I had to kick myself when I spotted Frank Bruni’s column in The New York Times on Tuesday about how technology allows people to create a homogenous world of their own tastes and opinions, blinding us from expanding our cultural horizons.
The words hit close to home with bruising force, a pointed punch on the past handful of nights I’ve spent stuck to my computer screen, door locked and windows closed against the resounding music of nearby parties. Every day I’ve completed a handful of tasks and many nights I’ve retreated to American movies, music and television shows.
This is a sad excuse for a reward system, one I’ve clung to since binge became the verb most closely associated with Netflix. Everyone does it. It’s not that bad for you. It gives you a sense of control.
On any given thirsty Thursday or Louisiana Saturday night, how often are we more inclined to entertain ourselves at home on the couch with Hungry Howie’s and a “Mad Men” marathon? Why is it easy to say we deserve a break from the world and a feast of “No Reservations.” Instead, we should be throwing back our days with shots of firewater like Anthony Bourdain.
At the end of the day, when we get home from work or school and the buzz of stress still vibrates in our veins, we often find it more convenient to quiet the hum with guilty pleasures than worthwhile exploits.
Personal expense comes into play when the cost of dinner or drinks or a night on the town doesn’t seem worth the reward of experience, and the cost of energy and inconvenience laden the bill until the clear choice is the lazy one.
The “poor college student” excuse is more than a cliché. It’s a genuine obstacle when tuition, rent and living expenses tower over the salary of a part-time job. We must become warriors of happy hour, knights of weekly dinner specials and saviors of the lost change in the couch.
It’s an exercise of will to pull together our booze-night best, run a brush through the bed head we’ve been rocking through the school day and bribe a designated driver to escort us through a pregame, a party and the Taco Bell drive-through at the end of it all. But it’s worth the effort when you can escape the smoldering seductress that is a sweatpants Saturday.
If you’ve ever complained that Baton Rouge lacks culture or things to occupy your wandering mind, I challenge you to go to the Red Stick Farmer’s Market, Art Melt, White Light Night or Live After Five. Drive an hour to New Orleans for a free show at Tipitina’s, a night in Marigny or a meal at Cooter Brown’s.
Spend a night in only when your feet are too sore, your palate is too sophisticated and your brain is too overwhelmed with the life experience you’ve acquired. Watch a foreign film. Listen to a new album. Don’t fall into what Bruni named “virtual enclaves” or “a thoroughly customized cocoon.”
I’m damn tired of old white men telling me technology is ruining Generations X and Y. Text your plans, make a Facebook group, Instagram those moments when you can’t stop laughing and are #drunk and #highonlife, but don’t let it hold you back.