Distracted Living
6 JULY 2010
I'm a modeler. As such, I'm starting to feel quite old-fashioned, antiquated, whatever—fill in the blank with your choice of adjective. And at the risk of also being labeled a crotchety old geezer, I'm not about to change, either.
Oh, there are plenty of modeling young'uns. The distinction is that I lean heavily towards scratchbuilding. Some folks of my ilk glibly refer to themselves as "modelers" in a way that infers those who don't scratchbuild aren't modelers. But I'll stay out of this particular little pissing match simply because I believe there's a vast grey area where one cannot draw a line that distinguishes modelers from non-modelers.
Semantics aside, it does seem as though us scratchbuilders are dwindling in numbers. Manufacturers of raw materials and useful little detail items that we rely upon appear to be evaporating. Discussions on how best to tackle a building with only wood and a knife take place infrequently, if ever. I'm left to assume my option is to just buy what I need.
There certainly appears to be plenty to buy these days. Not long ago, N scalers were hard-pressed to find much in the way of useful merchandise. And while it's true that you still can't find a mass-produced camelback or three-truck Shay, you can get some exquisite covered hoppers, for instance, that could pass for HO, or an impressive Challenger complete with sound. The scale has most definitely matured.
At one point I was hooked on buying. I bought and bought and bought and it seemed like there was no end to it. What was I buying all of this stuff for? I had no layout on which to use even a fraction of it. And even if I did, ultimately it didn't seem as if it would be all that satisfying. Granted, if I was into operation, one could say I was simply purchasing game pieces for the ops session. But I'm not into operation—that's a whole n'other kettle of fish that can divide these modelers from those modelers.
Having recently sold off a good 90% of my N scale stuff, I'm feeling better about my modeling direction... except that the direction seems to be "backward." At least, that's how scratchbuilding might be regarded by the currently-emerging crop of modelers. Today, the hobby expertise has shifted from model-building techniques to super-detailing and proto-weathering; from designing block control systems to DCC programming; from finding good hobby shops to finding good websites. And discussions include such frightening esoterica as running one's layout from an iPhone.
It's not as if I'm some Luddite who refuses to accept change. Heck, I write software for a living, so I'm not far removed from the vast universe of subject matter collectively (if erroneously) referred to as "technology." I'm simply not interested in this stuff. Yes, I know that the manufacturers are desperately trying to woo me over to the BUY NOW button—they're in business to make money, after all. And yes, some of the latest merchandise is quite breathtaking. But really, where's the joy in simply plunking down green for some little pieces of injection-molded plastic?
I'll grant you that "modern life" is making it harder to be a scratchbuilder. Building your own models takes time, and spare time seems to be in ever-shorter supply these days. Why is that? I should have thought that "technology" was supposed to simplify our lives, free us from some of our more mundane tasks, and allow us to spend more time at the workbench.
Instead, technology seems to be intruding on our lives, drawing our attention in more directions more frequently—talk about distracted driving, this is distracted living, where everyone suffers from technology-induced ADD. Honestly, who can put down their cell phones and notebooks and game controllers long enough to do any real modeling any more?
And so, with limited time for our hobby, we turn to the manufacturers to offer us shortcuts: pop open the boxes and start running trains. Well, if your goal is just running trains, you're in luck. What about those of us who still want to build our trains?
Oh yes, this is one of those classic pleas for "leading the simpler life"—I make no effort to disguise that fact. I'll also point out that I'm proudly cell phone-free (in a manner of speaking; I do own one, but it's an uber-cheapo model that stays in the car for emergency use only—seriously). No iPod. No iPad. No iAnything. Not even a television (all TV is good for these days is advertising, and in between the ads are exercises in product placement). No FaceBook account. No Twitter. Yes, I do blog, but it's all about my modeling (let's be honest: no one could possibly be interested in my life).
I don't object to technology per se; it's all a matter of figuring out what we really, really need. Consider what manufacturers are cleverly convincing us to buy. GPS devices, for instance. Yes, they're great for truck drivers and cabbies to be more efficient, but for us ordinary folk, a map costs less than 1/50th of a GPS device. And a map is guaranteed to work anywhere, anytime, without electricity. (Not to mention that you can print out all manner of maps for free from the Internet, complete with directions.)
I've figured out that I don't really, really need a GPS device. Or a cell phone that shoots videos and plays music. Or a Blackberry. Or a Blu-Ray player (the format will be obsolete in five years anyway). My work schedule is demanding enough as it is; if I had all of the typical modern-gadget-distractions to deal with, I'd have no time for hobbies at all.
I'm not really leading to some grand conclusion here; this is merely random observation, and readers can take away what they will. Or not. I accept that I'm an old-fashioned man who has an old-fashioned hobby. But when I invest energy in my hobby, I emerge with something tangible to show for my efforts, something far more rewarding and lasting than the highest score ever in a video game.