Once upon a time computer file names could only use 8 characters. There was no reason to have a file named “my” anything. We all knew who owned the files we were working with. We named them with some combination of characters that meant something to us. Some imagination could be required.
Microsoft Windows led the idiocy by insisting that personal computers be required to save and contain personal files in directories (folders for the young among us) named “My ____.” I’ve never felt the need to name a file “My” anything. I doubt I ever will. But every version of Windows I’ve ever used insists on putting those files on my hard drive. I ignore them and change the default “save to “destination. However, it’s a pain in the ass and I object to it.
With the decrease in attention span among the spawn of Boomers, the stage was set for Apple to provide the audio-visual equivalent of Ritalin to those customers who don’t mind paying an i-tax for every bit of media they listen to or view. They may find some internal comfort in having their toys download a day’s audio files as if anything which was around yesterday is not worth listening to. I prefer to choose what I listen to and view. An over-driven bass and lead track poorly mixed with a muddy vocal track does not equal listenable music. But Boomer Spawn are busy and willing to allow Apple toys to choose what they hear and to pay Apple for the privilege.
I received a catalogue in yesterday’s mail. That’s right, a hard-copy paper and ink device displaying pictures of electronic toys with a text description of each toy to entice me to purchase the toys. However, I found it less than useful. Every single device described was designed to dock or otherwise interface with an i-something. Since I have no i-any things I simply discarded it. I don’t plan to buy any i-any things.
What is so annoying about this occurrence is that marketing has decided that they need not market to anyone older than Boomer spawn. We Boomers have been collectively discarded, left to live out our lives using devices that require us to think and read before using them. We will demand that written text be just that, not a sometimes intelligible collection of digits, letters, and other characters crammed into a 140 character transmission in which ever more poorly educated Boomer spawn’s spawn voice their misunderstanding of the world outside their i-selves.
When a humongous CME renders their smart phones inert lumps of conductors, chips, and plastic, my slide rule will still work.
I may be mostly dead, but I ain’t dead yet.
Yesterday’s rain has moved on, the temperatures are tracking toward freezing. There is a prediction of light snow for this evening. The mountains have that gaunt gray look of winter now. We’ll light a fire in the wood stove tonight.