Friday, February 04, 2005
All the way to the Providence airport the truck talked to us, with the intermittent dinging noises that in most cars are associated with an important light appearing on the dashboard telling you to get more gas or check your engine. But nothing of the sort happened with the truck, an old blue Ford Ranger dubbed Beatrice by a friend, and as far as we could tell it was just making an intermittent chirpy conversation as we plowed on through the heavy silent snow.
The truck is one of those machines which is so feisty and nonsensical in its behavior that it has begun to seem animate. Machines are intended to obey, and when they do not, more and more they begin to take on a life of their own. Beatrice's dome light only goes off sometimes, the fan works when it feels like it, and the dashboard lights frequently go on for no reason at all. Driving her is less a process of applying logical driving knowledge than it is one of coaxing and encouraging and hoping for obedience. I could be driving a stubborn horse.
I feel the same way up here at WRCU. The whole control room is one of those animate forces which demands a certain amount of respect and human interaction to work properly. I wheedle the Moseley into displaying the power output properly, coax CD player #1 to cue up the right track, switch the CD to another player if it obstinately decides it doesn't like my choice of music, although it will play the next album just fine. The computer refuses to turn off -- to restart it literally has to be unplugged from the wall. The station, though old, clings to life, not just living but demanding to be treated as it wishes, and working with it involves a sort of give-and-take, compromise, like any human partnership.
That is why I will feel bad when the new station is built, though I know perfectly well that the old station isn't alive and that a new one will be good for us. Working with this one has been like working with an individual, getting to know quirks and annoyances, and ultimately developing a friendship. I'll miss it when it's gone.
But here are some pictures, so that you can see and I can remember.
The truck is one of those machines which is so feisty and nonsensical in its behavior that it has begun to seem animate. Machines are intended to obey, and when they do not, more and more they begin to take on a life of their own. Beatrice's dome light only goes off sometimes, the fan works when it feels like it, and the dashboard lights frequently go on for no reason at all. Driving her is less a process of applying logical driving knowledge than it is one of coaxing and encouraging and hoping for obedience. I could be driving a stubborn horse.
I feel the same way up here at WRCU. The whole control room is one of those animate forces which demands a certain amount of respect and human interaction to work properly. I wheedle the Moseley into displaying the power output properly, coax CD player #1 to cue up the right track, switch the CD to another player if it obstinately decides it doesn't like my choice of music, although it will play the next album just fine. The computer refuses to turn off -- to restart it literally has to be unplugged from the wall. The station, though old, clings to life, not just living but demanding to be treated as it wishes, and working with it involves a sort of give-and-take, compromise, like any human partnership.
That is why I will feel bad when the new station is built, though I know perfectly well that the old station isn't alive and that a new one will be good for us. Working with this one has been like working with an individual, getting to know quirks and annoyances, and ultimately developing a friendship. I'll miss it when it's gone.
But here are some pictures, so that you can see and I can remember.