Living la vida dino

One gets to a certain age and new technology no longer seems cool, it becomes a big ol' eye roll. Great. Another distraction from the work.

I was reminded of this Monday, when conducting a Q&A interview. Knowing that the narrative would be secondary, I brought my tape recorder. You remember, those quaint devices where you slide in the cassettes? Because I rarely tape interviews--I'd rather have a mammogram than transcribe tape--I haven't bothered to spend the time or money to go digital. (A younger reporter on the same story must have thought my large black recording device was some kind of professional audio equipment. "Man, where'd you get that?" he asked. "Dude," I said, "it's a 15-year-old tape recorder.")

Since graduating from college, I've gone from typing stories on a Smith Corona (yes, it was electric, I'm not that old) to learning WordStar, WordPerfect and Word; from sneakernetting hard copy and floppy disks to editors to uploading enormous documents to the "cloud"; from thinking it was neat that I could screen calls from an answering machine to screening calls on a mobile phone the size of a pack of gum. And, most heartbreakingly, from writing for publications you can hold in your hand to those that dance on the screen.

And there's no end in sight.

Just this week, it's been a new work-tracking system, a rather compelling new social network (pinterest.com via Erin) and the almost irresistable NOOKcolor. (Haven't bought it. Yet.)

Don't you sometimes just want to put your head on your keyboard and howl?

"What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?"

Yeah. What Ginsberg said.

 

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