Last Friday I had the classical radio station on in the car as I drove to work. In the middle of a Mozart sonata I suddenly also heard, over the music, the calm voice we all know as the GPS lady, quietly announce, "Lane reduced on the I290." I went, "Huh?" This is my first car with GPS and I hadn't thought about the fact that just because I hadn't pressed the navigation button didn't mean it wasn't on. My car knows where it is. At all times. In some ways that is comforting, but it is also disconcerting.
On my way home from errands on Saturday, a segment of a Ted talk on WBEZ focused on a computer program designed to analyze thousands of facial expressions. Again, I went, "Huh?" The scientist programmer explained how helpful this will be to therapists or to those on the autism scale who have trouble reading social cues. While that made some sense, she then talked about how in five years, our cars or phones will be able to say to us, "Marilyn, you haven't laughed in three days. Would you like to hear a joke?" In no way do I find that comforting. I was reminded of HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
All the options on the dashboard have made a car as much an entertainment center as a means of transportation. Yesterday I pressed a button and returned a call to a friend while I was driving home from the City. We had a nice chat as I zoomed along at 60 miles an hour. It still amazes me that we are able to do that. But making a call that could have waited 20 minutes until I got home, made me realize a couple of things. I think the ability to control so much of what is going on inside a car gives drivers a false sense of control of what is going on outside their car as well. Maybe it is having a new car, or maybe it is getting older, but I'm giving up chats and will only make calls that are necessary. The road will be safer.
I also realized that I rarely drive in silence. I usually have on an audiobook or music of one kind or another. How much I actually pay attention to what is being broadcast depends on what else is on my mind. If something or someone comes on that I really don't want to listen to, I press another button. These days there are a lot of people I don't want to listen to and a lot that I don't want to hear coming out of my dashboard. I could hibernate, in fact, I want to hibernate by pressing a button to avoid all the sad, confusing and immoral news, whether the newscaster is citing real or alternative facts. But more, I want to understand what is going on, so I may be giving up books and music for more NPR.
Given the complexity of today's dashboards, new drivers might be surprised to know that we used to pay extra to have a radio. In the mid 1970s, my job at Illinois Bell required me to visit customers, so I was authorized to drive a company car. My location had a dozen lined up in a row behind the office building. Of those twelve, only two had radios and they were AM. Those cars were always the first signed out, and you could tell who had the car last by the station tuned in.
As much as I appreciate being told to turn left in 200 feet to get to the destination I typed on the small screen, I somehow long for those simpler, quiet car trips with no choice than to be alone in the car with my thoughts. Or just an AM station playing the oldies.
Marilyn
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