Henry Jenkins' Convergence Culture offers a look into our rapidly shifting social experience at the hands of technology. Jenkins is very distinct about his definition of convergence; dismissed is the concept of the oft-talked about "Black Box," a convergence of our popular gadgets and appliances into one general tool that serves as our television, computer, entertainment systems, communication devices, among countless other things. Instead, Jenkins ushers in a look at the "cultural shift as consumers are encouraged to seek out new information and make connections among dispersed media content" (3). What Jenkins argues is that we are in the midst of a dramatic change in our cultural landscape. In order to emphasize his observations, Jenkins offers several case studies. A foray into the world of Survivor spoiling offers a glimpse into knowledge communities, and the power of collective intelligence that occurs when people – especially in an online environment – "harness their individual expertise toward shared goals and objectives" (26) including discovery and exposition. The other side of this startlingly hyperinvolved set of consumers is the large entertainment and media groups who deliberately set out to create media that encourage active engagement and participation from its consumers. Jenkins focuses extensively on the top-down model of corporate entities engaging consumers and the simultaneous bottom-up grassroots engagement bred by communal interest in order to paint a picture of convergence in our cultural and entertainment sphere. One case study that effectively defines and describes much of what Jenkins means by convergence culture is that of The Matrix and its transmedia-based franchise. Diving into the world that the Wachowski brothers manufactured, Jenkins reveals a vast network of "interconnections between the various Matrix texts" (116) that all work together to deliver a larger narrative than can be consumed in any one medium. This example, as well as the example of Harry Potter, or Star Wars, synthesizes Jenkins' observation about the direction our culture is taking, citing a push from the top to extend the impact a specific franchise might have on consumers, as well as a decided effort by consumers to take in as much information on as many platforms as possible – or necessary – to satisfy complex consumption habits. The culmination of Jenkins' examination of culture occurs when Jenkins delivers an overview of the political landscape and the role convergence culture will have on its development in the future. Citing most notably the Internet rise of Howard Dean and his television-based downfall in 2004, Jenkins almost prophetically details the possibilities for our increasingly digital culture to raise participation and foster a more active, aware, and apt body of citizens with the power to one day take control of the political process the way it has of its entertainment as new and old media converge.
Of all the implications Jenkins generates with his examination of convergence culture, the implications of literacy are most important. Jenkins delivers a mode of literacy that is multifaceted; literacy is no longer limited to the ability to read, but limited only by the content developers' imaginations and their expectations of the consumer. When a few corporations dominated television broadcasting, the model was simple: executives delivered content and consumers watched — minimal literacy was required. But now, not only are we expected to engage products on a fundamentally deeper level, we are engaging them on levels that may be unfamiliar to us. American Idol expects us to not only listen to singers, but to judge them critically — an often-undeveloped literacy. Survivor generated robust knowledge communities, soliciting a far deeper engagement to a franchise than most are used to. Films like Star Wars, The Matrix, and the Harry Potter series ask consumers to not only watch a movie, but to read a book, play a game, engage with others online, and dissect alternate incarnations of characters in different media, all often at the same time. This heightened expectation of consumers complicates basic literacy. Literacy often determines the ability of an individual or group to engage in a particular discourse: without the expected competency in a particular arena, one cannot be expected to engage productively. This is especially important when we take into consideration the ideas expressed in Jenkins' afterword. He muses on the potential for our political engagement, suggesting a participatory political culture not unlike the one we see with our entertainment. For those who can develop the necessary components of participatory culture's literacy, this is an extremely positive, hopeful notion that will guarantee increased engagement. But for those who have been left behind already in what Jenkins calls the participation gap, civic engagement could become even more difficult, further alienating them from public discourse. Participatory culture is as of yet trivial, overrunning popular culture, but not the fundamental basis of society. If we are going to move towards a predominantly participatory society altogether as Jenkins suggests, we need to be sure that it does not come at the expense of others' engagement.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Selective Literacy
We've all seen the power of literacy, especially its ability to leave particular illiterate groups disenfranchised. Too often the difference between a respected, influential group in society and a systematically underrepresented one is, among other things, a significant gap in literacy. In our increasingly digital culture, it's easy to assume that identity markers have begun to melt away and hierarchy has disappeared, as literacy requirements presumably have been shed as well. However, with regard to my online community, this couldn't be farther from the truth.
