Information Anxiety

When I just googled the term "information anxiety," I didn't find what I wanted, and I am an impatient redhead. Mother had a million (okay, yes, as usual, I speak in hyperboles) magazines in her house, and she was afraid to throw them away unread. She knew she didn't need them all, but she was afraid that in one of them would be the article/recipe/reference that would change her life. She found (probably in one of those magazines) a definition for information anxiety that matched her disorder. According to google, that definition has changed a bit to mean the following: Human cost of information overload. In the words of Richard Saul Wurman (author of the book 'Information Anxiety'), it is “produced by the ever-widening gap between what we understand and what we think we should understand. It is the black hole between data and knowledge, and what happens when information doesn't tell us what we want or need to know.” Mother's definition predated the widespread use of the internets, so perhaps that is why the change.

In addition to my smile and my eyes, I inherited from her a bit of what she had in regards to information. The internet and my new blackberry have helped and hurt this malady.

I absolutely can't stand not knowing things. Thank goodness I don't have to wait for an idea to pop into my head, or get home to look it up in the encyclopedia or dictionary.

While in San Francisco, this problem came up many times. In a Peruvian restaurant and your husband says "all they serve in Peru is potatoes, yucca and guinea pig"? Mr. Google will not only confirm that "cuy" is the word for guinea pig, but it will give you a picture of one on a plate.



Learn that the recipe for fried olives (wonderful, by the way) includes buttermilk? A few clicks and you learn that it is the part of the milk leftover from churning butter--not buttery at all.

See "eggs a la russe" on a fifty year old menu and wonder if they are the same as deviled eggs? Why of course you can find out.



Perhaps not exactly the same, but very close.

I don't know if this is a completely good thing. Is it rude to reach for the blackberry at the dinner table? Does it detract from the conversation or add to it? Should I be put on restriction from using mine? If so, I'm blaming Mother. She would have thought it was rude (hell, she thought call waiting was rude), but she would have liked being able to keep one blackberry instead of a dusty pile of magazines.