I don’t know how the topic came up at dinner the other night, but somehow I asked my 14-year-old daughter what the future looked like to her. Because she already has handheld phones that display video calls from friends. She can pay for things with a phone or play virtual reality games with it. All sorts of futuristic things that can turn her brain to mush are within her grasp. You know, cool stuff I dreamed about as a kid.

But if you have it all, what’s next? Where do we go from here?

She said she didn’t know. She had no idea, and that was the problem. It seemed like all the “futuristic” stuff had been invented already.

Besides, she never wanted to look back like other generations and say, “You know, I remember way back in the olden days when I used to hold a phone up in front of my face to see a friend I was talking to. It was like the stone ages!” She is living the future, and it’s pretty awesome. Why have it go out of style or become old-fashioned? Why have it become old, antiquated technology that we look back on as the toys of Neanderthals who didn’t know any better?

Interesting perspective from a child of the future …

I just did it. I have lost the battle. I have given up. I tried not to do it. With all my might. As much as my poor, frail, meek body could. Not to be a sucker. Not to give into temptation. Not to be a glutton for endless entertainment, and all the offers out there. To say no to technology and mass media and things I don’t need.

By golly, I tried. I even sat down, swore it off and read a book.

But I failed.

I signed up for Disney+. Another streaming service. Because I want Star Wars. And a new Star Wars show called “The Mandalorian.” I would love to blame it on children. Or demons. Or … I don’t know … capitalism! But that’s all a lie. It’s me. I wanted it. I had to have it. I needed to drop more money on … another service.

So, now I am directing that my paycheck continue to feed my addiction. I’m the worst (or if you’re an entertainment provider, the best!) kind of customer. I still have my old-fashioned, old-timey cable that comes down from the hills in one of them yesteryear copper wires that the whipper-snapper hipsters snicker at because it’s old-school and, like, totally dates me as a … I don’t know … would they say “fuddy-duddy?” Or just dummy?

Speed. Convenience. Death. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating. It’s just I’ve had a bad experience in the past with pressure-cooking. I didn’t almost die. No, it’s more like I almost had my face burned off. A typhoon of hot, scalding water leaped at my noggin in an attempt to maliciously deface me. I had the good sense to leap back, run and never return. I left the pressure cooker, the house, the car, everything. I never went back.

I don’t know where I went wrong. This was years ago. I had been gifted a used pressure cooker and attempted to cook something in there. All was going according to plan … until I put it on the burner. At that point the cooker built up pressure (I thought it was supposed to!), burst out its steam release valve and sent what looked like Old Faithful across my kitchen.

It took three years and a lot of therapy before I could even bring myself to scramble an egg.