I reported previously on the clear hierarchy that exists on this site; rich as discussion routinely is, the elitism of the board's upper tier makes its way into too many arguments, often to everyone's detriment. But on what basis is this hierarchy generated? Naturally, as we see in our offline society, there are countless factors that determine status and placement. But, also evident in our offline culture, literacy can be a significant factor in placement, even more so than offline. This is because where we are able to use countless identity markers to consider social position offline, online identities, especially on my board, are products of one's posts. And when a person's words are the specified characteristic that generates a given identity for along while, their competency in the topic being discussed essentially defines who they are and what position their opinion holds.
This doesn't seem entirely unfair, though. Why shouldn't someone with a great wealth of musical knowledge be given a premier voice in a community that discusses music (particularly rap music)? The problem lies in the fact that those that aren't as familiar with the genre — who haven't been listening for multiple decades, or have completely digested the entirety of every "important" rapper's catalog — are constantly discredited. There's no room for revision; you are either completely familiar with a song or album in its original context from its original release, or you have no say (and you're white).
Well fine then. So the elder statesmen of the forum are on top when it comes to what essentially entails historical discussion. We can assume the conversation is equalized when the conversation comes to newer artists since everyone has equal access to information, right? Well, no, we can't. The second problem is that people who have a fluency in artists of today contrast heavily with those on top of the hierarchy because those on top of the hierarchy are deliberately ignorant when it comes to today's developments. Part of being on top of the discussion board is being unfamiliar with or disapproving of newer artists. Some of it is because they sometimes reject the conventions of the genre that they are so familiar with from decades of engagement. But most of it is just a product of being ignorant; no generative discussion is had about newer artists because the tastemakers of the board don't care enough to have an opinion. Even worse, if you are more familiar with today's artists than you are with those of years past, your literacy is considered inadequate and your opinion is largely invalid.
Literacy — but not proficiency —determines where you stand in the Okayplayer hierarchy. Selective literacy is given the greatest status overall, which is destructive because it breeds contempt with gathering new knowledge and building new opinions. Have you seen an example of elitism getting on the way of discussion in your experiences?
I reported previously on the clear hierarchy that exists on this site; rich as discussion routinely is, the elitism of the board's upper tier makes its way into too many arguments, often to everyone's detriment. But on what basis is this hierarchy generated? Naturally, as we see in our offline society, there are countless factors that determine status and placement. But, also evident in our offline culture, literacy can be a significant factor in placement, even more so than offline. This is because where we are able to use countless identity markers to consider social position offline, online identities, especially on my board, are products of one's posts. And when a person's words are the specified characteristic that generates a given identity for along while, their competency in the topic being discussed essentially defines who they are and what position their opinion holds.
This doesn't seem entirely unfair, though. Why shouldn't someone with a great wealth of musical knowledge be given a premier voice in a community that discusses music (particularly rap music)? The problem lies in the fact that those that aren't as familiar with the genre — who haven't been listening for multiple decades, or have completely digested the entirety of every "important" rapper's catalog — are constantly discredited. There's no room for revision; you are either completely familiar with a song or album in its original context from its original release, or you have no say (and you're white).
Well fine then. So the elder statesmen of the forum are on top when it comes to what essentially entails historical discussion. We can assume the conversation is equalized when the conversation comes to newer artists since everyone has equal access to information, right? Well, no, we can't. The second problem is that people who have a fluency in artists of today contrast heavily with those on top of the hierarchy because those on top of the hierarchy are deliberately ignorant when it comes to today's developments. Part of being on top of the discussion board is being unfamiliar with or disapproving of newer artists. Some of it is because they sometimes reject the conventions of the genre that they are so familiar with from decades of engagement. But most of it is just a product of being ignorant; no generative discussion is had about newer artists because the tastemakers of the board don't care enough to have an opinion. Even worse, if you are more familiar with today's artists than you are with those of years past, your literacy is considered inadequate and your opinion is largely invalid.
Literacy — but not proficiency —determines where you stand in the Okayplayer hierarchy. Selective literacy is given the greatest status overall, which is destructive because it breeds contempt with gathering new knowledge and building new opinions. Have you seen an example of elitism getting on the way of discussion in your experiences?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
A Crowd of Experts
One of the interesting questions in debating the value of crowdsourcing is whether the concept can be imported across disciplines. The most successful incarnation of crowdsourcing has undoubtedly been in the world of the news media, especially online. With the implementation of the iReport in CNN's endless repertoire of excessively tech-y news delivery systems, the crowd has been legitimized by an established media organization – a legitimization long forthcoming since the popularity of newsblogs, often run by "ordinary citizens," overtook the popularity of newspaper subscription. But what happens when we try to port crowdsourcing outside of the news arena and into some other common disciplines?
