Yesterday, the Missus and I spent a little time at IKEA, wandering around the aisles of exotically named furnishings and household doodads. But before we could do any serious shopping for that wonderful Swedish FÜKKENSTÖFF, we needed to fortify ourselves... so we stopped in at the store’s restaurant for some gravlax and meatballs.
Swedish meatballs, or as they are referred to in Sweden, “meatballs,” are often served with a splorp of lingonberry preserves. After a hearty meal, it is traditional to retire to the toaletten, where freshly created “lingon logs” may be dropped off at the pool.
She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were sitting and enjoying our tasty svensk måltid when we saw a little girl - probably all of three years old - amusing herself by straightening up the chairs in what appeared to be a seating area for children. There was a flat-screen television set mounted on the wall there, low to the ground. After a few minutes, the Missus said, “Look at that,” inclining her chin in the direction of the teevee, where the girl was busily swiping her finger on the words displayed on the screen.
It was pretty obvious what was going on. Here was a child of the Digital Age, one who was likely more familiar with using an iPad and similar Ars Electronica at her tender age than anything made out of dead trees. If it was flat and electronic, it just had to be a giant iPad! She knew exactly where the controls were, too: When the screen failed to respond to her finger-swipes, she reached around the side and began mashing the input buttons in an attempt to reboot the device.
I suppose this is the future: Everything will be all Touchy-Screeny, and woe unto those who do not know how to use the interface. We’ll all be like Tom Cruise in Minority Report, waving our hands around, communicating via ass-holograph... and a little child shall lead us.
The whole episode reminded us of a recent Adventure in Elissonian Stupidity. A few weeks ago I had been sitting in our family room, looking at some photos on one of our many electronickal devices. At some point I observed, frustratedly, that the screen was not responding to my finger-swipey attempts to move from one image to the next... at which point both the Missus and the Mistress of Sarcasm pointedly reminded me that I was using the Mistress’s MacBook Air, not my iPad. Derp!
But that’s OK. At least I know what the hell an iPad is. Not all us Old Guys can say that.