Standing Firmly With Sir Paul on Updates
Sir Paul McCartney was the final guest on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, whose 11-year run ended in late May to widespread lamentation, including from me. It had been a weeknight staple in our home, although we always watched it a day later on its streaming platform. Watching TV at 10:30 p.m. is no longer on our dance card. The show ended joyfully in its last episode, with the former Beatle leading a contingent of famed musicians — Jon Batiste, Elvis Costello, Louis Cato and the Great Big Joy Machine, with Colbert singing backup — in Hello, Goodbye. It is hard to imagine a more perfect ending to this show.
During the interview, McCartney, who is about to turn a spry 84, struck a chord with me, pun intended. Colbert asked Sir Paul if he was OK with change, something obviously on Colbert’s mind as his show ends.
Sir Paul said: No. I like things to stay the same. Because I’ve learned how to do them, and then somebody changes it. Like the iPhone. I know how to do it, and then somebody says “Update!” I don’t want to update. I bought you. I don’t want you to change!
I am writing this on my six-year-old iMac, which scolded me yesterday morning: Unable to update because applications were open. Please close all applications before updating.
This is the tyranny of technology. It both saves and sucks up time.
The next morning, after I dutifully closed all apps before bed, my iMac had updated as I slumbered away. It then took an hour to restart, all while I was trying to send my Capital Highlights column to my editors at Texas Press Association. I was about to head to Starbucks to take advantage of their WIFI when it finally sprang back to life.
These are admittedly first-world problems. But I have begun to wonder if all this technology is simplifying or complicating my life.
My iPhone has become my brain in many ways. I have an app for our rural garbage service that reminds me to drag the can to the road and alerts me if service will be delayed due to a holiday. Another app unlocks the door of my new Ford Maverick, a nifty hybrid truck whose technology also boggles my aged mind. This truck will back itself up to my utility trailer and park beneath the hitch. I put it in neutral and keep my feet off the pedals, as if I’m in the automated car wash. The truck does the rest. The first time I tried this, I asked my Beautiful Mystery Companion to stand guard in case something went awry. It worked perfectly.
I have apps to provide white noise to mask my tinnitus, identify plants, catch up on sports scores, sign in for my gym class, or place a “prediction” on Kalshi. There are apps on my phone that I have no idea what they do or why they are there. Nearly all of these require updating at some point.
I get emails several times a week from this miasma of apps that one or another has updated their terms of service. OK by me since, like most humans, I never read the terms of service in the first place. Life is way too short to read all the fine print with which we are inundated.
Artificial intelligence is starting to annoy me. I call a customer service number and am greeted cheerily by a bot who ignores my requests to speak to a human. I use several large language models, such as ChatGPT or Gemini, regularly for both my work and personal use. But I bristle when one of these goobers volunteers to write my email for me. I am perfectly capable of writing my own email, thank you. (Though I am fond of Grammarly and other writing tools.)
That’s all they are: tools. I am grateful they exist, most days. But I stand with Sir Paul. Enough with the updates, already.
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