Vogt Now
by Brian Vogt

JANUARY 2001

"Open the pod door Hal," I said. "Open the pod door. Hal! Hal?"

Since it's now 2001, it seems appropriate to recall that quietly desperate plea from Dave, just before he floated untethered into oblivion.

I felt that way not long ago when it seemed I had contracted some sort of electronic plague. Every computer I touched seemed to self-destruct, and what�s worse, there was no Y2K to blame it on. By close of business, two desktops and a laptop refused to comply with my simplest requests.

Then came the frustrating part. I tried to get some help from a variety of service centers, all of which employ Hal. I'd call and get an electronic menu of choices. "If you are calling for service, press one; if you are calling for sales, press two," and so forth. I pressed one. Eventually, I heard, "If you are simply bored and wish to spend eternity pressing buttons on your phone, press one; if you actually want to speak with a human being, press two." I pressed two. "Thank you. Please hold." I swear I actually heard the electronic operator chuckling in the background. Several minutes of ensuing silence were finally broken by a click and dial tone. At that moment, I knew how Dave felt.

Technology is a wonderful and maddening new element in all of our lives. I am awestruck by the ability to type a few words on my computer and then hit a button, knowing that it is being sent to a few thousand people. At the same time, I am absolutely enfeebled when something goes wrong.

Websites are the Grand Kahunas of this paradox. When they work, they're revolutionary harbingers of free information, of spanning global differences with immediate human interaction, of peace, good will and all things wondrous. When they are not up to date or, perish the thought, go down, brace yourself. If you are the portal between the website and the audience, you will be instantly reminded of your obvious incompetence by 4,261 angry people all with names like [email protected].

E-mail is the other bit of technology that Dickens was really referring to when he wrote that it was the best and worst of times. For example, it is a pure joy for me to swap stories with my English goddaughter using e-mail. And when I need to send out a meeting notice to a group of Chamber members, presto! It's done. No collating, folding, labeling, stamping or paper cuts. Yet, e-mail invites uninvited horrors. Viruses keep it interesting, kind of like anticipating a plane crash, and unrequested solicitations annoy me (I've recently been receiving hundreds of responses to an inquiry I never made offering me an opportunity to make a fortune in just a few hours a week even if I'm brain dead). But the worst part of e-mail is instant and anonymous outbursts. When angry, otherwise perfectly mature adults often wield e-mail like a child using a handful of pebbles to get another kid�s attention.

Technology and culture often play leapfrog. At the moment, technology is ahead of our ability to harness it; but in time, we'll catch up. We always do. The point is to remember who is really in control of technology by not becoming so reliant on it that we forget our humanity.

All of these electronic tools are great. They make us more efficient and knowledgeable. And they can be vastly entertaining. We need only practice patience in a hurried world and thank God we still have on/off buttons. Hal, it's time for you to go to sleep for a little while. I'm the one in control.