinking. Instead, I am pondering the trail that led to these strange phenomena. Are Google and Amazon listening to my conversations and following my searches? If you’ve
watched the documentary “Social Dilemma,” you know the answer to that. If you haven’t watched it, a short description is about the impact of algorithmically enabled forms of behavior modification and psychological manipulation. I hate to think a machine has taken control of my mind, but I am a consenting victim. I’d like to find a solution to this addiction. How about a good old Friday night pinochle game? And I’d love to hear your comments on how you counteract this screen addiction.
Your neighbor,
Anne Pounds
I have a deep addiction. Probably – so do you! It’s to my screen. And yet it so often disappoints me, enrages me, saddens me. I’ve been exploring “digital fatigue,” and I think I have it—a different version of chronic fatigue syndrome. The classic definition of this is too much time staring at a screen, but that’s not what my fatigue is about.
First, let’s admit it: our post-pandemic addiction to screens (according to what I have read in a DeLoitte study) has more than doubled since before 2020. We just returned from a short vacation, and everywhere we went, people had their heads down, staring at screens.
My fatigue comes from current digital marketing practices that interrupt my experience at every turn: pop-ups that jump in front of an article I’m reading to invite me to join the email I have already subscribed to. It’s Googling a topic I need to learn about to operate my computer better. What do I get? Now three ads, not the former three seconds long, but a minute each, and then a You tube tutorial by someone who talks too fast for me to understand, 15 minutes long and a request to like and subscribe. All I wanted was an answer so I could get on with my task. I am lost again. Sometimes it’s being enticed by a sponsored Facebook ad to take a peek at what a trip to Greece might be like—after reading favorable reviews and gotten interested in their travel offer. So, I click, and a gatekeeper screen pops up demanding my email if I want the information I seek. Click! Bye-bye.
Sometimes there are forms to fill out before information is dispensed, and my email address is “required.” Too often a friendly chatbot pops in asking how he/she/it can help me. Then I start getting texts from that company continuing to ask what needs I might have. I ordered a supplement online yesterday, opting out of all emails--the next day they’ve sent 4. So I have to take the time to unsubscribe and sometimes not find the obscure means to do so.
Scrolling through my Facebook feed to bypass the glut of ads to see if I can find my friends, I am subjected to (for some reason I try to guess at) what they call “Reels,” of grossly overweight individuals doing obscene dances in tight clothes. How did they figure I might be interested? And another thing I am subjected to regularly is an ad for rat poison of some kind that depicts a dead rat lying in a pool of blue liquid that I can only guess is their esteemed product. In my life, I am lucky to have never actually seen a real rat. Every time, I ask Google to remove the ad; they’ll “try” not to show it anymore, and then it pops in again. So, instead of accomplishing the goal I set out to do, I find myself guessing—how do these things happen? I wrote a fun essay months ago about young women now being more focused on improving their posteriors than their bustlines these days, and my research for the essay led to my Googling “butt pads,” finding out they are a very real thing. Could that one search have kicked off the endless stream of big-butted people in tight clothes doing sensual dances? And a friend who lives in New York mentioned on a telephone conversation recently that he was seeing small pink creatures, what he guessed were baby rats on the streets of New York. Hence, the rat poison ad?
You see why I am fatigued? Neither the Reel of dancers nor the dead rat led my tired mind to any form of critical thinking. Instead, I am pondering the trail that led to these strange phenomena. Are Google and Amazon listening to my conversations and following my searches? If you’ve
watched the documentary “Social Dilemma,” you know the answer to that. If you haven’t watched it, a short description is about the impact of algorithmically enabled forms of behavior modification and psychological manipulation. I hate to think a machine has taken control of my mind, but I am a consenting victim. I’d like to find a solution to this addiction. How about a good old Friday night pinochle game? And I’d love to hear your comments on how you counteract this screen addiction.
Your neighbor,
Anne Pounds
