How We Became a Techno-Optimist Family
You can too!
Our first attempt to incorporate Techno-Optimism in family life came with leftovers for dinner.
Tara announced bravely at the table: “We aren’t calling them leftovers anymore. This is Meal 2.0.”
That had a nice, cheery ring to it. So we sat down with the enthusiasm of true believers in progress, as we gulped down our reheated casserole and green beans.
“That was some serious bootstrapping,” I admitted in the aftermath. “Let’s pivot now to video—should we do Netflix or Apple TV tonight?”
The Honest Broker is a reader-supported guide to music, books, media & culture. Both free and paid subscriptions are available. If you want to support my work, the best way is by taking out a paid subscription.
Sure, we try to forget how much better things tasted when we ate Meal 1.0, fresh from the oven. But Techno-Optimists must graciously give up things of the past, like farm fresh foods.
Otherwise we might get left behind when the Techno-Optimist Rapture arrives.
Of course, even Techno-Optimism has its limits. We try to avoid Meal 3.0. The food begins to take on a rubbery, unpleasant quality after multiple migrations to the microwave delivery system. And I won’t even speculate on the gustatory properties of Meal 4.0.
But we take consolation in our loyalty to the Techno-Optimist charter. After all, those software upgrades also go rancid after a while, just like our leftovers. I only wish that I could take those improvements to Google and Twitter and dump them into the garbage disposal, the most serviceable user interface in our Techno-Optimist home.
To brighten up our technophile repasts, we seek out the most futuristic background music. We’ve found great solace in an AI-generated sad girl who sings the full text of the MIT software license.
It’s especially liberating when we join in—declaring our allegiance to this Techno-Optimist anthem, which grants us “without restriction, including without limitation, the rights to use, copy, modify, merge, publish, distribute, sublicense and/or sell” our MIT software.
What more could a couple want?
But we did want more because, after all, the future never rests. So we decided to create our own AI song—a motivational tune for our tech-savvy lifestyles.
I enthusiastically signed up with the Suno AI music app. I’ve worked with many great composers over the decades, but none capable of creating 500 songs per month for just ten dollars.
Progress is so exciting!
I asked my AI overlord to create a “jazzy bossa nova song about a wonderful future when technology and AI provide for everything people want and need.” This tune could serve as a daily ritual for our future-tripping.
And our wise overlord gave us exactly that. The song is called “Dreams of Tomorrow.”
Would you like to sing along?
DREAMS OF TOMORROW
In a world of limitless possibilities, we'll embrace the dawn.
A fusion of dreams and technology, where all desires are drawn.
The gentle sway of a bossa nova, the rhythm of a beat.
We'll dance into the future, where everything is sweet.With the touch of a button, our world comes alive.
AI at our service, fulfilling all we strive.
From smart homes to self-driving cars, we'll live in harmony,
Where convenience meets elegance, a futuristic symphony.[Chorus]
Oh, in the land of tomorrow, where dreams become real,
Technology's embrace, a future we can feel,
Bossa nova serenades our every waking day
A world of endless wonder, where we'll forever sway.
Wasn’t that fun?
You thought that real bossa nova only came from the beaches in Rio? Not anymore. There’s a new Silicon Valley bossa, and when it passes we go ‘ah’.
We were now the ideal Techno-Optimist couple. So imagine my shock when I heard crashing and thrashing sounds from the kitchen. I rushed in, and could hardly believe my eyes.
Tara had taken my favorite coffee mugs, and was pulverizing them with a sledgehammer. I own four of these—and she had already destroyed three of them.
This was alarming. Those coffee mugs are like my personal security blanket.
“What are you doing?” I shouted.
“We need to move fast and break things,” she responded, a steely look in her eyes. “That’s what Mark Zuckerberg tells us to do.”
“But don’t destroy my coffee mugs!” I pleaded.
“It’s NOT destruction,” she shouted. “It’s creative destruction! You haven’t read your Schumpeter, or you’d know the difference.”
She was right—it had been a long time since I’d read Schumpeter, and only had the vaguest recollection of those boring books. Didn’t he drink coffee? I had no idea. So I watched helplessly as Tara smashed the final mug to smithereens.
I was at a loss for words. But when she turned to my prized 1925 Steinway XR-Grand piano, I let out an involuntary shriek.
No, no, no, no—not the Steinway.
She hesitated, and then spoke with eerie calmness: “I understand your feelings. But is this analog input system something a Techno-Optimist family should own?”
I had to think fast. Fortunately I remembered that my XR-Grand was a strange Steinway, and it originally had incorporated a player piano mechanism (later removed from my instrument). This gave me an idea:
I started improvising (one of my specialties):
You’re absolutely right. A piano is a shameful thing for a Techno-Optimist to own. Our music should express Dreams of Tomorrow. [I hummed a few bars.] But this isn’t really a piano—you need to consider it as a high performance peripheral, with limitless upgrade potential.
I opened the bottom panel, and pointed to the empty space where the player piano mechanism had once been. “This is where we insert the MIDI interface. Just wait and see.”
She paused, and thought it over—but still kept the sledgehammer poised in midair. Then asked: “Are you sure this isn’t just an outmoded legacy system?”
“Trust me, baby,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. “Together we can transform this bad boy into a cutting edge digital experience platform. We will sail on it together into the Metaverse.”
She hesitated—then put down the sledgehammer. Disaster averted!
“You’re blinding me with science, my dear,” I said to her in my most conciliatory tone.
“Technology!” she responded with a saucy grin.
That night at dinner, we ate Meal 2.0 in silence, except for “Dreams of Tomorrow” repeating endlessly in the background. The song was starting to annoy me.
I knew we had made progress with our progress. But we hadn’t even entered the acceleration phase yet. We had so many upgrades still ahead of us.
After a moment, I took a chance:
“Darling, our Meal 2.0 delivery system is definitely dominating the food vertical. The analytics are irrefutable. But here’s a suggestion—why don’t we input these into our garbage disposal user interface, and go out to dinner instead?”
“Maybe Tex-Mex or burgers?” she replied.
“Definitely!”
“We’ll go dancing too. This Techno-Optimism stuff is great. But I think we may have exceeded our burn rate.”
“That’s my thought too. Let’s take a break from the future. I’m sure it will still be there when we get back.”
FULL DISCLOSURE: The above narrative is satirical in intent. No pianos or even coffee mugs were damaged in its making. However, we do describe leftovers as “Meal 2.0” in our household.
Vonnegut 2.0
Possibly one of the best articles, sorry, I mean pieces of content, I’ve read for a while…. And it looks like you posted something that actually makes it worthwhile to visit Twit-X.