Who’s zoomin’ whom?

“Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood and you’re the one I need.” Johnny Cash

The day will come when we are asked to tell our stories of these trying times.

“Bampie, what did you do during the Great Pandemic?” Some doe-eyed grandchild dressed in a one-piece flannel pyjama shall ask me.

I will take a sip (a gulp, to be honest) from my glass of whiskey, put down my (printed) book, and bravely answer the cherub’s question: “Why my darling, I spent countless hours on Zoom calls squinting at the spines of books upon shelves… when I was meant to be paying close attention….”

You see, I have concluded, this zoomin’ ain’t human…

It only adds to our pre-existing condition of digital exhaustion. I look forward to the analogue/human backlash that is sure to come when this is finally over and done with.

Today’s videoconferences are waterfalls of information – screen shares, powerpoints, graphs, charts, and through it all… I simply can’t stop staring at myself on the screen.

‘Are my nose hairs showing? How many chins do I really have? Can they tell I haven’t showered in 3 days - or is it 5?’

Furthermore, I find that virtual meetings inhibit any exchange of positive energy. Zoom somehow acts like a filter – removing humanity and grace in its pixelated vortex.

My mind is supersaturated by the combined impact of faces periodically freezing (and sounding all Stephen Hawking’ish), daily press conferences, morbid statistics, social media commentary, and ever-changing models of what lies ahead.

Sue walks into the office at the end of the day to find me catatonic in front of the laptop – hollowed out by Zoom’s vampiric draining of my life force.

And even with all these hours of additional Zoom time - I still can’t help myself from reaching for my smartphone - upwards of 25 times a day – much the same way I may have once reached for a cigarette. Just as mindlessly automatic and just as dependent.

In these days of social restrictions my digital scab screams to be picked more than ever. In a Sisyphean effort to keep up with this data gusher - I drink from the Internet fire hose.

In fact, I am wondering right now - in the time it has taken to write these words, how many angry Facebook posts, Stepfordian Instagram images, and toxic tweets have I missed?

So I dream of a better post-Covid future – one that is far less virtual.

Do you remember the instant Polaroid camera?

In 2019 Fujifilm sold 10 million polaroid-like Instax cameras, up from 5 million in 2015.

The resurgence is not driven by nostalgic baby boomers trying to recreate the blurred watercolour-like prints of bygone years. Just prior to the lockdown, young people were using these cameras at real, in-the-flesh events like weddings, road trips, and pub-crawls.

One of the reasons for their newfound popularity is how the instant prints can be shared. Not shared with the entire Internet - and insidiously stored by a Silicon Valley behemoth – but a more meaningful participation.

The act of two or more people holding and contemplating a print is distinct from the fleeting nature of a digital photo. These are moments of common experience and bonding.

I can only imagine how this retro technology continues to explode post-pandemic.

Boards vs. screens

In a rejection of the isolation (and pasty basement skin tone) of the videogame crew, people are buying and playing more board games than ever. Each year of the past decade has seen double-digit growth.

Embracing their inner-nerds, folks are sitting down in groups to play games like Settlers of Catan, Pictionary, or more cynical (yet deviously fun) games like Cards Against Humanity.

The bluffing, cajoling and conniving of board game participants is anything but virtual. It is entirely human – complete with harsh accusations and the odd meltdown.

I hope we call it the Ex-box post-pandemic.

The decline of the eBook?

E-Book sales have plateaued and their printed parents are enjoying a renaissance.

The comfort of an ink-on-paper book is ingrained. The context of a character or a passage is understood as we thumb through pages and flip back and forth.

What does it mean to be at 42% of an eBook? It’s hard to say. When I have dog-eared page 362 of my sweet-musty paperback, I return to it like a comfortable pair of slippers.

The healing touch

And by far the most missed human experience of these pandemic days is the healing touch. Apart from those within our bubble we are blocked from the reassuring caress, the hearty hug, the two-cheek Montreal kiss, the slap on the back, the gentle wiping away of a tear.

I foresee the day I will tell the curious little elf seated upon my knee. “This was the great, long-lasting Covidian gift. We no longer take such precious moments for granted.”

And with a hug and a peck on the forehead I will send them off to bed, take another sip (big gulp) of my whiskey and remember.

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