Many a time over the course of the last several years, friends, family members, acquaintances, colleagues, and strangers have commented on one, defining characteristic of mine: "Wow. She is really technologically-challenged."
It is no secret that I hate technology, and technology hates me. We share a mutually antagonistic relationship. I inadvertently cause monumental technological malfunctions, while technology gives me emotional break-downs by spitefully choosing to malfunction the night before an assignment is due. There was a time when I would have liked to be technologically-competent. It would sure make the submission of assignments less ulcer-inducing. So clearly, my intent is not malicious. Technology, on the other hand, is filled with contempt towards us inferior humans.
While I am not what you would call a manual laborer, I prefer to perform most tasks independently. For instance, I do not feel the need to obtain a Smart Phone that will do my taxes, tell me which medication to prescribe my patient, attend a parent-teacher conference on my behalf, and track incoming low-pressure systems. In fact, I think that these highly advanced devices are breeding a generation of exceptionally stupid humans with poor social skills and minuscule attention spans. As the technology is progressively getting smarter and more competent, we are devolving into slack-jawed, drooling, inept humanoids who while away the empty hours by playing Angry Birds.
One might describe my attitude towards technology as "contemptuous". One might be correct, if one were referring to the specific genus of technology that includes Nooks, Kindles, Droids, iPhones, BlackBerrys, iPods, iPads, iSnores, iBarfs, iMasticates, and anything that can be described as a "tablet". (As an aside, I, for the life of me, cannot understand what exactly a tablet is. As far as I've been able to discern, a tablet is a laptop that has survived an eating disorder and is now slender, confident, and popular.) However, if one were referring to the other genera of technology--the ones that include nuclear war-heads, military fighter planes, automatic weapons, Hummers, WebMD, broilers, and electric toothbrushes, my attitude would more accurately described as "fear".
Yes, friends, I will confess: I am terrified of the technological advances that our society has made in the last century. I believe that we have opened Pandora's Box, or discovered the One Ring, if you're more of a Tolkien geek than a mythology geek. (I'm a little bit of both.) In my opinion, the technology is rapidly outsmarting its creators, and, at the rate we're going, we'll end up being enslaved by our more powerful inventions, ultimately leading to the systematic eradication of the human race at the hands of malicious Droids and motile iPads.
What's that you said? I'm crazy? Well! Allow me to explain. Every time I get in a car, for instance, I find myself reflecting on the fact that my life is being placed in the hands of an unfeeling machine that knows more about me than I know about it. It knows how far away from the steering wheel I like to sit. It knows my favorite XM radio stations (all classical, jazz, and musical theatre, duh). It knows how hot or cold the temperature needs to be for my comfort. All I know about it is the fact that the engine works by a series of combustion reactions, and the only reason I even know that is because they taught us that in medical school. (Don't ask me why they taught us that. I think it had something to do with farts.) The car does not have to do what I want it to do. And if it chooses not to do what I want it to do, I would have no idea how to encourage it into submission. So really, am I all that crazy?
Furthermore, I think that the technology knows it has the upper hand. It knows of our sick obsession with its many wonders. Don't you think that Facebook knows that it's turned teenagers into a herd of creepy, self-involved, instant-gratification-obsessed stalkers who know that the girl they sat next to in homeroom five years ago and once borrowed a highlighter from is now pregnant with twins, whom she has already named Crispin and Thos and who are currently measuring 14 cm long? When I was in high school, my friends wouldn't know about something that was happening in my life until I told them. Nowadays, teenagers have the unique ability to know every detail about people to whom their actual social connection is tenuous at best. It's creepy. It's odd. It's totally not indicative of how human interactions should be. And Facebook, in my humble opinion, wouldn't have it any other way. It knows that, if it hinders our ability to interact properly with our fellow humans, the technology will have an even easier time of dominating us. Our best efforts at enacting an uprising would probably involve someone posting a status update about enacting an uprising and a bunch of people "liking" it.
And so I revel in my ancient laptop and my Samsung cell phone with the sliding keyboard. I listen to my iPod Mini from 2004, even though I have no idea how to add more songs to it, since I deleted iTunes in a fit of technology-directed vitriol last year. I read books made out of paper. I write my appointments in a daily planner. I send letters and cards in envelopes, utilizing the much-maligned U.S. Postal Service. I insist that a human being scan my shampoo and Listerine at the drug store, rather than going through the automated self-checkout (that stupid thing never works for me, anyway. It knows I'm onto it!). I am proud to be considered charmingly eccentric in my old-fashioned habits. Because I know that, when the robots take over, I'll be ready and able to fight back, while the rest of you are downloading books onto your Kindles and playing Angry Birds.
Still think I'm crazy? Well, forget you. I'm going to the barn to churn some butter! Peace out!
