Have you ever checked your "Sent Msgs" folder after waking up on a Saturday just to make sure you didn't embarrass yourself when you came home and logged in at 3 a.m.? Me too. Recently, however, Google has invented a remedy for drunken e-mailing to preserve the dignity of its users.
Google's launch of Mail Goggles has sparked fresh debate over our society's addiction to Internet communication technology. More importantly, however, the product is a reaction to our generation's insecurity: We are unsure of what will become of our identities in the new, hybrid world of real life and the Internet.
Mail Goggles is a new Gmail application, currently in its test phase, that replaces the wise friend who keeps us from sending those late-night, liquid courage"fueled e-mails. After a certain hour on weekend nights, Mail Goggles measures users' ability to solve a few simple math problems before allowing them to access their accounts and any opportunity for embarassment that lies therein.
It would be foolish to argue that BlitzMail should adopt such a wonderfully useful, culturally appropriate piece of technology. I mean, you can't even use advanced features such as font size, color or italics in Blitz. And how different (boring?) our lives would be if there existed something to prevent you from sending embarrassing Blitzes!
As only a handful of people have their Blitz messages forwarded to their Gmail account, Mail Goggles will not meaningfully affect social life at Dartmouth. Still, the idea behind Mail Goggles is very relevant to the lives and worries of Dartmouth students. Ours is a culture of constant surveillance over our friends and acquaintances; Facebook, blogs and instant messaging are ingrained in our lifestyles, and, even if we don't admit it, we worry a lot about how others interpret our virtual personas.
The New York Times used Google's innovation to comment on the idea that we have become so addicted to e-mailing, whether on Blackberries or laptops, that we "need the technological equivalent of a trigger lock on firearms" ("Drunk, and Dangerous, at the Keyboard," Oct. 17). In our generation's case, however, this point is unremarkable, since we've grown up with cell phones in our pockets and AIM on our computers. It is more interesting to consider the anxiety that our wireless lifestyles awaken in us. The appeal of Mail Goggles lies in its promise to protect our online selves from derision. Even if you haven't been drinking, being forced to do math problems before sending a spur-of-the-moment, flirty or otherwise embarrassing e-mail will make you think twice about going through with it.
It is true that poking fun at embarrassing moments and drunken quotes is ingrained in the Dartmouth culture. No section of The Dartmouth is more talked about than "Overheards," and no Greek organization's Wednesday meetings are complete without a roast of a member for his or her weekend exploits.
Overheards are anonymous, though, and embarrassing stories are (usually) told in confidence among friends. Taking the opportunity to explain yourself or laugh with those who saw you fall down the stairs makes you human, and everyone around you can empathize with you.
There's something about putting something in electronic writing -- which can be preserved and reproduced out of context -- that makes it far more incriminating than doing something stupid in public. Mail Goggles are so appealing because they offer to protect us from the harsher ridicule the Internet can bring.
The Internet's time-space gap is funny. On one hand, it allows you to connect with people all over the world very quickly. On the other hand, our increasing interconnectedness creates temporal disconnects: When we try to share something immediate -- something funny, embarrassing or relevant in the moment -- with a friend, if that friend is not online or checking his phone at that moment (God forbid!), our meaning may be lost because the moment has passed by the time our friend reads our message.
While we embrace the connectedness our means of electronic communication provide us, we are still a little scared of thier power. The problem is not that we are always checking Blitz or our cell phone inbox; the problem is that everyone else is, too. Virtual facetime is a far less carefree art than we realized.
