There’s a story about a college freshman who walks into the university library for the first time and sees a long row of books, all with the same binding, on a shelf.  “What’s this?” he asks the librarian.  “What are all these books that all look the same?”

“That’s the encyclopedia,” the librarian tells him.

“Really? Cool! Somebody printed the whole thing out?” the student responds.

For students today, for the most part, “encyclopedia” means wikipedia. I don’t think there’s a college student in this country (maybe not even an elementary student) who has not used wikipedia.  Some colleges have tried to ban it, some professors say they won’t allow it as a source for research, but it is still the first reference, the go-to source, for almost any topic.  It’s comprehensive, up-to-date, and accurate (maybe not so sure about that last–at least not on every topic).  Wikipedia has several advantages over the “traditional” encyclopedia.  It can be updated quickly and frequently.  It has no real limit on size (it doesn’t have to fit on a shelf), so it can include all kinds of information, particularly about popular culture, that there would be no room for in a printed encyclopedia.  It’s searchable and most of all hyper-linked, so connections and cross-references and serendipitous discovery are at the center of the experience.  But like any tool (as you’ll read from me in the one of the readings for this unit), if it’s not used as what it is, it will be inefficient or ineffective, or even harmful.  Which is (partly) why some colleges and professors want to ban it.

For most students, other than just searching and finding an article, the bulk of wikipedia might just as well not even exist.  I hear people all the time, not just students saying things about “them” at wikipedia.  But the point of wikipedia is that there really is no “them.”  It’s US.  I know all of you have read articles on wikipedia.  But have you written any? Or even edited any?  When you read an article, do you check the talk page for that article? That’s where the action is!  I’ve been in a few editing struggles (I won’t say wars) on wikipedia myself, and I have to say that that’s where I’ve learned the most–not just about the subject, but about wikipedia, too.  When you realize that there is no “them,” that we are all editors, all wikipedians, it becomes a much more interesting and useful tool.  I would like to see college classes (maybe even this one!) instead of forbidding wikipedia, requiring it.  But requiring that students write articles, or edit existing articles.

The point of learning to ask, of google-fu and searching as a powerful act is that we get to create the information as we consume it.  That’s a concept that is new, and one that is somewhat explored in some of your readings.  When I used to use the World Book Encyclopedia as a kid, or the Encyclopedia Britannica, I would sometimes find things that I didn’t like or agree with.  But there wasn’t much I could do about that, and I had no idea about how an encyclopedia was written or assembled.  But now I do–and now I’ve done it myself.

The title of this post (“we are wikipedians”) sounds in my head like the little girl saying “we are wine bottles!” in this video

That video (apart from being one of the cutest things ever) gives a somewhat indirect example of what’s going on in the world of information right now.  “Kittens,” inspired by Kittens, could be a shorthand for the world of remixing and mashing up–where you get to create your own communities and your own publications.

I was watching a news-oriented talk show, and one of the guests made a claim about healthcare in this country.  It was a factual claim, and a controversial one, and she made it very authoritatively, but the host did not believe her.  “Come on,” he said.  “That can’t be right.”

“You can Google it yourself!” she told him.  “I’m sure there are people with their iPhones right here in the audience googling it right now.”  The camera didn’t show the studio audience, but I imagined dozens of little screens lighting up and dozens of (tens of dozens?) or fingers rapidly tapping out search terms.

But would those fingers find and those screens show?  Try googling any even somewhat controversial claim (global warming, immigration reform, pick your topic), and you’ll find thousands and thousands of bits of information–some accurate, some objective, some factual, some polemic, some funny, some dishonest–the whole wide range.

“To google” is a verb (and, sure, it includes Bing and all the other search engines), and talk-show guests aren’t the only ones who will tell you to “just google it” (or they may even throw another word in there–like in the page that the picture of Bart Simpson above links to–sorry about that link.  I didn’t choose the language!).  But there’s more than just googling involved.

If Google is the massive collective brain, with all the information of the universe stored in it (and I’m not sure that’s exactly what it is), then it also includes all the junk and garbage that we all keep (maybe longer than we should) in our own individual brains.  Lyrics to songs you used to like in third grade, the best way to unwrap a Tootsie Roll, the hate-letter you wrote to someone who annoyed you on the subway–it’s all there, along with the exact population of Tallahassee, Florida and the military expenditures of Zimbabwe and the complete works of Jane Austen and a very good recipe for paella.

