I remember his first "luggable" computer. It was called a "luggable" because it was moveable from place to place, but its manufacturers couldn't quite find it in themselves to call it "portable". (It was portable, but in the way that a piano is portable, which is to say it was basically a desktop computer with a handle on it.)
I remember when we got our first game console. It played one game: Pong. That game consisted of two lines and a dot (unlike our first hand-held game console, which was a football game consisting of lots of dots and no lines). And by the way, I remember that both Pong and the handheld football game were amazingly fun and addictive.
I remember writing a high-school debate speech with my friend Carrie on my Dad's office "word processor". That was a machine the size of a filing cabinet with a keyboard and an orange and brown (or was it black and green?) screen. It did one thing and one thing only...word processing.
I remember in my first part-time job at my Dad's office getting a chance to touch his brand new IBM PC AT ("Advanced Technology") which was breathtakingly fast and had a seemingly exhaustible amount of memory (16K). I remember that with all of the computers back then, when you first arrived in the office each morning you'd boot it up, then go downstairs and buy yourself a coffee, say good morning to people, and head back to your desk about 20 minutes later and wait while it finished loading.
I remember being excited by the AT because back at high school in our computer science class, we were learning all about programming using punch cards and a PDP-11. I also remember entering a contest in high school to name the brand new PDP-11, winning by acclamation (having submitted the only entry), and having my name and the new name for the PDP-11 announced to the whole school. I can't quite remember what that did to my social status, but I can only assume it made me even cooler than I already was.
I remember when the user interface that confronted you each morning, after your PC had finally come to life, looked like this:
Ahhh...the good old days.
Because back then, software knew its place. It sucked. It crashed all the time. It was slow. It didn't do much. BUT, it knew its place: I was the master and it was my servant; I was the user and it was the "used". I overpaid to buy my software, and my software was grateful to have been bought by me.
Everything else about the experience was horrible. But I never once felt like the software was using me (abusing, maybe).
Fast-forward to present day and the reason for this post: I have a big hate-on for LinkedIn.
I've been quiet about this because so many people seem to like it and put it to good use (recruiting, networking, job-hunting, etc.) and I don't like bashing something that some people really rely on for important things. But I can't hold my tongue any more.
The very first time I used it (and that was relatively early on) I felt tricked into opening up my rolodex so that it could send a bunch of e-mails to a bunch of people with whom I almost never communicated. I didn't understand what it was asking me in whatever that first-entry tutorial put in front of me, and the next thing I knew it was reaching out to a bunch of people on my behalf and inviting them in my name to sign-up. How stupid of me not to understand.
Another time, it asked me to endorse my wife's skills. Is she a good Project Manager? Youbetcha. Consultant? Of course. Educator? Nobody better. And so on. Next thing I knew, everyone she knows on LinkedIn was hearing from me. What? I didn't know I was doing that! You didn't ask me that!
A few times now, I've received an onslaught of congratulatory e-mails for anniversaries I didn't know I was celebrating. This happened again just last week in fact (I still don't know what anniversary it was). So thank you everybody for the congratulations, I feel blessed on this occasion of my (???) that so many of you took the time to think of me. And thank you LinkedIn for unilaterally deciding that I wanted everyone notified. Next time, let me know what milestone it is please.
And so on.
If Facebook is a sweet little old lady who invites you to sit on the couch next to her, showing you album after album from the last seven decades while you slowly dissolve the sugar-free candy she offered you, LinkedIn is a vampire that shows up at your door and tries to trick you into inviting it in. Once inside, it rifles through your stuff while you have your back turned ("Blah. I vant a glass of bl...I mean water. If you'd please get me some. Blah") and then stands outside your house shouting out whatever it has learned about you.
Every time I have an encounter with LinkedIn, I come away feeling used.
I just went into my settings to finally turn off all the things that I (by default) gave it permission to do, and I couldn't find much. I certainly turned off "Notifying connections when you're in the news", but the rest of it I couldn't find as I quickly and easily as I should be able to. (I was looking for an overarching one that says: "Ask permission before taking liberties with my stuff".)
So why don't I just shuck my account altogether? Because having an account is a business necessity where I work. It's one of the social media platforms on which a company must be present if it is to be relevant these days. I will drop my account the minute I am allowed to.
Know your place LinkedIn. Serve me, and not the other way around. Ask me in clear and concise questions what I feel comfortable having you do. Check with me before sharing things about me with others. Enable me to use you in a way that is friendly, easy, and non-obtrusive. Stay out of my house unless you're invited in.
You make me pine for the days of 20-minute reboots, luggable computers, and Pong.
Blah.
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