My dad calls me daily with a different question, but the conversational theme is always the same: electronics.
"Mariam, my iPod isn't turning on. What do I do?"
or
"Mariam, how do I raise the volume of my phone?"
"How do I listen to my voice mail?"
And my personal favorite: "Mariam, how do I email?"
Everyday, it's either some vaguely described technical issue with an electronic or it's a huge, broad question about the modern technology as a whole (for example, how to email). Now, since I have no brothers, I always had to play the role of a dutiful son within our family unit; for instance, I had to help my dad carry the heavy TVs up a flight of stairs or movefurniture (I can almost picture the naysayers, reading this in disbelief, and thinking Yeah right, like she ever did that! But full disclosure: this is true). I also became really interested in electronics so my dad could have someone to bond with when we went to Best Buy or the now-defunct Circuit City. We would read Consumer Reports (one of my favorite magazines until age 12) and read online reviews on CNET of various electronics from TVs to cell phones to blenders together. These were truly moments worthy of a Norman Rockwell painting.
When I moved away for medical school, though, these moments came to an abrupt end, and I think my dad is still dealing with the after effects. And hence, the daily phone calls to technical support: me. As a busy medical student, I really can't help him trouble shoot over the phone, nor am I exactly trained in dealing with issues such as, "My computer has been running slowly. How do I make it faster, Mariam?" Usually, if it's an easy question, I'll break it down in layman's terms: "You see that circle white thingy on the iPod? Make circles with your finger and that will increase the volume!"
At other times, I admit, my patience wears thin, and I say, "Dad, why am I in to school?"
My dad will say, "So you can be a doctor!"
And then I'll respond with: "I'm not going to school for computer engineering! I'm not Mary, technical support from India, am I?"
My dad, unfazed by my catty sarcasm, will merely say, "I know, Mariam! But I expect you and your generation to know everything about technology!" And with logic like that about Gen Y, how can you argue?
And then I realize that there is a beautiful analogy hidden amongst this daily back and forth. Doctors go to school for years to fix people; people come in with a vague constellation of symptoms, and the physician basically figures out what went wrong with the intricate machinery of the human body. And in theory, how is this cognitive process any different than technical support at those call centers in India?
--By Mariam, who is so excited for the Jon Hamm-Tina Fey event on 30 Rock!!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
I, Robot
In many Hollywood films of the action/sci-fi genre, the plot starts with strange, unexplained happenings such as street lights changing unexpectedly, computer screens blinking randomly, and then, people start dying in strange and unseemly ways. Who is this terrorist that lurks within, the audience wonders. And then, all is revealed - the enemy is really a huge supercomputer housed somewhere in the D.C./Virginia area. The supercomputer has taken on a life of its own and has started to destroy the life that it helped make easier. The metaphor is this: society is too technology dependent, and if we do not rectify this immediately, BAD THINGS will happen, like the deterioration of human relationships or even, DEATH.
When I was in grade school, computers were just starting to gain popularity in the average home. My dad brought home a computer when I was 7 - we were the first people to have one on our block, probably in the entire county, because I live in the literal backwoods of North Carolina, where running water and grocery stores are novelties. Anyway, our computer had a tiny screen with literally 10 color graphics and was very, very thick (about a foot in diameter). I played Wheel of Fortune on it and different addition/subtraction games ("educational" CD-ROMs were the only computer programs my dad approved). To play these games (that seemed wondrous at the time, but now in retrospect I realize were really ghetto), I had to navigate complicated command lines in MS-DOS like "C://execute: game.exe."
One day, I remember my 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Billera made a general, sweeping statement that many grade school teachers are prone to: "Computers are going to change the way we live. We may not even need certain jobs anymore because computers will be doing stuff for us instead of real people!" Now, I'm not sure if Mrs. Billera had read the completely wrong predictions of Orwell in 1984 one too many times, but I do think this was a tremendous overstatement.
