I'm not supposed to be here this weekend. I'm supposed to be up in the Quetico wilderness in the untrampled part of Ontario, at a retreat convened for the purpose of pondering the price we pay for computer technology.
The retreat was organized by a Canadian academic think tank to bring the best minds on alternative visions of technology together in a pastoral north-woods setting, and plot a course of action for responsible development of technology.
Why did they think I was an anarcho-techie kind of guy? Probably because I wrote a book a while back called "Techno-Crazed." And because I was named, somewhat to my horror, one of 25 "Wizards of the Wired World" by the Financial Times a couple of years ago. I have been on a mailing list of miscellaneous crackpots ever since.
How did I know the conference was antitechnology? Oh, there were a couple of hints in the invitation. One sentence glowingly mentioned "gas in the streets of Seattle." And there was an accompanying brochure, with the headline: "Learn why you may want to throw away your computer."
This told me that they knew what I'd be saying even before I did. I told you we were dealing with smart people.
I was willing to play along. In fact, I figured out a way to penetrate deep into the Quetico without availing myself of any advanced technologies, although I have to leave six weeks prior to the retreat, sleep nights in a castoff Hefty bag, and treat myself prophylactically against Lyme's disease.
And I would have trekked in there, too, like Natty Bumppo with a laptop. I like the idea of hanging out around a campfire with a bunch of smart people, toasting s'mores and dissing Microsoft and the World Trade Organization and that whole capitalist pig trough.
Catch a nice string of walleye and let 'em go. Decry Moore's Law. Chow down on a wholesome meal of pine cones and milk.
But a couple of things had to break just the right way.
First, the retreat required that my radical, shoe-pounding, shake-up-the-system message be in the form of an academic paper, with footnoting according to the MLA stylebook, and points deducted for bad penmanship. It's that kind of revolution.
This was a bit of a problem, since I'm not especially good at that. If I were to write a white paper on oppressive technology, it probably wouldn't be global enough to suit this group. To me, technology is oppressive when I can't get the thick plastic PVC skin off a fresh box of Zip disks, and I've tried everything--car keys, teeth, Bic pens--you name it, and I'm so frustrated I'll bite the head off the next person who says Hi.
Think global, act loco.
Second, I needed the think tank to pay my way. I wanted to be part of a think-tank camp where they fly you in by floatplane, put a mint by your shave kit every morning, and have an attending wallah fan the mosquitoes from your tent flaps.
But this was the kind of think tank where the gurus were supposed to come up with their own cash. Which tells me that other anarcho-radicals live in a different new economy than I do.
I'd love to come and preach techno-sedition at your log cabin get-together, and you can bet I'd give 'em holy hell, too. Up against the ramparts, motherboarders!
But this wired wizard has to stay home and make money to buy groceries.
Mike Finley mfinley@mfinley.com is America's Best Loved Futurist™.