Different disciplines require a unique amount of proficiency and training in order to be competent while partaking in its activities; while it takes a significant level of skill to craft a well-written presentation of information, the actual gathering of information and observing of events requires very little occupational education. On the other hand, it requires several years of rigorous schooling and practicing in order to approach a level of competence in the field of medicine – no ordinary person can simply hop into a surgery room or behind an X-ray machine and deliver acceptable results. This is also the case in engineering – but not necessarily in graphic design. This variation is key to the question of whether crowdsourcing can be ported into a new discipline: when we need greater expertise, the ability to crowdsource significantly decreases. And in the case of education, where we count on teachers to offer an authoritative voice of reason, discussion, excellence, maturity, and understanding, perhaps crowdsourcing falls flat. But what if we change the parameters of the "crowd"?
An experimental surgery hits a dead end. The chief surgeon is called in, but has no ideas that might bring about progress. What if this situation was crowdsourced? Dozens, or even hundreds, of surgeons all weighing in on the situation through a live video feed of the procedure would generate ideas far more quickly than the lone surgery team of this particular hospital. Similarly, if a crucial engineering decision needed to be made regarding the integrity of a particular structure in a critical situation, what would be better than allowing several creative engineering minds to come together to make the decision? When the crowd is made up of experts in that particular field, progress can be made. And perhaps we can turn to this idea in academia.
Grading in school is ultimately subjective: no two classes are graded on the same basis, with the same standards, requiring the same level of mastery. Even math classes – where we expect one right answer – can be nuanced, as processes are sometimes given as much or more importance than the end result. Many of us have even approached a level of comfort with a class where we can write an A or a B paper for that teacher. What if grading was crowdsourced to other teachers with a familiarity of the subject? Of course there would be logistical stipulations – what teacher has time to deal with projects from other classes when they have their hands full with stuff of their own? – but let's say these have been taken care of. Would things be better? Fairer? As rhetoricians, we're programmed to write for our audience. If we wrote to a collection of extremely experienced yet unique writing scholars rather than the individual teacher we've spent several weeks picking apart, wouldn't we create stronger work?
Crowdsourcing won't be a passing craze – it'll work its way into our lives more effectively every day. The question is how it integrates into different disciplines, and perhaps crowdsourcing to experts presents the answer to the question.
Different disciplines require a unique amount of proficiency and training in order to be competent while partaking in its activities; while it takes a significant level of skill to craft a well-written presentation of information, the actual gathering of information and observing of events requires very little occupational education. On the other hand, it requires several years of rigorous schooling and practicing in order to approach a level of competence in the field of medicine – no ordinary person can simply hop into a surgery room or behind an X-ray machine and deliver acceptable results. This is also the case in engineering – but not necessarily in graphic design. This variation is key to the question of whether crowdsourcing can be ported into a new discipline: when we need greater expertise, the ability to crowdsource significantly decreases. And in the case of education, where we count on teachers to offer an authoritative voice of reason, discussion, excellence, maturity, and understanding, perhaps crowdsourcing falls flat. But what if we change the parameters of the "crowd"?
An experimental surgery hits a dead end. The chief surgeon is called in, but has no ideas that might bring about progress. What if this situation was crowdsourced? Dozens, or even hundreds, of surgeons all weighing in on the situation through a live video feed of the procedure would generate ideas far more quickly than the lone surgery team of this particular hospital. Similarly, if a crucial engineering decision needed to be made regarding the integrity of a particular structure in a critical situation, what would be better than allowing several creative engineering minds to come together to make the decision? When the crowd is made up of experts in that particular field, progress can be made. And perhaps we can turn to this idea in academia.
Grading in school is ultimately subjective: no two classes are graded on the same basis, with the same standards, requiring the same level of mastery. Even math classes – where we expect one right answer – can be nuanced, as processes are sometimes given as much or more importance than the end result. Many of us have even approached a level of comfort with a class where we can write an A or a B paper for that teacher. What if grading was crowdsourced to other teachers with a familiarity of the subject? Of course there would be logistical stipulations – what teacher has time to deal with projects from other classes when they have their hands full with stuff of their own? – but let's say these have been taken care of. Would things be better? Fairer? As rhetoricians, we're programmed to write for our audience. If we wrote to a collection of extremely experienced yet unique writing scholars rather than the individual teacher we've spent several weeks picking apart, wouldn't we create stronger work?
