Why I Refuse To Give Up My Luddite Club Membership

Technology is supposed to make things easier. But it's also supposed to do so in such a way that you don't have to think about it. If it's working properly, you shouldn't even notice that it's there.

While I was away at lawyer boot camp, Father Justice replaced all the computers in my section with brand new ones. I've got a nice big flat screen monitor now, together with a redesigned keyboard, which is fine by me. I've also got various software upgrades that are causing problems. Specifically, someone left the email notification functions on (that lets me know when an email I sent to someone else in the Department has been received and opened) and I can't figure out how to turn the damned thing off. They also seem to have bolstered the Internet security package - it is giving me far more messages about ActiveX controls than it used to.

Then again, a guy in my office made a big production of sending a bunch of e-vites around to a party he's going to have. After some alarum and confusion, he finally managed to get it through to me. Then he sent a follow-up email to confirm that I'd gotten the original e-vite. My reaction was to wonder why he didn't just send an email to begin with.

And don't even get me started about Power Point and other electronic presentations. People get so consumed with the bells and whistles and trying to figure out how to make the damn thing work that they totally lose sight of the content they were supposed to be presenting in the first place.

Sigh.

In such incidents, I always think back to this passage from The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy:

"Good afternoon, boys."
The voice was oddly familiar, but oddly different. It had a matriarchal twange. It announced itself to the crew as they arrived at the airlock hatchway that would let them out onto the planet's surface.
The looked at each other in puzzlement.
"It's the computer," explained Zaphod, "I discovered it had an emergency backup personality that I thought might work out better."
"Now this is going to be your first day out on a strange new planet," continued Eddie's new voice, "so I want you all wrapped up snug and warm and no playing with any naughty bug-eyed monsters."
Zaphod tapped impatiently on the hatch.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I think we might be better off with a slide rule."
"Right!" snapped the computer, "Who said that?"
"Will you open the exit hatch, please, computer?" said Zaphod trying not to get angry.
"Not until whoever said that owns up," urged the computer, stamping a few synapses closed.
"Oh, God," muttered Ford. He slumped against a bulkhead and started to count to ten. He was desparately worried that one day sentient life forms would forget how to do this. Only by counting could humans demonstrate their independence of computers.
"Come on," said Eddie sternly.
"Computer....," began Zaphod.
"I'm waiting," interrupted Eddie, "I can wait all day if necessary...."
"Computer....," said Zaphod again, who had been trying to think of some subtle piece of reasoning to put the computer down with, and had decided not to bother competing with it on its own ground, "if you don't open that exit hatch this moment, I shall zap straight off to your major data banks and reprogram you with a very large axe, got that?"
Eddie, shocked, paused and considered this.
Ford carried on counting quietly. This is about the most aggressive thing you can do to a computer, the equivalent of going up to a human being and saying Blood.....blood.....blood....blood....
Finally Eddie said quietly, "I can see this relationship is something we're all going to have to work at," and the hatchway opened.
An icey wind ripped into them. They hugged themselves warmly and stepped down the ramp on to the barren dust of Magrathea.
"It'll all end in tears, I know it," shouted Eddie after them and closed the hatchway again.