This week my walkman broke.
Younger readers will wonder what I am going on about. Maybe a walkman is like a walking frame for oldies like me?
Kids, a walkman is - or was - a device very popular in the Eighties for playing audio cassettes.
- Playing what?
Well, a cassette was a plastic rectangular box containing two spools of magnetic tape with sound recorded on it. You could even record things yourself. It outperformed the 8-track, anyway. (Sorry, best not confuse things further.)
- And a walkman played these things? Like an app?
Well, no, you carried this machine around in your hand or clipped it to the belt over your aerobics leotard.
- What the what?
Well, it wouldn't really clip to your legwarmers, would it?
- What? ...Grown-ups are weird. (Those of you more down with the kids than me might want to insert the current word for idiot. In my day it was wally.)
Anyway, the guy in my local electrical repair shop told me he wasn't interested. Hell, what happens now if my phonograph breaks?
I exaggerate. But I have some rare music cassettes that, yes, I guess could and should be transferred to more modern media now since the studios haven't done so. And when those are out of date, further transfers can be made to whatever new technology has replaced them. And so on until the quality turns to mush.
This is a preamble to the real problem. I have realised that ALL the photos I have of me as a trans woman are in digital format. In the old days, kids, photos were printed on glossy paper and the chemist (yes) gave you the negatives back, which were on the actual slip of film the pic had been recorded on, and you could print further copies from those. No "uploading". Manipulation took skill - just ask Comrade Stalin. And you posed your photo carefully to get it right first time as the film and its development cost money. None of this "best of the set" and enhancement at the click of a button (not that that's not a great improvement - I just want to let the kids know that we had to suffer for our art!)
I think I will get my 200 or so favourite pictures printed properly and stuck in a photo album, if those still exist. Then they'll not be subject to the vagaries of digital media.
A photo album? That, kids, was a book ... oh, forget it!
My worries have been reinforced by an article this week by a concerned journalist who fears that if journalism is "the first draft of history" then 21st century history is going to be very hard for future historians or archaeologists to fathom since there is little material record of our era to go on. Everything is recorded in ephemeral formats using technology that gets outdated ever more rapidly. What will there be to confirm history?
My walkman was over 30 years old. My smartphone is just four years old but that has developed a problem this week, and not the first of its problems either.
I say this so that you can consider whether you want to back up whatever you have that's significant to you in ways that are less ephemeral than digital. It's why I still buy books rather than get a Kindle or app, and still buy music/films on discs from a shop.
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| Doomed by fading technology |
OK, grandma will shut up now and bake some apple pie. (With her digitalised induction cooker.)
The food blog
Actually, my cavewoman instincts kicked in this week with a nice wood and charcoal barbecue on which, among other things, I grilled some green and red peppers. They were dreamily tasty - crunchy on the outside with a nice smokey flavour, but juicy and tender on the inside. Must do that again soon. There's nothing like real fire to cook with.
My travels continued - trains, food, and trans fashion
So last month I spent a fortnight travelling through France and Great Britain. So far my record of that trip has been a bit random to date ...but so what?
I prefer to ride trains than take a plane. It's much more comfortable, you can walk about, have all your bags with you, and get plenty of reading, work or that all-important online stuff done, or just look at the countryside whizz past. Making the journey part of the holiday experience tends to reduce stress over delays and cancellations, you see stuff that a plane just flies over and you can try the local delicacies along the way. Incredibly, all of my long-distance trains were on time. Let's make a habit of this.
My first stop from home was in Nice, which I've described many times. Here's a photo I took of the Bay of Angels still in warm summer sunshine.
The train journey along the corniches is beautiful, if not often reliable. In Nice I chose a Vietnamese restaurant and enjoyed vegetable nems (like spring rolls, only smaller and crispier) followed by roast pork with noodles and beansprouts. I like the way Vietnamese dishes are normally served with a big sprig or two of mint. I must find out what the dark variety was as it was really delicious.
The TGV, France's very fast train network, now 45 years old, is still a pleasure to ride from Nice to Paris, past the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur, through the red Martian landscape of the Esterel and up the wide, snaking River Rhone. 300 kmh is my kind of speed!
Paris's suburban subway system, the RER, is a slow, cramped contrast. Thankfully, it's only two stops from Gare de Lyon to Gare du Nord for the fast Eurostar train to London via the Channel Tunnel. They've got the security system down pat at Eurostar in Paris, taking just a few minutes, in contrast to London's agonising organised chaos that took an hour to get through on the way back.
I mentioned train travel up and down the East Coast of Britain before. But I had the privilege of seeing not only that other trans women were travelling long-distance despite the anti-trans atmosphere in Britain these days but that there seems to be a fashion among them for long, brightly coloured, flaring skirts and dresses. I tend to dress to blend in; these ladies like to stand out. Good for them.
More on my adventures another time, including eel pies, big guns, playing at Lady Macbeth, and spotting eccentric and whimsical stuff.
Sue x
