Lisa Hoffman & Charles Atkins

Published 1/13/05

I hate Computers! There—I’ve said it. One day, mark my words; we’ll be destroyed by this devil! In fact, we’ve already started down that road.

I know some of you may think I’m crazy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I receive messages from irate computer-savvy readers, who will try to praise the merits of this evil contraption; you will try to sway me. It won’t work.

Mind you, I’m aware of all of that computers can do, but I’m also cognizant of their short comings, if not…their dangers. Let me give a few examples:

How many times have you attempted to get information from your bank about the balance in your account, only to be told by a non-human voice that you have to call back because their computers are down? Heaven forbid that an actual person could get on the line and help!

And because of computers, people can no longer add, subtract or multiply without the aid of pushing buttons. My friend Steve—a high-school math teacher—says its gotten so bad that students graduate unable to handle simple fractions without a calculator or palm pilot. Scary, when you realize doctors, nurses and pharmacists need to use fractions to calculate dosages and concentrations of dangerous medications—what happens if they press the wrong button? And because they can’t do the math on their own, they won’t catch the mistake until…

This dependence on computers is like brain rot. People think less and rely more on machines to do it for them; our noggins are turning to mush!

Even worse, computers make us lose human contact. Where we once talked directly to discuss and resolve problems, we now get routed through voice-mail mazes that give multiple choices—none of which apply to our case.

We frantically press "O" for operator only to be told that "the number you have dialed is not valid".

Meanwhile, precious time is lost, during which you could have baked a cake or knitted a sweater—I happen to be working on a delightful stocking cap for Charlie that if he doesn’t wear it; I’ll be heartbroken.

While I do admit that it’s wonderful to communicate with friends and loved ones via email; it’s killed the art of letter writing. Most email is written like a synopsis and lacks the personal touch of a handwritten letter. Or worse, to save time, the sender mails copies of the same email to a bunch of people, thus making it even more impersonal. My oldest friend from New York—we’ve known each other for fifty years--once she’d discovered the art of emailing, stopped sending letters all together. I hardly hear from her, because I don’t own a computer. It makes me sad…I don’t even have an email address.

And there are other dangers—dark and scary. It’s not enough that we have to beware pickpockets and other criminals; now we must watch for identity theft! What has the world come to? And, while we can protect ourselves from catching the flu, our computer might get a virus, which is nothing to be sneezed at!

And there are tragic stories—cautionary tales--of those who got "on line" to meet their "Prince Charming" only to find out he was really a "Prince Harming". And there’s so much indecent material on the Internet, which is almost impossible to fully block from the naturally curious eyes of children.

So, while I appreciate the many advantages a computer holds, I’ll stick to my writing pad and my good-old Olivetti typewriter. After all, Shakespeare didn’t even have a typewriter and look at all the beautiful plays and sonnets he wrote. What was good enough for Shakespeare is certainly good enough for me. Let’s face it; life was easier B.C. [before computer].

She’s bonkers—and as a psychiatrist—I mean that clinically. Lisa’s rant against computers—her wish to throw the baby out with the bathwater—and what a strange expression that is—harbors hidden themes: resentment, jealousy, envy.

Where to start?

A couple years ago I gave Lisa an old laptop to try and get her up to speed; she has friends around the world, and I’ve turned into her email intermediary where they write to me, I print the messages and eventually get them to her. I was hoping to eliminate the middle man—me.

At first she seemed intrigued, interested. I showed her how to turn it on, how to get onto the Internet, and I sat patiently—not one of my virtues—as she pecked out her first email and proudly sent it to playwright Jan Hartman.

I then waited to see what would happen, and on subsequent visits, I noticed the laptop slowly sinking beneath a sea of expired coupons and L.L. Bean catalogues. When I showed up to find it fully submerged with a teacup balanced on top of the stack, I realized that it had become a very expensive coaster and I took it back. Enraged, she called me "Indian giver". She has not forgotten; she has not forgiven.

For me, the computer--and all of the various attachments, printers, scanners, and cameras that spread like octopus tentacles across the massive Victorian dining room table I use as a desk—is a wonderful and challenging invention. As a writer, it lets me rewrite 400-page novels without the hassle of having to retype the whole thing. I can email my agent and various editors and keep lots of projects in play at the same time. Where I do a fair-amount of freelance work, it’s largely eliminated the need to send submissions with return postage; now, it’s almost all electronic. I can submit an article or story, and know within a very short time whether or not it’s been accepted. And my web site, which once I’d forced myself to figure out how to put it together and update it, provides a useful hub for my various business ventures.

I guess for me, the biggest challenge of computers—and related technologies—is that they are a moving target. And I suspect part of Lisa’s rant has to do with being left behind—she’s jealous. Keeping up to date requires brain cells, and a high-degree of frustration tolerance. And if you don’t stay current, that’s where some real pitfalls emerge. Like those unwary folk who go online without a firewall and virus protection. It’s just a matter of time before you get infected and your system comes crashing down. And without a doubt, children need to be protected from unsuitable material, and predators lurking in chat rooms. At the very least parents need to understand how to install blocking software—most Internet providers offer a variety of Parental Controls. Beyond that, I recommend thinking through whether or not you allow your children to have Internet access in their bedrooms. What might be safer is to restrict Internet usage to the family room—or some other not-private area—where it’s less tempting to venture into forbidden areas. Parents should also regularly check the computer’s history files—the electronic trails that let you know where someone has been.

But once some basic precautions are taken--and always back-up your files; computers and the Internet are wonderfully egalitarian. Anyone, who can figure it out, can have a web site. People can wheel and deal on Ebay, where everyone’s feedback scores are based solely on their honesty and integrity during the transaction. Research has never been easier, and if I’m looking for some obscure, but perfect gift or recording, I can locate it in minutes by surfing the Net. And don’t let Lisa fool you, on more than one occasion, she’s had me to do this for her.

Finally, we come to Shakespeare—an innovator if ever there was one--who if he were alive today, would be surfing the net, making his plays into movies, and riding the crest of technology, just as he did in his day.

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