Peer pressure is a bitch. Here I was, starting my column for this week, about to delve into some deep, controversial discussion on Libya (I had a Wikipedia page pulled up and everything) when I realized that – whoops, nobody told me! – we were supposed to be discussing technology last week. I don’t know if you noticed, but the words Facebook, blog, and OkCupid were thrown around quite a bit in The Aggie’s columns. Since I spend as much time in cyberspace as the next over-stimulated college student, I decided, hey, what the hell, Gaddafi is too hard to spell anyway.
I’ll start by prefacing today’s column by telling you that I know nothing about technology. I only recently figured out where my laptop’s on-button is located. My philosophy on computers is to click on everything you can until you reach your desired effect. While this usually leads to a frozen screen and a $200 Geek Squad bill (believe it or not, sexual favors only get you so far with these guys), I still refuse to open a manual. I firmly believe that in the next five years I’ll have a robot that does all my Internet research for me anyways, so why learn now?
Luckily, I get to blame all of my technological ineptitude on genetics. My grandmother, for example, has yet to master the space bar on the keyboard. This makes for many entertaining, yet often cryptic, e-mails telling me all about her bridgegamesonsaturdaynight. And yes, she very often wins the $10 pots. Go Grams.
As discouraging as I find technology, I also think it’s awesome. I recently discovered the magic of illegal downloading, and let me tell you something: downloading is the shit. Seriously, I haven’t stopped. I don’t even care what it is, I just download because it’s free. New Avril Lavigne album? Hell yeah. Susan Boyle? Why the fuck not? A three-disc set of classic Winston Churchill speeches? Gimme.
And the movies. I’ve seen more crap in the last week than I care to admit, but I’ll admit it anyway (this column is better than confession, you know). Instead of poring over my copy of Beowulf like a good English major, I’ve been wasting my time over When in Rome, Sex and the City 2 and Hot Tub Time Machine, all while drooling Cheeto residue onto my collarbone. I don’t know who these people are that keep telling us to “unplug” or to “go interact in the real world,” but I’d like to have a stern instant message conversation with them to set things straight.
Technology has tons of room to grow. When my body starts to fail me, I fully expect to be a talking brain in a jar of formaldehyde. My middle-aged children will have to carry me around everywhere, until one day they leave me in the car without the windows cracked and I boil in my own preservative liquids. You see, technological advancement can only bring us good things.
I do feel I need to mention the importance of Internet safety. I’ve heard that if you post nude pictures of yourself online, you should prepare for them to come back to haunt you. Like, in a year or two, you’ll realize that those high heels you’re sporting in that butt-naked photo of yourself just aren’t hot anymore. And don’t even think about trying to run for president. I hear it’s a major White House faux-pas to have a sex-scandal before you get elected.
However you dice it, technology is here to stay. And I’m all for it. When I’m feeling bad about myself, I go through 1,500 party photos of myself on Facebook and marvel at how damn sexy I look when I’m blacked-out drunk. And when I need a friend, I know I’ve got at least a few hundred who would (most likely) remember me if they clicked through my profile pictures. And that’s real.
LENA PRESSESKY can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org