Technology And A Bit Of S & M
Having spent a lifetime dutifully avoiding technology’s relentless march, I was recently in the temporary possession of a Kindle; one of this year’s must have gadgets. The reasons were the dual aim of critiquing both the sleek new toy and this year’s top read for bored, frustrated and delusional, middle aged women, Fifty Shades of Grey. Very quickly, having read the first few “pages”, it became clear that I could not hang on long enough without wanting to end it all rapidly – strapped, manacled or whipped – to properly make a judgement on the Kindle, having already made my mind up about the utter drivel I was reading.
Still I don’t suppose the author is too bothered about what I think as she spends her millions courtesy of Suburban Sandra hiding behind her net curtains, an array of new toys whirring and buzzing away, filling in the hours till Normal Norman returns home from the office. I had been forewarned, sat in the local the other week, eavesdropping into an “illuminating” conversation between several women of what I would consider to be the author’s target market; fat, fed up, frumpy and never having read anything more challenging than Kerry Katona’s autobiography.
The White Bear Book Club
As if representing the newly formed White Bear Literary Club, one of them earnestly said “If my fella tried to stick it there it’d be last place he would stick it I tell yer”.
Nodding in stern agreement, with a few shifty downward glances, the pack offered support as they slurped their pints of Carling.
“I think the story was really good…sort of romantic” offered another, trying to dilute the theme away from the real content and get back to her Pork Scratchings and Scampi Fries supper in peace.
“Bollocks, its just filth” said another “if my Albert wants to play wi’ chains he can get in the bike shed” Sneaking a glance over my shoulder I heard myself urging old Albert to go for it…what had he got to lose…lock yourself in and never come out. And instantly it struck me that, although technology marches on at a pace, there will always be stupid people for it to feed on and that’s why gadgets actually exist at all.
People talk of technology as progress but really it’s the opposite; every new gizmo that comes out is a regression to childhood. These things are the equivalent of toys hanging from a cot, designed to placate and soothe the occupier for as many waking hours as possible; less noise, less fuss. Want a conspiracy theory? Those who consider their new gadget as a gateway to information via live news on demand ignore the reality; much of what we are fed is controlled by the select few. Not only are the middle aged kids being soothed with new toys, they are being gently spoon fed sedatives from Nanny State’s bosom and that dodgy Antipodean fellow.
The Practical Retard
I admit part of my aversion to gadgets is that I’ve never been very practical and so struggle to understand anything remotely mechanical. I came close to being kicked out of Woodwork & Metalwork class at school for simply being totally useless, a grading that the exam paper did not cater for. My attempt at a toast rack looked like a broken, listing, matchbox ship – minus the sails – whilst my toffee hammer collapsed at its first attempt to batter a strawberry bon bon. In later life, an exasperated art teacher called me the “most unemployable kid in Britain” – I suppose she had a point – but it seemed harsh just because I could not master the art of sketching a Kate Bush album cover, even with the help of tracing paper.
Understanding gadgets is, therefore, not a strong point either; indeed; I often struggle with a can opener. Years ago, working at Silks nightclub in Bradford, I was asked to go uncork some wine. In the kitchen there was this “labour saving” corkscrew fixed at an angle to the work-surface – a huge handle with a hooded cap – where it looked like the bottle neck had to go albeit to do what? I looked at it from all angles studiously, got on my knees for a view from the floor, yanked it a few times, tried to manually screw the bottle onto the contraption and then tried forcing it up, offering the impression that I was humping the bottle from behind.
It was then I heard the giggles of my manageress, Maggie, close to wetting herself on the spot, having observed her university educated barman for close on ten minutes. Composing herself, she took the bottle out of my hand, patted me on the head, held it up to the contraption, pulled the lever down and pushed it back up – hey presto – one uncorked bottle if wasted as, by now, the customers had long since gone. Generously she did not sack me on the spot and simply popped the cork back on the bottle for the next unsuspecting customers. Beaujolais Nouveaux rarely suffered from a bit of early opening.
Some Good, Some Bad
This fear of progress has not been totally limiting. I love my iPod and cannot believe we used to take Sony Walkmans and dozens of tapes to the beach, desperately trying not to get sand and sun cream on our Duran Duran cassettes as we spooled them back with our little fingers, the tape having snagged again resisting Simon Le Bon’s high notes. Thousands of songs, all chosen by me, on something smaller than a cigarette packet – amazing – and so the logic should surely also apply to books as well; only that it does not.
Kindles are one of the fastest selling gizmos in the UK at the moment – there are an estimated 1.5m of them out there – and offer hope via self-publishing, albeit probably false, to lots of aspiring writers dreaming of that bestseller. Whether I actually buy a Kindle is another matter though; personally, there is nothing like the feel or smell of a new book and I just cannot imagine sitting on the loo with a little screen or lying in the bath without dropping it in.
The surge in iPads is another recent phenomenon with all manner of variants available on the High Street and the internet. Typing away on my close to ten year old lap top, I was reminded of a recent effort to upload some software for my printer and scanner, which Barclays kindly donated to my “retirement fund” on the basis that it was worthless to collect and dump; better to leave it here and let me dump it. No matter, for my trusty old HP is still whirring away as it too, approaches its tenth birthday.
It soon became clear that loading this software was impossible largely because the size of the file was the equivalent of trying to squeeze a Rolls Royce engine into a Mini. My lap-top performed a good impression of a wheeze and a cough before giving up the ghost. And yet it works…starts every time…a good little runner, so why would I change it?
Mega What?
Similarly, my battered Nokia simply refuses my best efforts to destroy it by drowning or lose it as nobody would ever wish to steal it; it always gets handed in. Vodafone generously offered me a “super” new deal with 500MB of data free every month – imagine the little guy in Mumbai explaining that one to me – I consented although with no idea what this meant. Three months later they sent a text to confirm my monthly usage was 3MB. I wish I could do the same with my gas bill.
I find it quizzical that adults will bemoan the amount of time kids spend on computer games these days but, at the same time, cannot seem to wait for the next gadget. The beauty of an iPad to people was explained to me as being “instantaneous”, whereas waiting a few minutes for a laptop to yawn, stretch and open its eyes seemed to be life critical; really? Who are these people and what world critical jobs do they do? Personally, as my old laptop coughs into life each morning, those few minutes are devoted to the aromas of coffee and toast – who wants an iPad to spoil that – by the time I have wiped my chin the old girl is up and running and I have missed nothing. Life in the fast lane…maybe not.
Leave a Reply