In one of his occasional literary forays not involving four-letter words, my buddy Marc Randazza gets in touch with his inner Luddite at the Legal Satyricon and has an epiphany.
Perhaps I sound like a neo-Luddite, but I think the time has come for a little bit of retrograde thinking when it comes to technology. We are in a bad relationship with a mistress made of silicon, and maybe it is time to break up with her.
Is this technology really making our lives better? I remember being a young man who spent a lot of time at the beach and not a lot of time working. AT&T had an ad campaign that said “Have you ever sent a fax from the beach? You will.” It was presented to us as a promise. It was presented to us as a gift, that we would be able to spend more time at the beach, because we could work from anywhere and we would be freed from our desks and chairs and monitors.
Both promises and curses come wrapped in the same bow. Like Marco, I too remember that ad campaign, and had a similar reaction. Why would I want to fax from the beach? Fax. What a quaint concept. But I digress.
But Marco also relates a story of a man stuck on the railroad tracks because he listened to the gal inside his GPS:
And the man who drove his car onto the train tracks because he listened to his GPS? Back before we could send faxes from the beach, if we were going somewhere we would ask someone how to get there, or we would consult a map that would give us a greater idea of where we stood in the world. Maybe sometimes we got lost. Maybe it was inefficient. Sometimes we got lost and it was a great adventure.
Some of the best times I’ve ever had came from getting lost. I don’t have the best sense of direction, which has never bothered me greatly. So I zig instead of zag? I’ll make it there eventually. In the meantime, I’ll see things I never would have seen otherwise.
I’ve found fabulous restaurants, beautiful sights, intriguing towns and wonderful curiosity shops. Whether I could ever find them again, I don’t know, but that doesn’t matter. I found them once, and that’s what matters.
There is no dot on your GPS for wonderful places off the grid. Sure, it will locate a Red Roof Inn anywhere in the nation, but it won’t tell you where there is a ten-seat French bistro ahead on the left, with no menu and where they decide what to charge based on how much you appreciate the cooking.
As I get older, I begin telling younger people to be careful what they wish for. With every bit of success comes responsibility and stress. Well now we have, as a species, succeeded in creating machine after machine and device after device that promised to make our lives “easier.” It isn’t easier. It isn’t better. Instead of human interaction, we have machine slavery.
I grew up in the space age. We had this stuff called Tang, which was marketed as “what the astronauts drank.” We had Swanson TV dinners, which were prepackaged full meals, from meat to dessert, which were in tin foil “plates” with sections for each. Pop it in the oven and, voila, you had dinner. And I drank Carnation Instant Breakfast before walking to school, in the snow, two miles, uphill both ways.
The pitch was how everything would make life easier. And it was easy. It just wasn’t any good. The trade-off was unavailing, but at the time, it was what everyone desired.
Youngsters like Marc see themselves as neo-Luddites. I’m more the real McCoy. Not because I don’t have the gadgets, though I still refuse to give anyone my cell number because I have no desire to be called 24/7 or be available at other people’s beck and call. It’s because I won’t be fooled again. I will never again drink Tang or eat my dinner from a tin foil compartmentalized plate. They promised ease and delivered the curse of mediocrity.
But most of all, I will not lose the chance to find someplace wonderful. I don’t know where it is yet, but if just keep going, take a left at the rock that looks like a bear and a right at the bear that looks like a rock, I’ll find it. I don’t know its name. It’s not on a map. And the gal in the GPS can’t even pronounce its name, but it’s there, waiting for me to stumble upon it on the way to someplace else.
Is having the coolest new shiny iPad 27e worth never finding anyplace fabulous? Turn off the GPS. Turn off the phone. Hop in the Healey and feel wind. Hear what an engine sounds like through a throaty exhaust, so loud that you can’t hear the radio. Smell gasoline exploding in cylinders.
Then, go in a direction you’ve never gone before, a road that leads away from the ones you always take. And when you see a place ahead that looks different, interesting, pull off. Walk in and take a chance. It may not be spectacular, but then, neither is anywhere you normally go. But then, maybe it will be wonderful, and wholly unexpected, and fun beyond your wildest expectations.
You will never find such a place with your GPS functioning properly. You need to get lost.
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At a BBQ yesterday, we talked about how the GPS is actually making us dumber. Because when forced to find your way in the world you lead. And learn. But the GPS turns us into followers, who learn little.
(P.S. Not all of the old tech was bad. There was, after all, the Zenith Space Commander “clicker” that let you changed the channel.)
The friggin’ Zenith space commander worked about once every twelve clicks. And you still had to get up to fix the vertical hold.
Yeah, but if it didn’t work you call always rattle a few quarters together and get the same frequency to make the dial move. #Technology.
