My point is not about the good old days nor about digital photography in particular.
It’s about control of our lives and the things around us on which we depend to sustain us. We are being baited with complication because it is fascinating. And we are eagerly taking the bait.
When I was a kid my main toy was my bicycle. By the age of ten, I could take it completely apart by myself with my own set of tools. Grease the bearings, repair links in the chain, fix a tire puncture. Not that hard.
Our family never got stuck by the side of the road because there was nothing on our car which my Dad couldn’t patch with pliers and a screwdriver.
He worked at the local Westinghouse Electric factory during the days when everything in stores was actually made here. (no kidding!) Dad helped make our table fan, refridgerator, washing machine and vacuum cleaner. He repaired all of them at home with simple tools. Even changed the burnt tubes in our radios and Westinghouse television set.
I could fix a toilet with simple stuff from the corner hardware store before I finished highschool. Today’s electronic super power flushers require exotic parts to be flown in from Heaven knows where. Plus a federally-licensed factory trained technician with ten grand worth of custom tools to install them.
My Mother always preferred a gas stove so she could continue to make hot meals during a power outage after a storm. Did you know that some of the new electronic pilotless gas ranges won’t light without electric current? And you can't simply use a match because an electric solenoid closes off the gas.
I built my first radio, by myself as a scout project, with a heavily-shellacked Quaker oatmeal carton wrapped with wire, a crystal and a “cat’s whisker” made from a safety pin.
My first VW had an air-cooled engine. Open the valve to let warm air into the car in winter. Close the engine air valve and open the windows in summer. My last Chevy did the same thing with a big green vacuum-fluorescent dash display with iconic little people and rotating propellers. And, of course, three electric motors with electrically-operated air baffles. A thousand dollars worth of junk that no GM mechanic was ever able to get working correctly. So much for Mr. Goodwrench.
Nobody has any idea how most of the stuff he depends upon operates, nor what to do when it goes dead. And it could go dead at any minute. Often does. How did we let this happen?
Perhaps the neatest thing about LF is its simplicity. Like Dad's 1940 Dodge.
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