But then, BAM! The last piece is added, and there it is, a whole body of thought seems to spring from nowhere, like Proust’s madeleine or that philosopher who had a sudden realization when stepping on a bus. In literature, it seems like that could be called “theme.” In life, maybe you could call it coincidence, or maybe realization, since in life stuff feels more random and less crafted than in stories, even though our brains make us think there is causation even when there isn’t any. Hey, it’s cool, it’s hard to fight that feeling. It’s, like, evolution, baby.

Anyway, the thing I want to talk about today built like what I’m talking about above – a list of seemingly random things my brain was doing without my knowledge or consent, before presenting it to me as a constructed whole. I don’t know exactly when it started, but I know the first time I really thought or talked about it:
I was at a local coffee shop about two years ago in Des Moines, near Drake University, called the Mars Café. I was there for my brother’s college graduation party and while I was there, I learned that the guy who was running the place, one of the managers, was one of my brother’s high school buddies.

I’d been thinking a lot about coffee at that time, as well as wine and beer. In the last few years in America (probably more than that on the coasts, but culture is slower in Iowa) people are suddenly taking a great interest in cultivating a taste in beverages. People know about different types of coffee preparation, what the adjective “woody” means when you’re talking about wine, and the difference between a micro-brewery and a mega-brewery. This is a quick simplification, but you know what I’m talking about. They are become connoisseurs.

I’d been thinking about that, wondering about the social implications of the thing, but I hadn’t been able to put any words to how I felt about it. If you’ve read more than one post on my site, you know that I’m big into figuring out what I feel about things and how things work. Sure, it’s a little narcissistic, but any free time usage is, if you slip down the slippery slope too far.

So, when I had the chance, I pulled my brother’s buddy aside to talk to him. He’s big on French pressed coffee, free trade grounds, organic stuff, the RIGHT way to make tea, and stuff like that. So I figured, since he dealt with people and tried to teach them about beverages every day, that he would be a good guy to ply with questions about the social effect of people caring about beverages.

So I asked him, “Do you think people caring about silly little things like coffee preparation is changing people to become discerning about other consumer products?”
There’s this bit in the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis about a concept Screwtape defines as the “All I want” idea. (“All she wants is a cup of tea properly made, or an egg properly boiled.” – Screwtape Letter 17.) The idea is that people who have very specific tastes are perverted somehow, because they won’t accept other variations of what they want.

The reasoning behind why this becomes a personality perversion is that the item the person wants is very specific, but probably also small. The person who wants a beer, but any beer won’t do. Only a Boulevard Wheat Ale will do. Since Boulevard Wheat Ale is relatively inexpensive (it’s not Kristal champagne or anything), the person thinks that being specific about the type of beer is okay.

And it is okay, until the mental jump happens, the perversion, that makes the person feel justified for their specific wants, because what they want is “only” a specific inexpensive beer. But anything else won’t do. The person thinks that because their specific want is seemingly small, that it’s okay to be so specific about it.
You get the idea, I think. My concern is that by “educating” people about coffee, you’re teaching them to become “All I want” consumers. For coffee, wine, beer, and other things like that, it’s probably not a big deal. I’m not the guy who stands on the soapbox and yells about Starbucks ruining America singlehandedly.

However, what I am concerned about it that people who begin to become discerning think that their discerning-ness(?) makes them cultured and intelligent. They feel like they are making informed choices. I’m concerned that connoisseur-ism is becoming seen as a moral good, or worst, a right. My concern is that cultivating a discerning attitude in one area of your life makes it easier to become discerning in other areas. Kind of like learning one foreign language makes it easier to learn a second foreign language. You learn how to learn.

The worst implication of this, however, is that it separates reasonable, scientific, and logical intellectualism from what I would call “knowledge of taste.” It lumps the mathematical genius of Alan Turing into the same boat as some guy who can tell you exactly what a 1947 cabernet sauvignon from the south of France tastes like and why it’s better than a 1951, but not as good as a 1963 (obviously, I know jack about wine, so this is a made-up, silly example, but you get the idea.)

Anyway, to get back to the setting of this conversation, my brother’s friend didn’t really know what I was talking about. It’s possible he’d never considered it, but he’s a smart guy, so I doubt that. It’s more likely that I wasn’t able to get across what the hell I was trying to say. (I hope I’ve done a better job here.) We talked for a bit and I left him alone.

