ROANOKE TIMES Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times DATE: Thursday, April 25, 1996 TAG: 9604250003 SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO COLUMN: Beth Macy SOURCE: BETH MACY
I'm sitting here today facing my brand-new computer, a machine that costs three times as much as my first car and required more household debate than the purchase of our home, the wedding invitation list and whose turn it is to clean the toilets.
``Lemme guess,'' a teacher-friend surmised, when she learned we were in the throes of the Great Computer-Buying Wars.
``He wants bigger and faster.''
``Bingo,'' I said, a reference to that classic pre-computer game in which people actually gathered and spoke to one another face-to-face.
``And she wants cheaper and simpler,'' my husband snapped.
Bingo, again.
A Power Mac may have enough memory to keep up with the Techno-Joneses. But bottom line: It still doesn't write my stories for me.
So we compromised. We bought the fancy printer he wanted - handy for downloading four-color printouts of Thomas the Tank Engine from the Internet
And I got my ``cheaper, simpler'' computer - the one that can play CDs, record the bark of your dog, pit you against a gun-wielding cartoon dweeb and perform many other amazing feats commonly known to aid in the writing process.
Alas, the trusty used IBM-286 clone that I've used to write hundreds of stories and columns, dozens of letters and short stories, and 220 pages of one really stinky first novel is now a paperweight. AND IT STILL WORKS!
But here's something I find encouraging in the midst of all this technology-is-groovy madness: Binney & Smith, the Easton, Pa., company that manufactures Crayola crayons, recently made its 100 billionth crayon. And it's still going strong.
A Christian Science Monitor feature last month reported that parents buy enough crayons in a year to make a giant crayon 35 feet wide and 100 feet taller than the Statue of Liberty.
By age 10, an American child has typically worn down, smashed into the rug or eaten 730 crayons.
Not counting the ones chewed up by the dog.
As I sit here intimidated by this new miracle machine of mine, I'm pining for my first writing implement of choice - and the days when it didn't take 17 different user's guides to compose a few simple sentences.
I'm remembering the simple smell of childhood: that waxy, new-car scent of a fresh box of crayons, unbroken and full of promise.
I'm visualizing the color cornucopia and all the curiosities it inspired:
Is there really a difference between red violet and violet red?
Why wasn't thistle called lilac?
What is an umber, and why is it raw?
The crayon may be the lowest-tech ``save'' device on the technology totem pole, but even it's had to endure upgrades. Remember the public outcry in 1990 when the company yanked eight of its stalwarts - green blue, lemon yellow, violet blue and orange red - in favor of those hipper, brighter alternatives known as jungle green, teal blue and fuchsia?
Last year, the company came out with its latest enhancement: the introduction of a Magic Scent line, featuring such smelly wonders as ``leather jacket,'' ``shampoo'' - and my toddler's personal favorite - ``dirt.''
(His favorite regular crayon? Go figure this one: white.)
I think the real beauty of the scented crayons lies in the way they work: The smell is enclosed in tiny capsules embedded in the wax, which are released only when a child begins to draw.
So, the crayon itself doesn't emit scent, the markings do. The harder you color, the more fragrant the dirt.
It's kind of like scratch-n-sniff books, only you get to make up the story.
Proving, once again, that you can add all the fancy features and glossy games you want. But the real challenge - and the magic - is still the work itself.
Now then, know anyone who wants to buy a good, used (read: cheap, simple) computer?
LENGTH: Medium: 81 lines ILLUSTRATION: GRAPHIC: Robert Lunsford. color.by CNB