My first reaction to this post was “technology is beneficial if you use it right,” but then who does? It’s convenient being able to plug an address into a GPS system and drive off, but then… I still remember the day I decided I was sick of being a slave to technology, ripped the GPS unit out of my car, and got rid of it forever. It was amazing how much better I came to know my town when I had to navigate using a map and the Mk1 Eyeball.
“And the man who drove his car onto the train tracks because he listened to his GPS?” I believe the saying is “garbage in, gospel out.” All hail Silicon, the one true god! (For a bit of fun, try looking up all the disasters GPS over-reliance has caused.)
(In retrospect, technically I might not have been the person to take out the GPS. And that person took a lot else from my car too. And it’s not like I remembered the lock the car that day. But the point is…)
But the clicker didn’t work on UHF, and that’s where all the cool stuff was. I still remember the day, somewhere in the mid-60s, that Dad brought home a funny little box with a loop antenna, hooked it to the TV, and opened up a whole new universe of old horror movies and Japanese animation.
Now, if only I could get the taste of those Space Food Sticks out of my mouth. Gawd. Poor astronauts!
Funny how the more technology I’m surrounded with that supposedly makes my life easier I find myself reverting back to the “old fashioned” way of doing things. I prefer charcoal over gas/propane. I’ve discovered the joys of old school shaving using DE razors and shaving cream that you need to whip up in a shaving mug. Don’t even get me started about fountain pens and cuff links. Now I just need to get into wristwatches and stop looking at my phone to know the time.
Wait, you did DE razors but have yet to get into wristwatches? #SequenceMatters
I find it poetic that you’re using a # to correct me on the proper way of how to kick it old school.
I prefer to think of it as the opposite of irony.
Always use a DE, have never worn a wristwatch. I like asking people what time it is. Oh, and on the general topic, I own a copy of “Minutes of the Lead Pencil Club”, edited by Bill Henderson (Pushcart Press, 1996) an early cri-de-couer for those of us who still consider ourselves Luddites. Worth finding.
Show off.
Wrinkly?
Yup. Wrinkly.
You’re spot on that losing the ability to get lost is a huge loss in itself. Growing up in Western Mass., many of my happiest days started by pointing my car in the general direction of the Berkshires and then taking every wrong turn I could find.
Technology has improved parts of my life and worsened others. I love the way I can, from my desk (or phone) look up just about anything I want and not have to go stumbling around a dozen libraries to find it.
I do try to limit what control my devices have over me. I answer my phone when I feel like it, which overlaps with “when I’m not doing anything more important, like eating.”
But I take myself as far off the grid as possible at least a couple of times a year. I go out fishing in the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico, beyond the reach of cell phone towers and the Internet. Sure, GPS is helping us know where we are and the fish might be, but that GPS is being used on our demand; we’re not responding to its demands. Radar is nice, too. If it tells us we’re going to collide with a ship if we don’t change course, well, we’ll pay some attention to that.
It’s incredibly refreshing to not be tied in with the whole of Internet-connected humanity for days at a time. And that analog wristwatch? It’s a great fall-back compass when the GPS satellites crap out.
I grew up on the edge of wilderness and getting lost is highly overrated. People trying to get lost have died in the wilderness when they got lost on forest service roads. So I’ll stick with a GPS.
Also you’d be surprised what various online apps have for information about the tiny french bistros.
I feel sad for you.
Before I read this blog, I read the title. And I thought, “Good idea.” Maybe it’s the result of growing up with parents who truly believed in the idea of a “Sunday Drive.” Maybe it’s the fact that I ride motorcycles. But getting lost is an essential fun pastime for me. I do “get lost” regularly. I’ll take a road because it “looks curvy.” I’ll stop at a place to eat based on the number of pick ups and/or motorcycles in the parking lot. I probably don’t find a lot of French Bistros that way, but I’d never have found a place that serves Irish Eggrolls if I hadn’t gotten lost.
Great advice. Everyone go get lost.
When I’m cruisin’, I sometimes get waves from bikers. I may not be riding a motorcycle, but they get what I’m doing. It’s the secret handshake of the road.
Absolutely! Bikers have all sorts of secret handshakes. If we wave at you as we pass you, we’ve recognized something in you that we relate to. It means, at the least, we forgive your cage, and welcome to the road. Bikers, truckers and cruisers. We all know how to enjoy the asphalt.
And by the way, seriously, start looking for Irish Egg Rolls. Yum!
“You need to get lost”
That, my friend, is the best advise I’ve gotten in years. Many thanks.
Thanks, PMS. Have a great weekend. Go for a ride.
Love to, as soon as you loan me your Healey, lol
It’s yours! Of course, after I’m done using it.
HAHAHAHAHA, done!
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