I spent the weekend traveling with three journalists, one of whom was rarely seen without her BlackBerry. She texted and tweeted constantly: during bus rides, during meals, during concerts.
Forget taking time to reflect on your experience; she was so busy expressing herself that she wasn't able to have an experience. Much of the city passed by her unnoticed, so focused was she on her toy keyboard. One morning one of the other journalists said to her: "I know you're on your second cup of coffee from reading Facebook," and I couldn't decide who was the more lame: she for writing that news bulletin or he for reading it.
The more time passed, the more annoyed I became with her. It wasn't just the rudeness, preferring communication with imagined readers to interaction with the people around her. It was the aura of industriousness that she created. Tapping away on the bus, while the rest of us gazed out the window, she looked like the diligent one. She made me feel idle, observing and taking mental notes of the city while she sent off inconsequential tweets.
And even if I was idle, at least I was keeping it to myself.
