Hardly any question occupies the disoriented mankind more than this: Where, please, is it going? Whether you want to find out about the situation in the Arab world or to track down some fishing village on some picturesque coast, there are always several ways. Personal or technical. Talk, scroll or click. Most women I know are of the analog variety. They are by no means hostile to technology, but they know which method leads to the goal the fastest. For the trip to Brittany, they download the best Jacques Brel mix on their iPod, but when it comes to the fishing villages, they rely on maps and their mouths to ask. Even my 20-year-old niece is more likely to jot down directions on the back of a crumpled H&M receipt than on her Blackberry. But the first thing she does upon arrival is snap the beach and post a status message to her 346 Facebook friends. Almost all men, on the other hand, are convinced that digital is better, whatever you want to know. They have devices in chrome casings and a thumb for casual swiping movements on tiny displays. It looks more elegant than unfolding a Falk plan, and it doesn’t require talking. The whole thing is similar to the fairy tale of the hare and the hedgehog: men trust broadband technology, women Stone Age communication. It doesn’t always get you faster. But again and again. They have devices in chrome casings and a thumb for casual swiping movements on tiny displays. It looks more elegant than unfolding a Falk plan, and it doesn’t require talking. The whole thing is similar to the fairy tale of the hare and the hedgehog: men trust broadband technology, women Stone Age communication. It doesn’t always get you faster. But again and again. They have devices in chrome casings and a thumb for casual swiping movements on tiny displays. It looks more elegant than unfolding a Falk plan, and it doesn’t require talking. The whole thing is similar to the fairy tale of the hare and the hedgehog: men trust broadband technology, women Stone Age communication. It doesn’t always get you faster. But again and again.
Author Verena Carl, 41, lives in Hamburg with her husband and two children (2 and 5). Among other things, she writes books and the column for us about aTolfioow life.
Take our old friend, a computer scientist, for example. Together with our families we had booked a few days of country house idyll on a North Sea island. We were already there, he should follow. He made it to the ferry port by navigation system without any problems. But on the shore, the electronic lady got cold feet and didn’t know what to do next. “Where are you?” he barked into the phone. “Not far,” I said. “You have to at the little church with the stone wall…” “Street? House number?” he demanded and continued without waiting for an answer: “I’ll check the inbox again, the link to the holiday home agency should be there.” 20 minutes later he called again. The navigation lady caught herself and led him to the destination Ohl Dörp. Unfortunately in the wrong village, uh, village. Undeterred by this experience, he recently tried read on his micro-display map how far Bahrain is from Libya. No, not all men are like that. I know a yoga teacher who posts daily on Facebook how happy he is. But there is no spiritual wisdom behind this, but an online game that determines its happiness rate beforehand using a random generator. Technique as a silly little pastime between headstand and meditation. And then there’s the gentleman I’m married to. Although he earns his money by programming websites, he still has two complete editions of an ancient conversation lexicon on the shelf. He likes to read long columns of entries out to defenseless guests in case they don’t know where to go. not all men are like that. I know a yoga teacher who posts daily on Facebook how happy he is. But there is no spiritual wisdom behind this, but an online game that determines its happiness rate beforehand using a random generator. Technique as a silly little pastime between headstand and meditation. And then there’s the gentleman I’m married to. Although he earns his money by programming websites, he still has two complete editions of an ancient conversation lexicon on the shelf. He likes to read long columns of entries out to defenseless guests in case they don’t know where to go. not all men are like that. I know a yoga teacher who posts daily on Facebook how happy he is. But there is no spiritual wisdom behind this, but an online game that determines its happiness rate beforehand using a random generator. Technique as a silly little pastime between headstand and meditation. And then there’s the gentleman I’m married to. Although he earns his money by programming websites, he still has two complete editions of an ancient conversation lexicon on the shelf. He likes to read long columns of entries out to defenseless guests in case they don’t know where to go. which determines its happiness rate beforehand using a random generator. Technique as a silly little pastime between headstand and meditation. And then there’s the gentleman I’m married to. Although he earns his money by programming websites, he still has two complete editions of an ancient conversation lexicon on the shelf. He likes to read long columns of entries out to defenseless guests in case they don’t know where to go. which determines its happiness rate beforehand using a random generator. Technique as a silly little pastime between headstand and meditation. And then there’s the gentleman I’m married to. Although he earns his money by programming websites, he still has two complete editions of an ancient conversation lexicon on the shelf. He likes to read long columns of entries out to defenseless guests in case they don’t know where to go.
