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What would life be like without at the technology?

By Andrew Shanahan
THE GUARDIAN, LONDON
Sunday, Jun 18, 2006, Page 9

I suppose there are more arresting admissions you could make at a dinner party, but I don't think I've ever heard anything more shocking than the words uttered last Saturday evening. Apropros of nothing, Kevin, the rogue guest unknown to everyone apart from the host, said: "I've never used the Internet." There was a curious bullet-time moment where forks paused on their way to mouths, jaws gaped and people's eyes gently boggled waiting for the punchline, which never arrived.

If you work in the modern era, Kevin's statement would no doubt have the same effect on your brain as a drunken visit to an MC Escher exhibition. Surely, it's inconceivable to live a full and varied life without using a computer? What about e-mail? Booking holidays? What does he do on Friday afternoons? How does he learn of the latest zeitgeist? The questions came thick and fast around the dining table.

"I've never really been into computers and I don't use one at work," Kevin said. "It started off as a realization about six years ago that I'd never used the Web and then as time went on it became like a challenge to see how long I could go. Now it's a matter of pride."

Suddenly, we knew how scientists feel when they unseal a hidden cave in Indonesia and uncover an entirely new creature. Once we'd ascertained for certain that this wasn't a Le Diner de Cons moment, we surmised that pride was probably an appropriate reaction. After all, resisting the legion of exhortations for you to "visit our Web site" must require substantial strength.

As we organized Kevin's coronation as King Ludd II, I engaged in a glorious monochrome fantasy where the gadgets and technology that litter civilization were deleted from our lives. Eventually, I was left with only those technological advances that truly advanced civilization: namely TV and Bic lighters. In my fantasy world the most obvious observation was just how happy everyone was without gadgets. There are many elegant arguments against much of today's technology -- the depletion of the Earth's resources, the erosion of civility -- but more convincing than these is the fact that so much of modern technology is just bloody stupid.

Consider the BlackBerry -- the gadget of choice for the arterially challenged businessman who thrives on being in touch with work at all times. Regardless of arguments over how evil it is that work is pervading ever greater swaths of family time, surely the more pertinent point is: Have you ever seen someone trying to type a message on one? They look stupid. As their laughably fat fingers seek to manipulate the minuscule keyboard and they succeed only in fudging out a mishmash of letters, you get the impression that they would have more success trying to split the atom with a sausage.

Even the earlier generation of gadgets would not escape erasure in my utopia: The landline telephone is equally as rude as its mobile kid brother. With their shrill, attention-grabbing squeals, all phones are like toddlers desperate for parental attention. Several times I have been in meetings when someone's phone has rung and he or she has asked, "Do you mind if I just get that?" and picked up the phone without waiting for a "yes."

What's more annoying is that this rudeness is then compounded by a telephonic pantomime as the person tries to include those around them in the conversation by rolling their eyes and making exasperated faces.

It's often all too obvious that gadgets are nothing more than something to do with our hands that looks like work -- it would seem that Intel and not the devil makes work for idle hands. If you've ever watched a group of business people together, you can see that the first person to get out a piece of technology will be the alpha figure in the group.

This then prompts the lesser business people to engage in a round of technological one-upmanship as someone ups the ante by pulling out a PDA and opening a spreadsheet, then the next person pulls out a laptop and gives an impromptu PowerPoint presentation. It's for situations like this that someone should invent the HoverPilot -- allowing you to trump all previous technological posturing.

Alas, as with all fantasy, mine faded into the piercing color of the technological present day, in which Kevin was just reeling us into another dinner party game.

But I like to think he was on the up. And perhaps, like the original King Ludd, Kevin is an ideal that takes human form simply to remind us that it's still possible to unplug our lives.
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