A Contrarian's View of Technology: I Like My Recipes On Cards with Rubber Bands

Let me start with a story. 

In a news article a year ago, Gene and Joan Tankersly were interviewed about a movie being made in their neighborhood about Steve Jobs, who lived across the street from the Tankerslys during his youth. 

"The Tankersleys, now both in their 80s...recalled the day Steve Jobs, a friend of their daughters, raced over to invite the couple to look at what he and Wozniak had created - a box-like device with a keyboard." 

"It didn't mean anything to us," said Gene Tankersley.

"He [Jobs] said, 'Everyone is going to want one of these things,'" added Joan Tankersley.  "I said, 'Steve, what would I do with it?'  He said, 'You can put your recipes on it.'  I said, 'I like to put them on cards with rubber bands.'"
("Filming of jOBS' movie begins in Jobs family home," N&O, 17 June 2012).

I sometimes address the digital divide with my students the first day of class.  Especially the expectations of late teens and twentysomethings and their mid-fortysomething instructor regarding the use, response, and thrill of technology.

I crossed the digital divide in 1987.  I was a student at UNC-Chapel Hill and one of our history professors assigned us to the computer lab to access a "historical game model" he and a colleague had developed.  Basically you read historical scenarios and then (the magic....) you CLICKED on various computer keys to signal a yes or no response, to move you forward to another historical scenario (Excitement = PONG).  I later participated in a brief study in the pyschology department on how to use a mouse - it was like riding a bike for the first time.  Gradually, I found myself reserving time in the computer lab to type papers for class.  The most jarring moment came in 1990 when a friend studying at the University of Michigan discussed how she had communicated to another friend in Los Angeles by computer.  She said, "A box appeared, you typed a message, then hit 'send.'  Within minutes, you received a 'message' back from the friend that you could open and read on your computer."  I remember saying, "What?  That Fast? Unbelievable!"

I know, it sounds really pathetic. But that's when and how it began for me. 

I must admit that even though I've grown up with this digital divide, and could have plunged headlong into the technological buffet before me, I remained a bit of a technophobe.  A technocontrarian really.  I believe that technology offers unlimited benefits (and I want people to exploit those, I myself employ them frequently at work), but at the same time I know something has been lost.  In 1999, when visiting Oxford, Mississippi, I walked around campus and noticed that students within touching distance of one another did not talk to those around them, but instead chatted on their phones.  This is, of course, now commonplace everywhere, except even if you are in a real, live, one-on-one conversation with someone, the cellphone call may still take priority.  I have consciously tried to fight back.

For example, when I am visiting with someone, either in conversation, dinner, or a car-ride, I purposefully do not check my phone if it rings (even if I have the phone handy).  I'm of the position that if it is important, they will call back later, or leave a message that I can check and respond to later.  Or, if it is really urgent, they will contact the Highway Patrol who will pull me over on the road, or knock on my front door.  The people who really need to get in touch with me have my number, or know someone or some way to get it.

Didn't anyone else grow up when dinnertime was sacred?  You sat at the table talking and if the phone (the one right there on the wall in the kitchen) rang, you wouldn't answer it, but instead reasoned if it was really important they would call back later.  Or, for goodness sake, if they were calling between 5:30-7:30, didn't they know you were eating dinner (a forgivable offense if they were new in town and hadn't learned your family's eating schedule)?

I think I'm resisting the demand of immediacy.  Increasingly, we live in a world that demands our attention, and luckily, I'm still living with the luxury of not having to give a quick response.  Must everyone and everything be answered NOW?  The answer is simply no.  I have found that questions hastily asked, if left unanswered, will often resolve themselves within reasonable time.  On the flip side, I will admit I have missed dinner, concert, and movie invitations because I didn't have the phone handy, or didn't get to the call/text immediately.  Can I continue my pace forever...doubtful...but let me enjoy my moment.

Perhaps it's just me and it is in my genes?  My older brother and I are both phone phobic.  Growing up, the phone used to start ringing in the kitchen and my brother would direct me to answer it.  I'd say, "I'm not getting it, you get it."  He'd retort, "I'm not getting it, it's your turn."  We'd both ping-pong responsibility and continue to watch TV as the phone rang for the thirteenth or fourteenth time.  You could get away with this in the 70s and 80s because the neighbors calling just assumed you were not home, or outside playing.  However, if you ignored the fourteenth ring, and mentally returned to TV only to be interrupted by another immediate series of rings, you could rest assured it was a parent - usually my Mom, requesting that we take the casserole out of the oven in order not to ruin dinner, and question what in the world we were doing not to get to the phone sooner.

Here's a list of technological things I don't do:  Facebook, Twitter, Skype.  I do use email.  I purchased my first cell phone in 2006.  I still don't have a Smartphone, an iPad, Kindle, Nook, a flatscreen TV, HDTV, DVR, or even a dishwasher! If I see you in person I WILL want to talk to you.  If I read a book, it's the old fashioned way.  I do wash dishes, by hand.  Amazing how life continues even when you are not plugged in.

I'm slowly moving into our new century, but please let me come in at a pace that maintains a balance of simplicity, need, connection, and sanity.  Feel free to stop by the back porch to say hello.  We can talk for a while and enjoy the view together.

Please let me suggest The Social Network, an excellent film that highlights the potential loneliness of connectedness.