Downtime for multitaskers

The mystery of the nightclub slobs may have been solved. It was a Saturday night at New York's fabled Algonquin Hotel. People were entering the Oak Room for a cabaret performance in the intimate space where smart cosmopolitans had gathered over the decades.

When Cole Porter walked the Earth, the assemblage would have sparkled in evening wear. We don't expect that level of formality anymore. There was one stunning creature — an 80ish woman, whose neck was wrapped in pearls or a good facsimile. Otherwise, the crowd was mostly well turned out in tie and jacket or dinner dress.

But several tables were full of youngish men and women dressed for a nice barbecue. The men were without ties, without even jackets. The women wore casual slacks and sweaters. It didn't make sense. These customers were clearly not in rebellion mode: Shirts were neatly tucked in. (It's not quite fair to call them slobs.) And they had all paid a hefty cover charge. Why didn't they want to participate in this unique experience? The answer may be that they didn't know they were supposed to participate.

An article in Time magazine explains that many Americans, especially younger people, have retreated into their own electronic capsules. Teenagers roam MySpace chat rooms, listen to music, instant message their friends and do homework, all at once. It is a life of media multitasking, in which family interaction is pretty much shut out.

Elinor Ochs, a UCLA anthropologist, has observed their gadget-filled households. "We saw that when the working parent comes through the door," she told Time, "the other spouse and the kids are so absorbed by what they're doing that they don't give the arriving parent the time of day."

College professors complain of students doing e-mail on their laptops during lectures. "I tell my students not to treat me like TV," Aaron Brower, a University of Wisconsin professor, says in the Time article.

That one line could unlock the riddle of why educated young adults dressed for a fancy nightclub the way they would for a movie at the mall. They regard entertainment as a one-way deal. They are mere observers of what's being presented. And the people at the adjoining nightclub tables are not fellow revelers, but folks watching the same TV show.

When you see couples in restaurants and one member is talking on a cellphone, you know that face-to-face personal contact is a fading concept. The experience of live entertainment, be it grand opera or a baseball game, is all about being in the physical presence of others. If all you want to see is what the players are doing on the field, you get a much better view on TV. People go to stadiums to participate in the congregation of fans.

Sociologists say that to addicted multitaskers, the prospect of being unplugged and alone with their thoughts — or even in the company of other plodding humans — puts them in a state of near panic. Perhaps the drop-off in movie-theater attendance is related to the venue's lack of other electronic stimulus. At home, one can watch a DVD and IM some pals, while keeping an ear attached to an iPod.

By the way, researchers say that no one is actually doing several things at once. What we call multitasking is really a "toggling" among activities. Younger brains are especially adept at quickly moving from one thing to another, but their attention at any given time is on a single pursuit — e-mail, "American Idol" or a cellphone conversation. And they don't absorb as much information as someone who spends time at one item before moving on to the next.

But what multitaskers definitely have is no downtime. And if downtime is frightening to the underdressed Oak Room patrons, you can't help wondering what they did during the leisurely lead-ups to some of the songs.

There were several options. They may have sat there stoically, comforted to know that a remote control awaited them at home. Perhaps they were holding their PDAs under the tablecloths and discreetly checking their e-mail. And there's always the possibility that they succumbed to the charms of a living cabaret and vowed to dress up next time.

Providence Journal columnist Froma Harrop's column appears regularly on editorial pages of The Times. Her e-mail address is fharrop@projo.com