Here’s a quote for you,” I said to my husband, reading him the day’s news. “ ‘Nobody’s got to use the internet.’ ”
“Who’s saying that?” asked my husband.
“Representative Sensenbrenner, from Wisconsin, at a town hall meeting last week. He said it to a constituent: ‘No one’s “got to” use the internet.’ ”
“Well, he’s just plain wrong,” my loved one replied. “There are a hundred — no, a million — situations where the internet is useful, and plenty where it’s absolutely necessary, like in lots of people’s jobs.
Good luck being an Uber driver, without it! Why did he say such a thing? Did he give any comprehensible reason?”
“Not really; it just seems like he thought the entire internet was a frill — like Rolls Royces, or designer shoes. At least he didn’t call it a series of tubes! But he was so dismissive!”
I couldn’t help myself; I was on a roll: “And I’m sure he knows better. Does he have a website?
Of course he does! Does he answer his email? I’m sure he does, or he wouldn’t be there any more. And for God’s sake, how does he expect to keep up with his own President if he doesn’t read Twitter?”
“You’re right,” says my spouse, “but I must say I’m surprised to hear this — especially coming from you! You have objected to every new piece of technology that’s come into this house since the microwave oven!”
“I know. I am the last person you would ever expect to defend the Internet. Which is why I have to say it: Even I know that you can’t really do without it, any more. More’s the pity. I’ve lost count of the number of times they’ll mention something on the radio or TV, and then say, ‘For more information, go to our website, blahdeblah dot org.’ I’ve had to go to the computer, and not the television, when there’s anything going on at Penn Station. And you just can’t do without the internet for working. I would type my columns on a wooden typewriter, if I could, but I’d still have to use email when it was time to turn them in!”
My husband smiled. “I wish I’d recorded that speech. It was beautiful, and someday, I’ll want to play it back to you.” He paused, to feed a pile of junk mail into our shredder. “But you know, I’m not really clear on why they were having a town hall meeting about the Internet, in the first place.”
“Oh, that. Wait, here’s another batch.” I waited for the shredder to finish the second pile. “He was trying to explain why he voted to roll back some FCC regulations that would have gone into effect at the end of this year.”
“Aha. Is this about internet privacy?”
“Yes. Apparently, the new rules would have forced everyone’s internet provider to warn them, and let them opt in or out, before selling information about them to a third party. Now they won’t even need to ask.”
“Oh, great. And I’m sure they’ll bring the same quality of life, to our computer experience, that we now have with junk mail.”
The phone rings. “And the phone! I’ll bet you anything that’s a robo-call.”
“No fair! You looked at the caller ID.”
“Yes, but I didn’t have to. Just ask yourself: Is it dinner time? Then it won’t be anyone we want to hear from.”
Just to spite him, I picked it up. Sure enough, it was an artificially cheery voice: “Oh, hello! Is Judy there? This is Pamela, with an exciting opportunity….”
I hung up in a hurry “I wish I had a dollar for every junk call we got. Or even a dime!”
“I could say the same about the mail,” said my husband. “Somebody, somewhere, is paying a fortune to harass us like this — and we have no control.”
We had a chance to do better than that with the internet — but now, thanks to Mr. Sensenbrenner and his buddies, we don’t.
Because try though we might, can we do without the internet?
Fat chance! That’s where I read the story about Mr. Sensenbrenner, in the first place!
