An analog girl in a digital world
Like many people, I rely on my cell phone to navigate life. I communicate, manage my calendar, shoot photos, map road trips, set reminders, watch movies, read novels, go shopping and research everything from the campaigns of the Peloponnesian War to the air dates of the “Mister Ed” show, all with the help of my smartphone.
I’m a digital citizen, through and through, and a happy one at that.
But as a baby boomer, I grew up in an analog world. Thanks to my parents, who were members of the Greatest Generation, my frame of reference stretches all the way back to churning butter by hand, and earning grocery money by selling fresh cream and eggs. It includes family stories of my dad riding horseback to attend his first dance and my mom riding her horse around the farm to spread grasshopper poison mixed with banana oil.
While I never relied on a horse for daily transportation, I do look back fondly on my analog youth, when we worked together to handle the daily problems that Siri solves for us now.
Case in point: I first attended college in the late 1970s. (That was just before The Hair Band Period, which I believe was part of the Mesozoic Era, when the oceans rose and metal bands roamed the earth.) During that time, it was common for students to take naps in the library, especially during finals week. Everyone studied at the library then, because the building housed all the resources for learning.
After they had exhausted themselves, poring over ancient tomes, whole groups of students would nod off, in various neck-breaking positions, on the institutional divans scattered throughout the building. But before they succumbed to sweet slumber, they took measures to ensure they wouldn’t miss an upcoming class or test. They would tear a page from a spiral notebook and write on it, in bold letters: “PLEASE WAKE ME UP AT…” and supply the time they needed. After propping the note somewhere on their person, they fell asleep, trusting their fellow students to do the rest.
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