Anyway, I took her very literally. Suddenly I imagined a world where my dad's job was replaced by a cold, steely robot. I imagined this robot examining and diagnosing sick patients quickly and efficiently, and my dad pathetically begging the robot for his job back. The robot would ignore my dad, since human physicians were now as irrelevant as VCRs or record players and continue coldly and methodically about his day.
I immediately went home and asked my dad in a panic: "Can a robot do your job, Dad? Can you be replaced by a robot?" My dad was foreign, so he didn't understand the concerns of children who lived within the cushiony comforts of America. He was used to children wondering whether they'd get dinner that night because there were 10 other siblings to feed that night and only so much chicken, and so my dad merely stared at me in confusion, as if to say, "WTF?"
Needless to say, I never got a satisfactory answer to my pressing paranoia as Michelle or Stephanie would have gotten at the end of a 30-minute episode of Full House, like "No, daughter, we're going to be okay. Computers will make our life easier, but your dad won't be jobless, on the street, asking for money because of technology. Rest easy, little one." Instead, I was left with my stream of paranoid, OCD-like thoughts, thinking that one day welfare and a soup kitchen were in our imminent future as technology advanced (i.e. humans pushed towards their own self-destruction, just like in the movies).
It is 2009, and we now have the iPhone, robotic surgeries, and a robot vacuum cleaner, and my dad luckly still practices medicine. No sirree, no robots doing his job as of yet. But I guess the ultimate point was this: children have the darndest imaginations.
--By Mariam, who realizes the substandard nature of this blog, but feels the need to keep the BackRowBallers blog alive.
When I was in grade school, computers were just starting to gain popularity in the average home. My dad brought home a computer when I was 7 - we were the first people to have one on our block, probably in the entire county, because I live in the literal backwoods of North Carolina, where running water and grocery stores are novelties. Anyway, our computer had a tiny screen with literally 10 color graphics and was very, very thick (about a foot in diameter). I played Wheel of Fortune on it and different addition/subtraction games ("educational" CD-ROMs were the only computer programs my dad approved). To play these games (that seemed wondrous at the time, but now in retrospect I realize were really ghetto), I had to navigate complicated command lines in MS-DOS like "C://execute: game.exe."
One day, I remember my 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Billera made a general, sweeping statement that many grade school teachers are prone to: "Computers are going to change the way we live. We may not even need certain jobs anymore because computers will be doing stuff for us instead of real people!" Now, I'm not sure if Mrs. Billera had read the completely wrong predictions of Orwell in 1984 one too many times, but I do think this was a tremendous overstatement.
Anyway, I took her very literally. Suddenly I imagined a world where my dad's job was replaced by a cold, steely robot. I imagined this robot examining and diagnosing sick patients quickly and efficiently, and my dad pathetically begging the robot for his job back. The robot would ignore my dad, since human physicians were now as irrelevant as VCRs or record players and continue coldly and methodically about his day.
I immediately went home and asked my dad in a panic: "Can a robot do your job, Dad? Can you be replaced by a robot?" My dad was foreign, so he didn't understand the concerns of children who lived within the cushiony comforts of America. He was used to children wondering whether they'd get dinner that night because there were 10 other siblings to feed that night and only so much chicken, and so my dad merely stared at me in confusion, as if to say, "WTF?"
Needless to say, I never got a satisfactory answer to my pressing paranoia as Michelle or Stephanie would have gotten at the end of a 30-minute episode of Full House, like "No, daughter, we're going to be okay. Computers will make our life easier, but your dad won't be jobless, on the street, asking for money because of technology. Rest easy, little one." Instead, I was left with my stream of paranoid, OCD-like thoughts, thinking that one day welfare and a soup kitchen were in our imminent future as technology advanced (i.e. humans pushed towards their own self-destruction, just like in the movies).
It is 2009, and we now have the iPhone, robotic surgeries, and a robot vacuum cleaner, and my dad luckly still practices medicine. No sirree, no robots doing his job as of yet. But I guess the ultimate point was this: children have the darndest imaginations.
--By Mariam, who realizes the substandard nature of this blog, but feels the need to keep the BackRowBallers blog alive.
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