The other day, I was looking through old emails on my computer and somehow ended up in the year 2011. Yes, that could be the beginning of a time-travel story, but not here, not now. One message I saw introduced a product from Apple: an iPhone 4 in white.
A few days later, hoping to learn about a new phone, I sat down at my Apple laptop to watch a livestreamed “Apple Event”—the company capitalizes the term. Some 40 minutes later, when the presentation was still on its first overall subject, new varieties of the Apple Watch, I bowed out and jotted in my journal, “Impressive stuff, but Lord they do go on.”
The next day, in an email recap, I finally glimpsed what I had been wondering about. The recap, which was none too brief itself, covered phones, earbuds, watches, and a service called Apple Fitness+, and it ran to seven pages when I saved it as a PDF. Here’s how it presented one of the new phones.
In Romeo and Juliet, neither a rapier nor a rapier wit is enough to protect Mercutio when a fight erupts between partisans of the Montagues and the Capulets in the streets of Verona. Fighting in public has been forbidden; nonetheless, in what he just called “these hot days,” Mercutio and Tybalt clash for a moment before being separated, and Mercutio takes a hit.
You’ve probably heard one part of his response: “A plague on both your houses!” You may not remember—I didn’t until I checked—how emphatic he is about it. He keeps trying for wit or stoic acceptance but can’t stick with it and utters that curse three separate times. Mercutio is really burned up about what just happened to him.
When I arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport on my first visit to France, I had a question, and after finding an airport worker, I blurted it out directly, with no preliminaries. She tactfully informed me that when you address someone in France, common courtesy calls for you to begin with “Bonjour!” or something of the kind. Writing isn’t the same as talking, nor am I in France (though you may be). Still, it’s a nice idea. So…
Good morning! (It’s morning where I am—that is, when I am.) Or good day, or good evening!
Many people who are reading this novel for the first time at the present moment, with a new kind of plague sweeping the world, are surprised by how well Albert Camus’s 1947 work reflects our experience. I was. But a little reflection showed me another angle on it. If you can look for differences between things—between the present and the past, for instance—you can also look for similarities, and those aren’t hard to discover in this case. Maybe, in fact, we should expect to find that others have lived through what we’re living through. Infectious diseases have marched back and forth across the planet throughout recorded history, and they’ve usually worked in similar ways, appearing like unprovoked and seemingly unconquerable invaders, who lay waste for a while before being repulsed, only to return a little later. With the global spread of the SARS-CoV-2 virus, we’re living through history turned back upon itself, for epidemics and pandemics, you might say, used to be endemic; the biggest difference may be that our current pestilence has so far descended upon us only once. Continue reading →
When will we stop obsessing about our gimmickry of communication and just communicate as best we can? Inexplicably, to me, the show’s catalogue features a reprint of the French philosopher Jean Baudrillard’s flashy, repellently foolish essay of 1991, “The Gulf War Did Not Take Place,” which sashays past the actuality of blasted lives for fancies of postmodernist exposition. According to Baudrillard, “simulacra” have come to displace realities in human understanding. No, they haven’t. But the callousness of his essay may symptomize the condition, shared by all, of feeling overwhelmed by today’s volume and speed of information.
I agree with Schjeldahl and like the directness of his rejoinder to Baudrillard. However, there may have been a portion of Baudrillard in the often-heard, or at least often-cited, response from people who watched replays of airplanes flying into the World Trade Center, that it was like watching a movie. Notably, I’ve seen no such remarks about the coronavirus pandemic. I have seen commentaries, which I haven’t taken the time to read, about the odd allure of photographs showing our oddly depopulated streets and plazas. Maybe the commentaries include comparisons like that. It certainly seems possible for someone to think of The Omega Man (1971), which featured Charlton Heston, or I Am Legend (2007), with Will Smith—both were based on the same 1954 book about a pandemic—or, no doubt, a number of other visual entertainments when we look at such images. On the other hand, maybe people have gotten more sensible or callous or knowing, or maybe we’re in a period where reality keeps biting us harder than our entertainments can. I think it’s more likely, though, that the effects of the current pandemic have crept up on us instead of bursting upon us out of the blue, and that we’re accommodating to it bit by bit: however much things have changed, and however quickly, nothing out there in the world beyond our windows has yet caught us entirely off guard and left us grasping for comparisons. Instead, though this is little better, we keep telling ourselves how unprecedented it all is.
Left, George Young as Dr. Victor Cannerts in a poster for Containment; right, Dr. Li Wenliang. (Images: The CW via IMDb; The New York Times, original source not given.)
Republished, with revisions, from an original post here.
Imagine that a recent immigrant—illegal, it later turns out—staggers into a hospital in your city with what seems like a bad cold and consults with a doctor before vanishing, and the doctor, after showing symptoms almost immediately, dies soon after, of what proves to be a highly lethal and hitherto unknown virus. It’s hard to say how things would go from this point, but your city could find itself facing what Atlanta faces in a single-season TV drama from a few years back—the quarantine of the hospital and an entire section of the city. Continue reading →
What’s happening now? Members of the Lyons family try to catch up. (Image: via HBO.)
Other than saying that Years and Years is a relatively new show on HBO, co-produced with the BBC, it’s hard to know what to call it. For now, I’ll just call it a near-future drama.
The first episode—which aired in the U.S. at the end of June, though I saw it only a couple of days ago—takes us neatly, in its opening section, from something like the present to a few years in the future. It places in the foreground an extended family in England (most of them live in Manchester), which gets most of the screen time as their characters and relationships are carefully built up, but the episode always keeps in view a background of local, national, and international developments: Continue reading →
Lately it’s become common to remark on the togetherness effect of humankind’s first moon landing. A good example comes from today’s Axios AM newsletter:
Yesterday’s 50th anniversary…was a fleeting chance…for the country to rally around something that was exciting and important, brought us together, and ultimately produced the biggest single historic moment ever.…
I’m pausing to honor this moment because they’re so rare, outside the Olympics. The last truly unifying national moment was the tragedy of 9/11.
But Apollo 11 and the later moon landings and the entire sequence from the first Mercury flight to the last liftoff from the lunar surface were not universally welcomed. Continue reading →
Henrik Ibsen, during a period in which he kept a scorpion in a glass on his desk (somehow it seems perfect that Ibsen would keep a scorpion on his desk), noticed that the insect would sometimes become agitated. If he dropped a small piece of fruit in the glass, the scorpion would sting it and then settle down. The conclusion, drawn either by Ibsen in a journal or by the biographer who reported this, was that an occasional discharge of venom helps restore one’s equanimity, or something to that effect. Allow me to try it here.
Decisions: it’s what’s for breakfast. (Screencap via Netflix)
Much of what we’ve seen in previous releases of Black Mirror, an anthology series offered by Netflix, is supposed to make us uncomfortable and does. In “Nosedive,” the eagerness of the central character to participate in a social-ranking system that seems destined to slap her down becomes more and more distressing to watch. In “Metalhead,” our anxiety grows as we watch a woman trying to evade what seems at first to be a very persistent robotic guard dog, which eventually seems more like one of the bringers of an apocalypse. We tune in to these episodes to see what fresh horror—or, far less often, what fresh delight—creator Charlie Brooker and his executive producer, Annabel Jones, can envision for our technological future. In the show’s latest iteration, an interactive movie called Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (I’ll call it BM:B for short), we get a lot of the discomfort we expect, but this time the story takes place in the past, and some of our uneasiness may be unintentional—though I doubt it. Continue reading →