Crowdsourcing won't be a passing craze – it'll work its way into our lives more effectively every day. The question is how it integrates into different disciplines, and perhaps crowdsourcing to experts presents the answer to the question.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Okayplayer Elitism
Hierarchies manifest themselves in everything we do. The classroom, the workplace, the home, the online messageboard – everything has its own hierarchy. My online community, while notably rich in knowledge and thorough in discussion, is conspicuously elitist. The topics discussed on this discussion board have a short but deeply detailed history, and a solid grasp on this history is of absolute importance to hip-hop purists. In most discussions, having a wide and deep bed of knowledge is a clear advantage, which earns respect from fellow members immediately. However, the dependency on being an "elder statesman" has resulted in a seemingly intentional disconnect in some discussions.
In discussing newer acts and their legitimacy, influence, importance, or even general worth, while most of the forum is able to complete discussion with few hitches, the community of older members who began listening to hip-hop music in the early 90s – by far the minority, despite their vocality – often enter the discussion simply to state their unfamiliarity: some acts simply can't matter as much because they either haven't floated into their realm of music consumption, or because they don't have the makings of what is considered a "classic" artist. A conservative approach to anything, while it disagrees with my personal taste, is by all means respectable. There is absolutely no reason why many of these members should be forced to change their tastes to remain in accordance with the general hype. The problem of this elitist, or purist, attitude is that it can sometimes dominate the discussion. These elitists sit atop the hierarchy on one of the Internet's most dominant, active, influential, populous hip-hop forums; they can serve as tastemakers for many. With this distinction, many hard-working, respectable artists are denied fair due because they are cast aside. Across the Internet and around the country, a new rap collective can be making waves, playing shows, releasing albums, and gaining notoriety on the basis of their own merits and not as a result of a major label promotional kick – but such a rap collective is treated with pure condescension and nonchalance by these high-ranking okayplayer. members.
The hierarchy is well established, and almost impossible to penetrate (the ability to move up in this hierarchy is a topic on its own), and as a result, it's highly influential. The implications of the hierarchy are often positive: if you want to find out the hip-hop climate at a particular moment in the genre – when The Notorious B.I.G. first became popular, when Dr. Dre owned the genre, when Jay-Z stepped up from being a minor player to a rap mogul – these purists and historians are invaluable. But if you want to marvel at how far Kanye West has come in just half a decade, or the importance of rap blogs in reaching a new rap audience, or how well put-together an up-and-coming artist's mixtape is, their presence can be suffocating.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Gun That Bleeds
One of my favorite aspects of eXistenZ was the underlying theme of the most dangerous technologies actually being organic, non-metal machines. There are countless examples of this but my favorite is the gun. The church is extremely secure, and one couldn't dream of bringing a conventional weapon into the event – to bypass this, the agent that attacks Allegra assembles a gun made of bone that shoots bullets made of teeth. In this case, the organic proves to be more dangerous than the metal, a theme that is interesting in its reversal from much of what we've seen in previous works we've read in class. In Neuromancer, neither meat nor metal is any more or less dangerous or harmful than its opposite; the convergence of the two was the focus. This was also the case in Convergence Culture: we need to retain our humanity, but embrace and take advantage of the convergence of our digital culture and offline society. In both of these works, though, the organic element is the natural, ordered, and benign, with the encroachment of technology presenting the potential for negativity. In eXistenZ, the reality is that the organic is the most dangerous agent, and this provides us with an array of implications.
What does this mean? It could mean so many things, but I'd like to zero in on one of these meanings. It seems as though Cronenberg is suggesting that we are the greatest dangers to ourselves. What we create, what we dream, what we put into action – the experiences that we design can provide the most effective obstacles to our own livelihood. Allegra experiences a physical manifestation of this notion in the church, but this is true all around us. With every thing we invent, we invent a corresponding disaster: with the ship we create the shipwreck; with electricity we create the power outage. Cronenberg delivers this notion in a complete and direct way – the gun is made of organic, living material, and the game pods are living creatures with umbilical cords. He presents them as things not man-made, but coexisting with man, the ultimate level of convergence. Even when taken out of context and placed on a metaphorical platform, though, the ideas remain powerful, and we are able to apply them to things in our society that aren't meat based. We are often afraid of the metal taking over the meat – but the metal is just an extension of ourselves. We are the meat; we created the metal; we are the metal.
