I'm afraid I've turned into a dinosaur. Computers scare me, mobile fax machines strike me as excessive, I can't make four consecutive photocopies without a major misfeed, and the concept of virtual reality really freaks me out. I'm not even out of college yet and huge leaps in technology are already leaving me in the dark ages.
Just this week I've seen several advertisements for products that could easily blow my mind. We can now buy an "intelligent" car that understands and responds to the driver's every need. Or we can purchase a one-pound electronic diary that stays loyal to its owner by utilizing secret handwriting entrance codes and setting off obnoxious alarms when it senses an impending violation. We can even subscribe to a telecommunications company that promises to bring virtual reality right into our homes.
Just hold on there a minute. Isn't this moving a little fast? I'm still gloating over my mastery of call-waiting and a VCR timer I figured out a few years back. I haven't yet discovered how to work my e-mail account and I'm not nearly done banging my head against my present computer (which, by the way, now knows me so well that it can coordinate its memory lapses with my times of highest stress).
But technology knows no mercy. As if the idea of computer chips ruling my schoolwork wasn't bad enough, now they're trying to take over my car, my diary and even my basic perceptions of reality.
Okay, I admit that some of these new contraptions do sound interesting. But I will hold fast to the golden rule of technological ignorami: The more high-tech something is, the more likely I am to screw it up, and the more difficult it will be to fix. Therefore, just leave it alone. "User-friendly" is a hoax; no matter how "user-friendly" something is, there is always, and I mean always, a way to cause a major breakdown. Trust me on this one. I know.
In practical terms, this hate-hate relationship I have with new technology means that I should flee from anything that has ever even heard the word "byte." If I don't, I'm liable to buy a car that's smarter than I am and, one day, as I'm zipping down I-95 in my high-tech wheels, I'll reach over to change the radio station. Big mistake. I will unwittingly press something (nobody ever knows what) and my nifty new car's computer chip will suddenly realize it is homesick. It will fake a break-down, lock me out when I go to see what's wrong, and drive back to Detroit, leaving me stranded on the highway, hankering for a beat-up old Buick I once knew. It's just not a pretty picture.
And what about this electronic diary/personal security secretary? Do I really want to depend on a ruthless piece of silicon to keep track of all my appointments, assignments and innermost thoughts? I don't know. In my infinite technological lameness, I might press something (nobody ever knows what) and get it irked. It might grow bitter and give me a professor's number to call about a prescription, or, worse, send me to interviews when I'm dressed for aerobics. At least my current daily planner has the decency to leave me alone.
I guess I'm just not ready for all these breakthroughs. My idea of virtual reality is rolling over, hitting snooze, and dreaming I'm actually getting ready for class. "Snooze" I can handle. Anything more complicated than that and things start to break down. I guess I'm feeling pretty inept about it, too. I mean, fourth graders can build entire cities on their computers and I still haven't figured our how to use italics. I think I might be in trouble. . .
How I long for the days when remote control television was on the cutting edge! . . . When answering machines were a novelty! . . . When microwaves were still exciting! Dammit, after a few messy incidents with aluminum foil, I learned to defrost with the best of them! Ah, but those days have gone the way of the 8-track tape. . . make that cassettes. . . or CDs for that matter.
But what about me? Will I fall victim to the same fate as previous generations? Will I gaze in stupid wonderment as 10-year-olds carelessly program my fridge to toss salads and water the geraniums? I probably will. But as long as my car, my diary and my reality all keep their chips off me, I'll be just fine. I'll simply slip my "Totally '80s" tape into my Walkman (no, not Discman), drink a Tab (why not?) and set my VCR to catch "The Flinstones." And as long as nobody sends a fax through my toaster, I think I'll be all right.
Wendy Rosenberg is a Trinity senior.
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