Where’s my dang teleporter?
Seriously, it’s 2018. We are officially in the future. People in the 1950s thought we’d be drinking cancer-destroying mimosas while we flew through the skies in jetpacks with a miniature robot massaging our necks by now. And, sure, we’ve had a few breakthroughs. We’ve cured hundreds of once-lethal diseases. We’ve built new ways to harness energy that don’t rely on crushed dinosaur bones. We’ve connected the world in a life-altering way through the Internet, creating a truly global village.
But, to be frank (and somewhat ungrateful), I don’t care about all that right now. At this moment, all I want is a teleporter. I want to step into a Fly-esque pod, press a button, and step out onto the Great Wall of China. I want to travel across the universe in the blink of an eye. We’re living in the future, people; let’s start acting like it.
The Internet, in a way, is a teleportation consolation prize. It allows us to reach people through the digital landscape. We can see and hear our friends and loved ones translated through computer and phone screens. The Internet might not be the teleportation we always dreamed about, but it’ll do in a pinch.
As someone who lives far from home, I rely on the Internet to connect with the East Coast. I dream of one day stepping through a glowing door and appearing on a wharf next to an overeager fiddler, but until Elon Musk or Bill Gates or whichever “benevolent” billionaire we’re supposed to worship finances teleportation technology, I’ll settle for a clunky laptop with a bad Wifi connection.
But we connect with people through more than just the Internet; we connect through culture. We discuss what we love and hate about the latest Marvel movie. We debate the merits of Radiohead’s early material compared to their more recent output. We gush over the latest episodes of Game of Thrones. We learn about each other through our shared cultural experiences.
I felt an intense shared pop culture moment not too long ago. My friend from Halifax and I often chat over Messenger. We share articles, discuss the abysmal Mamma Mia sequel, analyze obscure Twilight Zone episodes, and generally shoot the breeze.
Last week, he introduced me to 6ix9ine. For those not in the know, Mr. 9ine is a controversial rapper popular for his aggressive lyrics, criminal behaviour, and outrageous facial stylings (his teeth have been compared to an army of Skittles). He is a deeply ridiculous figure.
My friend sent me a 6ix9ine song called Billy. It’s two minutes long. It involves a lot of screaming and shouting. The lyrics are well-below the fourth grade reading level. It’s primal, dumbed-down rap music. It’s atrocious. We loved it.
Listening to that song and discussing it with my friend, I felt the power of a shared cultural experience. Four provinces and a three-hour time difference stand between my friend and I, but as we talked about Billy, it was as if we were in the same room. Culture can bring us together, even garbage culture like 6ix9ine’s music. As people in our lives move on to new cities and new careers, culture can be the bond that keeps us all together.
But you know what would keep us together even more? A teleporter. Get on it, Musk. Stop taking credit for saving the Thailand soccer team and make something useful.
