papa d a d d y ’ s M i n d f i e l d
Technical Complications In the fast-breaking info world, I’m a little lost in space
By Clyde Edgerton
Tech Day One:
For the first time I am talking an essay into a cellphone, and it is writing down the essay on the screen as I speak.
Illustration by harry Blair
Do dictation apps, chips in our heads, invisible microphones, podcasts, etc., mean writing and reading are on the way out? You say, “We’ll still need to read the word ‘Stop’ on a stop sign.” A car can be programmed to stop at all the right places. “What about exit signs in crowded theaters — in case of fire?” A round green light could replace exit signs. Like at a stop light. Go — green. Stop — red. Tech Day Two: This morning I find that I can’t open my car door with the unlock button (indicated by symbol, not word) on the key fob. My battery is dead. I try to remember which interior lights I might have left on. With the doors locked and no battery power, I wonder how I am going to open the truck door to release the hood latch so that I can recharge the battery. Hummm. I call my buddies at Advanced Auto. “Hello,” someone says. “Is this Mike?” “This is Wes.” “Wes, I got a little problem. My car’s locked and the battery’s dead so the fob won’t open a door. Is there some kind of secret way to get the hood open to recharge the battery?” “Do you have the, ah, car key?” “The car key? Oh . . . Yes . . . Yes, I do. Thanks, Wes. And would you please not tell any of the boys about this phone call?” Tech Day Three: Today, at an estate sale, my 10-year-old son buys a 1980s solar-run calculator. He delights in this simple tool (no recharging needed). It occurs to me that if we circle back and go no further than the tech advances
of the 80s, we’ll be reading paper and cloth books, sitting outside, talking to each other, looking at each other, and we’ll also have time to sit in a chair in the yard and lean back and look into the sky and talk about what we see way up there — day or night. Flashback: Recently, a friend of mine sat with me and friend No. 2 on the deck of No. 2’s mountain cabin. On occasional nights, Friend No. 1 names constellations, spouts Greek mythology and recalls star names while pointing into the sky. He repels technology like a magnet turned backward. He had found me the day before with a topographic map and a compass. He shuns GPS and cellphone. There on the deck, friend No. 2 pointed his iPhone toward the sky, demonstrating how a new app enabled his phone to show and name constellations. I feared I was witnessing the prelude to a homicide. Non-tech Day One: Cause for pause: Without written fiction, poetry and nonfiction, we’d have to hear someone’s idea of speaking voices — tone, accent, emphasis. Our imaginations would have their legs cut from beneath them. Tech Bedtime: I find and read my 12-year-old son a short paper letter I’d handwritten to him when he was 2 months old (2003). When I finish, he says, “That was before touch screen.” “Right,” I say. “When I’m real old,” he says, “I can say [he uses his old person voice], ‘I was a kid back before touch screen, when you had to punch a bunch of buttons to do anything.’ And they’ll say, ‘Oh, your fingers must have gotten tired,’ and I’ll say, ‘They certainly did.’” I say, “We need to scan and save those old letters I wrote to you, so they will last forever.” PS Clyde Edgerton is the author of ten novels, a memoir and a new work, Papadaddy’s Book for New Fathers. He is the Thomas S. Kenan III Distinguished Professor of Creative Writing at UNCW.
PineStraw : The Art & Soul of the Sandhills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . November 2015
35