My media edges have been blurring lately and it has made me wonder what senility will look like for the S/L generation.
I met my point of “how many prims is that I wonder?” and “I already have that dress (no, Lace does)” quite a while back. The lack of a teleport has been lamented many times both when sitting in heavy traffic and also more locally back when I injured my knee.
It’s not helped by my fondness for sci-fi, at the moment I especially like Charles Stross who further muddies the water by writing not in the far fantastic future but in the grimy near future where the current levels of technology are still evident in his places just as those of us with a digital tv are made aware that those who still use earlier technology will suffer great torment after April.
One of the developments he incorporates is like a floating profile précis. How nice to be able to click a few reminders about people to avoid those foot-in-mouth moments of forgetting who has undergone a painful break-up, bought a new house (insert social gaffe of choice here).
My most recent mix-up is to touch-screen or not – you can look pretty daft jabbing away a non-responsive non-touch screen I can assure you.
So, in our dotage, I suspect standing in the garden in our underwear and collecting string may be the least of out worries. We may be found in the Town square squatting on a manhole cover trying to teleport, demanding that the annoying neighbour be muted and instead of singing the songs of our youth, shouting out our favourite gesture when the muzak in Tesco triggers a memory.