But the idea stayed with me. So add to this crystallization a second thing, a documentary I was watching on Hulu last night about corporations and their effects on our lives. The film is pretty over the top – it comes from the Michael Moore line of fear-mongering edu-tainment (hell, Michael Moore was even in the film), but Noam Chomsky was also in it, which redeemed it for me. And he said exactly what I’d been trying to voice when talking to my brother’s friend, but he took it to a new level of paranoia.

His point (paraphrased) basically was that corporations were manufacturing a brand, an idea, in people’s minds, and teaching them to care about it. He said that creating “All I want” type consumers was one of the highest goals, because not only does it make people keep buying stuff, but it also creates people who care deeply about what they buy. It develops products into fetishes because it gives people emotions connected with specific brands and specific products. It makes them care about things that don’t really matter, things that are just personal preferences, except the preferences aren’t personal. They are manufactured knowingly to sell stuff. That’s his idea, as I understand it.

I’m not sure that I buy into all that, because it seems a little far-fetched. I tend to turn everything into a huge idea, if only because I like a good, exciting story, but sometimes you have to step back and analyze the kool-aid you’re chugging down by the mouthful. But I still like a good conspiracy theory as much as the next man. Well, maybe even more than the next man.

So what’s in the juice here? Poison or sugar? Is there anything substantial to this? And if it is true, whether there are nefarious shadowy marketing executives behind it or not – what are the effects of a group of people who develop “discerning” tastes for specific things and become connoisseurs? Is there a deeper concern than someone getting pissed because their latte wasn’t made right? What implications does this concept have for our society? Where does that move us into the future?

I don’t know and I’d like to know.

Growing up in Maine, I was always a scant hour’s commute from the grey shores of the Atlantic, but my father also built us a house on the edge of a small lake. Barely a few miles long and possible to swim across if I was feeling daring (though too far to swim back without an inner tube), I was always near the water. Somehow, even an hour from the ocean and on the shore of a land-locked lake, being by the water made me feel as though I was connected to something bigger than myself – not in a spiritual sense, the way that people seem to be eluding to when they speak about a deity or larger social consciousness, or even some natural phenomena, but in another way, a way that gave me the grandiose sense of limitless possibility, the glistening wet bravado. The water represented freedom on a magnificent scale. Its waves undulated into the future.

It seems disingenuous to draw a connection between the way the water made me feel and the way a connection to the web makes me feel – they are so very different, any connection between the two borders on the ridiculous. However, and I’m aware this may be a wholly singular experience (I apologize for such a personal entry), but the connection between the two bodies is apt, at least for me. The water was freedom, a connection of molecules and atoms that linked my sensation with the opposite shore – ocean people, seafarers, water folk, even in their tiny hamlets estranged from thriving metropolises where human life teemed, seemed more connected, more mystical, more in tune with the goings on of the larger world. They are in love with the weather, and they hate it, they are linked with the global ecosystem in ways that are much more ancient and unforgiving. To stare out into the water is to stare into everything all at once, including back into oneself, into one’s, and please forgive an agnostic for saying this, one’s soul.

The web is much the same. Those travelers who would brave its dark corridors and trench-like depths, plumb down into the swirling nexus of data exchange, transfer a reflection of themselves to other surfers, these are the mechanical mystics, the digital monks, the cyber-seafarers. Perched upon the brink of the global data network, I feel much the same as I did standing on the cliffs at Hermit’s Island in Maine, my toes a little too far out over the edge, the wind slapping my tunic against my chest, rhythmically, and with stark purpose.

The web is also the refuge of pirates, much as the sea once was, a romantic place – it’s easy to lose yourself beneath the waves, to suffocate under the pressure of so much to see, to explore. It is a place for all the great heroes – the cowboys, the pirates, the soldiers, the explorers, and the pioneers. It is possibility, ripe with pitfalls, poisonous serpents, and untold wonders. It is a young boy standing alight on the brink and gazing at the wonder of himself, standing tall by the edge of a digital sea and waiting for his opportunity to cross to the other side, one day, if he gets his slim chance. Even if he does not, it’s possible that waiting and dreaming could be enough.

But more than anything, that connection is a harsh thing to deprive oneself of – dreamspace is sometimes all we have – those cliffs, just to stand at the edge and gaze out over those churning waters – they are ours – our gateway, our Atlantic, our salvation.

So, it’s will be very hard to explain the look of pained relief to the man in the blue uniform when he shows up, a DSL modem under one arm, a clipboard in the other.

“Ready to get on the net?” he’ll say.

“Buddy,” I’ll reply. “You don’t know the half of it.”

-m.

p.s. if you’re coming down to rescue me: now would be perfect.