“Google-Fu” (like “Kung-Fu,” right?) is a skill of self-defense and even of attack–it’s the true power today.  Just entering a search term like “global warming” isn’t a skill, it’s not even really something that should be called searching.  And taking that first link on the results page is even less of a skill.  Setting up a search, refining the results.  If your google-fu is truly strong, you can get the real result, the right result, quickly and efficiently.  And you can know the result you’ve got is the best one and be able to explain why.

But how do we teach people these skills? There aren’t google-fu academies, and while some schools (particularly libraries) do their best to help students with these skills, others just try to prevent or limit what students do with that massive collective brain.  It seems that the secrets of searching, of learning how to ask, are too often shared just by word-of-mouth.  Or not shared at all.  Can we change that? Should we?

Compare a few significant social interactions in your life–especially if some of them are mediated by writing…especially writing on a screen.

I’ve always preferred writing to talking as a method of communication. I find that when we write, we’re more likely to actually transmit information than when we speak to each other. And as much as I enjoy chatting with friends for hours, when it comes to the less inane, it seems to me like a waste of time and energy to fumble around a topic instead of getting to the point. I’m often annoyed when an old classmate will call me and try to make “small talk,” when all she really wants is my help, and we’ve rarely spoken beyond that. Why is there a need beyond the original greeting to act as if she’s interested in what I’m doing? I know that she wants something, she knows that I know, and once we’ve covered the fact that we’re both doing well, there’s no need to inquire further. Of course, this isn’t always so, but it’s usually clear when a person is genuinely interested. I might come off as a bit jaded, but I’ve honestly no patience for it.

On the other hand, there are real friends, people who want to speak to me and to whom I want to speak, and those people I make a point of calling from time to time, or (preferably) seeing them in person. In those cases, inane conversation is really an important aspect of the friendship, and really very enjoyable. We’ll email and text message, too, of course, but generally, these relationships are in person.

I bring the latter forward now because I’d like to compare it to my online interactions with absolute strangers I have never met, and probably will never meet. (And no, I’m not talking about following the Dalai Lama on Twitter.) I’ve met these people through my online interests, generally on a fandom-related site, and they know me only by my handle.

My online relationships are fairly one-dimensional. While my friends in the real world know about my family, other friends, interests, goals, and everything in between, my online friends know about one particular interest of mine. Granted, they know far more about it than my real world friends would ever even care to learn, but they don’t know me, just that one aspect of my identity.

But my online interactions aren’t about getting to know other people. They’re about learning and communicating and delving deeply into whichever shared interest we have. Sometimes, they do dip into the real world- for example, one of the contributors on one forum once asked for help on a newspaper article she was writing on a certain topic, one my sister knows much about firsthand. I was able to connect them via email, and two completely unrelated people on different continents shared information. However, as a rule, I don’t ask for information unless if it’s offered. We’re united only by our love for a fandom, and that’s more than enough for a relationship so limited.

This topic doesn’t mention learning, but I’d like to address it, too, since it’s applicable here. I feel that when I’m speaking to friends in the fandom, I’m much more likely to be open to new information than when it’s taught to me by a real world friend. I think that I associate the Internet and my online friends with fun and enjoyment, and one of my favorite things to do online is to read essays written by online friends. For example, I took a class on mythology last year in college, and found that a topic that had greatly interested me before the class became far duller when taught in a school setting. But a few weeks ago, one of my fellow posters on one site took The Odyssey and The Iliad and compared them to the storyline for several seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (here, if anyone’s interested). And that I was much more interested in reading; and, in fact, for the first time since taking the mythology class, I took out my copy of The Odyssey to reread it. There’s a certain, more casual attitude in writing when it’s over the Internet (case in point: this would be far more formal if I weren’t writing it for an online course), and because of that, there’s far more openness to learning and teaching. It doesn’t matter that I’m still in college and half of my friends of livejournal are forty-year-old professionals; they read what I write and treat it with respect, like they would any of their peers’ work. On the Internet, a screen conceals us all and forces us to treat others as equals unless our online behavior makes that impossible. Without race, gender, age, or other external factors influencing our opinions, we really can teach and learn from each other with no reservations.