S/R 3
"Death to the demoness Allegra Geller!" Realism combats reality distortion in David Cronenburg's eXistenZ – a film chronicling events that surround hunted "game pod goddess" Allegra Geller and timid marketing intern-turned-bodyguard Ted Pikul, in a dizzying run through simulated worlds of an organic video game experience. Whisked away from the church in the opening scene after an attack by an agent of the Realist Revolution, Allegra and Ted engage in a back and forth struggle with the Realist resistance, who are trying to destroy Allegra and her game pod. Pikul, who has a penetration phobia, receives a faulty bio port from an undercover Realist agent that nearly destroys the game pod; eventually, though, Allegra and Ted are able to move past the issue of porting into the game, and onto the exploration of the storyline of their simulated reality. They continue “stumbling around together in this unformed world, whose rules and objectives are largely unknown, seemingly indecipherable or even possibly nonexistent,” as reality gets further distorted by the entrance into a second, smaller game pod. Within this deepened simulation, Ted and Allegra become involved with the Realist faction, receive faulty information from a double agent they believe to be their contact, kill their actual contact, and plot to destroy all game pods at a factory they work at in their simulation by porting into a diseased one, resulting in a spore explosion of the diseased pod that infects everything in the factory – all occurring in dazzling, rapid succession, blurring what is and is not reality or simulation. Even after their presumed game exit and loss, game characters appear as the Realist resistance is claiming its victory – until the situation folds in on itself, the resistance leader is killed in trying to assassinate Allegra, and Ted is ultimately annihilated by Allegra herself as he turns out to be a Realist agent as well. Allegra assumes this is the game’s true ending, asking “Have I won? Have I won the game? Have I won?” The movie does not end without a final twist: Allegra, Ted, and all other characters from eXistenZ awaken from tranCendenZ, discuss their experience, and everything comes full circle with Allegra and Ted coming forward to kill the designer of tranCendenZ – “Death to the demon Yevgeny Nourish!”
Uncertainty and novelty dominate the film, but it is Allegra and Ted’s responses to these uncertain situations that invoke the greatest need for examination. Allegra notably points out that “You have to play the game to find out why you're playing the game.” The entirety of the movie sits on the thinly veiled premise of these systems of simulation as our individual realities. As a result, Cronenberg seems to be suggesting that our purpose, the driving force behind our existence, can only be revealed once we have had significant revelatory experiences. What is left open to interpretation is whether our experiences shape the reason why we play the game, or whether our experiences are predetermined by the game itself – the question of free will. Important to eXistenZ is the fact that while the framework of the game is programmed by the designer, the game is populated by characters, missions, motivations, and villains that are born out of a player’s neurological impulses. Similarly, it can be inferred that, while there is a system that has been set up for our experience in life – a system socially, physically, economically, geographically, ethnically, sexually, and pscychologically constructed – it is our personal choices and actions that populate this framework and bring us to our current state of being. Game urges still exist in eXistenZ as impulses that cannot be defied, but the truth is that these impulses are generated by the user him or herself. Likewise, when we endure something in our lives that feels out of our control, it is our travails, both before and after birth, that have shaped the scenario within which the uncontrollable events occur. Our life experiences are shaped by our natural purpose, but our purpose behind can only be expressed through the experiences we have had.
Uncertainty and novelty dominate the film, but it is Allegra and Ted’s responses to these uncertain situations that invoke the greatest need for examination. Allegra notably points out that “You have to play the game to find out why you're playing the game.” The entirety of the movie sits on the thinly veiled premise of these systems of simulation as our individual realities. As a result, Cronenberg seems to be suggesting that our purpose, the driving force behind our existence, can only be revealed once we have had significant revelatory experiences. What is left open to interpretation is whether our experiences shape the reason why we play the game, or whether our experiences are predetermined by the game itself – the question of free will. Important to eXistenZ is the fact that while the framework of the game is programmed by the designer, the game is populated by characters, missions, motivations, and villains that are born out of a player’s neurological impulses. Similarly, it can be inferred that, while there is a system that has been set up for our experience in life – a system socially, physically, economically, geographically, ethnically, sexually, and pscychologically constructed – it is our personal choices and actions that populate this framework and bring us to our current state of being. Game urges still exist in eXistenZ as impulses that cannot be defied, but the truth is that these impulses are generated by the user him or herself. Likewise, when we endure something in our lives that feels out of our control, it is our travails, both before and after birth, that have shaped the scenario within which the uncontrollable events occur. Our life experiences are shaped by our natural purpose, but our purpose behind can only be expressed through the experiences we have had.
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