Seeking an Analogue World

Working on the memoirs was like time travel.

To tell the stories of the past, I had to experience the past; had to remember the world as it was thirty to forty years ago—

I would love to take someone in their twenties or younger back there.

“Bro, what is this place? My phone is not working.”

That’s because there was no network, no internet.

Our phones are amazing, we have all this information on hand and maps; no need to ask for directions, no need to ask questions about inventory in a shop—

This is not an entirely good thing.

In the time my memoirs are set, you had to ask a real live person for directions when you got lost.

There was no phone to placate you as you walked through your office building.

No massive screen in your car to distract you (and probably be monitoring you).

“Information” was not just thrown at you every moment through your iPhone, you had to work for it.

You could escape the digital noise of modern life because, well, it wasn’t there.

I would love to share with someone younger how quiet it was—

As addictive as connectivity is, disconnecting is even more beguiling.

Modern cars are highly efficient and reliable. They pamper us, pretty much drive themselves.

My 2025 Corolla (the least expensive Toyota for the year) has features that would have been considered luxuries when I was a kid:

Air conditioning. Power windows. The massive screen on the dash, (who knows what that does).

It has several airbags, drives as nicely as a full-sized car from my childhood while getting 40 m.p.g.—

I don’t really like it.

I look under the hood and recognize things but I would never attempt a repair—

Everything is connected to a computer; if I unplugged anything who knows what I’d fuck up.

Bluebot has the power to tow a small trailer but I feel uncomfortable towing with a CVT transmission---

She feels incredibly reliable and yet fragile.

And if the alternator went, I might be able to drive a few miles in limp mode—

Might.

In my 1982 Mercedes, I could get across town to get the alternator replaced. 

There wouldn't be lights or accessories, but she would run, drive, and stop.

Bettina the Benz was analogue. You could look down the sides of the engine and see the ground.

I am not remotely mechanical, but I was not intimidated to attempt little things like changing filters or even the voltage regulator in the alternator—

I miss that.

Complexity makes things efficient; it also makes us helpless.

Maybe your washer has two hundred settings, can meet every cleaning need you can imagine—

But can you imagine repairing it?

Old washers—like old cars—were crude and simplistic, but anyone with a wrench could fix them.

Same with other appliances and the family car.

I’m not a Luddite, I use A.I. and depend on the Internet to post things like this.

I also have to pull myself away from my phone; I get sucked into the connected world just like everyone else—

But I have also come to see the value of disconnecting…

And re-connecting with other people.

Reconnecting with my independence, my ability to think for myself.

To have appliances and cars even unmechanical me can repair not replace.

To choose autonomy over convenience.