Instant gratification.
Every generation in human history has lived with an innate desire to get something for little or nothing. Until recently, instant gratification was a fantasy. If you wanted to be entertained, you read a book or went to a hoedown; if you wanted to enjoy sexual intercourse, you courted and got hitched. People dreamed of a world where the prize could be won with minimal effort.

We live that dream. Welcome to now, the Age of Minimal Effort. Things pan out a lot differently today than they did 20, 50, or 100 years ago. Rather than relying solely on books for entertainment, we have comic books, iTunes, the cinema, and everyone’s favorite and most accepting parent, television. When we need to expel some of that naughty sexual energy, we can say bollocks to marriage and enjoy premarital sex. If no partner is willing or available, we have a thriving pornography industry to fall back on. Really, there’s no denying that we have got it made. Cell phones? YouTube? Starbucks? Few of us churn our butter anymore, but if it’s churned we want, Country Crock is happy to oblige.

Minimal effort is fantastic. When I write articles I no longer have to do as thorough a proofreading job as my forefathers. Yet how am I reinforcing good writing habits when my word processor automatically changes “recieve” to “receive”? What’s to stop me from forgetting that it’s “e” before “i” except after “c”?

This brings us to the dark side of the Age of Minimal Effort. Ever heard the old adage “you reap what you sow”? If we sow minimally, will we enjoy only a minimal reap? Rapper Kid Rock has a lyric that fits nicely here (I know, I’m as surprised as you are): “You get what you put in / And people get what they deserve.” Okay, so that second part is trite nonsense, but that first line has some merit. If we only put in a little, should we expect to get a lot?

Of course we should! We’re the Age of Minimal Effort! It’s the entire basis for the American Dream: make a small investment, watch small investment pay off big time, buy an island and live like Marlon Brando. But could it be that the very paradigm behind the American Dream is (gulp)…flawed?

Investing a little could be costing a lot. One negative side-effect of a media-rich, instant gratification culture is the loss of the almighty attention span. According to Businessballs.com, the average attention span of the average listener is a mere six to eight minutes. How to you think that compares to your great-great-grandmother’s
attention span? For a woman who had to endure full-on childbearing (not to mention the churning of butter), six to eight minutes is nothing. (Our great-great grandparents would’ve made phenomenal executives.)

As a co-worker of mine recently pointed out to me, many pedestrians (including myself) find it hard to make a two-minute trek without an iPod. I find myself reaching for that little box of distraction now and I worry: “What is Apple doing to my attention span?” Our fantastic culture is rich with media catering to instant gratification. Book publishers are now strapped to publish short novels. Why? Because most Americans don’t read, and those who do want a book they can finish before their TV dinner finishes microwaving. Film editing utilizes quick cuts and short scenes; film audiences haven’t the patience they once had. If patience is a virtue, we’re all screwed, save for the Amish. They’re probably safe; they still churn butter. Country Crock hasn’t corrupted them yet.

We are ruled by a collective lack of commitment. This could be worse than the time that Dr. Doom used the Purple Man’s mind-control powers to take control of the planet. Dr. Doom and the Purple Man are fictional comic book characters, but the institutions and conveniences we rely on to sustain our Age of Minimal Effort are real. Our invisible rulers are the insidious and wonderful Apple Corporation, the Fox Network, and easily accessible musical acts, like that Kid Rock fellow. And what does Mr. Rock have to say to his constituents?

“Bawitdaba da bang a dang diggy diggy diggy said the boogy said up jump the boogy.” It’s better than most Bush speeches, but we could use a little more substance.

Charles Smith is a native scamp of Southwest Virginia. He is both an accomplished meanderer and a former backyard wrestling champion.
He hopes to someday own a cat that he can name “Seven” in memory of George Costanza.